MacKinlay said, ‘well, old boy, you were quite right, and I apologize most humbly. This could have been so damn serious it doesn’t bear thinking about.’
‘What’s going to happen now?’
‘Nothing, except Andrew’s going to take off the pressure.’
‘He’s not taking any action at all?’
‘No. There will be no report to the Colonel. He swore Barr and me to secrecy, and I’m doing the same with you, James. This is to go no further and I don’t want to hear it discussed again. You can take that as an order. It’s over.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘But our adjutant’s had a God Almighty shock! I had a talk with him after Barr left us. He knows there isn’t a hope in hell of ever finding out who fired that bullet, and he feels the least said the better, in case he gets another with a better aim to it. For my part, I remembered what you’d told me and I laid it on very, very thick, I can tell you! I don’t believe we’ll have any more trouble from Black on this march, James.’
Soon after this the troops breakfasted and then the column of advance reformed. Black kept well out of the way of B Company and there was no repetition of the order to march at attention. Before the men had moved off, Hector had been sent for by Lord Dornoch and taken to the Divisional Commander, who was drinking coffee at his trestle table. Fettleworth had congratulated Hector on his voluntary vigilance. ‘Damn good effort, Mr. Ogilvie,’ the General said. ‘You saved a great many lives, let me tell you—a great many lives—and much valuable ammunition. Well done! We’ll make a soldier out of you yet—what?’
James was glad enough that his cousin’s act, which he himself had reported to Lord Dornoch, had received its due recognition; but he couldn’t help smiling to himself as he saw the suddenly acquired military straightness in Hector’s back and shoulders as he joined that day’s march.
Three days later the scouts picked up a wild-looking man whom they had believed to be a surrendering Pathan, a ragged man smelling to high heaven who turned out to be one Captain Hopkiss of the Political Service. Hopkiss, sent at once to the General, reported that he had left Fort Gazai four days earlier and had slipped in his disguise through the enemy lines. The garrison of the fort, he said, was in a sorry state, being much reduced in numbers by continual sorties from the enemy; the food and ammunition were running out, and the daily ration reduced to below subsistence level even for the women and children. There was hysteria among the latter each time rations were issued; and there was a strong likelihood of an epidemic breaking out if the fort was not soon relieved and fed. Meanwhile more and more of the Frontier tribes were coming out and were joining up with the 60,000-strong army encamped before the town and fort. Shuja Khan had arrived, and was in personal command of this army in the name of his father in Afghanistan. By now there was full expectancy that the final assault would be mounted at any moment and the garrison overrun. Major-General Fettleworth called a conference of Commanding Officers, together with all Staff Officers from Division and the various Brigade Headquarters. He addressed them at some length, and fulsomely, about the serious consequences throughout the British Raj if Fort Gazai should fall and its occupants be murdered, as they would be. He talked much, and quite unnecessarily, about the urgent need to reach especially the women and children in time; every man in the column was already well enough aware of what would happen to them. Fettleworth added that Captain Hopkiss had information from his department that the column from Gilghit under Brigadier-General Preston would by now have most likely reached Laspur and would be across the Panjkora River.
‘If this is the case,’ Fettleworth said, ‘I would expect that column to be marching down the west bank of the Panjkora for Fort Gazai. In which case, gentlemen, I shall expect to rendezvous late tomorrow evening. That can be considered good news. There is, however, less pleasant news. I am informed by Captain Hopkiss that General Preston’s column had been badly mauled whilst marching through the Shandur Pass, and its fighting strength reduced to one half. It will be up to us, gentlemen, to redress the balance.’
