Hervey, wearing the lightest clothes that Lucie was able to find him, stood on the terrace of this gentlemanly residence, closed his eyes and listened to the rising chorus of cicadas from the gardens all about. What the sources were of the procession of smells he could scarcely imagine, for, beyond the occasional wisp of smoke, he had not encountered them before. None was rank, and most were agreeable. They were, he expected, restrained compared with those he might find in country India, but they were wholly alien nevertheless.
To his side came, without a sound, a khitmagar bearing a silver tray. Hervey started on seeing him, then felt foolish, and then appeared as such by asking for whiskey and seltzer in Urdu. It was only after several exchanges that he realized Urdu was as strange a tongue as French would have been — except that later he remembered the French held sway in the Carnatic for many years. When the khitmagar returned he simply took the glass and bowed in the universal sign of gratitude, at which the little Tamil looked even more bemused.
Hervey took refuge in the paper Lucie had given him. It was, as he promised, diverting; a list to make any commissary envious.
Articles Put On Board ‘The Fortitude’, Packet, Captain Bowden, For His Voyage To England, For The Use Of Major-General Stuart, &c, &c.
Licquors Dozens
Claret 60
Madeira 60
Arrack, half a leaguer Brandy 18
Hock 12
Porter 24
Bullocks 12
Hams 15
Sheep 60
Tongues Casks 5
Fowls and capons 30 Doz
Cheeses 6
Ducks 12 Doz
Fine rice Bags 12
Turkies 2 Doz
Fine bisquit Bags 30
Geese 3 Doz
Flour Casks 3
Hogs and pigs 30
Tea chest 1
Sows and young 2
Sugar-candy Tubs 10
Milch goats 6
Butter Firkins 5
Candles Mds 8
salt-fish, curry-stuff, pease, spices, lime juice, onions, &c, &c, cabin furniture, table linen and towels, glassware, China &c, &c. Standing and swinging cots with bedding and curtains complete. A couch. Also a great number of small articles of provision, care having been taken that nothing material should be omitted.
(Signed) W. M. SYDENHAM,
Town Major.
FORT ST. GEORGE
3rd February 1816.
‘You are, I imagine, in some degree impressed by the care with which we treat a general officer?’ said Lucie as he returned.
‘I am all astonishment,’ replied Hervey truthfully.
‘Then let that invoice speak by itself of the wealth and address of the Honourable East India Company, sir. Nothing is left wanting for its servants. Were you a lieutenant-colonel on the duke’s staff you would not receive as much as a captain on the Madras establishment! You will find it tempting to stay when your essay for His Grace is finished.’
How he wished he could tell him that he himself expected to be installed at Fort William before too long. Instead he contented himself with the first thing he could think of: ‘Are you very much concerned with bills of lading and the like?’
‘We are a trading company, Hervey.’
‘Oh, indeed, I—’
‘However, my principal occupation as fourth in council is the affairs of the country powers,’ he added with an indulgent smile. ‘Very much more interesting than bills of lading!’
The khansamah entered and announced Lucie’s other guest, an apparently youngish man but with a decided look of the dissolute. Lucie reversed the strict formulary by introducing him to Hervey. ‘May I present Mr Eyre Somervile, who is Deputy commissioner of Kistna and Collector-Magistrate of Guntoor district in the Northern Circars.’
Hervey bowed. A most imposing appellation, he thought, and for one whom Lucie now intimated was but a little younger than Lucie himself. The collector of land revenues bore the customary marks of the Company’s service — at least, as imagined by those whose knowledge was limited to salacious gossip. His face seemed puffed up, though the remnants of fine features indicated that once it might have been described as distinguished. His thinning hair was bleached by the fierce sun, of which he evidently had little regard (for his puffy skin was the colour of some of the native men Hervey had seen on the beach), and though his raw silk shirt was generously proportioned, it did not conceal the swelling that was his stomach. But he had kind eyes.
