‘Sit down, Hervey,’ said the major, distinctly tired of the business already. ‘You’ll have heard of the events of last night, I take it.’
‘Yes, sir – in short.’
‘In short, eh? I don’t suppose any shorter than the brigadier has heard.’
Hervey looked astonished. ‘The brigadier? How might he have come to hear?’
‘Because the Skinner’s quarter-guard had to come and relieve our own while they cleared the canteen.’
Hervey grimaced. ‘Is the colonel very dismayed?’
‘Not yet. He was at a ball last evening. I don’t expect him back until tomorrow.’
‘What is there to do?’
‘Have you written that letter yet?’
‘I was just about to start it.’
‘Well, this is what you do, Hervey. You write it as if you had offended against Holy Writ. Is that clear?’
‘Perfectly.’
The major took off his spectacles and held them up to the light, before polishing them vigorously with a silk square. ‘Your Irishman will be reduced to the ranks, of course. Collins’ll be lucky, too, if he scrapes clear.’
‘Sir, we’re not going to make any great affair of this, are we?
E Troop was the butt of every dragoon’s joke yesterday. They’d become pretty resentful.’
‘Encouraged, no doubt, by their captain!’
‘That is deuced unfair, sir!’
‘Is it, Hervey?’
‘I freely admit to my anger, but I thought to have it in good check.’
‘Others may not agree. Oh, I have no very great trouble with a fray in the canteen – and neither, I should think, would Sir Ivo. The paymaster’s clerks’ll be the busier for a few weeks with stoppages, but that’s of little moment.’ The major took off his spectacles again and began rubbing them once more with the silk. ‘Are you not owed any leave you might think of taking, Hervey? Say, a month or so?’
Hervey looked pained, almost affronted. ‘If I were owed it, sir, I should not dream of taking it now.’
The major looked quite shamefaced. ‘No, of course not. Silly of me.’
Hervey said nothing.
‘You know, the trouble with these little regimental quarrels is that after a while resentment is turned towards the man at the head. Your dragoons’ll weary of having to answer on these barbs.’ Hervey was well aware of it, but still made no reply. Then he took up his cap. ‘Will that be all, sir?’
‘Yes, yes, I think so,’ said the major, apparently absently. ‘But Hervey, do be a good fellow and write that letter.’
Major Joynson called on Eyre Somervile that afternoon. They had met only twice before, but Somervile was pleased to receive him: the major’s note in advance had not been entirely specific, but Somervile had heard already of the affair of the nullah. Over tea, Joynson explained to him the extent of his – and the commanding officer’s – concern for their mutual friend. Somervile nodded from time to time, approving the estimation.
‘He will not take leave at this time – and very understandably – but he might be inclined to do so if you were to invite him,’ said Joynson in conclusion.
Somervile thought for a moment. ‘I should have said, Major, that once Matthew Hervey had determined where his duty lay, nothing would induce him to do otherwise. I am flattered that you think I might have some influence, but if he has determined that leave is contrary to his duty, then I very much fear he will be immovable.’
The major nodded slowly. ‘And I fear that he has formed that notion very surely. Might I ask you, however, to do what is in your power to divert him these coming weeks? It will not do to have him in the lines every minute of the day.’
Somervile smiled. ‘Of course, Major.’
Joynson made to rise.
‘I do have a thought,’ added Somervile, appearing to be turning over an idea. ‘Your object is principally to remove our friend from the garrison for a time, not from his troop.’
‘The latter, to my mind, would be desirable, but yes, the principal object is to distance him from the garrison – the brigadier especially.’
‘Well, an opportunity arises. I am to leave Calcutta next week for Chittagong; I shall be there some months, possibly. I see no reason why I should not apply for a troop of cavalry to accompany me.’
‘That would be capital,’ said Joynson, much animated by the proposition. ‘Indeed, I believe it might be altogether better than his taking leave, for the change of air would serve his troop well, too. Yes, apply, do. I shall speak with Sir Ivo the minute he returns.’
Three days later, Hervey learned of his assignment to Chittagong. The opportunity to bring his troop to a proper efficiency was at once welcome, but he knew also that the talk in stable and canteen – and not least in the officers’ mess – would be of ‘being sent away’. However, that would be short-lived tattle, he told himself. And when they returned they would be ready to take their place on the left of the line.
‘Are you able to tell me why you are sent to Chittagong?’ asked Hervey of Eyre Somervile that evening.
‘Of course,’ said Somervile, holding out his glass to be recharged with a very well-chilled champagne. ‘Lord Hastings has asked me to see what can be done with respect to the Burmans and Arakanese who have fled there.’
Hervey thought he detected that Somervile was not altogether enthusiastic. ‘Does that please you?’
Somervile shrugged. ‘Lord Hastings is of the opinion that someone must do it.’
‘Lord Hastings considers Eyre to be his most knowledgeable official,’ added Emma.
Hervey could believe it. Although Emma would be loyal to the end, she was no mere distaff. In Madras, Somervile had been wholly absorbed by the language and manners of the native peoples, as fluent in Tamil as he was in Telinga, which Hervey understood had by no means been the rule in the Company for some years. But Madras and Burma were very distant from each other. ‘Is this Oxford learning again? For you never said you had been in those parts.’