***
In Muree Sir Iain Ogilvie pushed his maps aside, rubbed wearily at his eyes, and irritably dismissed his Chief of Staff. All that could be done, had been done. The rest was in the hands of the Almighty—whose representative in Murree, by virtue of his office under Her Majesty in Windsor, Sir Iain in a sense was. He was in fact tremendously aware of his responsibilities for the lives of a vast number of men; he was not a general who cared to have high casualty lists. There were such; to some high-ranking officers, a large casualty list was a measure of their own effort in victory, of their own struggle in defeat. Not that anyone wished men to die; it was simply that they were not impressed with the tragedy, with its consequences to the bereaved families. Of course, you couldn’t fight a campaign if you were afraid of losses, but there were ways of minimizing them all the same. Some generals took pains to minimize them, others did not—that was all. Bloody Francis was in the latter category, and currently held in his inept hands the life of Sir Iain’s son. Sir Iain’s nephew too, blast it to hell...Sir Iain champed angrily, gnawing at the ends of his drooping moustache. Brother Rufus would never forgive him if the feller should be lost. Couldn’t blame him, either. But James...he was really very fond of the boy. Didn’t show it much, but...Sir Iain thought momentarily of Archdale’s wife. A damn good-looking filly, that! The General’s blue eyes, so like Fettleworth’s, gleamed. Why, he wouldn’t mind bedding her himself, he was still capable—still all right to look at, too, if a trifle paunchy and grey. White, his wife said, but he disagreed. He could see no traces of white. She said it only to destroy his confidence vis-a-vis young women, he felt sure. If so, it hadn’t worked...Moodily, he crossed the room and brought out a whisky bottle and poured himself a chota peg, which he downed fast. He took a pinch of snuff, then looked at the bottle again, but regretfully put it back in the cupboard. He needed to be mentally alert now of all times; no one could tell what the next news from Fort Gazai might be; already he had asked for Peshawar to be strengthened by troops from Southern Command at Ootacamund, and he might yet have to fling them across that treacherous country towards Chitral...if only, he thought suddenly, men had wings! There had been some talk of flying machines, but that was a lot of hot air, they would never get off the ground, and if they did, they would only carry the driver or whatever he would be called. But what a miracle it would be...
Sir Iain blew out his moustache. Mary Archdale...damn! Possibly Fiona was right; besides, he’d always wanted to rid his command of that fool Archdale, hadn’t he? It might cause some ill feeling, but he could always go over Fettleworth’s head and have the man sent home. Reasons could always be trumped up—medical if no other. Have the man invalided—he’d probably drunk quite enough whisky in his time to have the makings of cirrhosis of the liver and if he hadn’t, why, he could always be adjudged too thin or too fat for the climate. In Archdale’s case, too fat. Or—with that damn mobile commode of his—too turgid in his bowel movements. Sir Iain thought once again, lustfully, of the wife. How she could bear that great, gross, constipated body...he shook himself; this was getting him nowhere at all. He had to do what he could to protect his son’s career. Yes—damn it—Fiona was right, it simply would not do at all to have a scandal and James had been infernally indiscreet if all Fiona said was true, which it would be; she didn’t embroider as much as most women, never had. Sir Iain banged a bell on his desk and a messenger doubled in and crashed to attention.
‘Sir!’
‘My compliments to the Director of Personnel Services, and I’d like the particulars of the career of Major Thomas Archdale, 178th Mahrattas. At once.’
‘Sir!’ Boots crashed again and the messenger turned away. There was no time like the present, Sir Iain reflected, even if within the next few days he had no son to consider.
***
As forecast by General Fettleworth, the rendezvous was made the following evening with Preston’s force. Marching north in the purple Indian twi
light, along the western river bank, the scouts saw the dust-cloud ahead and word was sent quickly back to Bloody Francis. Soon the battalions in the van of the advance heard the heartening sound of the fifes and drums beating out into the still air, and then they too saw the dust-cloud and, emerging from under it, the weary but still proudly marching troops of Brigadier-General Preston, battle-scarred and with blood-stained uniforms and bandages, and burdened with what seemed to be a colossal number of wounded being borne along in the doolies.
There was a resounding cheer from the Peshawar column as the men from Gilghit marched to join them, but the cheers fell away raggedly as they saw the extent of the force’s mauling in the Shandur Pass. It had been reduced to little more than a skeleton and there seemed to be more wounded than fit men if the count included the walking wounded. Ogilvie stared in amazement, feeling a lump in his throat as he thought of so much heroism. Daily it was being borne in upon him that his Scots had no monopoly of guts. General Fettleworth rode through the column preceded by a mounted escort and accompanied by his Chief of Staff, to greet Preston. Fettleworth knew of Preston, who was one of the younger brigadiers and a man of what he considered advanced ideas; thus Fettleworth was inclined to caution.
