The firing slackened and then stopped altogether. Hervey couldn’t for the life of him think why, for the Burmans now had every advantage. Perhaps they were gutless as well as artless after all. Then came the cheering behind him, loud and hearty.
‘Himmat-I-Mardan!’
And the gun sowars, faint by comparison, but full-throated: ‘Madad-I-Khuda!’
‘Himmat-I-Mardan!’
‘Madad-I-Khuda!’
Hervey stood up. The sight astonished him. The Skinner’s men debouched from the forest as if trotting to exercise. He lost count at fifty – there must be half that number again. Lance pennants fluttered, then out came the carbines as the sowars slung their lances over the shoulder. The line of yellow stretched the length of the bank. It was a sight he would never forget, like the solid walls of red at Waterloo. And all the time the cheering: ‘Himmat-IMardan! Madad-I-Khuda!’
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
NEMESIS
Chittagong, two days later
Eyre Somervile stood by his desk in the lieutenant-governor’s new residency on the hill north and west of the Sadarghat. It was a fine building of white stone in the classical manner, the interior of which, though unfinished, spoke of the permanence of the Honourable East India Company’s investment in the country. Somervile wore a dark blue coat and a cream stock, and around his neck the order of Knight Companion of the Bath, a military honour of which he was at the same time both proud and abashed, for the circumstances of the honouring had been peculiar in the extreme. Nevertheless, for his coming encounter, to wear it this morning suited his purpose very well indeed.
As the clocks began striking eleven, his secretary entered and announced, ‘His Excellency Wundauk Maha Thilwa, envoy of the Viceroy of Arakan.’
Somervile turned to face the envoy and bowed. The Viceroy of Arakan was King Bagyidaw’s vassal; there was no doubting the reason for the envoy’s calling.
Wundauk Maha Thilwa bowed by return. He was an arresting figure, if shorter than Somervile, clean-shaven and with searching eyes. He wore a long green robe fastened about the waist with a wide cummerbund, and carried an ornately carved ivory staff. He came alone, having no need of an interpreter.
‘To what do we owe this honour, Your Excellency?’ asked Somervile gravely.
Wundauk Maha Thilwa lifted his head so that his eyes could look down at his interlocutor rather than up. ‘I bring you an ultimatum from His Highness the Viceroy,’ he began, making a small bow at the mention of the rank. ‘For many months, now, the domains of His Majesty the King,’ he made another, deeper bow, ‘have been violated by fugitive subjects of His Majesty here in Chittagong. On numerous occasions His Highness the Viceroy has asked for the expulsion of the fugitives, for their return to face justice, but this has been refused.’ He paused for an effect of greater portent. ‘I am therefore commanded to inform your excellency that unless by the going down of the sun today I on His Highness’s behalf receive word that the fugitives will be delivered up to His Majesty’s justice, an immediate attack shall be made upon Chittagong and the territory annexed.’
Somervile did not flinch. Indeed, he would play the envoy for further intelligence. He made himself speak with an air of cool detachment. ‘Laying aside, for the moment, the propriety – some would say impudence, infamy even – of such a threat, how might you be able to execute it? There is a squadron of frigates in the bay, a brigade will arrive within the fortnight from Calcutta, and on the border with Arakan is a force of cavalry.’
Wundauk Maha Thilwa looked at him contemptuously. How could this high representative of the British be so dull-witted as to think that these were the only ways by which the superior troops of Ava could come? And how careless of his own secrets was this mere man of government!
Somervile was satisfied. Now was the time. ‘Your Excellency, I beg you would accept my compliments for your faultless command of English.’
Wundauk Maha Thilwa inclined his head, condescendingly. ‘The Avan court is superior in every respect to those of the outer world.’
‘Indeed. You would not say then – you will be familiar with the phrase – that you had burned your boats in coming here?’
Wundauk Maha Thilwa smiled like a jackal: how unfortunately apt was this … functionary’s choice of words. ‘No, Excellency,’ he replied, shaking his head pityingly. ‘We have by no means burned our boats!’
Somervile pulled open the drawer of his desk and took out a bundle of silk. He flung it down so that its royal emblem was at once apparent. ‘No, Your Excellency, but we have!’
At one o’clock, Eyre Somervile rode back to his bungalow in the civil lines and told Emma what had transpired with the Burman envoy.
‘I do wish you had let me observe, secretly,’ she said, pouring him a glass of claret. ‘Not so much to see the envoy but you!’
‘Oh, I was nothing, I assure you. I’ve played wilier fish on the Nagari! Anyway, the honour is all Hervey’s.’
Emma sighed. ‘I shall only be able to rest when we see him. What else did the serjeant say?’
‘Nothing more than you heard yourself at breakfast. Except that there was a man of his who had deserted before the action, and that he would not be surprised if Hervey didn’t want to hunt him down himself!’
‘Where is Serjeant Collins now? I should very much like to hear more of their time in the jungle.’
Somervile smiled. ‘Sleeping, I shouldn’t wonder. The poor devil had ridden day and night – two days and nights!’
