Lieutenant of the Line

by Philip McCutchan

  Harshly Barr asked, ‘what made you go on laying the guns, after the last of your family was dead?’

  ‘The lash, Colour-Sergeant. My strength dwindled, and I became sick, and I could no longer take the flogging. On many occasions I have received one hundred lashes, sometimes two hundred or more. It is more than an ageing man can take. So, you see, gentlemen, I fired when ordered.’

  ‘Why should we believe any of what you said about your family?’ Barr demanded. ‘Why should we believe you’re any more than a common deserter and a traitor?’

  With dignity Sergeant Makepeace said, ‘I cannot make you believe me, and I do not seek to be excused for the wrong I have done. I am ready to take my punishment and it matters little whether or not you believe me so far as that is concerned. But I assure you, I speak the truth.’

  ‘Let’s see your back,’ Barr said arrogantly.

  Ogilvie tried to intervene but Makepeace would have none of that. He said, ‘Sir, the Colour-Sergeant is right to insist. Even I offer no defence for my actions.’ He lifted his arms ; they were thin and withered. Barr snatched the tunic off. They looked down on the bared back. The flesh was brown, but corrugated with deep whitened furrows from the base of the neck to the buttocks, furrows that went round his sides to meet across the belly. It was a horrifying sight.

  Ogilvie said, ‘put your tunic on, Sergeant.’

  Makepeace did so. As he gave the old man a hand Ogilvie asked, ‘what’s the situation outside?’

  ‘This fissure is under constant watch, Sir. There are many men, with many rifles. You cannot usefully engage them—they number upwards of three hundred. There are also enough heavy guns, but they will not be used. That is to say, if they are, they will blow up in the ruffians’ faces!’ Makepeace chuckled. ‘That, I have this day arranged, Sir. You see, Sir, by this time they trust me and I have been allowed a free hand inside the fort. I have never been allowed beyond the gates, except when ordered to lay the battery against you the other day, but inside I have , not been watched. And the tribesmen know nothing of how to handle guns, Sir, nor of how they should be maintained. They have not noticed my modifications!’

  Barr said sourly, ‘so you’ve been guilty twice of betrayal.’

  ‘Only once, Colour-Sergeant, only once! Of my own country—to my great sorrow. Of the natives who made me do this—no! I regard this as no betrayal of any trust, Colour-Sergeant—’

  ‘Nor I,’ Ogilvie said quickly. ‘As to the first betrayal, well, we’ll see. There’s a lot to be done before that can be considered—’

  ‘Mr. Ogilvie,’ Barr said. ‘This old man killed five of the men and wounded others, I’ll have you remember. One has since died from wounds received. Why, he’s nothing but a common murderer who should hang as such in the greatest disgrace outside Nowshera civil jail, and—’

  ‘As you’d have liked in the case of Corporal Nichol, no doubt? You’ll please say no more, Colour-Sarn’t. I want no unofficial Courts Martial here, and I mean to see there won’t be any!’ Ogilvie swung round on the others. ‘That goes for everyone. Until it’s decided differently, Sergeant Makepeace takes rank according to his seniority at the time of his capture. You’ll all do well to remember that he was captured, and didn’t desert.’

  ‘So he says!’ Barr snapped.

  ‘I believe him, Colour-Sarn’t. It would be a pointless lie in any case—it can be checked the moment we reach Peshawar. Now—more water for Sergeant Makepeace, and make it fast. Kinnear!’

  ‘Sir!’ Private Kinnear snapped to attention. ‘Coming, Sir.’ He went towards where the water bottles were piled under guard, came forward with one, and held it out to Makepeace. ‘Drink your fill, Sergeant,’ he said. ‘I’m one that agrees wi’ every word the officer said...and it doesn’ worry me two hoots what Colour-Sergeant Barr has to say about it!’

  Barr moved towards Kinnear, his face dark with fury.

  Ogilvie said, ‘Colour-Sarn’t! Leave it. If you touch Kinnear I shall ask for your Court Martial. Kinnear, you’ll guard your tongue or you’ll be on a charge for insolence as soon as we return to cantonments.’ He looked at Makepeace, noted that the old man’s eyes were filled with tears of gratitude at Kinnear’s words. He turned away in embarrassment and took up his watch duty again—after noting something else: Makepeace had taken only one small sip at the precious water.