‘Delighted to join you,’ he said, returning the junior general’s salute. Preston, he noted, looked sick and drawn. ‘You appear to have had a bad passage.’
‘God, that’s an understatement if ever I heard one,’ Preston answered. He was a small man, slim and spare, with a sharp, intelligent face and bright eyes—too bright, Fettleworth fancied as he studied him; and he hadn’t much cared for the tone. ‘I’m sorry to have to report that I’ve lost two thousand men killed, and I’m carrying another three thousand wounded. It was bloody murder.’
Even Fettleworth was startled at the figures. ‘Good gracious me! Shocking—shocking! I’m very sorry. And your supply train?’
‘Gone,’ Preston answered briefly and bitterly. He passed a hand across his eyes. ‘My Indian commissariat and camp followers bunked. We were ambushed, you see—in an especially difficult defile. We couldn’t fight back with any effect. We were sitting targets almost—for an ambush of twenty thousand tribesmen at a guess. They were deployed along the crests and firing down right into us and there was no cover.’ He added, ‘I have also to report...’ he was swaying in the saddle from sheer weariness ‘…I’ve lost almost all my guns.’
‘Poof!’ Fettleworth said. He bared his teeth in his horsey grimace; he looked remarkably like a Japanese general.
Preston said, ‘I beg your pardon, Sir?’
‘Oh, nothing...but guns are of little account to me. I dare say you know my views on the use of guns.’
‘As a matter of fact, yes. Allow me to predict, however, you’ll never win a battle without ‘em.’
‘Nonsense. I think I may say I’ve been successful enough in winning battles, Brigadier-General Preston, with my artillery held in reserve throughout.’
‘Well, let us not argue the point now,’ Preston said coolly. ‘I—’
‘By Jingo, Sir, I think you must be tired!’
‘By God I am.’ Preston’s tone was cooler than ever. ‘I’m ready to drop, and so, I might add, are my men. I couldn’t have moved ‘em a step farther.’ He gave a nod of his head to the westward. ‘I hear things are not too bright in Fort Gazai, Sir.’
‘They’re not,’ Fettleworth agreed disagreeably; he had not liked having the subject changed for him. However, the arrival of our joint force will alter the balance—’
‘If we’re in time.’
‘What?’ Fettleworth’s eyebrows shot up.
‘I said, if we’re in time.’
‘Damn it, of course we’ll…’ .Fettleworth suddenly changed what he had been going to say; even he could scarcely forecast when Fort Gazai might fall. ‘We’ll use our best endeavours,’ he said stiffly, instead. ‘We shall not fail.’
‘May I remind you, I have three thousand wounded, give or take a few. Of those, something in the region of fifteen hundred should really be stretcher cases. They’re going to hold us up and we must face the facts of that, Sir.’
Fettleworth clicked his tongue; the fellow was only too right. ‘We shall have to discuss the matter in detail,’ he snapped.
‘Yes, of course. There’s just one thing I’d like to make clear before any discussions take place, however.’ Preston looked round at his depleted, forlorn column, at the wounded, at the men still on their feet, their bodies swaying from the effort of the march and from lack of food. Then he turned back to Fettleworth and said, ‘I shall not leave a single one of my men behind, General, and I must state that quite clearly.’
Bloody Francis blew his moustache up angrily. ‘Well, General Preston, we shall see, we shall see.’
‘No. We shall not see, General Fettleworth. I am adamant.’
They glared at one another.
‘I have heard,’ Hector said, ‘that he’s an excellent general.’
