Nizams Daughters mh-2

by Allan Mallinson

‘Me? Ay, I’m content enough.’

  Hervey knew this to be an expression of considerable satisfaction. ‘You are not overly vexed that we might have been killed at Jhansikote?’ he smiled.

  ‘If it’s all right by thee…’ was all that came by reply.

  ‘Johnson, do you ever think that it might be more prudent to follow some other line, perhaps a—’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So you are not illdisposed to the country?’ he pressed.

  Johnson would have sighed had even he not thought it disrespectful. ‘Captain ’Ervey, sir, I’ve ’ad more square meals ’ere than I can remember, and they cost next to nowt. Why is tha concerned abaht me all of a sudden?’

  Now it was Hervey’s turn to feel offended. ‘I have never knowingly been unconcerned! It’s just that you’re far from home, and there’s no knowing when you’ll see it again.’

  ‘Captain ’Ervey, ’ow many times ’ave I told thee I don’t ’ave a ’ome as I calls one!’

  ‘No, forgive me. Perhaps what I meant is being among your own people — being with the regiment, even.’

  ‘Ah well, that’s another matter, but there’s nowt I can do about it so… an’ I tell thee, I’ve never eaten as well as ’ere.’

  Hervey smiled again. For an enlisted man food was usually the criterion. ‘And I have observed that you are popular with the rajah’s establishment.’

  ‘If tha means that lass whose father’s one of t’rajah’s fart-catchers — ay.’

  Hervey was now smiling broadly.

  ‘They must ’ave seen Englishmen afore, since they know a few words. But I can’t make ’em understand much.’

  Hervey shook his head, still smiling. ‘Private Johnson, I am of the opinion that you lay on your diabolical Yorkshire speech deliberately to confuse!’

  ‘It doesn’t take much to confuse some officers!’

  Hervey laughed outright. ‘And how much of this lady do you see?’

  ‘Tha means ’ow often?’ he replied, with a wry smile.

  ‘Johnson!’

  ‘I eat with ’em most nights.’

  ‘And native fare is to your liking?’

  ‘I ’ad the shits all last week, but it weren’t so bad.’

  ‘There’s good food enough,’ Hervey conceded, ‘though I confess to a pining for beef!’

  ‘An’ the women is friendly. Even Mr Locke seems to ’ave ’is feet under t’table with one of them naught girls.’

  ‘Nautch girls, Johnson, nautch: there is nothing naught about them. They’re respectable dancers. Their dance is a very ancient one.’

  ‘Oh ay, sir?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I bet Miss Lindsay wouldn’t approve.’

  Hervey felt chastened, even though he did not fancy it true.

  ‘I reckon one of them girls would do Mr Selden a power of good, though,’ he added mischievously.

  ‘Now that’s enough! There’s to be no talk of those matters concerning Mr Selden — anywhere.’

  ‘Well, my lass’s family seem to know about it.’

  ‘I thought you said they couldn’t understand English?’

  ‘We get along with signs and things,’ said Johnson, matter-of-fact.

  Hervey was at once diverted by the picture of their signing Selden’s predilections. ‘What Mr Selden needs more than anything is a good physician. The fever has laid him low again; he could barely raise his head this morning.’

  ‘Well, there’s a lot of talk about ’im ’n them eunuchs. My lass’s folk reckon there’s somethin gooin’ on — fiddles ’n the like.’

  Having become tired with the struggle to keep in a walk, Hervey decided they should trot slowly, even though both mares were in a lather. After a minute or so they were settled to a good rhythm, and Johnson felt ready to resume their conversation. ‘’As anybody found out yet about that ’Indoo as was fished out of t’water?’

  ‘No, not a thing,’ replied Hervey. ‘He was the rajah’s dewan, one of his ministers, that’s all I know.’

  ‘My lass’s folk say that ’e must ’ave been on the take with them that was fleecing t’sepoys.’

  ‘Yes, I had heard something of that too. But it’s all speculation. The rajah is loath to speak of it.’

  ‘What about Mr Selden: doesn’t ’e know owt? Isn’t ’e supposed to know everything that’s gooin’ on?’

  ‘I’ve not had much opportunity to speak with him on the matter. It’s not our concern, in any case. I want to move on to Haidarabad as soon as we can. There’s a lot about this place that I wouldn’t wish to know.’

