The Sabre's Edge (32 page)

Hervey was obliged to sign a receipt for the contents of the staff dragoon's sabretache. 'More, evidently, than just a call for returns,' he said as he did so.

'Sir,' replied the man, giving nothing away, though he hoped it was indeed more than a routine despatch. He had just risked his neck in a gallop from Lord Combermere's headquarters, and he would prefer to return there with something more than a list.

The corporal of the day watched and listened keenly for any indication of what the despatch contained. His standing in the canteen would be raised immeasurably if he brought news in advance of actual orders.

Hervey took the despatch, broke the headquarters seal and read quickly, but silently:

FIELD SPECIAL ORDER

Head-Quarters, Muttra, Dec. 6, 182
5.
Major Hervey, 6th Lt. Dragoons, is required to form a mounted party for a special task, consisting of one squadron H.M. 11th Lt. Dragoons, and one rissalah 1st Local Horse. The party is to be ready at once to undertake the task on orders emanating directly from H.E. the Commander-in-Chief, along the lines already communicated. The object and design may not be communicated to any man, however, until approval by H.E. By Order of His Excellency the Right Hon. The Commander-in-Chief,

(Signed) W. N. WATSON A
djutant- General.

It was no more or less than he needed. 'Thank you, staff dragoon. Please return the following reply.'

The man had his pocketbook and pencil ready. 'Sir.'

'Major Hervey acknowledges receipt of the special order, and comprehends it.' 'Sir.'

The corporal of the day looked disappointed. He would have to embellish his account to the canteen considerably.

'That is all,' said Hervey, when the staff dragoon looked up again.

The man slipped his pocketbook back inside his jacket.

'Up!' said the corporal of the day.

The two right hands shot, as one, to shako peaks, and Hervey nodded to acknowledge. As the two men left, he called the troop orderly corporal waiting outside. 'Have Mr Perry come, please, Rudd.' He then mastered himself fully: 'And Mr Green. And the sar'nt-major of course.'

'Sir!'

Hervey was glad it was Rudd. Rudd was an honorary pal - more than honorary, since the original pals were now but two. And there was something that nurture in that corner of the Great Plain did by way of making comrades across the ranks. 'Corporal Rudd?'

'Sir?'

'How handy were you about your mother's shop?'

^‘
Sir?
^’
Corporal Rudd was glad there were no witnesses to this exchange; he did not like being reminded of the millinery.

'I mean, how well are you with needle and thread?'

. 'As good as any, sir. Have you something to be mended?'

'No. Johnson could do that. I need a more skilled needle. Embroidery.'

Rudd looked puzzled. 'I can do that, sir, if it's not too knotty. What is it you have in mind, sir?'

'I need something that passes for a major's star on these epaulettes.'

Rudd was all pleasure at the prospect.

'But you shall have to unpick it when the siege is done. Local rank only, I fear.'

'Very good, sir. But rank is rank, isn't it, sir?'

'Thank you, Rudd. You are the first to hear.'

'You mean not even Johnson, sir?'

'Not even Johnson. Go to it, then - the officers and sar'nt-major. Oh, and say nothing to Johnson.'

Rudd smiled. 'Ay, sir.'

Hervey lost no time that afternoon. He told his officers and serjeant-major the contents of the several orders, and added his own. He wanted the troop to ride at light scales, with no bat-horses (he would long remember the dismay on Cornet Green's face) save with the serjeant-major for extra powder and ball. The baggage he wanted dividing into two: field stores and other necessaries - that which could be carried by pack-animal - to be put in charge of the quartermaster-serjeant and to move with the rest of the brigade; the remainder -camp stores and general comforts - to stand ready under Corporal Stray with the bullock carts here at Muttra awaiting opportunity to rejoin them, which, he believed, there would soon be once the siege was under way. 'But it shall have to be judged right,' he said. 'I don't want the Jhaut cavalry cutting them up, which is why I want Stray with them.'

Serjeant-Major Armstrong smiled. Corporal Stray was the fattest man in the regiment. The order 'light scales' had at once precluded his riding in the first echelon, for Stray was generally now to be found on the box rather than in the saddle. And yet there was not a man in the Sixth who was more at home in the field than Corporal Stray. His economy with stores was celebrated, he could fashion any necessary from the most unpromising raw materials, and quickly too, and he was utterly imperturbable in the face of enemy and superiors alike. Once, in Paris after Waterloo, he had been posted as lone sentry on a bridge that the Prussians were intent on blowing up for solely retributive reasons. The explosive in place, the officer of engineers had asked him to quit the span and seek cover, to which the then Private Stray had replied, 'Not until properly relieved by the corporal, sir.' The Prussians had lit the fuses, but still Stray would not budge, standing on-guard with the bayonet when they tried to remove him bodily, so that in the end the engineers had had to rush about frantically pulling the fuses from the barrels of gunpowder. Corporal Stray was not a man to have in the front rank at a review, but he was without doubt a man to have at hand on campaign, and Hervey was pleased for having the promise of him for a time.

