Lieutenant of the Line

by Philip McCutchan

  ‘Ssh!’ Ogilvie hissed the warning; he had seen the approach of Captain Black through the dusty scrub, Black on the lookout for trouble. Makepeace’s whisper died away and Ogilvie scrambled to his feet as Black came up. The adjutant didn’t say a word, but his eyebrows went up sharply and his lip curled in disdain. Looking Ogilvie up and down as he sauntered on, Black went past. Flushing, Ogilvie gave Makepeace a curt nod, called out for the escort and went back towards the other officers of his company. He felt he had really learned little from the old man except perhaps that the men expected to be chivvied and bullied. Yet that too could well be wrong; Makepeace would be too old and too set in his ways, in hit former service, to understand the changing times. Not only Makepeace. That very afternoon, the trouble Ogilvie had been expecting blew up in his face, if only in a mild way. Colour-Sergeant Barr gave an order that was disobeyed. Ogilvie guessed something had happened when Barr marched stiffly up the column with a face like thunder, a private soldier ahead of him. Bypassing Ogilvie, who happened to be with his company commander, Barr marched straight up to MacKinlay.

  ‘Sir!’ he reported in a carrying voice. ‘Private Yelf, Sir. Refused to obey my order, Sir.’

  MacKinlay stifled a sigh, rather obviously. ‘What was the order, Colour-Sarn’t?’

  ‘This man, Sir, was acting as escort to the prisoner Makepeace. I ordered him to stop assisting the prisoner. Sir.’

  ‘Stop assisting him, Colour-Sarn’t?’

  ‘Sir, Private Yelf was supporting the prisoner, who was malingering. He is fit to march unaided, and to assist him was to place extra strain upon a man needed to be fit for action.’ Barr blew through his moustache. ‘When ordered to desist, Private Yelf refused to do so. Sir!’

  ‘Very well, Colour-Sarn’t. You do not dispute the facts, Yelf?’

  ‘No, Sir, I do not.’ The young private spoke with a firm, hot honesty, looking MacKinlay right in the eye.

  ‘Then you will be placed in arrest and will appear before the adjutant in due course. Carry on, please, Colour-Sarn’t I’d like a word with you when you’ve seen to Yelf.’

  ‘Sir!’ Barr turned away and marched Yelf back down the column, shouting out the step loudly.

  MacKinlay said, ‘oh, hell and damnation, James! You’d think the bloody man’d have more common sense.’

  ‘You mean Barr?’

  ‘Of course I mean Barr. He’d better watch his step, or he’s going to have to be taken down a peg or two.’ MacKinlay paused, then looked sideways at Ogilvie. ‘You’ve never said so, James, but I’ve a feeling you didn’t get along too well with him on this last patrol. Am I right? I’d like you to tell me, you know.’

  After some hesitation, Ogilvie said, ‘yes, you are right, Rob. The man’s impossible, really, but you know what the situation is—thanks to Fettleworth’s order. I didn’t feel inclined to say too much to the Colonel when he asked me’

  MacKinlay nodded. ‘I can understand that, but you may be sure the Colonel knows the score, James. Tell me all about it.’

  Ogilvie did so, and when he had finished MacKinlay said, ‘well, don’t worry too much, old boy. Give Barr just a little more rope and he’ll hang himself in the end, you mark my words. That sort always slips up sooner or later, even if he seems to take a long time doing it.’ He paused. ‘Regarding this current business...is your old warrior malingering?’

  ‘No! He’d never do that.’ Ogilvie hitched at the straps of his equipment. ‘I’ve seen for myself that he’s feeling the strain. I think he’s been treated damned unfairly all the way along, frankly.’

  ‘Well, don’t be too frank, or at least, not too loud when you are! Forget his age, James. Just remember he has done just about the worst thing in the book, whatever the reasons.’

  Ogilvie felt inclined to argue that, but bit down on his retort. He thought once again of the conversation he had had with Makepeace at the last halt, wondered what the old man had been going to say, what his particular piece of knowledge was all about, and just then Barr came back with his kilt swinging, his face dark beneath the khaki brim of his pith helmet. ‘Sir! You wished to see me again?’

  ‘Yes, Colour-Sarn’t. I’d be obliged,’ MacKinlay said sourly, ‘if you’d keep defaulters to the minimum whilst on the march. We have scarcely the facilities for dealing with them, except for important offences.’

  ‘The man disobeyed a direct order, Sir!’

