Allan Mallinson - The Sabre_s Edge

Peto returned the smile. 'Perhaps. It will be an unquiet one otherwise, for sure.'

'Thank you for my dinner. I have a premonition of its being the last of any substance or quality for some time.'

'Not if you can find reason to come aboard my ship, I assure you!' Flowerdew brought Hervey his cape.

'By the way,' said Peto, his smile turning wry again. 'I did not say how very active and smart your corporal seems. A considerable improvement on your Private Johnson.'

Hervey remembered the first time his groom had presented himself to Peto's ship, almost ten years ago. No one would have declared him a model of military bearing. 'I could not bring the two of them, and Johnson's place is properly with the chargers. But I suspect I shall miss his resource.' Peto came on deck just before dawn. The officer of the watch touched his hat but said nothing. It was not his place to extend even a greeting without invitation, and had he been sure of which side the commodore wished to stand, he would have quitted his place at once to take the other. Peto looked quickly about, searched the heavens to see what they revealed of the coming rains, then went to the starboard rail. There was the faintest glow in the sky above the jungle. The sight was not new to him, but he was fascinated still. In another ten minutes the sun would rise, and the creatures of the earth would begin the drama of another day, unseen – unseen but noisy. And here in the Indies there was no leisurely beginning, as in temperate parts; no lengthy overture in which to settle to the change to come. It was night, and then it was day, at full throat. Peto watched, wondering. He thought for a moment of the sunrise in his native Norfolk, of the times as a boy he had slipped out of his father's vicarage to run the mile or so to watch the sun come up over the grey waters of the North Sea. He had been so many years in His Majesty's navy; could he ever imagine himself on land again? He shivered, though the air was warm enough. It was not the thought of the land itself so much as the want of companionship there, for his family were few and he had never taken a wife. Indeed, he had scarcely been in the habit of speaking to a woman beyond what was necessary for courtesy -except perhaps Hervey's sister.

He had spoken of Elizabeth with Hervey at dinner. Not much, for their preoccupations had been the here and now, but he had praised her, calling her a woman of spirit and discernment; to which Hervey had replied that she was greatly more than that, worthy though the description was. She had devoted herself wholly to familial duties, not least indeed the care of her own niece, her brother's child. She made sacrifices that were humbling to contemplate. And Peto had been moved to hear it, as well as, in truth, disheartened by the degree of nobility it spoke of.

He looked over his shoulder towards the stockaded town. It was dark now where last night it had been ablaze. Fires by night always looked worse than they were. He turned to the officer of the watch. 'Has there been gunfire at all?'

He asked so abruptly that the lieutenant half stammered his answer. 'None that I have heard these past two hours, sir. And there was none reported on my relieving Mr Afflick.'

Peto made no reply, merely turning back to watch the eastern sky. So Hervey had had a peaceful night too. Maybe these were early days after all. Maybe the populace had taken to the forest in fear for their lives, and would return as soon as the invaders showed themselves benevolent. Maybe the Burman soldiers had no fight in them when it came to facing regular troops. Maybe they had fled the ranks. Peto sighed. There were altogether too many 'maybes'. Hervey too was awake. In the early hours, General Campbell had given orders for the 89th Foot to be landed and to make ready for a sortie from the stockades at first light. The general had not been idle. He had applied his mind to the situation his brigadiers had reported, and had become convinced that the Shwedagon pagoda was the rallying point for the Burman 'defenders'. Major Seagrass had not objected when Hervey had asked if he might accompany the Eighty-ninth, and so he now stood, with Corporal Wainwright, next to the two ensigns carrying the regiment's cased colours, waiting for the gates at the northern end of the stockade to be swung open. He was not greatly apprehensive, for like the Eighty-ninth he was only too glad to be unconfined at last. On the other hand he was at a loss to know why the general had not ordered a reconnaissance during the night. It was but normal practice after all. Someone had said the reason was that the fires would have lit up anyone moving outside the stockade. But the flames had been doused by three o'clock, and the pagoda was little more than a league distant.

The commanding officer's orders had been straightforward. The battalion would advance in column of route by companies, the light leading, and in double time for the first mile or until contact with the enemy was made (in the cool of the dawn doubling would be no hardship). On meeting the enemy's pickets, the light company would deploy to skirmish and the others in column of companies would take the position with the bayonet.

The men looked eager, even on a breakfast of biscuit and rum. Corporal Wainwright had spoken to several of them as they formed up: it seemed there were many Irish, that some had fought on the Niagara frontier a decade before, but for the most part the battalion had not been shot over. 'I have never marched in a regular advance by infantry/ said Hervey, looking about him at the novel order.

'I don't think I care for it much in truth, sir,' replied Corporal Wainwright, unclipping the carbine from his crossbelt. 'You can't see anything in these ranks, just the man in front.'

It was true, although in the dark there was little enough to see beyond the man in front. 'Yes,' said Hervey, drawing on his gloves. 'From a horse there's a good view of things. And a troop of them now would be worth their while. That is for sure.'

The great gates at last swung open. Commanding voices front and rear animated the ranks. 'Company, atte-e-nshun!' 'Trail arms!' Hervey took up his sabre scabbard. 'Company will advance. By the front, double march!'

The battalion company in front set off as one -an impressive feat, thought Hervey, since breaking off at the trot was always a ragged affair with cavalry.

'Colour party, double march!' barked the senior ensign.

The two ensigns and their serjeant-escorts took off in step with Number One Company, colours now uncased and at the slope, the commanding officer and serjeant-major to a flank, and Hervey and Wainwright to the rear.

Hervey found it surprisingly easy to keep time. Serjeants called out continuously and with such authority that to break step would have required a marked will. He had not marched to a Serjeant's command since joining the depot troop as a new-minted cornet straight from school. There was something of a comfort in it: no need at all to think. But that was the purpose of drill, was it not, to make a man act as if he were a machine, oblivious to all else? And Hervey for one was pleased to be relieved of the need to think too much this morning. He had slept little. There had been a continual coming and going at General Campbell's headquarters during the night, and at one stage there had been a general alarm, with reports that Burman soldiers were observed creeping up on the stockade from the west. But it had proved false. And then there had been another alarm when one of the bamboo cottages near the headquarters had burst into flame, for no reason that the sentries could see. It had been past four o'clock, by his reckoning, when he had at last fallen into a good sleep, only to be woken by Corporal Wainwright at five with tea and a bowl of hot shaving water – exactly as Private Johnson had instructed.