A khitmagar brought in a tray of coffee. Somervile gestured towards his guest. ‘Shall not the guns be a hindrance in the forest? Indeed, shall you be able to traverse the country at all with them?’
Hervey took a cup of blisteringly hot coffee, stronger even than Somervile’s normal taste required, then sat down. ‘We shall dismantle them at the forest edge and port them on the horses like woolpacks.’
Somervile nodded at this evidence of Hervey’s ingenuity, but he still wore an air of concern. ‘What then, in general terms, is your intention?’
Hervey sipped at his coffee. ‘The intelligence we have is quite precise, although how reliable we cannot tell. The Burmans are assembling just inside the country, on the river where a road appears to lead all the way from Ava and to the middle of nowhere, though perhaps it is the other way round. Either way it seems curious. Has the road some significance, do you know?’
Somervile answered at once. ‘I think you need not concern yourself on that account. The road leads from there to Ava. The story goes that a great white elephant was found in the forest, and the local zamindar took him as a gift to the king, making the road as he went.’
Hervey was gratified there was no more complicating detail than this. ‘The only difficulty is finding the road on our maps. The river divides near the border, and it’s by no means apparent which is the place. You say the Arakanese know how to get there, and the Chakma guides know the border well, but I prefer to know where I’m about.’
‘It is … what, fourscore miles?’
‘Nearer the hundred, I should say. There’s a diversion of some dozen or more in order to avoid one of the settlements. I intend we march twenty this day, and then make camp, and then strike it well before dawn tomorrow so that we shake off any followers. There’s a good place for such a halt, your Arakanese say – just beyond a fording place on the Karnaphuli, on the Bandarban road. And thence it’s into the hill tracts.’
Somervile looked unsure. ‘I doubt you will find a ford so low on the Karnaphuli, even at this time of year.’
Hervey was not greatly perturbed. ‘The Arakanese said there might be a little way to swim, but this doesn’t trouble me. It’s a torpid stream and the horses will know what to do even if half the dragoons don’t. It will be good practice. I would have had them doing it in a month or so in any case had we not been stood-to to this. The Arakanese say it’s called the Bandarban ford, so the chance of our needing to swim seems very low.’
Somervile nodded. ‘So be it. And what are your intentions for the assault?’
‘That I can’t determine until I’ve seen for myself the assembly place. I’m trusting to the intelligence that there will be more boats than fighting men. I shall want to secure the site against surprise, and then set to with the breaking-up of the boats. I’m inclined to think we might fire them, except that I can’t risk setting alight the forest.’
‘No, that would be most hazardous,’ Somervile agreed, nodding with some disquiet. ‘But what shall you do if there are more men than the intelligence suggests?’
Hervey raised his eyebrows. ‘So much depends on their attitude. If they are without much discipline in their security we might yet be able to prevail over them. But if they’re alert we shall give them a fright and make good our escape. You would want me to make a demonstration, failing all else?’
‘Oh yes, indeed. It risks a casus belli, of course, but they are at any rate intent on an attack – of that we are quite sure – and a check such as that might unsteady them a considerable degree. But I do urge that you have a care. I should not ask you to throw away any man’s life in mere speculation, Hervey. I leave to you absolutely how intent you press your attack.’
‘Thank you, Somervile. You may be assured I have a proper regard for the dangers, but I’m grateful to have your trust reposed in such a manner.’ Hervey made to stand. ‘Now, let me show you the difficulties as far as I can discern from this map.’
‘Dodds is absent, Hervey,’ said Seton Canning as they walked to the stables before the two o’clock mustering.
Hervey stopped dead. ‘When? Where?’
‘He didn’t parade for boot and saddle.’
‘I’ll have Dodds hanged if we have to set off without him!’
No one could be sure if the threat were more than just exasperation, but the edge was such as to make Seton Canning start. ‘The sar’nt-major has sent people out looking for him, but he couldn’t spare too many.’
And doubtless Armstrong was not much grieved by the loss, thought Hervey – beyond the affront to discipline. ‘I suppose we must own that bad character will out,’ he hissed.