  ‘’As tha got them papers yet for t’duke, sir?’

  ‘No, not yet. I had hoped by the end of the week, but since Mr Selden is bedded down I fear it will be longer. And those papers, frankly, are part of what I mean by not wanting to know certain things.’

  Johnson said nothing, leaving Hervey to his thoughts. Not wanting to know was perhaps the best policy — for both of them. Little was as it appeared. The tryst at the pagoda, for instance: what did that portend? And did Selden know everything? Was it likely that he did, a horse surgeon periodically racked by fever? Selden himself protested he did not, but…

  They rode up to a bluff overlooking the approaches to the palace. Hervey liked to dismount here to take in the view. The horses were glad of the rest, too, picking at the dhak for a stem or two that was worth the effort of pulling, while their riders sat on the ground holding the reins — not, however, before Johnson had thrashed about the ground with his whip, as if he were flaying corn.

  ‘Johnson, I don’t think it’s absolutely necessary to pound with quite so much vigour. The thud of the hooves will have been enough to drive anything away.’

  ‘Tha mustn’t ’ave been close to a snake ’ere yet then. I don’t want one within a ’undred yards of me!’

  Hervey blanched at the recollection of the hamadryads. ‘Let us not talk about snakes.’

  ‘They give me the cold creeps just thinking about ’em.’

  ‘Enough!’

  They sat a full quarter of an hour without a word, taking in the distant views, the horses as content. At length Johnson voiced his thoughts. ‘Can we talk about what we’re gooin’ to do next, sir? It’s not for me to say owt, but…’

  Hervey sighed. ‘I’m glad you do say something. I’m glad to have someone who I might speak freely to, for I can’t with any other.’

  ‘Not with Mr Locke?’

  ‘Oh, indeed: I should be very happy to share everything with Mr Locke, but I am bound to secrecy in this matter, and I have already had to tell you and the frigate’s captain.’

  ‘But you could trust Mr Locke. You saw how he fought at them barracks!’

  Hervey agreed that there was no-one better to have in a fight: ‘But he drinks so much at times — I could not wholly trust his discretion.’

  ‘You might booze it, too, if you ’ad ‘is looks.’

  ‘I’m not making any judgement, Johnson; I am merely observing on his reliability.’

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ shouted his groom suddenly, springing to his feet and drawing his sabre. He sliced powerfully in one motion straight from the draw to the ground a few yards ahead.

  Hervey was up a fraction of a second behind him, catching the Arab’s loose reins. ‘What the devil—’

  ‘Bastard snake! Bastard, bastard cobra creeping up on us! It could’ve ’ad us both!’

  The headless reptile writhed in the short scrub. Johnson sliced it into a further three parts for good measure. ‘They can grow new ’eads, tha knows! Bastard cobras!’

  Hervey was not inclined to question him on the regenerative properties of Indian snakes, but he looked as close as he dared — which was not very — before coming to the conclusion that they had been in no real danger. ‘Not a cobra but a rat snake.’

  ‘Is tha sure?’

  ‘Moderately. Mr Somervile told me of the difference.’

  ‘It sounds just as evil as a cobra. Why’s it called a rat sn
ake?’

  ‘Because they eat rats?’

  ‘Is tha tellin’ me them’s not poisonous?’

  ‘That is what I understand; but believe me, Johnson, I would have done the same — only I fancy I would not have been so quick!’

  The bluff had lost something of its charm to them, so they gathered up the reins. But as they turned for home Hervey’s eye was caught by activity below, on the approaches to the palace.

  ‘Looks like somebody important,’ suggested Johnson.

  Hervey got into the saddle and took out his telescope: ‘Twenty, I can see. Half a dozen civilians with white faces. And the uniforms behind look the same as those Madras troopers we were with in Guntoor. Now what do you suppose this is about?’

  That evening

  Hervey rode back at no great pace and took his time bedding Jessye down. He saw no necessity to hurry, for he knew his letter could not yet have reached Madras, let alone elicited a response in the form of a visitation, and so he supposed that here was some initiative by the Company or even by the rajah himself. In either case he wished to be at arm’s length from the proceedings. But how fortunate, he reflected, that he was able to address such a missive to someone with whom there was mutual confidence. Indeed, he owed much, did he not, to that felicitous meeting with Philip Lucie on the Madras foreshore, for, fever apart, he was close to securing the registry documents and he would soon begin making his journey west to see the nizam’s forces. And it was perhaps as well that the nizam had cancelled his visit to Chintal, since he would now be able to observe him first on his own ground — perhaps a fairer gauge.