  Soon the old man’s earlier words were borne out. When a second attempt was made to use artillery, the fresh guns blew up, as before, the moment they were fired, with devastating effect upon the attackers from the Black Fort. The old man said, ‘you see, Sir? I have destroyed the enemy artillery for you.’

  His meaning was obvious and Ogilvie put a hand on his shoulder. ‘It shall count in your favour, Sergeant,’ he said. ‘Meanwhile, is there anything more you can tell us about the fort?’

  ‘Little enough that will help now, Sir. The guns have gone, but the rifles are still there, and this place, this hole in the rock, will be well surrounded. They’ll not want to let me get away, Sir. But you’ll understand that it was my duty to come, even though my presence may make things the worse for you and your men.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that,’ Ogilvie said, glancing momentarily at Barr. ‘Of course it was your duty to join us, Sergeant, and you’ve more than proved your worth already. You certainly haven’t made things any worse!’ He added, ‘I understand the fort’s in the hands of a man known as Masrullah Sahib, who has the reputation of being friendly towards us. How is that?’

  Makepeace said, ‘He is no longer in full command of the fort, Sir. He takes his orders now from a man called Shuja Khan, from Afghanistan, a young man, a rat of the line of Shah Shuja who once occupied the throne in Kabul. A rat of a Pathan who was personally responsible for many of my own more recent torments, Sir, and who means, as I believe, to bring out the tribes against Her Majesty, all along the Frontier, as far as Chitral and beyond.’

  Ogilvie nodded thoughtfully; Chitral, of course, had been in the air back in Peshawar. What Makepeace said linked with the situation as indicated by Andrew Black. Ogilvie questioned the sergeant further but Makepeace was unable to add more, except that he believed the rising of the tribes to be partly due to the actions of a sepoy regiment in the north, which had tortured some captives—the sepoys had been guilty of bayoneting the dying, also of heaping dry rubbish against the wounded and setting light to it. This was as far as Makepeace could go; his scanty knowledge had been gleaned from half-overheard, and in some cases only half-understood, snatches of conversation in the fort and in Kabul. Ogilvie turned his attention now to the problem, the worsening problem, of water and provisions. There were less men to feed than he had started out with, but their stocks would not last long beyond the date when the patrol had been expected to return to cantonments, unless there was a tightening of the rationing. This, Ogilvie arranged with Barr. There were no further attacks from the fort, and it became obvious that the tribesmen of Masrullah Sahib—or Shuja Khan—had finally decided to starve them out.

  ***

  On the evening of the day Ogilvie’s patrol should have marched in, an urgent dispatch reached Peshawar with word that an attack had already been mounted by the tribes in the north upon Fort Gazai and that the garrison, with its women and children, was under strong pressure. A relieving force sent from nearby Chitral town, which was still garrisoned by British troops since the earlier trouble, had been cut to pieces and the commander in Chitral, himself under threat, could spare no more men. Lord Dornoch’s face, when he returned after a summons to Division, was grey with anxiety. At once he called a conference of his officers, informing them that a strong force was to march north into Chitral province as soon as possible. The Royal Strathspeys were in fact ready in all respects, thanks to the Colonel’s foresight. Dornoch gave them a summary of the situation so far as it was known.

  Standing before a large wall map of the North-West Frontier he said, ‘you’re all familiar enough with the nature of the terrain, gentle
men, and the general lay-out—at least in theory. As for the actualities...it will be far from an easy march. As you know, Chitral state lies in the spurs of the Hindu Kush, and is inhabited by some of the most turbulent and savage hill men along the whole Frontier. It is these hill men that are rising and are currently besieging Fort Gazai, and it seems likely the fort may be over-run before we can reach it. History, gentlemen, is repeating itself—rather too closely upon its own heels than is comfortable. I refer to the march on Chitral in March last. On that occasion you will recall, there were two columns of advance, one from here, and the other from Gilghit under Colonel Kelly. The same strategy will be employed this time. The Peshawar column, that is, the whole of our Division, will march at first light the day after tomorrow, while the column from Gilghit will march the following day. The Gilghit column will be under Brigadier-General Preston and will consist chiefly of Indian units—infantry, cavalry, artillery and supporting corps. Now, we have a little under two hundred miles to cover, the 2nd Brigade from Gilghit has a little over. We are ordered to rendezvous east of Fort Gazai as soon as possible—that’s vague, I know. Last time, the march from Gilghit to the Chitral River took Colonel Kelly twenty-six days. The first Division from Nowshera took a few days longer than Kelly to reach the garrison in Chitral city, after delays in action along the route. This time we shall both attempt to make the march faster. Twenty-six days is a long time to a garrison under siege. If we fail to arrive in less time, then it is feared we shall have to regard Fort Gazai as lost. The restoration of the status quo will then be a long and costly business. But even that is not the worst aspect, gentlemen. I have it very much in mind that there are women and children in Fort. Gazai. If they are taken, we know what will happen. The children will be killed, and the women will be used by the tribesmen. I think I need say no more about that.’ He paused scanning his officers’ faces. ‘Are there any questions, gentlemen?’