Then came the fourth for dinner. ‘My dear,’ said Lucie, positively beaming, ‘you know Mr Somervile. May I present Captain Matthew Hervey of the 6th Light Dragoons.’ A tall, slender woman, close to Hervey’s age, serene in a shot-silk dress cut in the late Empire fashion, made a low curtsy in response to their bows. Her skin had not the pallor of the other European ladies he had seen on his way to the fort, for she — like Somervile — evidently took no especial shelter from the sun. But how well did it complement her raven hair! ‘Captain Hervey, my sister, Emma.’
It was not difficult for Hervey to be captivated. Emma Lucie had the same engaging smile as her brother, an unthreatening self-possession, and — revealed quickly but charmingly — a keen mind. They chatted freely for some minutes (though with no mention of Henrietta, for Hervey was nervous of hearing anything that would trouble him any greater at this time), and then she turned and greeted the collector more intimately. Somervile dabbed at his neck with a small piece of towel as he took a glass of claret from the khitmagar, drank it at once and then took another. Emma Lucie addressed him in French so eloquent that Hervey might have thought himself a beginner.
‘He is a most exceptional fellow, I assure you,’ said Lucie quietly, taking Hervey to one side; ‘he is the cleverest man I have ever met. Not only does he seem to speak every language in southern India, he knows everything of their etymologies. And he has such a remarkable facility with the native people too: he knows everything of their religions and customs, and they hold him in the very greatest esteem and affection. He will be able to tell you everything there is to know about the country.’
‘I should like that very much,’ he replied, glancing across at Somervile. ‘Your sister — she has been here some time?’
‘Almost five years! She refused flatly to be presented, saying she would have no more of London. That is where she knew your affianced.’
Hervey concluded that, with so distant a connection, the acquaintance might not have been as intimate as he supposed.
‘She and Somervile would appear to be conducting the longest courtship the presidency has ever seen,’ added Lucie with a smile. ‘But come, it is time to supplement all that ship’s biscuit you have been subsisting on with some red meat!’
When they were seated, after grace (from which Somervile’s ‘amen’ was conspicuously absent), and as hock chill enough to bring a mist to the side of the glasses was poured, the collector looked directly at Hervey and frowned. ‘And so are you come, sir, to seek your fortune in the east, or to inform us of some delinquency the duke considers us guilty of?’
He had scarcely taken two spoons of soup before having to protest that he had no other designs but acquiring skill with the lance.
‘I am in any case much relieved to learn that you are an emissary of the Duke of Wellington, for he can do little harm,’ replied Somervile, raising an eyebrow.
Hervey could not, from either words or intonation, gauge Somervile’s precise meaning. ‘In what sense might the duke do any harm, sir?’ he enquired.
‘I mean that as a military man there is little to fear from the duke. If he were to return and put all of the Carnatic to the sword he would do little lasting harm. If, however, he took cloth and returned with a bible he would have most of India in revolt.’
Hervey looked astonished at the proposition — both its parts.
‘Generally speaking, Captain Hervey, the Hindoo does not fear death half so much as he fears baptism,’ explained the collector. ‘I am more grea
tly exercised by the emissaries of Mr Wilberforce who wish to convert the heathen to their especially repugnant form of Christianity!’
Emma Lucie sighed and raised her eyebrows with studied amusement. ‘Mr Somervile includes me in his strictures, Captain Hervey, for I take a Sunday-school class and there are native pupils.’
‘But Miss Lucie’s is a most accommodating form of religion, Captain Hervey,’ replied Somervile without looking at her. ‘It stirs up little ardour. You have read, I hope, of Warren Hastings?’
This was becoming remarkably like dinner at Cork, thought Hervey, when that assembly of patriots had tested his understanding of history. ‘Yes, I have read of his trial,’ he replied cautiously.
‘Trial? Impeached before a lunatic House of Lords! Seven whole years they vilified his comprehension of this country!’
‘The collector feels a keen affinity for Warren Hastings, Hervey. They were each at Westminster, a very superior school, you understand!’ said Lucie gravely.
The collector smiled. ‘I admit it.’
