The military secretary saw only a disapproving look, and heard only dissent at the recommendation of promotion. He made to speak, but then thought better of it. It was, after all, the commander-in-chief’s prerogative to countermand the board’s findings.
Lord Hill continued studying the list for another minute or so, before laying it down and taking up a pen. He dipped it in the silver inkwell in the middle of his desk, and struck through the nomination to a brevet.
‘Sir, may I beg you to give a reason for disallowing Major Hervey’s brevet?’
‘You may. It is insufficient.’
‘My lord?’
‘He is to have command, Harry. And he is to advance without purchase.’
THE END
HISTORICAL AFTERWORD
Le vieux colosse turc sur l’Orient retombe.
La Grèce est libre et dans la tombe
Byron applaudit Navarin.Victor Hugo
Not everyone applauded the battle of Navarino. The Anglo-French-Russian statesmen who signed the Paris treaty had not envisaged a battle at all, believing that a strong show of force would somehow compel the Turks to give up their sovereignty of the Hellenes. Such a vain hope is not unknown to the military today, although at least at Navarino there was more than enough force to do the job once the politicians’ hopes had been confounded. The Tsar was pleased, certainly, for Russia’s great eastern rival was reduced (Nicholas I offered Codrington a ship to carry his flag while the Asia was being repaired); the French, too, were delighted with the news, for it was a most welcome restoration of la gloire. In England, however, although the victory was greeted with the usual popular acclaim which Britannia’s soldiers and sailors rightfully expect, the official reaction was far from joyous. The Duke of Clarence, Lord High Admiral and a naval enthusiast of almost childlike conviction, was, not surprisingly, delighted: without reference to his brother the King, he awarded Codrington the Grand Cross of the Order of the Bath. But the King acquiesced only with reluctance: ‘I have sent him a ribband,’ he is reputed to have said, ‘but it ought to be a halter.’ Indeed, in his speech at the opening of parliament in January the following year, he declared: ‘Notwithstanding the valour displayed by the combined fleet, His Majesty laments the conflict should have occurred with the naval force of an ancient ally: but he still entertains a hope that this untoward event will not be followed by further hostilities . . .’ And so the recriminations began. They would not abate in the best part of ten years, and never to Codrington’s satisfaction, although he was reinstated to command, and promoted Admiral of the Red in 1837 (under a Whig, not a Tory, government).
The casualty returns in Codrington’s despatch of 21 October 1827, published in The London Gazette Extraordinary of 10 November, were as follows:
British: Killed 75, Wounded 197French:Killed 43, Wounded 144Russian: Returns had not been received at the time of the despatch, but were later given as Killed 59, Wounded 137. Of these, 24 and 67 respectively were from Count Heiden’s flagship Azov, 74 guns, which came valiantly to the aid of the Asia in her peril, and which might therefore have been the model for Prince Rupert.Turkish – Egyptian:Killed 2,400. Losses: three line-of-battle ships, nineteen frigates, twenty-six corvettes, twelve brigs, five fire-vessels
In fact, Codrington’s later estimate put the Turkish–Egyptian figures at Killed 6,000 (swelled by the primitive or non-existent provisions for first-aid; indeed, some men were chained to their posts), Wounded 4,000. Among these were captured British and American sailors, as well as Slavs and Greeks. At least sixty Turkish–Egyptian ships were totally destroyed. Many that could have been repaired were blown up or fired during the night ‘in a spirit of wanton fatalism’, says one historian of the battle. According to another, French, account, the only fighting ships still afloat the following day were one dismasted frigate, four corvettes, six brigs and four schooners.
This scale of loss is not surprising considering the expenditure of ammunition: from Asia, 9,289 lb of powder and 40 tons of shot (1 ton = 2,240 lb); from Genoa 7,089 lb and 30 tons respectively; and from Albion a staggering 11,092 lb and 52 tons respectively. Readers of An Act of Courage will be interested in the comparable effect on land: the expenditure of Genoa alone was calculated to be enough to open a breach 65 feet wide in the ramparts of Badajoz at a range of 600–700 yards. Needless to say, the expenditure was considered excessive in the counting houses of Whitehall.
The Allies lost not a single vessel, although many of the small ships suffered proportionately more casualties than those of the Line. The gallant little Hind, having no place assigned to her, deliberately took up position alongside Codrington’s flagship Asia, under the guns of the Egyptian Warrior, which tried in vain to sink or capture her. The action earned her the fleet’s accolade of ‘His Majesty’s Cutter of the Line’. She lost three killed and ten wounded out of a crew of thirty, though among the dead was not, I am pleased to say, her gallant commander, Lieutenant John Robb, else my younger daughter would not today be married to the man she is.
THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON’S CAVALRY
AN EXPLANATORY NOTE
Here is a picture – a very incomplete one – of the cavalry in the Duke of Wellington’s day. The picture remained the same, with but minor changes, until after the Crimean War nearly half a century later.
Like the infantry, the cavalry was organized in regiments. Each had a colonel as titular head, usually a very senior officer (in the case of the 10th Light Dragoons, for instance, it was the Prince of Wales; in the case of the fictional 6th Light Dragoons it was first the Earl of Sussex and then Lord George Irvine, both lieutenant generals) who kept a fatherly if distant eye on things, in particular the appointment of officers. The actual command of the regiment was exercised by a lieutenant-colonel. He had a major as his second in command (or ‘senior major’ as he was known in the Sixth and other regiments), an adjutant who was usually commissioned from the ranks, a regimental serjeant-major (RSM) and various other ‘specialist’ staff.
A cavalry regiment comprised a number of troops identified by a letter (A Troop, B Troop, etc.), each of a hundred or so men commanded by a captain, though in practice the troops were usually under strength. The number of troops in a regiment varied depending on where it was stationed; in Spain, for instance, at the height of the war, there were eight.
The captain was assisted by two or three subaltern officers – lieutenants and cornets (second-lieutenants) – and a troop serjeant-major, who before 1811 was known as a quartermaster (QM). After 1811 a regimental quartermaster was established to supervise supply and quartering (accommodation) for the regiment as a whole – men and horses. There was also a riding-master (RM), like the QM usually commissioned from the ranks (‘the ranks’ referred to everyone who was not a commissioned officer, in other words RSM and below). With his staff of rough-riders (a rough was an unbroken remount, a replacement horse) the RM was responsible for training recruits both human and equine.