Allan Mallinson - A Call to Arms

Another attap frond struck him in the face. He broke it off and gave it to his mare behind him; she would eat anything. And then suddenly there were no more attap fronds, just a track, the hoofmarks plain to see, as the Chakma turned left.

‘Captain Hervey, sir!’

Private French, now more recognizable than when Hervey had last seen him, and certainly more mobile, came towards them with a look both relieved and anxious.

‘Don’t sound so surprised, French. I’m not in the habit of forgetting people,’ said Hervey drily.

‘Do those buttons, up, young French!’ came Corporal Ashbolt’s voice from behind. ‘And where’s your carbine?’

‘Porrit has it, sir.’

‘ Porrit? ’ said Ashbolt, disbelieving.

‘He’s guarding Dodds, sir.’

Hervey pushed past him roughly and almost doubled to where Boy Porrit, Otway the surgeon’s assistant and Dodds sat. Porrit and Otway scrambled to their feet, but Dodds remained seated, his back against a tree, eyes closed. His thigh was bandaged and bloodstained. Hervey turned back to French. ‘Well?’

‘Sir, Dodds came yesterday morning. He said he’d got lost going for water. We told him which way you’d gone but he said he’d better wait with us. Then yesterday evening he tried to take the food you’d left us and wanted the girl to go with him. Then it came to a bit of a fight, sir, and Dodds threatened his pistol and grabbed the girl, and that’s when the boy fired, sir.’

Hervey glanced at Porrit, who lowered his eyes. ‘You did well, boy,’ he said grimly. He would not quibble about his aim at this time.

‘And where is the girl?’

‘She … she went for some privacy a few minutes ago, sir,’ said French, with admirable decorum.

Hervey raised an eyebrow, glanced at Dodds and then the surgeon’s orderly.

‘He’s been unconscious an hour and more, sir,’ said Otway. ‘He bled a lot.’

Corporal Ashbolt took a closer look. ‘You’d better check ’im again, Ottie. I reckon ’e’s gone.’

The surgeon’s orderly felt in vain for Dodds’s pulse, then opened an eyelid. ‘Ay, ’e’s dead.’

Hervey cursed. ‘Then he’s cheated the gallows just as he’s cheated in everything before!’

The maidan, Chittagong, a week later

‘E Troop, carry … swords!’

Up from the slope went the points of forty sabres in whitegloved hands. Horses threw their heads about as if to add their own salute. Gilbert’s throat plume danced as Hervey shouted the command.

‘Skinner’s Horse, atte-e-en shun !’ echoed Captain Pollock.

Four hundred heads atop yellow kurtas braced up, lance pennants caught the breeze, and the sun glinted on the gleaming barrels of the galloper guns.

An uneven parade, but an apt one, thought Hervey as he rode up to the dais and dropped his sword in salute.

Eyre Somervile was dressed the same as when he had faced the Avan envoy. In his hand were a few notes, in Hindoostani and English. He would alternate between the two, and leave both King’s and native horse in no doubt of the great service they had rendered, and the esteem in which the Presidency in Calcutta held their actions. ‘Gentlemen, I stand before you humbly in the face of courage and resource beyond what it is common to behold.’

‘That’s nice,’ said Johnson, painfully, from a chair at the edge of the maidan, his chest swaddled in bandages. ‘I was sure it’d end up a lagging matter.’

Hicks frowned. ‘I just wish I’d been there. There’ll be no talking to anybody now. Bloody leg!’

‘It were no place for a cripple, I can tell thee!’

Somervile’s Hindoostani found its mark just as surely among the ranks of yellow, where heads nodded approvingly. He sang the praises of King’s troops and Company’s fulsomely, though he warned that the King of Ava was a predatory and corrupt man, and that the day might be sooner than they thought when an altogether bigger expedition would have to be mounted to put an end to his designs on the lawful territory of the Honourable Company.

‘See, Hicksy, tha’ll soon ’ave a chance to get thi’ own back!’ said Johnson, almost smiling.

Somervile said that he had recommended to the Council of the Presidency that some pecuniary reward be given (there were murmurs of approval everywhere), and that he was pleased even now to be able to announce that the Company’s gold and silver medals would be awarded respectively to Captain Hervey and Captain Pollock.

The approval of both yellow ranks and blue was at once apparent. ‘Bloody right, an’ all!’ said Johnson, nodding his head too vigorously for his own good. ‘I bet there isn’t another officer as could have done better than Cap’n ’Ervey — not even as good as!’

‘I am pleased, meanwhile, to grant three days’ furlough,’ added Somervile. ‘At the end of which I shall deem it a privilege to hold a tamasha to honour both gallant regiments. God save the King!’

The response was hearty, if dominated by the sowars’ hazoors .

And then, as at the river: ‘ Himmat-I-Mardan! ’

‘ Madad-I-Khuda! ’

‘ Himmat-I-Mardan! ’

‘ Madad-I-Khuda! ’

Later, at lunch with the Somerviles, Hervey expressed himself grateful for the words on parade. ‘It was, after all, the reason we came here, was it not? To restore our self-regard.’

‘You think the words were not too cautious then?’

Hervey smiled. ‘No, indeed. You have a very noble way with them.’

‘You think I was too florid ?’

‘Not in the slightest. I envy you your eloquence. The men appreciated it, of that I’m sure.’

Somervile nodded, content, and beckoned the khitmagar to bring champagne. ‘I have a mind, too, you know, that that girl you rescued — all Sir Gawain-like — will turn out a handsome investment once returned to her father.’

Emma picked up her glass. ‘I must say for my part I thought her very handsome even without her father. What say you, Matthew?’

Hervey smiled back at her. ‘Yes, very handsome. The men call her the china doll.’

Somervile looked puzzled. ‘Though she is Shan?’

Emma smiled again. Punctiliousness in these affairs was one of the things she so admired in her husband.

Hervey raised his hands. ‘We are far from home.’

‘You should speak with her, Hervey,’ said Somervile, dabbing at his forehead with his napkin. ‘She is the most engaging of company.’

Hervey frowned. ‘With you to interpret for us?’

Somervile looked puzzled. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t try Portuguese with her.’

Hervey felt deflated, almost foolish. He remembered how well just a very little of the language had served him in the Peninsula. He smiled. ‘Missionaries again, I suppose?’

‘And merchants , Hervey. No, I tell you, we have made a most grateful and gratifying connection there.’

‘You are being most abstemious, Matthew,’ said Emma, feeling a little sorry for him. ‘Can we not tempt you to more champagne?’

‘No thank you, ma’am. I intend riding out this afternoon.’ He drained his coffee cup and accepted more, then returned to Somervile’s speculation. ‘You believe, I imagine, that she and her father might be a grateful source of intelligence on events in Ava?’

‘No doubt of it. I’ve seen it before many a time.’

Hervey took another sip of his coffee. ‘Tell me, Somervile, you were very frank on parade in your views on the prospects with Bagyidaw. What is your true estimation?’

Somervile sat back in his chair and sipped at his champagne. ‘Two years, three perhaps. The problem is Assam. Until Calcutta decides what its connection is to be with the king there, the whole of the Presidency will be hostage to Ava. And as soon as we’re drawn into a fight with Ava, every little nabob in Hindoostan will think he can make mischief. Believe me, Hervey, before your regiment sees the English coast again, you’ll be deep in the thick of fighting on one side of Bengal or the other, perhaps even both. And it will be no mere troop affair!’