Seton Canning said not another word.
At the stables Johnson stood holding the little Marwari which his captain had taken as his second charger. Hervey took the reins and mounted at once. ‘Gilbert is seen to?’
‘Ay sir. I told yon cripple I’d lame ’im good an’ proper if there was as much as a stable mark on ’im when I got back.’ Private Hicks’s leg was all but mended after his fall a month before, but he had limped about the lines for so long that he could be sure ‘St Giles’ would remain his nickname for as long as he wore uniform.
Hervey frowned. ‘He’d better believe it,’ he rasped, leaning forward to pull up a keeper on the bridle. ‘And you told him, a pectoral morning and evening? That cold came on so quickly; I don’t want it turning to anything worse.’
‘I told ’im, sir.’
Hervey nodded grimly. ‘Where d’ye think Dodds is hiding, by the way?’
‘In t’rear rank if ’e’s any sense.’
Hervey looked at him, puzzled.
Then Johnson realized. ‘Tha doesn’t know ’e’s back then?’
‘No, I did not. How so?’
‘Corporal Mossop found ’im in a cunny-warren in t’town!’
A syce led out Johnson’s own horse, together with Hervey’s new second. Hervey frowned at his groom, wanting more from him.
‘ ’E were too fuzzed to stand, Mossop said.’ A hint of a smirk betrayed Johnson’s pleasure at the pun.
Hervey was not inclined to share it. ‘Johnson, you do realize he would have been hanged for his absence?’
‘Ay sir,’ replied his groom, the smile gone. ‘And to tell thee t’truth, there’d not be any as’d put in a good word for ’im.’
Hervey fumed, but at himself. It was he who had wanted to enlist Dodds, and since then he had seized on any sign of amends to his ‘bad character’, and in the face of Armstrong’s continuing doubts. For a moment the lash seemed appealing.
He tried to put it from his mind as he rode with Seton Canning to the maidan. He halted at the edge to let his lieutenant go forward to take over the parade from Armstrong, and then he in turn took command. As he rode along the front rank and then the rear, his humour was much restored by his dragoons’ appearance. Green his troop might be, but they looked likely enough this day. Just so long as they went to it with a will, and luck went with them, they would manage.
‘Dodds is with the bat-horses, sir, in open arrest,’ said Armstrong as they cleared the rear right marker. ‘For my part I’d have him nowhere near, except that he should stand his chances like the rest of them.’
Hervey could not help wondering, even now, if Dodds had truly intended to absent himself. ‘Are we sure he was at first parade? Unless he’d heard the warning for the field, he couldn’t very well be charged with desertion.’
Armstrong had not considered it. The troop had been reported present or else accounted for. ‘I’ll get ’is corporal to vouch, sir,’ he replied doubtfully.
Hervey checked in front of one of the Warminster pals. ‘Are you quite well, Parkin?’ he asked, seeing an unusual amount of perspiration about his face and neck.
‘Not feeling too good, sir. I expect it’ll pass though, sir.’ Hervey glanced at Private Wainwright next to him.
‘He were all right until last night, sir, but he didn’t want to report sick after what you
said at first parade, sir.’
‘Report now to the surgeon, Parkin.’
Parkin saluted, a shade awkwardly thought Hervey, as if his arm were constrained, and fell out to his right. ‘You’ll find him with the bat-horses, lad,’ said Armstrong as he passed.
‘What did he have to eat last night, Wainwright?’ asked Hervey.
‘Mutton, sir, same as us.’
‘And drink?’
‘Just a measure of rum, sir. That’s all. He never has more, sir.’
Hervey pressed on down the line, looking into faces more intently now, determined on seeing any sign that Parkin’s ailment might not be entirely his own. But all looked none the worse than usual.
They rode round behind the rear rank to where the two galloper guns were, their teams – each of three sowars – sitting like ramrods in the saddle, the kurtas as vivid as sunflowers. Hervey had asked for a daffadar who could understand some English and the adjutant had assured him that he would oblige; but he tried a few words of his Urdu, if as no more than a courtesy.
