Alter Fritz and his rissalah advanced in two ranks at the trot. The lance pennants, though there was no breeze, fluttered with the forward movement — a pretty sight, thought Hervey, and unusual for its not facing him. He watched through his telescope as they proceeded with admirable steadiness towards the Pindaree lines, Alter Fritz sitting erect in the saddle, as proud, no doubt, as when he had first been a trooper on parade for Duke Charles Eugene. When the rissalah was half-way to the lines, there was a long, rolling eruption of flame, smoke and then noise from the nizam’s guns. The range was extreme, yet Hervey held his breath as the rounds arched lazily towards the lancers in a graceful parabola: he could see each one of them quite clearly. All fell short of the rissalah by a furlong at least, one ball bouncing into the river, sending up a fountain of water and steam, followed by another and then another. Two balls bounced straight at the lancers, but with each bounce their velocity was diminished, and the ranks opened to allow them to pass through harmlessly. The three remaining shot were what interested Hervey most, for they were so wide of their mark (fired, he supposed, by the guns on the Pindarees’ left) that he knew their traverse must indeed be severely limited, with only the narrowest of arcs. Though the battery was able to sweep the whole of the kadir, and very effectively out to a quarter of a league, they were not able, it seemed, to concentrate on one target. It was exactly as he hoped. And then, a minute later, Alter Fritz having most daringly advanced a further hundred yards, the second salvo was fired (equally without damage) and Hervey realized the full import of the limited traverses: at half the distance between the cannons’ first graze and the muzzles themselves there would be a significant extent of frontage which the guns could not cover at all. He had never been especially good at geometry — and he would have wished now for paper and protractor — but, by his rapid calculation, at that distance half, indeed, of the front would be uncovered.
Now here was an opening. Between salvoes he could take the whole of the cavalry in a gallop from as close as where Alter Fritz and his rissalah stood presently in safety, and in the time before the gunners could fire another round they could be through the belt entirely swept by fire (he supposed the enemy must have explosive shells as well as roundshot) and into that where the arcs could not interlock. From then on the odds would change in their favour until, in the final furlong or so, the guns would scarcely be able to bear on more than a fraction of his front.
A frontal assault on any guns was, however, a calculated gamble, for there were bound to be casualties, especially close in when they began firing canister. It was, therefore, merely attrition — and a cynical attrition at that. Any cavalryman felt a deep repugnance towards confronting guns with nothing but the breasts of horses and brave men. And Hervey not least: he could not throw away the lives of any of his command in so premeditated a fashion. But the effort in this appreciation might not be wasted yet, for he saw clearly now that to disrupt the fire of the two guns on the Pindarees’ right was to open up an approach by which he could, perhaps, turn their flank.
Alter Fritz and his rissalah were doing sterling work drawing the guns’ fire — and, thereby, the Pindarees’ attention — to the right flank. The old quartermaster judged it prudent to advance no further except to send forward an open line of mounted skirmishers to try to draw the fire of the Pindaree cavalry mustered in a dense mass before the guns — by Hervey’s estimation, perhaps a thousand or more. And his stratagem was working, for all attention seemed fixed on the river flank. A calm settled once more on the kadir, as the gunners perceived their powder to be wasted at that extreme range, and all of Hervey’s force stood motionless in place. All, that is, but the two companies making their way on the left — still undetected — along the forest’s edge, and the mounted skirmishers advancing with deliberate slowness on the right.
It was now becoming uncomfortably hot: not yet the heat that seized the whole of the body in a vice, but fierce nevertheless, and salty beads of sweat were making their way down the back of Hervey’s neck. He took off his shako and wiped his forehead with his sleeve, and rubbed dry the leather cap-band. He envied the sepoys at the forest edge who, though their brisk step would not have been without effort, at least had some shade. He replaced his shako, adjusted the neckflap, though the sun would not bear directly on it for several hours yet, and took a long drink from his water bottle. He had been worried about water. He had been worried that the Pindarees might have poisoned the wells near where they supposed he would make camp. He had been relieved, therefore, to see villagers using them as they approached, and Alter Fritz, whose proud boast was never to have had a moment’s gripe since coming to Chintalpore, had pronounced the water sweet. But how he wished for Private Johnson’s chirrupy humour at this moment — that and the brew of tea he would have had at daybreak, and no doubt another canteen for him now. In Johnson’s mind a brew of tea was a kind of military elixir during whose making and drinking all priorities were resolved and all possibilities became apparent.
