Allan Mallinson - A Call to Arms

The lieutenant spurred at once from the bridge.

‘See to it sharp, Harry. Every minute makes me keen for the off.’

‘Of course, Hervey,’ he replied. ‘Half the trouble’s that bridge. It creaks and sways in a crazy fashion with only half a dozen on it.’

Hervey nodded. ‘Well, at least it won’t take much chopping at when the time comes. I’ll leave Storrs with you. He can sound recall when you’re ready.’

Seton Canning saluted as Hervey dug his spurs into the Marwari’s flanks.

Johnson lifted the pot from the fire and poured boiling water into an enamel cup. Hervey meanwhile studied the papers and map in the leather-bound portfolio.

‘What’s tha think, sir?’

Hervey furrowed his brow. ‘I can’t make out a word. I don’t know if the guides could. But the map’s suggestive, I’d say. It seems to have Chittagong and the river, at least.’

Johnson lifted the muslin bag from the cup and laid it to one side. He poured in sugar and arrack, and stirred the liquid with a twig.

Hervey took it without looking up. ‘And there seems to be a list of some sorts.’

‘What’s tha think o’ t’flag?’

Hervey sipped his tea and smiled. ‘I shall send it to Mr Somervile just as soon as we have fired the last barge. It and these papers.’

‘Pity there were nowt else.’

‘Shiny things, you mean? I suspect they thought they’d be garnering plenty enough of that in Chittagong.’

‘Is tha gooin’ to ’ave a look for thisen?’

Hervey looked to where he had posted the galloper guns by the debouch from the forest, three hundred yards off, and then to the other side of the river. He saw Armstrong torching the first of the barges there. ‘No, I think I’ll stay here. It can’t be many more minutes before—’

A sudden fusillade in the forest beyond the guns made him spring up. Johnson rushed to unpeg the horses. Hervey leapt into the saddle and galloped towards the guns without once looking back, Stent, his coverman, and Johnson hard behind him. Vanneck’s picket was half a mile up the white elephant road: Hervey reckoned there would be scarcely a minute before the contact-man galloped out. He reined the Marwari to an abrupt halt by the guns. ‘No firing, mind, daffadar. First out shall be Vannecksahib’s men.’

‘ Acha, sahib! ’

Hervey turned back to the river and took his telescope from its saddle case. He could just make out, through the smoke, Ashbolt corralling the Burmans on the far side, just as he’d ordered, lest the firing embolden them. But the smoke was too thick to see how many barges still awaited the torch. Seton Canning was assembling the remainder of the troop, perhaps two dozen men, no more, on Hervey’s side of the river. He saw them extend into line, at the halt, and draw swords. ‘Well done, Harry,’ he said to himself. ‘They’ll be the keener for coming up sabres drawn.’

A minute later they were with him. ‘Walk-march!’ called Seton Canning.

They bumped from the trot.

‘Ha-a-alt!’ Up went his hand.

Trumpeter Storrs took his place next to Hervey.

Serjeant Collins rode at once to the middle. ‘Your leave, sir?’

Seton Canning nodded.

‘Now listen, you men! Listen hard!’ began Collins, in a voice that set every nerve on edge. ‘That we did this morning was about as hard as bobbing for apples — dhobi-wallahs fast asleep and pissing themselves. This lot’ll mean business. You’d better remember everything you was taught. You keep them arms straight no matter what — a man on ’is feet can cut as bad as one astride. Arms straight! ’ he bellowed, thrusting out his sabre. ‘Infantry, give point front!’ He leaned forward and lowered his sword to reach beyond his horse’s head. ‘And follow through !’ Up swung the sabre behind him, his arm straight as a die.

There was another fusillade. It sounded much closer. Some of the dragoons now looked apprehensive.

Collins was undaunted. ‘If those Burmans come out astride then don’t be in too much of a hurry to cut at them. If we go with the point, remember your flank! Sword pressed against the shako to keep it steady! And mind your horses’ heads!’

Not a minute later Corporal Mossop galloped out of the forest as if the hounds of hell were at his heels. He had to snatch hard at the curb to pull up his little mare. Her flanks were in a worse lather than Hervey had seen in months. ‘ Sir ,’ he gasped, saluting once he could afford to free his right hand. ‘Mr Vanneck’s compliments, and there’s a column of Burmans coming along the road, and at the double like light infantry, sir. We can’t tell the numbers, for we can’t see beyond the front ranks, sir. We fired on ’em, but they didn’t check, even to pick up them that was hit. We fired on them another twice, I think, sir.’

‘I heard so. What do they carry?’

‘Muskets of some sort, sir. They fired on us, but no one was hit.’

Hervey turned to Johnson. ‘Gallop to the serjeant-major, and tell me how many of the barges have still to be set alight.’

‘Ay, sir,’ said Johnson calmly, not even forgetting to salute. He reined about and sped off.

‘Daffadar, shot loaded?’

‘Yes, sahib!’ His voice betrayed no emotion but resolve.

Hervey wished he were standing now by Mercer’s troop, as he had at Waterloo. Now was the time for six-pounders and shell, rather than half that of solid shot. He toyed with the idea of putting them where the road debouched from the forest, like a cork in a bottle, and firing grape. It would be much the more destructive. But he knew the gunners would not be able to reload quickly enough — two discharges at most before being overrun. If he could hold the Burmans at arm’s length with shot for a while (they could not know at once how many guns there were), then the quartermaster and Armstrong might just complete their work.

Another fusillade, and not more than a hundred yards off. Hervey braced himself. ‘Do not fire, daffadar. It will be Vannecksahib first.’

‘ Acha, sahib. ’

Hervey looked back to the river. He could see Johnson galloping towards him, but the smoke was so great he could see nothing beyond. How much longer could it take to fire those boats?

‘Daffadar, we shall hold our ground until the barges are all alight and then withdraw to the forest whence we came.’

‘ Acha, sahib. ’ Hervey had explained the orders well enough before.

Johnson pulled up beside him just as the picket, five strong — not a man lost — galloped out of the forest, Cornet Vanneck at the rear. ‘Another five to fire yet, sir,’ Johnson reported. ‘Not enough oil to prime with, though. They’re using powder. Serjeant-major says they’ll need another half an hour.’

Hervey grimaced.

‘Have we not burned enough, sir? They could scarcely invade Chittagong with half a dozen boats,’ asked Seton Canning.

‘Those boats have got to burn out, Harry. And the others. There’s no saying what they could do with them if they put out the flames.’

‘But is that likely?’

‘It’s a possibility ,’ Hervey snarled. ‘ That is the point!’

Cornet Vanneck pulled up hard in front of him, his charger throwing its head about wildly. He saluted while struggling with the reins.

‘In good time, Mr Vanneck,’ said Hervey calmly, returning the salute.

‘There are so many of them, sir. No sooner did we do our execution but those behind took their place. And they came on the while in double time.’

‘Very well. We shall see if hot iron and cold steel shall check their ardour.’

Hervey’s manner was so composed as to make his cornet look at him askance, as indeed was partly his intention.