  Black said, ‘yes, Colonel. What do you wish me to do about Ogilvie?’

  ‘Ogilvie …’ Dornoch ran a hand wearily along his chin. ‘Overdue, isn’t he, but only by a few hours.’ He pulled out his watch. ‘We’ll give him until tomorrow morning, Andrew, then I’ll review the position. Bring this to my notice again at 8 a.m., if you please. Oh, and while we’re speaking of Ogilvie, Andrew—and the rest of you, gentlemen. I think you will all have met his cousin, Mr. Hector Ogilvie of the India Office.’ Hector had arrived from Simla via Murree three days before, and all the officers had been more than a trifle wary of him; something of a blight had been cast over the Mess and its off-duty life, though in all conscience the preparations put in hand by Lord Dornoch had left little time for anything but work. Dornoch went on abruptly, as though he didn’t much care for what he had to say, ‘Mr. Hector Ogilvie...I have been personally informed to this effect by General Fettleworth...Mr. Hector Ogilvie wishes to see as much of the Frontier as he is able before he returns to Whitehall. It has been decided that he shall accompany the march with the 114th.’ He caught the adjutant’s amazed eye. ‘Yes, Andrew?’

  ‘I call this monstrous!’ Black said angrily. ‘Monstrous, Colonel! To be burdened upon the march—and then in action—with a—’

  ‘Yes, yes, Andrew. I have to say I entirely agree, but my hands are tied. I have already pointed out the hazards and the inconvenience and I have been overruled. In view of Mr. Ogilvie’s appointment—I think you will understand me—I thought it in the best interests of the regiment not to protest too far, or I would certainly have refused to take him, orders or no orders, in which case he would have been allocated to some other regiment. I want you all to bear in mind that he is Sir Iain Ogilvie’s nephew, and to remember Sir Iain’s own long service with the 114th Highlanders. That is all I have to say on the matter, gentlemen—except this.’ Dornoch paused, frowning. ‘While you must feel no constrictions upon your actions as a result of Mr. Ogilvie’s presence, you will bear constantly in mind that he—er—that he—’

  Major Hay saved his Colonel his embarrassment. ‘We all understand very well, Colonel,’ he said. ‘The utmost care will be taken at all times.’

  Dornoch smiled in grateful relief. ‘Thank you, John,’ he said.

  Hector had in truth been far from pleased at the turn of events that seemed likely to project him into violent action; action was not in his nature. He was an observer, an administrator, a man of affairs most at home behind an expensive desk with a secretary to take care of the detail, the donkey work and the visitors. But the bland suggestion, albeit with tongue in cheek, had been put to him by his Uncle Iain in Murree, and conveyed to Major-General Francis Fettleworth in Peshawar. Fettleworth, though disliking Sir Iain heartily enough, was always willing to oblige any Army Commander under whom he happened, to be serving, and, after half an hour spent in Mr. Hector Ogilvie’s company, had become even more obliging. Mr. Ogilvie should most certainly see all that was going—and damn good luck to the clerkly little bugger! It was seldom that serving officers had the opportunity to watch a Civilian squirm under the harsh realities of forced marches in adverse conditions—and such a one as this especially! Besides, Fettleworth was good at reading between the lines, and he knew Sir Iain pretty well. The Army Commander was anxious for his nephew to be given the best of all possible insights into the hard life of the Queen’s military service.

  He would be.