‘Not even Oxford,’ replied Somervile, nodding to the khansamah, whose appearance signalled that dinner was ready. ‘When I came here to Calcutta no one seemed to know anything of the situation in the east, so wholly absorbed were they by the extirpation of the Pindarees. But the outcome of that campaign was wholly foregone, so I began a study of the eastern question, which seems to me indeed to be very grave.’
‘Would you tell me of it?’
Somervile said he would. And long and serpentine would that account be, occupying the five courses of dinner and ending only with the second circulation of the port. Hervey was appalled and thrilled by turns.
When he returned to his quarters – at that time of night but an hour’s drive – he was so animated by what Somervile had told him that he set pen to paper at once.
Fort William
Calcutta
via The Hnble E. India Co.
Leadenhall Street
London
24 June 1820
My dear Dan,
The month since I wrote to you has been of very mixed fortunes, which I shall forbear to relate in any detail since they shall like as not seem petty and inconsequential with the passing of time. It is now so excessively hot here that I feel I am melting away, although I think I recall its being hotter in Madras, and the old Company hands say that it is nothing compared with Dehli, and will in any event get hotter as July proceeds, until the Monsoon restores our comfort, at least for a little while each day. Mourning for the late King has now ended. Although we observed it strictly, all our duties of course continued. There is here a good deal of speculation and general gossip as to what shall now obtain, for, besides the question of Queen Caroline’s position, it is much rumoured here that King George is in a very bad way with Dropsy, and that we shall soon have King Frederick, who would, of course, be exceedingly popular with the Army as well as the Navy. Do write with the County’s opinion, Dan, so far as you can tell it.
My purpose
in this letter, however, is to inform you of a further, though temporary, change of station. A few days ago I was instructed by my colonel to accompany Mr Eyre Somervile to the east of the country, abutting the kingdom of Ava, and there to bring my troop to a state of efficiency apart from the distractions of this station – which are too many. You will no doubt recall my telling you of Mr Somervile, and also of his wife, the sister of Philip Lucie, with all of whom I spent such eventful days in Madras. In the three years which have passed since my leaving, it seems the Governor-General, Lord Hastings, has taken the most vigorous and concerted measures to destroy the Pindaree menace, and there is now such peace in the whole land of India as has never before been. This much is certain, that whatever is said at home about the iniquities of the Company’s policy here, the consequence for the meanest ryot, as the peasant farmer is called, is a freedom from the ravages of the bandits to which he has been too long a prey. Everyone says that there should be a peace for a decade or more, in the interior at least. But there are still those who would take advantage from their positions beyond the Company’s borders or its dominions, and one such is the King of Ava, whose brutish regimen has driven very many thousands of the people of that land to seek the protection of the Company in its territory along the coast east of the mouth of the great Ganges. These people in their turn have sometimes carried out raids into the King’s territory, and there has been a deal of resentment on the part of the Avan – or Burman king as some have it – Bagyidaw, a proud as well as cruel man. Lately he has sent letters to the King of Assam and to Lord Hastings demanding that all those who fled from Ava be returned. Lord Hastings is not, of course, minded to comply with such a demand. Mr Somervile is therefore to proceed to Chittagong to see what may be done to stop the raids by the dispossessed Burmans, and to ease generally the discord which obtains there. I have no great wish to be separated from the regiment at this time, but they have their duties in connection with the various treaties which are being concluded with the country powers in the wake of the Pindaree war, and I do not suppose that it will be longer than six months before Mr Somervile’s mission is accomplished, as well as mine, and my troop shall then be able to take its place in the line alongside the others for the season of the winter manoeuvres. The journey is all by sea, but it should be accomplished without trouble since Chittagong is not greatly more than two hundred miles, by coastal water, and we shall have the advantage of two steam-driven vessels to tow the transports if winds are unfavourable, which of course they may well be in this season …
The more he wrote, the fewer were his misgivings about leaving Calcutta. The country about Chittagong sounded ideal for his purpose, and Somervile’s mission would be instructive to observe. He penned a few more paragraphs – soldier’s gossip, of which Daniel Coates never tired – and closed by promising to write from his new station.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE EDGE OF THE SWORD
The cavalry lines, Chittagong, October
Serjeant Collins stood properly at ease facing the dozen dragoons of the first class. He wore forage cap, coat fully buttoned, overalls and swordbelt. The dragoons were in watering order – overalls, shirt but no coat, and no hat – but they too wore swords. It was more than a year since they had taken the shilling, and yet today was their first sword exercise. Hervey had tried to arrange for it aboard ship from England, but it had been a perilous business soon abandoned in favour of carbine and small-arms drill.
‘Class, atten … shun!’ bawled Local Lance-Corporal McCarthy.
A dozen pairs of boots closed together.
Corporal McCarthy marched up to Serjeant Collins, halted, and with only slightly diminished volume announced, ‘There are twelve men on parade awaiting instruction, Serjeant.’
