The Sabre's Edge

by Allan Mallinson

  Joynson raised an eyebrow. 'We must hope so. However - I do not know this, officially, of course - but Hervey gave him no practicable option.'

  'How so?'

  'Better you do not know, Colonel.' Sir Ivo sighed. 'Why does Hervey have to go too? To bear witness, I suppose?' Joynson nodded.

  'Very well. And there is a fourth representation, Eustace.'

  'Indeed, Colonel?'

  'Yes. I shall join one of the parties. I think it only proper, my having been absent so long.'

  'No, Colonel, I protest. That would be most irregular. The brigadier would surely not allow it.'

  Sir Ivo smiled. 'I've spoken with him already. Oh, I'm not going to play the subaltern thrusting for promotion. I'm happy to let Green or whoever else lead. I think it right, though, that I go into the trenches and watch, at least. And you can sit in front of the regiment, where you deserve to be.' He smiled again. 'In any case, Murray says there'll not be a thing for the brigade to do!'

  After boot and saddle next day, Hervey rode to Buldeo Singh's garden. He could only marvel at the difference between the Sixth's lines, with their comfortable order, and, not a mile away, the ant-like activity of the siege park, battery and earthworks. Indeed, it reminded him of nothing so much as a schoolboy's picture again - the building of the pyramids - so many were the brown-skinned labourers and so endless seemed the task.

  He imagined that his purpose in going there was, however, an utterly vain thing. He had tried to persuade Armstrong that, his method proved, there was no purpose to his remaining there. To which Armstrong had replied that he was remaining for precisely the reason that Hervey himself would have stayed had the latter found himself in the same circumstances. Hervey had even spoken with Brigadier Anburey, but the chief engineer had only reinforced Armstrong's request, applauding the serjeant-major's sentiment but, further, stating that Armstrong was of the utmost material assistance. Hervey had reluctantly conceded, therefore, but hoped this morning to hear when his serjeant-major's work might eventually be at an end.

  'Collins is standing your duties well,' Hervey now assured Armstrong, as they sat drinking what Johnson called a bad-mashing of tea - a drink which in any circumstances but those they now found themselves in, with periodic explosions from the siege guns and the returning cannonade whistling and buzzing overhead, would have been undrinkable.

  'Are they about much?'

  'No. For the last week there's been only one troop at a time under saddle. We had to have bending yesterday to keep them keen. Sir Ivo has decided to inspect the entire regiment. That at least will be something for them to work to.'

  'Ay. Not a bad move.'

  'He intends coming down here.'

  'He's been missing the smell of powder, has he?'

  'I suspect so. He's going with one of the storming parties into the trenches.'

  Armstrong's face showed surprise. 'And so am I.'

  'Good. I've cause to be there, too, then. I'd like to see what this 'ere tunnel does.'

  'That's the reason I'm here now - to say that as soon as it's finished I want you back with the troop. The only reason I shall be in the trenches is Cornet Green, as you might imagine. There's no call for anyone else. All it will take is one lucky shell and we'll both be under the surgeon's knife. I'm not having you risk more than you have already.'

  ‘Aw, there's not likely to be a shell - any more than anywhere else.'

  Hervey smiled wryly. 'Geordie, I am not going to be the one who has to explain to Caithlin why you're peppered with shrapnel after being buried alive. Have some compassion!'

  Armstrong took another gulp of the tea, grimaced, and started rummaging in his small pack. 'Lord knows I've no ache for rum at this time of a morning, but . . .' He poured some into Hervey's mug and then his own. 'Just as you say, sir.'

  Hervey did not like the tone, for it suggested the matter was not concluded, though he knew there was little enough point pressing it. 'How much further have you to dig?'

  'It's gone slower than I thought since the collapse; fifty or sixty yards - three days, four at the most. Do you know when Lord Combermere's planning on an assault?'

  'No, I don't. But we all know it can't be long. There's a full muster any day now, I hear.'

  'Brigadier Anburey was saying the guns have brought down the major part of yon bastion's facing, but the heart of it's too solid an affair. He reckons they must have weakened it, though. He intends putting ten thousand pounds of powder under it.'

  'Great God!'

  'That's why I'd a mind to see it. But believe you me, sir, I've no intention of feeling it!'

  The week following passed in a curious mix of tedium and fever for the army of Bhurtpore. The tunnel - or rather Armstrong's tunnel, for a second was now being driven into the north-east curtain from the sap under the great ditch, an unexpected opportunity as yet unchallenged by the enemy -made steady but slow progress, unknown to all but a few. The divisional musters, though they signalled to every man that the assault must truly be near, were nevertheless thorough affairs of inspection and repair which occupied all ranks for days before and afterwards. The names for the storming parties had been forwarded to the respective headquarters, but no choice had yet been made, or at least communicated, by the general officers commanding. Daily orders were scrutinized and discussed endlessly with a view to what they revealed of the keenly awaited date. On the second day of the new year, they announced that a lack hospital would form immediately, to the charge of which Assistant-Surgeon Murray of His Majesty's Sixteenth Lancers was appointed, and this was taken by the sweats to be proof positive of assault within the week. However, there seemed only the same requirements for working and foraging parties, for guards, pickets and advanced posts - 'of the usual strength in Cavalry and Infantry' - so that by the seventh of this first month of the new year there was an edgy listlessness to the camps.