‘Well, I shall send word for him to come here to bathe and take his ease the minute he wakes.’
‘I beg you would. But I also believe the native horse are due high honours. Captain Pollock emerges from this a considerably stouter man than I’d imagined.’
‘Oh … yes,’ said Emma, a little uncertainly. ‘I didn’t rightly understand the circumstances of their being at the river.’
‘It was deuced resourceful,’ pronounced Somervile, holding out his glass for Emma to refill. ‘All their orders said was for them to patrol the forest edge – nothing about the border. But Pollock, it seems, heard tell of the Chakma guides who’d arrived at the rendezvous with Hervey’s troop two days late. Well, not late; they’d got there as soon as they could. They just hadn’t received word in time. So Pollock took it upon himself to go with them after Hervey, but he’d taken a more roundabout route, so they met only at the river. How in God’s name Pollock could make himself understood with the Chakma I cannot imagine.’ His glass was empty again.
Emma shook her head. ‘I think we’re bidden to luncheon.’
Somervile put his glass down. ‘I’d better summon a hircarrah and send off a despatch to Calcutta this afternoon. They can have a fuller one when Hervey returns. With any luck we’ll see him by tomorrow evening.’
Hervey angrily brushed away a barbed attap frond which hooked into the sleeve of his tunic. The jungle was becoming thicker. Did these Chakma guides really know where they were going? Yet for all the trouble he was having, they were making faster progress now than they had on the wide tracks at the start of the expedition. It was just one of those imponderables: six men and horses with tribal guides made quicker headway than forty on uncertain bearings, even on better going.
He wondered again about Johnson. Not a rib unbroken, said the surgeon. How could a man be half drowned and have every rib broken and the surgeon say he would live? He wished he had allowed some dhoolies to be brought. They had fashioned a decent makeshift one, but Johnson’s ride back to Chittagong could not be comfortable. But Ledley had said that he wouldn’t feel a thing – or know a thing – by the time he’d had the laudanum. It was just the worst time to leave him, that was the trouble. He had to recover French, though. But poor French might be dead. Would the surgeon’s orderly and Boy Porrit make their own way back, in that case? Then there was the girl …
Thank God – thank all their gods – that Pollock and his men had come when they had. He didn’t want to think what would h
ave happened had they had to limp back, fighting all the way. A rearguard of Skinner’s Horse – he could scarcely have hoped! And not a shot after the first hour. The Burmans had undoubtedly given in. Seton Canning would have the troop back in Chittagong tomorrow night, and if these Chakma really knew their business he would not be long behind them. And then what a tamasha they’d have – a celebration with Skinner’s the like of which the Sixth hadn’t seen since they’d got to Paris!
Another attap frond struck him in the face. He broke it off and gave it to his mare behind him; she would eat anything. And then suddenly there were no more attap fronds, just a track, the hoofmarks plain to see, as the Chakma turned left.
‘Captain Hervey, sir!’
Private French, now more recognizable than when Hervey had last seen him, and certainly more mobile, came towards them with a look both relieved and anxious.
‘Don’t sound so surprised, French. I’m not in the habit of forgetting people,’ said Hervey drily.
‘Do those buttons, up, young French!’ came Corporal Ashbolt’s voice from behind. ‘And where’s your carbine?’
‘Porrit has it, sir.’
‘Porrit?’ said Ashbolt, disbelieving.
‘He’s guarding Dodds, sir.’
Hervey pushed past him roughly and almost doubled to where Boy Porrit, Otway the surgeon’s assistant and Dodds sat. Porrit and Otway scrambled to their feet, but Dodds remained seated, his back against a tree, eyes closed. His thigh was bandaged and bloodstained. Hervey turned back to French. ‘Well?’
‘Sir, Dodds came yesterday morning. He said he’d got lost going for water. We told him which way you’d gone but he said he’d better wait with us. Then yesterday evening he tried to take the food you’d left us and wanted the girl to go with him. Then it came to a bit of a fight, sir, and Dodds threatened his pistol and grabbed the girl, and that’s when the boy fired, sir.’
Hervey glanced at Porrit, who lowered his eyes. ‘You did well, boy,’ he said grimly. He would not quibble about his aim at this time.
‘And where is the girl?’
‘She … she went for some privacy a few minutes ago, sir,’ said French, with admirable decorum.
Hervey raised an eyebrow, glanced at Dodds and then the surgeon’s orderly.
‘He’s been unconscious an hour and more, sir,’ said Otway. ‘He bled a lot.’
Corporal Ashbolt took a closer look. ‘You’d better check ’im again, Ottie. I reckon ’e’s gone.’
The surgeon’s orderly felt in vain for Dodds’s pulse, then opened an eyelid. ‘Ay, ’e’s dead.’
Hervey cursed. ‘Then he’s cheated the gallows just as he’s cheated in everything before!’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
UNDER AUTHORITY
The maidan, Chittagong, a week later
‘E Troop, carry … swords!’
Up from the slope went the points of forty sabres in whitegloved hands. Horses threw their heads about as if to add their own salute. Gilbert’s throat plume danced as Hervey shouted the command.
