It was a faint hope, a very faint hope; scarcely grand strategy. But Hervey said it with enough resolve for the rajah to be encouraged. ‘I am indeed fortunate to have two matchless rissalahs,’ he agreed. ‘But now, Captain Hervey, let us eat — and perhaps you might begin to elaborate on your plan.’
The sudden commotion outside made the rajah start. Hervey sprang up as, seconds later, the doors flew open and in stumbled a sepoy officer smeared in blood glistening still in its freshness. Hervey lunged towards him but saw at once he could be no threat to the rajah’s safety.
The rajah’s look of anguish turned to utter dismay. ‘Subedar sahib, what has happened?’
Subedar Mhisailkar, a thickset Maratha officer who had served the rajah for thirty years, was crying like a child. ‘Sahib, sahib,’ he wailed, ‘the sepoys are killing their officers!’
His Urdu was garbled but plain enough. The rajah was unable to speak. ‘Call the jemadar,’ Hervey shouted to a bearer ‘—and Locke-sahib and Seldensahib!’
The rajah, recovering somewhat, sent for his physician and sat the old soldier down on cushions, bringing him lime-water and dabbing at the blood about his eyes with a silk square. ‘My old friend,’ he cried, ‘how could my sepoys do this to you, of all people?’
Hervey’s admiration was now as great as his pity, for here was no native despot of popular imagination, no brutal prince who would bait tigers with village boys. Whatever had brought the sepoys at Jhansikote to this, it could not have been the rajah’s tyranny.
The jemadar of the guard came running. He looked frightened. And then Selden, and Henry Locke.
‘Remember what they say,’ warned Locke; ‘the first news of battle is brought by him that runs away the soonest.’
Hervey nodded. ‘Yet I’m not inclined to believe it so in this case.’
Little by little, with many questions and diversions into Marathi, they were able to gain a picture of what had passed at the cantonments. Soon after dark, it seemed, the sepoys, led by some of their native officers, had broken into the armoury and the quarters of Colonel Cadorna and the battalion commanders, who, with their families, were the only white faces in the absence of the cavalry. All were now dead, said the subedar: wives, children, servants — everyone.
‘They waited for the rissalahs to leave,’ said the rajah, shaking his head.
‘How long will it take for them to return?’ asked Hervey.
The rajah smiled ironically. ‘They are beyond the Godavari. It would take two days to get them back this side. These sepoy leaders have been clever. I see the hand of the nizam in this — or of his sons.’
One of the rajah’s physicians had begun to examine the subedar’s wounds, and the rajah himself made to assist despite the entreaties from both.
Selden took Hervey to one side. ‘You must leave here at once.’
Hervey was taken aback by his insistence. ‘Don’t talk so: how can I walk away at this moment? In any case, you’re assuming the worst.’
‘There’s nothing else to assume!’
‘And you would leave, too?’
‘Hervey, I have never had what would pass in the Sixth for courage; but there comes a time—’
‘And this same time is the time for me to walk Spanish?’
‘Matthew Hervey, you have duties elsewhere but to the rajah.’
He thought for a moment — not long. A look came to his eyes which Selden had not seen before: a cold, mercenary look, a grim smile almost. ‘I shall stay. The rajah has no-one else—’
‘That’s all very noble but—’
‘Not noble,’ said Hervey, his brow furrowing, ‘not at all noble.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The price is those jagirs.’
‘For heaven’s sake, man! You would throw your own life away to pull the duke’s fat out of the fire?’
Hervey frowned again. ‘I don’t have any option. I’ve hazarded my mission by going against orders.’
Selden simply stared at him.
‘There’s only one means of redemption in the military,’ he smiled ruefully. ‘I want that page from the land registry.’
The raj kumari came, her face as angry as the jemadar’s had been afraid. ‘Father, have the rissalahs been summoned?’
They had not. The rajah looked at Hervey.
He ignored the question. ‘What do you believe the sepoys will do now, Subedar sahib?’ he asked instead, and then repeated himself as best he could in Urdu.
The subedar said they would wait for first light and then march on Chintalpore.