The daffadar braced in acknowledgement: ‘Hazoor!’
There was a strange noise from beyond the guns, a bleating. Hervey peered between the sowars to see what was the cause.
‘Rations, sahib!’ said the daffadar, with a grin.
Now he could see it. One of the packhorses carried two live goats strapped either side of the saddle. Hervey nodded to the daffadar, as much in amazement as approval, then reined about, trotted to the front of the troop, and faced. He looked left and right along the ranks. All eyes were still front, and horses’ heads were steady. The regiment did not draw swords for inspection in campaign order, so his command was merely ‘Sit easy.’
He stood in the saddle to address them. ‘E Troop, I am well pleased with your appearance – as serviceable as anything I saw in the Peninsula. It is a good beginning. We march from here presently some twenty miles, in the direction south-east towards Bandarban. After fording the river thereabouts we make camp for the night, and there I shall give a fuller account of our mission. For the moment it is as well that you understand that, as always, your first duty is the care of your mounts. To that end we make no show of pushing off. We shall cover the first half of that distance at the walk, leading the first half-hour.’ He turned to his lieutenant and asked him to carry on, then beckoned Johnson over. ‘Go and see what the surgeon says about Parkin, will you? I want every man I can have on parade, but we can’t carry sick.’
Ten minutes later, with the troop dismounted and drawn up in column of route, two native guides leading, Johnson returned. ‘Mr Ledley says ’e thinks it could be just a chill, but ’e can’t be sure. Parkin were swearin’ blind it were nowt but a sweat, so t’surgeon ’as dosed ’im an’ ’e’s fallen in again.’
Hervey nodded. Ledley had no worse a reputation than any, so he might as well trust to his optimism. ‘Very well. Trumpeter, “walk-march”!’
CHAPTER TWENTY
COLUMN OF ROUTE
Later that day
E Troop had never marched twenty miles before. For the first half-hour they tramped the road from the cantonment to the river, at times in no better order than a train of tinkers. Hervey set too fast a pace to begin with, the dragoons at the rear of the column finding it difficult to get into their stride, with gaps suddenly opening up and then having to be closed rapidly at the trot. And some of the horses would not take to long reins, so that there was a deal of napping, which in turn opened more gaps. After twenty minutes the NCOs were hoarse with their efforts to keep a semblance of soldierly appearance, and more than one dragoon was looking as though he would not stay the distance. But at last the troop settled to a rhythm of sorts, sustained by each man in turn taking up the pace-count; no mean achievement, Hervey and Seton Canning agreed, considering that at least half of them had not been able to count reliably beyond half a dozen when they enlisted. And then they had tightened girths and mounted, and ridden for the next hour at a steady trot, and very creditably together, Hervey thought from his perspective at the column’s head. More than one dragoon found the exercise a powerful thirstmaker, but Hervey had given orders that on the march a strict water discipline was to be maintained. At the first halt, after an hour and a half, several men at the rear of the column believed themselves to be so parched as to be close to expiring, and Corporal McCarthy was obliged to seize with some force a canteen from one of them. McCarthy, though he knew nothing more of horses than what every man had learned since enlisting, was nevertheless entirely convinced of the necessity of discipline. His best Cork ‘Horses first, you heathens!’ stung would-be defaulters with its obvious appeal to duty as well as with the native authority which an Irish NCO possessed.
The river was slow by the standards of those they had known in Spain, and the colour of earth. At the first halt it was set about by tall rain trees, and the grasses at the edge were not so high as in the open stretch from the city – no higher than a man’s knee, and in places grazed shorter or uprooted altogether by cattle and game preferring to drink in the rain trees’ shade.
‘By sections, mouths into the river and then straight out again,’ called Armstrong, handing his own horse to his groom and taking his whip in hand as he began to walk along the line, rapping the other hand with it in a manner that signalled there would be no mercy for the ‘idle’ dragoon. ‘Just enough to wash their mouths with. And then a wisp of a hay. One quarter of one hour!’