But with thoughts of Johnson came thoughts of Jessye, and a moisture about the eyes that was not the fault of the heat. He had always known that Jessye must one day succumb to… any number of things. Such was their precarious profession. But he had always promised her that the final blow would, if need be, come from him, and that she should pass peacefully with him by her side. And this promise he had not kept. Had he truly believed him when the subedar said she felt no pain lying there full of the snake’s poison? That letting her slip away with the sun on her back, rather than with the crack of a pistol in her ear, was a truer kindness? Or had he simply not the courage to see the oldest friend he had in the service lifeless at his feet? It was a cruel and ignoble end for her, and he had not been there at the final moment. Yes, Johnson had been with her, the man who loved her almost as much as he did. But Johnson had not seen her slip wondrously in that soapy membrane from between the haunches of her dam ten years or so before, nor watched her instinctive struggling for her mother’s milk only minutes later, nor her clambering to her feet and her first, tentative steps not long afterwards. These were what bound a man more closely to his horse than anything might — even if the man might find admitting it beyond him.
For the first time since coming to India he felt alone, though the rajah was close beside him. Every time he had awaited battle he had been surrounded by faces he knew and voices he recognized, and they had talked incessantly. There was always something to talk about: if it was not the battle to come it was the battle that had been. And then there was the encouragement of juniors by seniors, and the reassurance by return. But he did not know these native officers, and the impassivity of the sepoys and sowars unnerved him somewhat. He thought of riding up and down the ranks to hail them with an appropriate word, but his grasp of Urdu was still precarious, and he had none of Telugu, so the enterprise might be worse than unproductive.
Suddenly they were all attention to the right flank, where Alter Fritz’s skirmishers had opened a brisk, if scarcely effective, fire on the Pindaree cavalry.
‘What do they do there?’ asked the rajah, a little shakily.
Hervey reassured him. But contrary to everything he had expected — or, indeed, could have hoped — half the Pindaree host now surged forward in a trot towards the skirmishers.
The rajah became anxious. ‘They come upon us!’ he called.
‘No, sir, I believe they mean only to overawe the rissalah. Your cavalry’ (he was most particular in his choice of adjective) ‘do great service there, drawing the enemy’s attention. See over on the left how your sepoys make progress towards the guns unnoticed.’
The rajah was further reassured.
But Hervey was surprised when he saw that the sowar-skirmishers did not turn about to rejoin the rissalah, but stood their ground and fired further volleys at close range — this time with lethal effect. It was, he told the rajah, as steady a conduct by cavalry as he had seen. And then, when another few seconds’ delay would have seen them overrun,
they turned for safety and galloped back to where Alter Fritz and the rest of his men stood.
Again, he expected that the Pindarees would not press their advance — certainly not beyond supporting range of the guns. But they did — perhaps five hundred of them. What, indeed, could they fear? Alter Fritz’s one hundred could not withstand them, for sure. Would he charge them, as was the practice? The seconds passed, the rajah growing more anxious with each (and, indeed, Hervey too — though not as conspicuously). Another ten might spell disaster. Then Alter Fritz’s front rank fired their carbines, turned about and retired at a steady trot, leaving the second rank to send their volley into the mass of horsemen. The effect was not, perhaps, as devastating as the smoke and noise portended, but a good many men and horses were tumbled nevertheless.
Still the Pindarees did not check. If anything they increased their pace. The rissalah was now in a gallop — and in the highly irregular order of two columns. Hervey was full of admiration for their drill, if perplexed by the formation. Until, that is, he saw that the columns were making for the two clear paths through the fougasses. ‘Great heavens!’ he exclaimed, alarming the rajah even more.
‘What is it, Captain Hervey?’