  ‘Oh, I’m not disputing that—or the gravity of his doing so. But the offence was given rise to by something—well, by something minimal, Colour Sarn’t. Very minimal. Sergeant Makepeace is an old man. A blind eye would have been the better way, don’t you think?’

  ‘Sir!’ Barr’s face was livid, but he wasn’t saying a word out of place.

  ‘We don’t want him to die on the march.’

  ‘That we don’t, Sir!’ There was relish in Barr’s tone; the hangman must not be cheated of his due victim—and perhaps another ceremony on the parade at Peshawar.

  ‘Then, that being agreed, Colour-Sarn’t, I want Sarn’t Makepeace to be carried by his escort from now on.’

  ‘Carried?’ Barr’s face was a picture this time.

  ‘Yes, Colour-Sarn’t. In a doolie. See to that, if you please, and quickly.’

  Barr’s mouth opened and he gasped, audibly. ‘This will be a burden on the men detailed, Sir.’

  ‘Oh, no, I think not, Colour-Sarn’t. You’ll give them easy spells, of course. Let’s say, half an hour each. We have enough men and it can be kept as a company affair.’

  ‘But Sir—but Sir—in the Seaforths we would never—’

  ‘Please do as I say, Colour-Sarn’t Barr.’

  ‘I would prefer—’

  MacKinlay, smiling icily, said, ‘I am not asking for your preferences, Colour-Sarn’t, I am giving you an order. I take it you are not proposing to disobey?’

  ‘Sir!’ This time the word was an explosion of sheer wrathful disbelief and astonishment rather than the customary acknowledgement of an officer’s command. Barr glared, but turned away smartly. The affair, however, had not yet run its course. At that moment Black rode up and happened to see Barr’s face. He asked, ‘what’s the matter, Barr?’

  ‘Matter!’ All Barr’s fury came out in a rush. ‘Matter, Captain Black, Sir! I am ordered by Captain MacKinlay, Sir, to carry that deserter of Mr. Ogilvie’s! In a doolie, Sir!’

  Black smiled thinly. ‘Personally, Colour-Sarn’t?’

  ‘Er…not personally, Sir, no.’

  ‘But even if you were, Colour-Sarn’t, you would, as I do sincerely trust, carry out the order?’

  ‘Why, I—I....’ Barr was stuttering with rage now. ‘Yes, I suppose I would, Sir. Yes. I would have to—wouldn’t I?’

  ‘Truly put, Colour-Sarn’t, well and truly put. That is all.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘I said that is all.’

  ‘Sir!’ His thick wrestler’s body quivering, indignation and horror in every pleat of his kilt as it swirled about his thighs, Barr marched away. Black looked at MacKinlay. As usual, he made no attempt to keep his voice down. ‘It would appear you have surpassed yourself, Captain MacKinlay. You have gravely upset Colour-Sarn’t Barr, and no wonder—and all in the interest of a damn deserter.’ Black looked coldly at Ogilvie, the officer primarily responsible. ‘Captain MacKinlay, you will observe that I have supported you, as was my duty. You will now undo the harm you have done.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘How, you ask? Think, man, think! You will at once countermand your order, Captain MacKinlay—yourself. Thus due dignity will be preserved. No deserter is going to travel in a doolie while I am adjutant of the 114th. Be very sure of that. One other thing: I have noticed signs of much slackness in your company, Captain MacKinlay. Idleness, slovenliness, talking in the ranks, never made a soldier yet. From now on, all of B Company will march at attention, Captain MacKinlay, yourself and Mr. Ogilvie included of course, and half an hour after the column halts for the night there wi
ll be another dress inspection of B Company, which I shall once again carry out myself’

  Without waiting for MacKinlay’s reaction Black spurred his horse on towards Lord Dornoch. At once, loud talking broke out in the ranks behind. As Ogilvie turned to put a stop to it, he saw the same men as had been discussing Black in the bivouacs earlier. Their faces were ugly and menacing. But from then on Black’s order was rigidly obeyed—and MacKinlay’s duly countermanded. Sergeant Makepeace struggled on behind a silent company, men carrying their rifles at the slope, keeping their dressing by the right and marching in step along the treacherous, rocky ground. And all the time Barr was busy, yelling out the step, taking names, straightening rifle butts roughly, criticizing the set of the helmets and of kilts; and Black was riding up and down the company column, smiling with devilish sarcasm at the men’s discomfort, which increased progressively as the day wore along. When the column halted that night, the men of B Company were given no respite before they had to begin smartening up their uniforms, polishing buttons and boots as best they could, shaking off dust, washing mud-stained stockings in such evil-smelling water as they could find in the gullies, and putting them on again, wet, for Black’s inspection, rigorously carried out. That night Ogilvie felt the men were on the point of mutiny and he reported as much to MacKinlay. MacKinlay pooh-poohed his fears, however. He said, ‘I shouldn’t worry too much, old boy. Blacks come and Blacks go—the men have mostly met them before and will meet them again. They ride the storms, you know.’