‘He will admit, too, of equal scholarship at Winchester and Eton,’ added Lucie with a look of mock despair; ‘but the likes of Shrewsbury — where I received my education — he holds in scant regard.’
Hervey looked back at him. ‘I was at Shrewsbury too, sir.’
‘Indeed?’ said Lucie, agreeably surprised.
‘I left just as the war was taken to the Peninsula.’
‘My time was past somewhat before then. Trafalgar was done in my second year at Cambridge.’
‘And did you know a boy called Henry Locke?’ Lucie recalled at once. ‘Adonis?’
‘Well, yes,’ sighed Hervey, thinking how he might explain the change in his appearance.
‘He was a year or so below me,’ said Lucie, the recollection of him evidently pleasant; ‘but what an athlete! He could throw a ball clear across the river.’
‘Well, sir, he is with me aboard the Nisus. He is commanding officer of her marines.’
Lucie nodded, agreeably again. ‘Then I should very much like to see him.’
Somervile evidently thought it time to make some amends for the impression given of him. ‘Ultimately, Lucie, the only means of judging a school is by its alumni. Captain Hervey, here, is a distinguished enough soldier to attract the attention of a field marshal, so I should suppose him to be a man of sensibility. I have a high regard for men under discipline. I conclude from this additional evidence, therefore, that Shrewsbury school is a diamond of the first water.’
‘Just so,’ agreed Lucie, wishing to move on. ‘You were saying of Warren Hastings?’
‘I was saying that his comprehension will be vindicated, if indeed it has not already been so. To succeed in any measure in India you must treat with the native from a position of close association. Have you heard of Sir Charles Wilkins, Captain Hervey?’
Hervey said he had not.
But Emma Lucie had: ‘The Sanskrit scholar, do you mean, Mr Somervile?’
‘Yes indeed, madam,’ he replied with no especial notice of the singularity of her knowing — nor indeed, of the reason. ‘He was the first Englishman to gain a proper understanding of Sanskrit. He translated the Bhagavhad-gita. Hastings wrote a foreword and in it he said that every instance which brings the real character of the Hindoo home to observation will impress us with a more generous sense of feeling for their natural rights, and teach us to estimate them by the measure of our own. These are wise sentiments: there are too many which contemptuously deny them.’
‘One may be counted too many, Somervile,’ said Lucie promptly, ‘but do you really suppose there are enough to imperil the Company’s situation?’
‘Let me put the question to you, sir,’ he replied. ‘How many in the service of the Company hereabouts make any concession to native custom — beyond smoking a hookah or taking to bed dusky, lower-caste women?’
Lucie blanched and protested.
‘Do not trouble on my account, gentlemen,’ urged Emma; ‘you forget I have been in these parts quite long enough to know the way of things.’
Somervile pressed on, not the least abashed. ‘You, Lucie, are an honourable exception here in Madras, but how many of your fellows have troubled to learn any more of the language of the natives with whom they speak, other than to facilitate satisfaction for whatever are their appetites at that moment?’
Emma Lucie intervened to enquire of Hervey’s culpability in this respect.
‘I have been learning Urdu these past six months, but have not yet had any chance to practise with a native speaker,’ he explained.
‘I am gratified to hear of it, Captain Hervey,’ said Somervile. ‘Urdu is as serviceable a choice to begin with as any.’
‘But you object to the preaching of the gospel, even in that tongue?’
‘I do.’
‘We want no repeat of the Vellore mutiny,’ added Lucie, signalling to his khansamah to have the soup dishes cleared.
‘Mutiny?’ Hervey’s voice carried the chill which the word had brought.
‘Not ten years ago,’ said Lucie, shaking his head as if the memory were personal and vivid. ‘Vellore is about a hundred miles distant, to the west of here, and less than half that distance from the border with Mysore. You must understand that at that time Madras and Mysore were in the midst of a most hostile dispute. The sepoys at Vellore rose during the night and killed very many of the European garrison. They would have prevailed, and thrown in their lot with those devils in Mysore had it not been for the address shown by Colonel Gillespie.’
Hervey was at once roused by the image of this gallant officer. Might he know more?