  He went to his apartments, bathed and made ready for dinner with the rajah, to which he and Emma Lucie were invited alone. The rajah had of late become absorbed in a study of the Pentateuch, and Emma Lucie, he supposed, would be well versed in those books. Since the tryst at the pagoda Hervey had observed the rajah’s manner become strange. Indeed, it seemed singularly ill-matched to the hour. Before, he had spoken frequently of the nizam’s daughters; now they appeared to occupy him not in the least. Hervey wondered if money had changed hands at the pagoda, whether the shrivelled figure were an agent of the nizam’s, or a spy of the rajah’s.

  Before the appointed time for dinner, however, he was summoned to the rajah’s apartments, where he found the principal members of the party observed from the bluff — the Collector of Guntoor and Cornet Templer. ‘You are acquainted with one another, I understand,’ said the rajah.

  All made bows and the usual gestures of greeting. The collector looked pulled-down by the journey, his thinning hair glistening with little beads of perspiration. Cornet Templer, on the contrary, looked enlivened by it, his eager features incapable of concealing his delight at being there.

  The rajah resumed. ‘Well, Captain Hervey, it very much seems that we are in peril both where the sun rises and where it sets. The nizam, I learn, is intent on striking in the west, and — from the intelligence which these envoys of the Honourable Company bring — the Pindarees are set to ravage the east of Chintal.’

  But the collector looked puzzled by this appreciation. ‘Your Highness, I brought intelligence of the Pindarees on the lower Godavari: why do you say the nizam is intent on striking Chintal? Are you not aware of the Pindaree depredations in his own domain?’

  The rajah was not. The rajah knew only of the guns, about which, he revealed, he received daily reports, telling of their seemingly aimless movement about his border with Haidarabad.

  The collector said he must explain the situation with the Pindarees at some length, and the rajah bade all sit, ordering his khitmagars to bring refreshment.

  ‘Your Highness,’ began Somervile, measuring his words carefully so that none of their import might be lost. ‘Last October a body of — by some estimates — ten thousand Pindarees crossed the Nerbudda and swept through the nizam’s provinces as far as the Kistna.’

  ‘That I knew. And not even the Company’s subsidiary force in Haidarabad could do anything to prevent this,’ said the rajah accusingly.

  ‘I regret not, sir.’ Somervile cleared his throat and moved quickly on. ‘The Pindarees then returned to their stronghold in the wilderness between the Nerbudda and the Vinhya Hills with so much plunder that merchants came from far and wide to purchase it. And, with such demonstrable success, they were able to attract even greater numbers to their ranks. In February, therefore, a force three times as big as that which had ravaged Haidarabad crossed the Nerbudda again, but this time their object was the Company’s domain — the Northern Circars. They marched through Nagpore without, it seems, the rajah of that state raising a single musket to oppose them, poured into the Circars and sacked the civil station at Guntoor — not many days after you had left, Captain Hervey.’

  ‘I have only recently heard of it, Your Highness,’ said Hervey, turning to the rajah. ‘The destruction of life and property was very great, I understand.’

  The collector confirmed it. ‘Over three hundred villages were plundered, many torched and razed to the ground. Two hundred persons put to death and three times as many grievously wounded. Thousands more — men and women — subjected to the vilest torture and defilement. Twenty-five lakhs of rupees — more than £300,000 — is my estimate of the loss of property alone.’

  The rajah sighed wearily. ‘I am troubled to learn that my fellow prince Raghujee Bhonsla should have connived at such outrages by letting through these marauders without hindrance.’

  ‘It is now of no moment, Your Highness,’ said the collector, ‘for the Rajah of Nagpore died one week ago.’

  The rajah looked alarmed: ‘Raghujee Bhonsla is dead? I am very sad for it, but I am even more fearful, for Persajee — his son — is blind, palsied. He must not be rajah of so powerful a state as Nagpore!’