  That night, at Sir Ivo Lankester's invitation, Lord Combermere dined with the officers. He arrived at seven, just as it was dark and the night pickets had been posted, ate heartily, drank sociably and remained late. He appeared wholly content, as if events were entirely within his command. General George Stapleton Cotton, Baron Combermere, looked not unlike the Duke of Wellington himself - as Hervey had once observed in more exigent circumstances - except that the hooked nose and spare features never quite took on the duke's hawklike countenance, never quite gained the ruthless look that Hervey had noted as the hallmark of the best Peninsular generals. Yet Combermere had undoubtedly proved himself in Spain and Portugal, and indeed in Flanders and Mysore before that. And even if, as he well knew, the drawing rooms had it that his intellect did not fit him for the highest commands, were Combermere to take Bhurtpore then his name would go down in history as greater than Lake's.

  Hervey studied him long this evening. He could reach no firm conclusion, however, unlike his most decided, and approving, opinion in the Peninsula. But there, of course, he had been but a cornet. Too much had passed since then for him to be wholehearted about a man he could not know more intimately. He was past hero-worship; long past. What did his opinion matter anyway, local major of King's line cavalry?

  'Are you able to tell us, General, how things proceed?' asked Sir Ivo as he removed the stopper from a decanter of best port.

  They were twenty at table, and though Sir Ivo's question had not been posed any louder than his conversation hitherto, his fellow diners fell silent in keen anticipation of a substantive reply.

  Lord Combermere lit his cigar and leaned back in his chair. 'I am among friends, Ivo. I think I may tell you a little of how things have gone.'

  There was now an almost tangible hush.

  'Five days ago I concluded that the batteries were not sufficiently effectual to breach the walls, and so a mine was commenced in the escarp of the ditch on the northern face. The engineers, however, fearing a discovery should they continue their operations during the day, sprung it at daylight on the following morning when not sufficiently advan
ced to have any material effect on the wall. This unfortunately alerted the enemy to our designs, as I had always feared, and so when a second attempt was made our miners were countermined from the interior before they had entered many feet. We were, of course, alert in general terms to the possibility of countermines thanks to the work beforehand of Major Hervey.' He nodded in Hervey's direction across the table.

  'I'm obliged, General,' said Hervey, bowing in return.

  'So this second gallery was at once blown in by us/ Combermere continued. 'I was compelled therefore to delay the assault, waiting upon the result of two mines which the admirable Brigadier Anburey is now driving into the curtain from the sap and under the ditch. Much as I regret this unexpected delay, I feel a consolation in the hope that the place will be eventually stormed with comparative facility to the troops.'

  The diners all nodded in agreement.

  'I have not spoken, of course, of all our activities in these respects, for to do so would be - even among friends as here - an unpardonable indiscipline. But I may tell you that I have today sent Durjan Sal a letter laying out the general extent of our preparations, the hopelessness, therefore, of his position, and calling on his surrender of the fortress - upon generous terms, I might add, to his own person. But if he should refuse the terms -and I do not believe, gentlemen, that he will - I have laid upon him other wholly reasonable terms for the laisser aller of the women and children of the fortress, who must otherwise, I fear, suffer grievously soon from our mortars and when the assault itself begins.'

  'Hear, hear!' said Sir Ivo, tapping the table with his palm.

  With the third tap there was a huge, distant explosion. Combermere looked puzzled rather than troubled. Hervey felt a wrench at his gut, which might not have been as great had he been forward, as Armstrong. He made to rise. 'If you would excuse me, my lord . . .'

  He did not wait for a reply. In any case, he was field officer of the day. He left the marquee, straining for his night vision, but it was not necessary. Flames and more explosions from the direction of Buldeo Singh's garden confirmed the worst. He raced to the charger lines, stumbling two or three times, and called out for saddle and bridle. Much fumbling and cursing followed before he was able to mount and leave camp - alone and at greater speed than any would have thought prudent in the direst of alarms. But it still took him a quarter of an hour to reach the garden.

  As he neared the earthworks behind the engineer park, he could see quite clearly, for it looked as though everything combustible was alight, and blazing with a great noise punctuated by more explosions. It was at once obvious what had happened. There had been a single explosion - occasioned how, it did not matter - and then the fires had spread like ripples in a pond as successive explosions sent burning residue on a search for something else to ignite - charges for the guns, torpedoes, carcasses, rockets. And that initial explosion, massive as it was, could have been only one thing: ten thousand pounds of corned powder.

  Gilbert stood the explosions well, neither did he shy from the flames. But Hervey would not take him any closer. He looked round for a horse-holder. Men were running everywhere, white and sepoy, equally dazed, but he could see no one into whose hands he could place the reins, and there was nowhere to tie a horse. He wished he'd a spancel, or even something to fashion one with. Instead, he knotted the reins and slid from the saddle, patted Gilbert's shoulder and said, 'Stay there' - as hopeless an arrangement as it was a command.