‘So’ve I.’ Ogilvie looked round the bivouacs; both the columns had intermingled now, and some of the strain was going from the eyes of Preston’s troops, who now had a meal under their belts and were falling asleep already. Ogilvie, understanding the dialect, had overheard some comment on the recent march from the sepoys, and every one testified to the bravery of their General and to his regard for his men, who clearly loved him. Physically Preston was somewhat like Lord Roberts, and it seemed he inspired his men in much the same way as Bobs Bahadur, as Roberts was known to his troops, inspired his. Ogilvie, marvelling at the hardihood and valour of Preston’s men, wished Preston had been given their own Division; he was, frankly, fearful of the outcome once they reached Fort Gazai. After that terrible display back in the Malakand Pass, it seemed clear enough that Fettleworth knew little of how to deploy men in battle in anything approaching modern conditions; and if the rot set in outside Fort Gazai, there might well be considerable trouble with the men, who were never slow to realize when they were being badly led in action; the comment after Malakand had been ripe enough. It was sheer luck that had pulled Fettleworth through that time; he would scarcely be lucky twice in a row! Ogilvie could foresee that, if he and his brother officers were to abide by their orders and their loyalty to their commander, it could become necessary to drive the men uselessly to their deaths. With men like Fettleworth in command, an officer’s loyalties were certainly torn in two, which was, to say the least, hard on the nerves.
At dawn next day the Divisional Commander called a massive conference of all officers down to and including company level. The officers sat in a ring around the General, who produced a large map of Fort Gazai and its surroundings and had this map carried around his audience by two Staff Sergeants, so that all could have a brief look at it. When the map had been paraded it was fixed to a blackboard on an easel in rear of Bloody Francis, who then outlined his tactics, which were simple enough to be followed by the meanest intelligence.
‘Gentlemen, we march, as you know, in one hour from now. I expect to be in position before Fort Gazai by noon tomorrow. This schedule will be kept to even if we have to march throughout the night. As you also know, the reports from Fort Gazai via Captain Hopkiss are not encouraging. Now, Captain Hopkiss tells me the enemy forces, up to the time he left the fort, were encamped here.’ Fettleworth picked up a long pointer and laid its end on a spot to the east of the fort. ‘The estimate of numbers is 60,000 but it is believed that this figure may have been quite considerably added to. We must, I believe, base our expectations upon having to face an army of between, say, seventy and eighty thousand men. We can muster little over twenty-four thousand fit men all told. In these circumstances, gentlemen, I do not propose to attack immediately upon our arrival unless the enemy shows signs of mounting an attack of his own. If this does not happen, the Division will dig itself into trenches at a suitable distance from the enemy—about there.’ He tapped with his pointer. ‘Yes, Captain Hopkiss, what is it?’
‘That wi
ll not do, Sir. The—’
‘Won’t do? Won’t do? What the devil d’you mean, won’t do?’
‘The ground where you are indicating is solid rock, Sir.’
‘Oh. Oh. Oh, damn! Are you sure, Captain Hopkiss?’
‘Yes, Sir. Any trenching will have to be a little farther to the south of east.’
‘Oh. Come and show me, Hopkiss.’ Hopkiss did so. The General went on, ‘Well, there, then. Now, as I was saying...the Division will dig in at a suitable distance from the enemy, such distance to be decided upon arrival according to the conditions as we find them. From these trenches, gentlemen, I shall hope to reduce the enemy by sorties, which will be made as frequently as possible. Also by rifle and machine gun fire, naturally. Thus, by a process of attrition as it were, we shall reduce the enemy to more equitable proportions before the main attack is mounted—which will be done as soon as the enemy is seen to be making clear preparations to move in on the garrison in Fort Gazai. Is that clear so far?’
There were murmurs of assent, accompanied by many looks of total incredulity. Brigadier-General Preston, occupying the centre beside the thick figure of the Divisional Commander, had his eyes closed as if in mental agony; and was saying nothing whatever. Dornoch guessed he had already said plenty and had been sat on, hard. Fettleworth went on, ‘Good. Oh, I almost forgot, gentlemen. The trench-digging operation will be covered by the cavalry and the machine guns, also by the rifles of the 1st Brigade. Understood? Very well. Now—if we should be attacked ourselves upon arrival, or if an attack appears likely after we have taken up our position in the trenches, we shall at once form square by battalions—’
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