  ‘I’m not so certain.’ Ogilvie was worried. ‘Don’t forget it’s the first time in India for most of the men—agreed we’ve been out here a year, but Black’s the only one of his kind they’ve encountered yet.’

  ‘The old hands’ll keep the hotheads in check, James. And don’t you forget we have some first-class N.C.O.s If there’s any real trouble brewing, they’ll be the first to spot it.’

  ‘Barr isn’t much help.’

  ‘He would be, in a situation of that sort. You can rely on that. He’s a so-and-so with the men, but he’s a very loyal N.C.O., even if you don’t always hit it off with him. I know he talks too much about the Seaforths, but he’s very jealous of the Royal Strathspeys’ reputation too.’ MacKinlay clapped Ogilvie on the shoulder. ‘Just keep an eye open now and again, but don’t let it get on your mind. Soldiers always grouse—it’s much more dangerous when they don’t. All the same, you were quite right to tell me, and I’ll be keeping an eye on things as well, you may be sure.’

  ‘I was wondering if it mightn’t be a good thing if you were to have a word with Black.’

  MacKinlay unfolded a camp chair and sat himself down on it. ‘That would only make things worse,’ he said, lighting his pipe. ‘Black’s not the sort to appreciate comment!’

  ‘The company’s still your responsibility, Rob.’

  MacKinlay looked up sharply at that. ‘I don’t need you to remind me of my responsibilities,’ he said in a cool voice.

  Ogilvie flushed. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it quite like that.’

  ‘Damned if I know how you did mean it, then. Do stop fussing around like an old hen, James! If I thought there was anything seriously wrong, I’d go for Black like a dose of salts, don’t you worry. But this isn’t the moment. I don’t want to worsen his mood when things are nowhere near danger point. If I saw that point really coming up, James, I’d go over Black’s head and straight to Hay or the Colonel. Now—just leave it at that.’ He broke off. ‘I see cousin Hector looming up, James. We don’t want our domestic troubles to be brought too closely to Whitehall’s attention!’

  Hector came up, looking disconsolate. Ogilvie asked, ‘found yourself a good billet, Hector?’

  ‘Not very. It’s going to be frightfully uncomfortable, and I didn’t get much sleep last night either.’

  ‘That’s active service for you,’ MacKinlay said. He looked quizzically at Hector. ‘Didn’t they warn you before we started?’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘You thought soldiers always exaggerated?’

  ‘It was rather my impression.’

  MacKinlay laughed. ‘I think this march has opened your eyes a little, old boy! Well, that’s all to the good; and if you don’t mind my saying so, I think you’ve shown a remarkable amount of guts in coming with us. I really mean that.’

  Hector looked pleased. ‘I think you fellows have more guts than anyone I’ve ever met,’ he said. Then he coloured, and, seeming confused, muttered some excuse and went off. Ogilvie said, ‘that’s the first time I’ve heard Hector use a vulgar word like guts. This experience is doing him good!’

  ‘And us, I rather believe. Cousin Hector has the look of a man who’s going a long way, James. It never does the army any harm to have the top Civilians sympathetic towards them.’

  Ogilvie nodded, and soon after that moved away, back to the men’s bivouacs, trying to get the feel of the situation. The murmurs, now that the cleaning operation and the inspection were over, had died away. The rations had been brought up the line by the bearers and the men were talking together quietly. When the wretched fare had been eaten there was even some singing that swelled then gradually tailed away, and soon they began to settle down for the night in the hollows and behind the rocks, in the nullahs or in shallow trenches that they had excavated for themselves. A moon came up, lighting the hills, lighting the country they had yet to march through before they could join up with the column from Gilghit and cover the last miles to Fort Gazai. After a while Ogilvie went back to his own bivouac and slept; tonight, as it happened, he had no guard duties and he looked forward to a long rest until the dawn bugles blew. But this was not to be, and, oddly enough, when the trouble came, it was Hector who was the first to spot the signs. Ogilvie had been asleep for no more than a couple of hours when he felt a hand shaking him awake and he heard his cousin’s urgent voice in his ear.