‘And they would be here within three hours,’ said Selden.
Locke was silent; so were the raj kumari and the jemadar.
Hervey looked back at Selden, whose nod sealed the bargain. ‘Then we have until dawn,’ he said gravely.
‘No,’ said Selden, ‘until three hours after dawn — eight o’clock.’
Hervey shook his head emphatically. ‘No: we have only until dawn. If upwards of two thousand sepoys fall upon the palace it will be but a matter of time before it is taken — less time than there is for the rissalahs to return. We have to stop them leaving their cantonments.’
The rajah looked as astonished as Selden. ‘How?’ they asked.
‘I don’t know,’ he replied calmly. ‘I cannot know until I get there. How many sowars do you have, Jemadar sahib?’
The jemadar looked even more worried: ‘Only twenty, sahib!’
Hervey fixed him with a look he hoped would pass for steel. ‘Do not say only twenty: say twenty!’
‘Yes, sahib — twenty, sahib!’
‘And galloper guns?’
‘Yes, sahib — one, sahib!’ The resolution, insane though first it seemed, was growing.
‘Locke — lieutenant of Marines — you are with me?’ said Hervey, turning square to him.
‘Hervey, I shan’t shrink from a fight, but is this one we are meant to be about?’
Locke’s prudence did him credit, Hervey knew full well. If they were elsewhere now but in Chintalpore there would be no question… ‘I could not in honour stand aside. I can say no more.’
A grim smile came over Locke’s face, for it did not augur well for the return of Locke-hall to its rightful owner. But fighting was what he did best above all things. ‘I say “Ay, ay”, then!’
‘Selden — will you stay to guard the rajah with your syces?’
‘What choice do I have, Matthew Hervey?’ The suspicion of a smile crossed his lips too.
‘Sir,’ said Hervey then, turning to the rajah, ‘is there any safer place for you or the raj kumari than here? The forest perhaps?’
The raj kumari answered in his place, a note of defiance in her voice — resentment, even. ‘We shall remain here, Captain ’Ervey. Shiva shall be our guard!’
There was a knock at the open door, an incongruous sound in the turmoil. ‘Captain ’Ervey, sir, is everything all right?’
Now at last Hervey could permit himself a true smile, for Johnson’s blitheness, his imperviousness to all beyond what intruded on the next minute, allowed nothing other.
* * *
When all but he and Selden had left the chamber, the rajah asked if what Hervey proposed had the slightest chance of success. Whether, indeed, it made the least amount of sense.
‘The answer to both, sir,’ sighed Selden, ‘in terms that would be understood by me, or most men for that matter, is no. But, as says the Bible, the battle is not always to the strong. Matthew Hervey is a brave man, believe me.’
The rajah looked thoughtful. ‘Where exactly in the Bible does it say that the battle is not to the strong?’
Selden was abashed. ‘I am very much afraid, sir, that I do not have the slightest idea.’
There was, thankfully, a moon; enough to permit Hervey’s little force to leave Chintalpore along the road to Jhansikote at a brisk trot. Four kos — nearly ten miles: they could be there by midnight. And then what? Three hours or so to think of something.
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At the front of the column rode Hervey and Locke, the jemadar and two sowars riding point half a furlong ahead. Behind Hervey were six paired ranks of lancers, then the galloper gun, and then four more pairs. And at the rear was Johnson, his carbine primed and ready to fire at the slightest sign of riot (Selden had said that the sowars could be trusted, but Johnson was there to reinforce that trust). Hervey was content he could at least rely on his mount, for Jessye had more spring in her trot than he had felt in many weeks. How quickly she had regained her strength — faithful, honest mare! And he had his rifled carbine, the percussion-lock which had saved his life at Waterloo — probably the only one at the battle, and the only one in India, for sure.
They hardly spoke, for Locke had no idea how they might subdue Jhansikote’s sepoys, and Hervey was absorbed in that very question. He could find no practical help in what he had said earlier to the rajah, that nothing could be done without good and early intelligence, and that it was with artillery that war was made. All he had by way of intelligence was that there were two thousand armed, mutinous sepoys readying to march at dawn. As for artillery, his amounted to one galloper gun that could throw a four-pound shot perhaps a thousand yards. Bold action in all circumstances, demanded Peto’s thesis — the moral effect of surprise. Surprise, indeed, was the only thing they might have in this affair.