  The collector remained wholly composed. ‘You need have no worry on that account, Your Highness. The rajah’s nephew Modajee — Appa Sahib — is, with the help of the Company, to be acknowledged as regent. We expect to conclude a treaty of alliance soon.’

  ‘Consider, father: a subsidiary force and a resident in Nagpore!’ said the raj kumari in a tone of disapproval.

  Hervey had not noticed her beside the window, behind him.

  The collector sought to reassure her. ‘Your Highness,’ he tried, ‘surely it would be best to have a reliable neighbour, as would be guaranteed by the Company? The Rajah of Nagpore will be forbidden to make any alliances except with the approval of the Governor-General and his council, and it is an express condition of the treaty that Nagpore should never initiate hostilities against allies of the British. He could therefore be of no threat to Chintal.’

  ‘But there is just such a treaty with the nizam,’ she countered. ‘There has been a British resident in Haidarabad these many years, and it has not made our position more assured.’

  The collector was now seeing where the chief obstacle to his embassy lay. ‘You are right, madam, to say that Haidarabad has not been without tumult. But there has been no eruption of warfare outside that kingdom’s borders.’

  ‘That is as maybe,’ sneered the raj kumari, ‘but Haidarabad has used every subterfuge to gain an equal result. The nizam’s sons now throw the court into confusion while the resident is bribed into inaction!’

  The collector bridled inwardly at the slur (though he would have admitted, privately, that there was truth in it), but forbore to show offence. Instead he tried to deflect the guilt. ‘Madam, I own that the Governor-General would at present share your poor opinion of Moneer-ool-moolk, but—’

  She would hear none of it, however. ‘Sir, do you suppose we have no knowledge of affairs in Haidarabad? I speak not of the nizam himself, but of his vizier Chundoo Lall. He is the scourge of the nizam’s kingdom. He, a fellow Hindoo, imposes his dastak on Chintal by threatening us with the very forces the resident has been so pre-occupied in bringing to such efficiency. And all in exchange for Chundoo Lall’s gaudy bribes — a marble palace and gilded furniture from Lo
ndon, it is said!’

  The collector knew he would have to trim. ‘Madam, I assure you that I am not insensitive to the concerns of Chintal. That, indeed, is why I am come. With the greatest of respect, the danger to Chintal lies first in the Pindarees. The Governor-General — and take note that it is Calcutta now which acts, not merely Madras — the Governor-General hopes very much that the Nagpore subsidiary force which will be embodied once the treaty is signed will be of sufficient strength to deter them. Six, or perhaps seven, thousand will be the number. Colonel Leach, a Company officer of considerable distinction, will be placed in command. Yet more is needed if these brutes are to be prevented from finding booty here.’

  The raj kumari was convinced this was but an incomplete explanation of their mission. ‘And what is your design for us, therefore?’

  ‘Your Highness, Lord Moira would welcome the assignment of the forces of Chintal to these efforts to keep the Pindarees north of the Nerbudda, or better still, to extirpate the menace once and for all.’

  The rajah bade his daughter keep silent, and conceded there were fewer causes worthy of greater effort than the extirpation of the Pindarees. He thought for a while in silence, and then asked that the collector withdraw so that he might consider it more fully — which the agent of the Company did with all proper ceremony and deference. When he was gone, the rajah turned to Hervey and asked his opinion.

  Hervey agreed wholeheartedly with the Company’s proposal. Indeed, it was the very thing his letter, now en route to Madras, urged. He might wish these overtures had begun in a manner less pressing, for the implication of concerted action from Fort William — from the very place, indeed, where he expected the Duke of Wellington to be installed in but a few months — made him acutely conscious of another factor. He was obliged to consider what might be the duke’s own wishes in the matter, for any alliances would constrain a new governor-general as surely as if they had been concluded by him in person. This much seemed easy, however, for a vigorous policy likely to promote greater peace would be entirely within the duke’s notion of stewardship. But Lord Moira’s intention to take vigorous action was so much at odds with what he had been told in Paris — that it was Moira’s very passivity which was most likely to lead to the duke’s being appointed in his place. ‘Sir,’ he began resolutely, but perplexed, ‘I believe you may be confident of my respect for you and of my affection for Chintal: I would do nothing that would imply otherwise.’