‘Skinner’s Horse, atte-e-enshun!’ echoed Captain Pollock.
Four hundred heads atop yellow kurtas braced up, lance pennants caught the breeze, and the sun glinted on the gleaming barrels of the galloper guns.
An uneven parade, but an apt one, thought Hervey as he rode up to the dais and dropped his sword in salute.
Eyre Somervile was dressed the same as when he had faced the Avan envoy. In his hand were a few notes, in Hindoostani and English. He would alternate between the two, and leave both King’s and native horse in no doubt of the great service they had rendered, and the esteem in which the Presidency in Calcutta held their actions. ‘Gentlemen, I stand before you humbly in the face of courage and resource beyond what it is common to behold.’
‘That’s nice,’ said Johnson, painfully, from a chair at the edge of the maidan, his chest swaddled in bandages. ‘I was sure it’d end up a lagging matter.’
Hicks frowned. ‘I just wish I’d been there. There’ll be no talking to anybody now. Bloody leg!’
‘It were no place for a cripple, I can tell thee!’
Somervile’s Hindoostani found its mark just as surely among the ranks of yellow, where heads nodded approvingly. He sang the praises of King’s troops and Company’s fulsomely, though he warned that the King of Ava was a predatory and corrupt man, and that the day might be sooner than they thought when an altogether bigger expedition would have to be mounted to put an end to his designs on the lawful territory of the Honourable Company.
‘See, Hicksy, tha’ll soon ’ave a chance to get thi’ own back!’ said Johnson, almost smiling.
Somervile said that he had recommended to the Council of the Presidency that some pecuniary reward be given (there were murmurs of approval everywhere), and that he was pleased even now to be able to announce that the Company’s gold and silver medals would be awarded respectively to Captain Hervey and Captain Pollock.
The approval of both yellow ranks and blue was at once apparent. ‘Bloody right, an’ all!’ said Johnson, nodding his head too vigorously for his own good. ‘I bet there isn’t another officer as could have done better than Cap’n ’Ervey – not even as good as!’
‘I am pleased, meanwhile, to grant three days’ furlough,’ added Somervile. ‘At the end of which I shall deem it a privilege to hold a tamasha to honour both gallant regiments. God save the King!’
The response was hearty, if dominated by the sowars’ hazoors.
And then, as at the river: ‘Himmat-I-Mardan!’
‘Madad-I-Khuda!’
‘Himmat-I-Mardan!’
‘Madad-I-Khuda!’
Later, at lunch with the Somerviles, Hervey expressed himself grateful for the words on parade. ‘It was, after all, the reason we came here, was it not? To restore our self-regard.’
‘You think the words were not too cautious then?’
Hervey smiled. ‘No, indeed. You have a very noble way with them.’
‘You think I was too florid ?’
‘Not in the slightest. I envy you your eloquence. The men appreciated it, of that I’m sure.’
Somervile nodded, content, and beckoned the khitmagar to bring champagne. ‘I have a mind, too, you know, that that girl you rescued – all Sir Gawain-like – will turn out a handsome investment once returned to her father.’
Emma picked up her glass. ‘I must say for my part I thought her very handsome even without her father. What say you, Matthew?’
Hervey smiled back at her. ‘Yes, very handsome. The men call her the china doll.’
Somervile looked puzzled. ‘Though she is Shan?’
Emma smiled again. Punctiliousness in these affairs was one of the things she so admired in her husband.
Hervey raised his hands. ‘We are far from home.’
‘You should speak with her, Hervey,’ said Somervile, dabbing at his forehead with his napkin. ‘She is the most engaging of company.’
Hervey frowned. ‘With you to interpret for us?’
Somervile looked puzzled. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t try Portuguese with her.’
Hervey felt deflated, almost foolish. He remembered how well just a very little of the language had served him in the Peninsula. He smiled. ‘Missionaries again, I suppose?’
‘And merchants, Hervey. No, I tell you, we have made a most grateful and gratifying connection there.’
‘You are being most abstemious, Matthew,’ said Emma, feeling a little sorry for him. ‘Can we not tempt you to more champagne?’
‘No thank you, ma’am. I intend riding out this afternoon.’ He drained his coffee cup and accepted more, then returned to Somervile’s speculation. ‘You believe, I imagine, that she and her father might be a grateful source of intelligence on events in Ava?’
‘No doubt of it. I’ve seen it before many a time.’
Hervey took another sip of his coffee. ‘Tell me, Somervile, you were very frank on parade in your views on the pro
spects with Bagyidaw. What is your true estimation?’
Somervile sat back in his chair and sipped at his champagne. ‘Two years, three perhaps. The problem is Assam. Until Calcutta decides what its connection is to be with the king there, the whole of the Presidency will be hostage to Ava. And as soon as we’re drawn into a fight with Ava, every little nabob in Hindoostan will think he can make mischief. Believe me, Hervey, before your regiment sees the English coast again, you’ll be deep in the thick of fighting on one side of Bengal or the other, perhaps even both. And it will be no mere troop affair!’
A Call To Arms Page 34