They made good progress to begin with, but the jemadar warned them that a mile or so before Jhansikote the road narrowed and passed through thick jungle. Here would be a picket, for certain. But the picket evidently was expecting no trouble since a fire gave away both its presence and disposition — fortified as it was by a tree felled across the road. Hervey’s troop stopped well short. Hervey himself dismounted and advanced cautiously until he could hear the fire crackling, peering through the darkness with his telescope — as much an aid at night to seeing near to as it was to seeing distantly by day. He could detect no-one his side of the tree. It was impossible to know how many were on the other, but he didn’t imagine there would be many, since all they would be expected to do was raise the alarm rather than fight any lengthy action. However, they were less than a mile from Jhansikote, and shots would carry that far, even muffled by the forest. He could not risk an assault head-on. Back he stalked to the troop to tell Locke and the jemadar that they would have to approach through the forest and take the picket from a flank with the sword.
The jemadar looked alarmed. ‘Sowars not like go in forest, sahib,’ he stammered.
He knew some English: that much would be useful. Hervey might have owned to a dislike for the forest too, but instead he spoke briskly in Urdu.
‘Sahib!’ snapped the jemadar when he was done, saluting and turning back to look for his dafadar.
‘What did you say to him?’ asked Locke.
‘I told him they would have more to fear from me than the jungle.’
Locke sighed. ‘They’re more likely to die with you, that’s for sure! Shall we go left or right?’
‘It seems the same to me. Shall we toss a rupee for it?’ he replied lightly.
‘For heaven’s sake, man!’
‘Very well. Which side is the moon?’
Locke glanced skywards. ‘The left.’
‘In that case we attack from the right,’ said Hervey.
Locke said nothing for a moment, and then he could conceal his puzzlement no longer. ‘Why then from the right?’
‘Because as Hindoos they will sleep facing the moon, and we shall therefore have the advantage of them.’
Locke could not but admire Hervey’s acquisition of such apt knowledge in the short time they had been in the country. ‘Very well, then,’ he whispered, ‘right it is!’
The jemadar returned with his sowars, leaving but five as horseholders. The dafadar looked a good man, a Rajpoot thought Hervey — the high cheekbones and supreme confidence. Private Johnson came up, but Hervey said he was to stay to keep an eye on the horseholders. Johnson took Jessye from him and started for the rear, for once without protest, though the muttering beneath his breath was all that Hervey needed to be reassured that his groom had not lost any of his former spirit. The remainder drew their sabres silently, and then, in single file, they slipped into the forest.
The moon was still good to them. They were able to see the road — now little more than a track — and keep parallel with it as they edged cautiously through the unearthly darkness, Hervey leading. There was more undergrowth than where he had spent the earlier part of the day, for the road allowed in light, and with that came growth on the forest floor. It was not enough to slow their progress, however. Anxiety to keep silence was what checked them. That and the dread of what lurked in the blackness. He shivered at the thought of the hamadryads.
It took more than a half-hour to cover the three hundred yards to where the tree lay across the road. They had slowed to the snail’s pace as they neared it, for although the fire was an excellent beacon, and they were able to align themselves well, the undergrowth, the dead leaves on the forest floor especially, made for noise. Hervey stopped as he came level with the picket, only twenty yards into the jungle, and motioned half a dozen of the sowars to pass him so that he would be in the centre of the line as they broke from the forest edge. Five more minutes and they were ready. Something rustled on the ground not a yard in front. He froze, expecting any second to feel the creature’s strike, or to hear a sowar shriek — or the picket to sound alarm. But there was nothing. Only the heavy silence of the jungle. He waited a full five minutes more and then motioned the line to advance. His heart pounded so hard he swore he could hear it.