  Hector sensed all this, and felt vindictive about it; but, short of appearing to be a coward, there was no way whatsoever of backing out. A faked-up illness would be seen through, and would rank with cowardice. It was thoroughly filthy luck that he should have come on to Peshawar at just the very time there was trouble in the air; but now that it had happened, it had to be put up with. His uncle was by no means incapable of dropping some adverse opinions into high Civilian ears, and Sir Iain, though merely a soldier, would be listened to with respect. But the following afternoon Hector fancied he smelt reprieve, at least to some extent. In the middle of the last minute touches being put to the forthcoming march, the man who had been allocated to Hector as a servant came to his quarters and informed his temporary master that the adjutant would be much obliged if he would step towards his office.

  ‘Very well,’ Hector said ungraciously, and after delaying ten minutes, did as he had been bid. He found Andrew Black in an unpleasant mood.

  ‘Ah—Mr. Ogilvie.’ Black looked up at the clock on the opposite wall. ‘Kind of you to come. Did your servant take all this time finding you, may I ask?’

  ‘I imagine he did, yes,’ Hector answered, adjusting his spectacles. ‘He’s just this moment come to my room.’ In view of Black’s expression, he had deemed the white lie, as he considered it, expedient. He preferred, when possible, not to fall out with people, to their faces.

  Black said, ‘Hmph,’ disbelievingly. ‘Sit down, Mr. Ogilvie, if you please.’ Hector sat, and Black continued. ‘With regard to your accompanying the Division tomorrow. I regret to say, something else has cropped up. Or should I say, may crop up. You’re aware, of course, that your cousin is away with a patrol towards Sikat, and has not yet returned.’

  ‘Yes, indeed, Captain Black.’

  ‘This means he is overdue.’ Black tapped irritably on his blotter with a pencil. ‘A confounded nuisance, at a time like this. It makes for a deal of complications—a deal! The Colonel has ordered that if no word is received of Lieutenant Ogilvie by dawn tomorrow a half-company will detach from the column when the advance is past Abazai, and will proceed to search for the patrol. The Colonel has allotted me the responsibility of commanding this half-company.’ Black’s voice gave the appointment honour; in his heart he was furious, sensing that Dornoch’s action was a slight and that the Colonel preferred to have his company commanders with him on the march rather than detach one of them. To command a mere half-company was no part of an adjutant’s duty. However, he went on, ‘I am ordered to locate the patrol and, depending on the state they are in when found, either to bring them back to cantonments or lead them n
orth to re-join the column of advance towards Fort Gazai. Now, what I’m coming to is this, Mr. Ogilvie : Lord Dornoch suggests you may prefer to come with me, rather than remain with the column. After all, your cousin...and you will see a very representative slice of the Frontier.’ He stopped; he did not in the least want Hector Ogilvie with him. It is your choice entirely,’ he added with a shrug.

  Hector jumped at it. ‘I would much like to accompany you, Captain Black. As you say—my cousin and—all that. Yes. Thank you.’

  ‘That’s your decision, Mr. Ogilvie?’

  ‘Oh yes, indeed it is—’

  ‘Very well, then,’ Black said, and added acidly, ‘I shall look forward to the pleasure. And now, if you don’t mind, I’m a very busy man just now.’

  ‘Of course.’ Hector got to his feet. As he made for the door Black’s sharp voice reminded him that he must be up and ready to march at the crack of dawn.

  By next morning Ogilvie’s patrol had still not returned, but during the night a report had been received from Brigade concerning the observations of the Political Service, where information had filtered through from a source hitherto believed to be defunct, to the effect that an exchange of fire, and what appeared to be a siege, had been noted in a remote valley south-east of Sikat village. Lord Dornoch was at once roused from his bed; and to him it seemed too much of a coincidence to be neglected. Together with Andrew Black, he studied detailed maps of the area and brought a finger down on a valley running roughly parallel with that of the Panjkora River. ‘That’s where you’ll find him,’ he said with decision.

  Black murmured, his head bent over the map, ‘a bad business, Colonel, a very bad business. The boy—’

  ‘Boy, nonsense. He’s a grown man.’

  ‘Yes, Colonel. Boy or man, he was under orders to avoid an engagement—’

  ‘But not necessarily to run away if attacked. We can’t make any judgments without the facts before us. So don’t try to.’ Dornoch tapped the map and looked keenly at his adjutant. The report is precise, so location shouldn’t be hard—and I want that patrol brought in intact and without any accusations having been made. One thing more: your half-company will act as escort only. Ogilvie remains in command of the patrol. Is that clearly understood?’