‘Officer on parade, Corporal,’ rasped Collins, now himself at attention.
Corporal McCarthy glanced left to the corner of the square, where he saw his troop-leader and serjeant-major watching, and a lady too.
‘Sor! There are twelve men on parade awaiting instruction, sor!’
Collins nodded. ‘Fall in, Corporal.’
McCarthy turned to his right, paused to a silent count of three instead of a salute (the hatless salute had ceased to be the regimental practice), then took his place as flugelman on the right of the dragoons.
Serjeant Collins surveyed the class. ‘Right,’ he began, as he walked the length of the line. ‘You have been chosen as the first class because Captain Hervey has observed that you have made the most progress at riding school.’
Corporal McCarthy would not have recognized the accolade in his own case; Shepherd Stent would not have thought himself worthy of any but the first class; Private Rudd would write home proudly to inform his mother; Jobie Wainwright was relieved only that Spreadbury, Parkin and Needham – the Warminster pals – were in the class, too; French, his dark curls as thick as a sheepskin, was the best of riding school, as everyone acknowledged; Harkness, his broad shoulders occupying the space of one and a half of the smaller dragoons, had found sitting to the trot a great trial to begin with but had mastered it in the end, and had lately become a true proficient, especially at the gallop. The remaining four had shown steady application.
‘Right,’ said Collins again as he retook his place in front of the class. ‘Stand at ease; stand easy. Listen attentively. There are only six ways of directing the edge of the sabre. The action of the wrist and shoulder alone directs the blade; and they admit but six movements, from which every cut is derived, wherever may be its particular application to the body.’
Hervey found his thoughts returning to the first time he had heard the words as a young cornet at the Canterbury depot.
‘Of the six cuts, four are made in diagonal directions, and two horizontally. The whole are equally applicable against cavalry, and may be directed on either side of the horse, but their application must depend on the openings given by the adversary and be regulated by judgement and experience in the use of the weapon. Any questions?’
There were none.
‘Right then, how many ways are there of directing the edge of the blade?’ Collins paused for a few seconds. ‘Stent?’
‘Six, sir,’ said the shepherd, coming to attention.
‘Correct. Of the six cuts, how many may be directed on either side of the horse?’ Another pause. ‘Wainwright?’
‘The whole, sir,’ Jobie replied, feet together.
‘Correct. I shall proceed, then. Now, to make a cut with effect, and at the same time without exposing the person, there are two points which principally demand attention. The first is to acquire a facility in giving motion to the arm by means of the wrist and shoulder without bending the elbow. For in bending the elbow the sword arm is exposed, a circumstance of which the opponent will ever be ready to take his advantage.’ Collins drew his sword, demonstrated the points which demanded attention, then glanced up and down the line. ‘Is that understood?’
‘Yes, sir,’ came the reply.
‘You don’t sound so sure. Is that understood?’
‘Yes, sir!’ bellowed the class.
‘Very well,’ he growled, returning the sword to the position of rest on his shoulder. ‘The next object is to attain correctness in applying the edge in the direction of the blade, otherwise it will turn in the hand, and as in that case the flat part must receive the whole force of the blow, it will in all likelihood be shivered to pieces.’
Hervey turned to Armstrong. ‘A long time coming, but I think we may soon have it accomplished. We can begin the second class in a week, and the third a week after.’
‘Ay, sir. There’s nobody better than Collins for this.’
Emma Somervile was still watching intently. ‘You say it is straight from the manual of sword exercises, Captain Hervey, but your serjeant makes it sound as if it very much comes from the heart.’
‘That too, madam. Collins once engaged a French colonel in a most ferocious duel, in sight of hundreds on both sides, and overc
ame him by superior swordsmanship, though the colonel, a count as I recall, must have been very practised in the art from an early age.’ He thought it unnecessary to declare that the deciding blow had been a cut to the Frenchman’s head which had cleft his skull in two.
‘With your leave then, sir?’ said Armstrong, stepping back.
‘Yes; thank you, Sar’nt-Major. I shall attend at stables.’
Armstrong saluted and strode away.
‘Do we watch any more?’ asked Emma, sounding eager.
‘If you wish,’ said Hervey, willing to oblige her. ‘But I had rather not watch for too long. It will only distract them.’
‘In that case,’ said Emma, ‘let us take a turn about the civil lines.
I like to see the gardens at this time of a day, when there is no one about.’
This was the time when shutters were closed, affording the occupants their privacy before callers for tea, and then the long evening of dinner and cards. It was by no means too hot to be abroad, as the sword class, hatless, demonstrated, but the customs were observed nevertheless.
Chittagong was nothing compared with Calcutta in the extent and magnificence of her buildings. Wood as well as, or in some cases instead of, stone was more in evidence, and her civil as well as military garrison was but a fraction of that of the capital of the Bengal Presidency. But it had a healthier climate, all agreed, and was a pleasant enough place to serve on temporary duty.
‘There is a big black-necked stork which sits on my roof sometimes of an afternoon,’ said Hervey as they came to his bungalow. ‘But evidently not today.’
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