The sepoy sentry at the tree, seeing them rush in, had only a second’s horror before the dafadar’s tulwar cut his head clean from his shoulders. After that it was easy. Simply a business of despatching the remainder in their sleep — eleven in all. Not one let out so much as a cry. It was a brisk, bloody business, over in less than a minute.
As they searched the dead, Hervey looked into the faces of the men who had just slaughtered their fellows. Whatever he saw he could not fathom, but one thing at least — they were more determined faces than before. Even the jemadar looked more resolute. ‘Good work!’ said Hervey. ‘Well done, Jemadar sahib; well done!’
The jemadar’s self-esteem grew visibly. It was good work: swift death to the enemy and no blood of their own shed.
‘More men are flattered into courage than are bullied out of cowardice,’ said Hervey to Locke as they sheathed their swords.
Locke seemed pensive. ‘Hervey, you said they would be sleeping with their faces to the moon. They were sleeping the other way.’
Hervey smiled. ‘I don’t play brag, my dear Locke; perhaps I should! How in heaven’s name was I to know which way they would be sleeping?’ He turned to the jemadar: ‘And now we must get that gun over this tree, Jemadar sahib!’
Locke was still shaking his head even as Hervey gave the orders for the gun-dafadar.
The jemadar assembled his NCOs, and there were words, increasingly heated, none of which Hervey could understand. In their haste to be away, the dafadar had not brought the tools to disassemble the piece and lift it — barrel, trail and wheels.
‘Jesus, nothing’s easy!’ swore Locke. ‘We could build a ramp and then haul it over, I suppose.’
‘It would take too long,’ said Hervey. ‘Jemadar sahib, the dafadar will have to jump with the gun.’
The jemadar relayed the instruction but the dafadar replied with much shaking of the head. ‘He says the horse does not jump, sahib.’
‘Nonsense!’ said Hervey. ‘All horses jump — perfectly naturally!’
‘I do not think the dafadar will be able to do so, sahib,’ he replied sceptically.
Hervey sighed. ‘Very well, let me try.’
Locke voiced his disquiet too, but what was the alternative, said Hervey. ‘We can’t take all night building a ramp. The worst that can happen is that we’ll end up with the horse and gun straddling the tree, an
d then we shall just have to cut it from between the shafts.’ He chose not to speak of the ruinous crash they might have at any point of the leap. ‘There is at least plenty of moon!’
He walked up to the gunhorse defiantly. ‘He pulls to the left always, sahib,’ said the dafadar, helping Hervey to shorten the stirrup leathers when he had mounted.
That was more the pity, thought Hervey, for he would need his right arm to drive the horse at the tree with the flat of his sword. All he could do was put him at his fence with so much speed that he would have no time to think about running out. The animal was a big country-bred; Hervey thought it strange the dafadar had never jumped him. Was it really possible that he could not jump?
‘Does tha want me to give thee a lead, sir?’ chirped Johnson out of the gloom.
That was exactly what Hervey was about to ask the jemadar to do. But Johnson he could wholly rely on. And Jessye — the ‘covert-hack’ so much derided by his fellow officers when he had first joined the Sixth. ‘Take her, then,’ he said. ‘Keep me close up behind, but we’ve got to hit the tree at a pace!’
A minute or so later they were ready, and he signalled the off. Johnson put Jessye into a canter in a few strides and Hervey was surprised by how the gunhorse was able to match her. He didn’t need his sword until they were a dozen strides from the tree, and even then it looked unnecessary, for the gelding was chasing Jessye strongly. The teak barrier was plain to see in the moonlight — that much was a mercy — and Jessye cleared it easily. Hervey gave the gunhorse its head and slapped its quarters with the flat of his sword for all he was worth, feeling the beginning of a pull to the left.
He jumped. He jumped big! Hervey felt the gun lift behind him, praying that the shafts wouldn’t break with the strain. The gunhorse landed square but on its off-fore, throwing Hervey’s balance and almost tipping him out of the saddle. But he recovered just quickly enough to get both legs firm on as the gun bounced hard on the ground, the horse stumbling perilously for several strides, needing every bit of Hervey’s leg to pick him up. It was a full fifty yards before he was able to bring him to the halt.
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