  He ran through the park and into the zigzag, but he couldn't get through for sepoys carrying out the wounded. He climbed out of the trench and over the breastworks, but he couldn't see beyond the battery for there was so much flame. And all the time the noise - like a roaring wind and cannonade.

  He turned back to go to the mouth of the tunnel. There was yet another explosion and he felt the air punched out of him as surely as if he had been struck by a pug. He hit the ground hard. His forage cap was gone, and his crossbelt was round his neck. He cursed loud and long, but he was not hurt.

  He picked himself up, gave up the search for his cap and climbed back down into the trench. The flow was now against him again, as sappers in good order doubled through towards the battery. He flattened himself against the trench wall to let them pass, then rushed through the zigzag and out through the park to find the other way into the tunnel workings. Gilbert was standing where he had left him, head up.

  "Ello, sir,' said Corporal Stray, changing hands with the reins in order to salute.

  'Where's the sar'nt-major?'

  "E's gone lookin' for yer, sir,' said Stray, as if the affair was nothing more than a night in the feringhee bazaar. 'We came across yer 'orse. T' serjeant-major were worried.'

  'He was worried! It sounded as if an arsenal had blown up in camp. Was it the tunnel?'

  'I don't think so, sir.'

  'So you weren't in it at the time?'

  'Oh ay, sir, we were in it. On us way out. But I don't think it were that.'

  Corporal Stray's phlegmatic disposition - indeed, his utter and habitual indifference to all about him - was a byword throughout the regiment. Even so, Hervey found it difficult to credit with a siege battery and an engineer park blowing themselves to oblivion close by. Yet so relieved was he at learning that Armstrong was alive that he smiled and shook his head.

  'Would yer like a wet, sir?' said Stray, holding out a flask.

  Hervey had had more than his fill of champagne and claret - and port - but he felt a powerful need of the medicinal properties of Stray's flask. He took a good draw. 'This fell from the back of your hackery, I suppose?' He smiled again.

  'Ullage, sir, we calls it in the trade.'

  'There were no bloody ullage in my establishment, Corporal Stray!' came the serjeant-major's voice. 'Good evening, sir,’ he added, throwing up a sharp salute. 'I heard the officers were dining with Lord Combermere?’

  ‘I heard the sound of ten thousand pounds of powder, Sar’nt-Major. I think we should have a word.’ He handed the flask back to Stray. 'Hold on to him a little longer, if you please, Corporal,’ he said portentously, and then led Armstrong into the shadows.

  'I know what you're going to say,’ said Armstrong once they were out of earshot.

  'Well then?’

  'I can't slip the lead-rope now. Not just as they're coming to the end.'

  'It seems to me that's a very good reason. Are you telling me they can't complete the tunnel without you?'

  'No, I wouldn't say that. I just think they'll do it better if I'm there. And I want to see it through an' all.'

  Hervey sighed. 'Look, Geordie; you're exposing yourself to unnecessary hazard. You've already had one very lucky escape, and tonight looks like a second.'

  'Aw, come on sir! What are we supposed to be about, then?'

  That was not the point, Hervey knew, but it was the point on which Armstrong was going to dig in his heels. 'I could say that you were E Troop's serjeant-major for one thing.'

  'And you'd know that I knew that Collins were doing it fine. And good for him to do it, too.’ He put a hand on Hervey's shoulder. 'Sir, I know what this is all about, and I'm grateful. But I'd rather stay, and I’m sure you wouldn't just resort to ordering me to leave!'

  'I ought to, Sar'nt-Major. I really ought to.'

  cNo you oughtn't, sir. And you oughtn't to concern yourself another minute. Jack Armstrong's not going to 'ave 'is 'ead blown off by owt in these kegs,' he insisted, gesturing with a thumb to the engineer park behind. 'Yon Stray's kegs'll be a sight more trouble to me when we're done!'

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  THE STORM

  Ten days later

  Camp before Bhurtpore 17th January 1826

  My Dear Somervile,

  You will forgive me for having left these several weeks empty of any communication, and it is not as if by that you might rightly infer that I have been so engaged as to exclude aught else, for the last weeks especially, though not without incident, have been but a trial of labouring and wai
ting. Rather, I hesitated in placing on paper anything which, were it not to reach you, might be of material advantage to the enemies of the Company and its officers.

  All the preparations are now made for the storming of The Pride of Hindoostan. And in this I must tell you of the part which our Corps has played of late, for besides the seizing of the jheels, whose possession has kept the ditches dry before us, it has fallen to no less a man than Sjt. Major

  Armstrong, together with a detachment of dragoons, to drive a gallery at great length - greater, indeed, than the Engineers had thought feasible - under the strongest part of the enemy's citadel, and this is now light-packed with not less than ten thousand pounds of powder. It shall be sprung at Eight o'clock in the morning, tomorrow, and shall be the signal for the storming of the fortress in as many as six places. Armstrong's exertions, and his devotion to duty, have been without equal. He has been so near killed these past weeks that I begged him to quit so exposed a place when the gallery was dug, but he would not.