  He sat up. ‘What is it, Hector?’

  ‘I don’t know. I couldn’t sleep—I’ve just been lying awake, you know. I saw some sort of movement on the hillside, ahead and to the left. Over there.’ He pointed.

  Ogilvie, looking hard, saw nothing. The moon had gone behind low cloud. He asked, ‘just what did you see?’

  ‘I can’t be sure, really. It looked like a man, visible on the summit. I only saw it for a moment, a fraction of a second. I could be wrong. I thought I’d come and tell you, though.’

  ‘Quite right. But we do know we’re being watched along the way, of course.’ Ogilvie took another long, intent look through his field glasses—and then he saw a movement on the hillside as the moon came out from behind the cloud. It was no more than a sudden brief glint, a shining of the moon on moving metal, but it was enough. The movement was down the hillside. Ogilvie scrambled to his feet and ran for the Officer of the Guard, a subaltern of the 88th. He said breathlessly, ‘there’s movement on the hills, O’Rourke. If I were you, I’d sound the alarm.’

  ‘The devil you would!’ The Irishman brought up his glasses and searched the hillside. ‘I see nothing.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. They’re a slippery lot...I’ve been caught like this before. We can’t take a chance, believe me.’

  In the moonlight Ogilvie saw the officer’s hard stare, summing him up. Then the subaltern nodded and turned to his bugler. ‘Alarm to arms,’ he said curtly.

  The bugle sounded out over the sleeping men, was taken up by others along the spread-out bivouacs. Everywhere soldiers scrambled to their feet, reaching out for their rifles. The machine guns swung to cover the perimeter on all possible arcs of fire. Action had been taken just in time; as Ogilvie ran towards his half-company a mass of bodies was seen scrambling back for the summit, natives beating it fast for safety now that the column was ready for them. There was a burst of fire from the machine guns, and a number of rifle shots; there was some return fire from the tribesmen as they fled, and that was all. There were no casualties in the British lines.—except for one flesh wound; and the wounded
man was Captain Black, who had been hit in the left arm just below the shoulder. It was far from being a serious wound, though Black was making a good deal of it. Surgeon. Major Carton attended the adjutant together with two orderlies and decided to extract the bullet, which had embedded close to the bone, immediately.

  ‘Hold still, Andrew,’ he said. ‘It’ll not hurt. I’ll give you a local anaesthetic.’ He prepared his hypodermic with cocaine, sent a squirt into the air by the light of a storm lantern, then slid the point of the needle into the fleshy part of Black’s upper arm. When the cocaine had taken its effect he began to probe. Black’s eyes rolled and his face glistened with sweat; his teeth were held fast together and he wore a martyred look. Corton hummed a tune to himself as he worked; the job didn’t take him long. After a few minutes he sat back on his haunches and said, ‘well, Andrew, there she is, all out in one piece, and you’ll be none the worse.’ He gestured to an orderly, who swabbed at the wound. ‘I’ll put a couple of stitches in and you’ll be fine. D’you want to keep the bullet as a souvenir, Andrew, for posterity?’

  Black made a grimace, then asked, ‘where is it, Doctor?’

  ‘Here,’ Corton said, and passed it over. Black took it in his right hand and studied it in the lantern’s light. Then he gave a start, seemed about to speak, but thought better of it; his face, as Corton deftly inserted the stitches and then bandaged his arm, was white and stiff and he didn’t seem to be aware of what was going on around him. When he was lifted to his feet and assisted back to his bivouac, he was shaking all over; and when he had been made comfortable he sent for Colour-Sergeant Barr. Then he sent for MacKinlay.

  ***

  Next morning MacKinlay told Ogilvie the story in confidence. The bullet that had entered Black’s arm had been fired from a Long Lee Enfield rifle. The hill tribes along the Frontier were known to be in possession of British arms, some of them actually supplied by British firms whose purses were of more importance to them than their consciences, but it was most unlikely that any of the new rifles would have reached them. The Long Lee Enfield had been produced only that very year at the Royal Small Arms Factory at Enfield and was not yet in service except with the 114th as guinea pigs. So far as Ogilvie knew, no other British regiment had them, and would not have them, probably, for many months to come.