‘Your Highness, you will see in a short while. I believe that the Pindarees are about to receive a very great shock. They are about to have a taste of what is sometimes known as — if you will excuse my saying so — “poor man’s artillery”!’
The rissalah columns wheeled left and right into line, fronting fifty yards to the rear of the fougasses, the galloper guns unhitching and making ready before even the last of the lancers had taken post. Alter Fritz galloped along the line shouting orders to the NCOs who had been lying concealed with their slow matches at the end of each powder trail. Before he reached the flank they fired the first of the fougasses, followed immediately by another, and then more. The ground heaved, great fountains of earth spouted high, and those rocks which had not been projected forward rained down on the Pindaree rear ranks. Horses and men tumbled in their dozens as shot, nails and pebbles swept like a scythe into the packed lines. Hervey counted fourteen or fifteen explosions. No more than five or six must have misfired — not a bad rate of success.
The rajah was at first speechless. And then overjoyed. And then sickened.
But Hervey scarcely heard him, intent as he was on observing what the Pindarees would do next, for they still had more horsemen than stood with Alter Fritz. However, the old Württemberger was even wilier than he had supposed. The Pindaree host had been checked: it stood motionless in a sort of collective contemplation. All it would take was resolute action by their commander to renew the attack, but doubt was evidently creeping into their minds. This was the time that Alter Fritz chose to make up their minds for them. He fired two more of the fougasses, and then another two, and then the galloper guns opened up with explosive shell. His trumpeter sounded the advance, and the rissalah lowered its line of lances and began to march forward.
It was enough. The front ranks of the Pindarees turned. But their way back was blocked by the rear ranks, who were thrown into confusion by the retrograde movement. There was panic, suddenly, and many of the horsemen turned to the river for escape, followed by many more in the rear who must instinctively have believed that water rather than their own lines would be their salvation. Alter Fritz put his left wing into a canter to envelop their right. When they saw what was to come, all order among the Pindarees disintegrated and there was a headlong dash for the river.
The rajah, roused from his sombre thoughts, grabbed Hervey by the arm. ‘Why do you not send the rest of my lancers to assist their comrades? We can surely finish those devils in the river?’
Nothing would have given Hervey greater pleasure — or, at least, satisfaction. It was just what a cavalryman should do, for this was the moment when, if he threw in even half his remaining rissalah, the Pindarees who had advanced would be destroyed to a man. ‘Your Highness, my object must remain the guns: it is not necessary that we finish those at the river. And there is, I must point out, at least their number again still at the redoubts. If they were to attack then we should be deuced hard-pressed to withstand them.’
The rajah sighed. ‘Captain Hervey, forgive me for seeming to doubt you. What now is your intention?’
Hervey took in the whole of the kadir at a glance. It was not difficult to do so, for the attention of the enemy seemed entirely focused on the slaughter at the river, the nizam’s guns keeping up a furious but ineffective fire, shot falling wide or well short of the press of horsemen. The rajah’s sowars had slung their lances to set about the fleeing Pindarees with their tulwars, and still those Pindarees by the guns made no move to their comrades’ relief. Perhaps they were wise not to do so, thought Hervey, as those at Waterloo who had gone to the aid of the Heavies — himself included — might have been wiser to stand their ground. But it was alien to every instinct of a soldier to stand by while a comrade was in trouble. If only the sepoys on the left were closer to the Pindaree lines: now would be the perfect opportunity to take the remaining rissalah to the enfilade. ‘Your Highness, I had wished that we might tempt the rest of the Pindaree cavalry to advance, to tie them to a fight on our right so that — as I earlier explained — we might then advance to the guns on the other flank. But they will not be tempted. Though I hope that is more by lack of courage than judgement.’
‘And so, Captain Hervey?’
‘And so, sir, I must chance to gallop for the flank and hope that your sepoys are able to come to our relief before too long!’
The rajah looked alarmed.
‘Do not concern yourself, sir. I cannot suppose that the enemy has much appetite left after seeing what has just befallen those at the river. And they are not to know that we have expended all our fougasses. Nor, I suspect, do they truly know what they are.’