Hervey slipped the bridle off his little Marwari and put on the head collar. He was pleased to note how little she had sweated, and how light was her breathing. He led her to the river’s edge and let her drop her head. She swallowed twice and he pulled her head up again, quite easily – she did not struggle. She was as fit as ever Jessye had been. He turned her away and walked back to where Johnson waited with a handful of hay. Armstrong came up. ‘How are the galloper-gunners?’ asked Hervey, picking up each of the Marwari’s feet to check for stones.
‘Not a bead of sweat on any of them, sir! Horses or men.’
Hervey smiled to himself. ‘I wonder what they make of us, Sar’nt-Major.’
‘I wouldn’t rightly know, sir. But let’s wait till we’ve done what we’re doing before we ask ’em.’
Hervey smiled again. ‘You’re quite right. We’ll stand judged by our effect, not our appearance. I’ll warrant that if they knew how little time we’d had they’d never believe we could have come this far.’
Armstrong looked puzzled. ‘Bloody ’ell, sir. We’ve come nought but ten miles on a warm afternoon. I reckon my Caithlin could manage that!’
Hervey frowned. Armstrong knew well enough that his captain was speaking of more than the day’s march, but the latter knew his serjeant-major’s proposition was undoubtedly true. An hour and a half into a ‘campaign’ was a deal too early to be drawing any conclusions, favourable or otherwise.
‘Very well then, five minutes more by my watch. At your order, Sar’nt-Major. Then two leagues at a good trot.’ And with that he began replacing the bridle.
The next leg they covered at a flying pace. The ground had a spring in it, neither too hard-baked, as in the early part of the year, nor yet soaked by the heavy rains of the middle months. Horses were fit enough, and riders too – at least for a six-mile trot on good, level going. Hervey glanced behind him from time to time and was pleased by what he saw. The jingle of bits and the striking of hoofs fell into a rhythm, which in turn served that regular order which was the mark of seasoned cavalry. So good a rhythm, indeed, that many a head could have nodded a while in perfect safety.
Hervey judged it by his watch. Forty-five minutes at such a pace – two leagues. He held up his hand and ceased rising in the saddle (the Sixth, in common with many another regiment, had for some time given up ‘bumping’ in the trot), then brought the Marwari to a walk for a full five minutes more, before holding up his hand again for the halt. In a trice he was off and unsaddling his little mare, patting her neck and making much. She was sw
eating a bit under the saddle blanket and along her shoulders, but scarcely more than a hunter on an English autumn’s day. He pulled the stable rubber from the carry-all on the saddle, and set to removing the worst of it. He picked out her feet – nothing troubling her there either. He pulled her funny little ears, turned in like horns, and spoke keenly to her again before taking off the bridle and slipping on the halter. Now was the time to let her take a good drink. He led her to the river’s edge and let her drop her head awhile – not too much, though, not enough to bring on the colic. And then again, a little longer, and then once more, until it was safe to hold the lead-rein loose.
He looked down the line of dragoons as they watered by halfsections so as to be under the eye of an NCO. Perhaps not all the NCOs were the best of that breed, but they were adequate, he felt sure. He thought back to those corporals and serjeants who had crossed the Pyrenees all of seven years ago. Was it so long? Would there ever be their like again? How could there be? Surely they would never see a campaign the like of the Peninsula. And without its like, how could such men as they be forged? He knew it to be true of himself, especially. A God-fearing home he had had, and a soldierly tutor of exemplary quality in Daniel Coates, and the best of learning at Shrewsbury, but it had been the winter of Corunna and the summers afterwards on the Spanish plain that had made him no longer a boy.
‘Captain Hervey, sir,’ came the voice of Serjeant-Major Armstrong upon his reveries, as it had done innumerable times before in less exalted rank. ‘Yon Parkin’s a sick man. I’ve a mind to turn him back.’
Hervey frowned at him. ‘Shall I take a look?’
‘I think you’d better. Surgeon’ll take a look when he’s put a stitch or two in Rudd’s bonny face.’
Hervey raised an inquisitorial eyebrow.
‘That nappy little lass of his threw her head up a bit sharp when he’d taken her bridle off.’
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