‘Indeed you might, Hervey; and right pleased you should be of it, for Gillespie was a cavalryman — though I cannot recall which regiment exactly—’
‘You should, Lucie, for it was the first King’s regiment of cavalry in the Company’s service,’ said the collector archly, surprised that a Madras writer should not know his history more perfectly. ‘The Nineteenth, Captain Hervey — light dragoons.’
‘Ah,’ said Hervey, mindful of the Nineteenth’s reputation, ‘the victors of Assaye — the battle which the Duke of Wellington counts higher than Waterloo in his estimation.’
‘Just so,’ replied the collector approvingly.
‘Well,’ coughed Lucie, taking up where he had faltered, ‘Colonel Gillespie’s regiment were about three leagues away at Arcot. Word was got to him and he set off at once with a portion of dragoons and a couple of galloper guns. With a determined assault he was able to overcome in excess of fifteen hundred mutineers. The bravest man in India, he was called.’
‘And he died but a year ago,’ said the collector, ‘a major general — sword in hand fighting the Nepalis. A fine soldier and an equally fine gentleman. But this is to stray from the material point, Lucie: we were discussing the cause of the mutiny.’
‘Indeed we were. Well, Hervey, the cause, lying in a nutshell, the ostensible cause, was the activities of missionaries.’
‘Did you know the Abbé Dubois, sir?’ asked Hervey, the abbé’s book having lain open in his cabin for much of his voyage. ‘He was a missioner was he not? I have been reading his study of the Hindoos and their customs. It seems to me an admirable work.’
‘I knew him imperfectly: I met him but a half-dozen times — to converse with him on his perceptions of the country. I do not include him in my general censure. In any case, the French here had a rather different intention.’
‘So you will be acquainted with his book?’
‘Indeed I am. I first read it at Cambridge. Lucie, you must surely have a copy?’ he said, in a manner implying a request.
‘Why, yes — but in translation only, if such you do not disdain!’ he replied, already on his feet at the collector’s challenge, searching the shelves which ran the whole length of one wall. ‘I saw it only a day or so ago… Yes, here!’ He pulled out a handsome leather-bound volume and presented it to the collector.
&nb
sp; ‘Then I shall now quote to you from it,’ he said, leafing through as if he knew it well. ‘This is a most telling passage: “I venture to predict that Britain will attempt in vain to effect any very considerable changes in the social condition of the people of India, whose character, principles, customs, and ineradicable conservatism will always present insurmountable obstacles.” How say you to that?’
‘Just so,’ agreed Lucie.
‘A counsel of some despair, however,’ sighed Emma Lucie, ‘for India had the Word of Our Lord before our own lands. The apostle Thomas brought the gospel to these shores.’
‘Madam,’ began the collector, leaning forward with a look of keen anticipation, ‘I should like very much to speak with you at greater length on these matters, but a question of Captain Hervey has just this minute occurred to me, and which I should wish to put instead at this time.’
She nodded obligingly, while Hervey braced himself for what he sensed was a question that would test his guard.
‘Urdu, Captain Hervey, was the language of the Mughal court and is the language of those parts where the heirs of Babur still rule. Yet these parts are largely to the west and north, and you are — you say — making for Calcutta?’
‘That is correct,’ replied Hervey without difficulty; ‘propriety demands that I first present myself to the commander-in-chief at Fort William. But I understand that the finest exponents of the lance are to be found, however, in Haidarabad, where I believe my Urdu would be most apt.’
‘Haidarabad?’ said Lucie, in a tone implying that this was somehow to be deprecated.
Hervey was put on alert. ‘It was the duke’s remembrance thus, sir. It is of no necessity that I go to Haidarabad if there be some difficulty, and if there are other apt exponents of the weapon. No doubt the commander-in-chief will direct me appropriately.’
Lucie clearly wished the condition of Haidarabad had not been broached, and his discomfort was now compounded by Somervile’s blithe indifference to his sensibilities in this respect. ‘There is some uncertainty in our relations with the nizam at present, is there not, Lucie?’ he called from the other end of the table.
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