But Hervey had judged it wrong. He galloped the halfrissalah and his two guns (he would have taken the other half had he not needed to leave it as the rajah’s lifeguard) along the edge of the jungle without hindrance from either cannon or horsemen, and they were even able to dismount and take cover just inside the forest not fifty yards from the nearest redoubt. But two things stood against him then. First, the side of the redoubt was protected, contrary to what the hijdas believed (though he could see now that the sides of the others were not). They would not be able to enfilade it to any effect, for his galloper guns would make little impression on the revetted walls. Second, and more pressing, the Pindarees made immediately to counterattack. This move was halted by brisk flanking fire from the sepoy companies who had begun doubling forward as soon as Hervey had overtaken them — but not before Cornet Templer had been hit twice in the legs by musketry. He made not a sound as he fell, and would have lain there as if in cover had not one of the sowars seen him hit. Hervey crawled back to him and managed, with the sowar’s help, to staunch the bleeding. But the cornet was no longer for the fight — despite his pleading to be left to work his carbine — and Hervey called to two others to drag him back into the shade of the forest.
There was now, therefore, impasse — a bristling triangle, no side of which could move without drawing withering fire from another. Hervey knew that the initiative was not his, however, for the Pindarees could — if they were both resolute and skilful — outflank his two sides of the triangle, though he was not strong enough to do so with theirs. Now, perhaps, was his aptness for command to be most truly tested. He had already first unnerved and then impressed the rajah by his bold insistence on not throwing all his men into the fight against the Pindarees at the river. Now he would retain the same single-mindedness in pursuing his objective. He would not try to fight the Pindarees pressing upon him: he would strike at the guns.
It was as well that he did not attempt to explain his plan, for it was essentially inexplicable. He threw off his shako, threw down his pistols, gave his carbine and cartridges to the sowar who stood temporarily in Johnson’s place, and ran forwar
d with no encumbrance but his sabre in one hand and a length of tethering rope in the other. A furious musketry opened again from the Pindarees, but, being aimed shots, they were all wide of their fast-sprinting mark — and indeed of the sowar who, without bidding, ran at his side. They threw themselves to the ground at the foot of the redoubt. It was so much bigger now they were close — half the size of a windmill, and much the same shape. Hervey expected at any minute that fire would come at them from above. But they were unseen by the gunners. The cannon overhead — a good ten feet above where he crouched — was silent, though run out and therefore, he supposed, shotted. The instant it fired, the recoil would take it back inside the embrasure, and he thus risked all even if he were able to do what was in his mind. But had he any option now?
The gun projected as proudly as if it had been one of Nisus’s main battery. Hervey made a running loop of the rope and stood to cast it over the barrel. His first attempt failed, and he froze for several seconds, expecting it to have been seen. He cast again. This time the rope looped the muzzle and he pulled the end tight closed. He waited a few seconds — again, noone had seen — then began to pull himself up, his feet scrambling for footholds on the rough face of the revetments. How many gunners did he expect to find inside? Better not to think. Even his rifled carbine would have been too slow. The sabre hanging from his wrist by its sling was his only chance. He swung his leg over the barrel and pulled himself upright, straining every muscle to do so, expecting the gun to explode at any moment or a pistol or musket to fire point-blank. And then he was through the embrasure and in among the gunners like a terrier among rats — except that these rats did not fight.
They squealed, though. Squealed and squealed and squealed as the sabre slashed and cut and thrust — without anything stronger than a raised arm to parry it. Two gunners escaped its work by diving headlong from the redoubt, but five more soon lay still or dying at Hervey’s feet. He rushed to the embrasure to call for support, and at that instant a huge roundshot crashed into the redoubt furthest from him. He saw it strike — carrying away the earthwork and dismounting the gun. He saw a second, ploughing into the debris wrought by the first, sending earth and brickwork skywards. He was dumbstruck. What? Where? How? He peered out further, towards the Godavari whence only the fire could have come… and there were the ensigns, unmistakable! And then another ‘broadside’ of such regularity that before it could strike, the nizam’s gunners were pouring from the redoubts like rats fleeing before a flood. ‘Great God!’ he gasped. ‘A fathom of water! A fathom of water and there’ll you’ll find them!’
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