After doing what he needed with his own troop, Hervey had addressed himself to the matter of the other corps. The commanding officer, the senior major, proved difficult at first, demanding to know what was the object of the special task despite the clear injunction in the written order. At length he had given way, however, naming the captain to do duty with his squadron, and had acceded at once to Hervey's request for a farrier. The regiments of the yellow circle, as the cavalry knew themselves, could have their difficulties with each other, but these remained within the circle and were fiercely guarded. Perhaps it was the fellowship of the horse, the common essential of their arm, for the horse took no side for himself in a fight, instead submitting humbly but nobly to the bit in whichever cavalry had impressed him. Sometimes, his rider unseated, he ran away, terror-stricken, but for the most part he remained dutiful, despite all privation. Hervey looked about at the Eleventh's troopers as he left the lines. They were as mixed a bunch as any in Hindoostan, but bigger than his own in the main by a good half-hand. If they bore the field well, they would be formidable indeed when it came to closing with the Jhaut cavalry -more so than his own, he had to admit, for size told when it came to a clash.

Next he had gone to Skinner's Horse, and if he had anticipated vexations with the Eleventh, he was positively certain that they would be legion with the irregulars since Colonel Skinner was in personal command. He had never met James Skinner, he had only heard of him. Indeed, there had been times since coming to India when he had heard nothing but of Skinner and his silladar horse. Three regiments there were of these singular cavalrymen, of which the second was commanded by James's brother Robert, and the third, hastily raised for service in East Bengal five years before, had without doubt saved his own troop in the affair of the Chittagong river. The Sixth Light Dragoons, or Hervey's troop at least, regarded them as special friends. They admired their skill as horsemen, and with the lance; they admired their boldness and proud independence; and they admired their determination to see things through. Skinner's was not native horse in the sense the canteen would understand it - serviceable but inferior: Skinner's was a corps apart.

Their camp was a vivid, lively place, noisier by half than any King's regiment's, with much music and singing. It might have been Tamerlane's own, the canvas and caparisons, the silks and the streamers, and all of the richest colours. As Hervey rode towards the guard tent, the sowars of the picket began falling in under their daffadar, lance pennants picking up the merest breath of wind, men and lances otherwise like statuary.

A syce ran forward to hold Gilbert's bridle as Hervey dismounted. The daffadar saluted. Hervey turned, to find a jemadar beaming at him. 'This way, please, sahib.'

Hervey followed to the tent of the woordi-major, who explained that both the second in command and the adjutant were at exercise. Then a bearer came into the tent, and, after an exchange of words, the woordi-major said that Colonel Skinner himself would see him. Hervey put his forage cap back on and walked with him across the maidan to a yellow-striped pavilion set to one side nearest the river. The sentry came to attention as the two began walking the line of whitened stones. As they reached the beaded entrance a voice called from inside. 'You are most welcome. Major Hervey!'

Hervey noted with appreciation how nimble must be the regiment's hircarrahs. He pushed aside the strings of beads and paid his compliments.

'I know very well who you are, Major Hervey. I have naturally heard all there is of the affair of the Chittagong river. I stand in admiration, sir,' said James Skinner, designated command
ant of what was officially the 1
st Local Horse. He held out his hand.

Hervey took it, and acknowledged the accolade with a bow of the head. 'But it is I who stand in admiration, Colonel Skinner.'

'Well, well, let not either of us stand long. Take a seat. You will have some whisky?
^’

It was a moment or so before Hervey could judge whether he was speaking to a British or a native officer. One half of Colonel Skinner was Scotch, his father's half. His voice was that of a British officer, perhaps a shade fastidious, but without all the music of the native voice, the
hanji-banji
as Somervile called it. But it was the Rajpoot half, his mother noble-born, that presented itself in appearance most. James Skinner was forty-seven years old, his hair was silvering, and his face, though benign, spoke of many years
^’
campaigning, and for several masters (only in Lord Lake's day had he thrown in with the Company). He had raised and trained the corps himself. He had given it its creed, and thence its uniform, and had led it to victory after victory against any that would oppose those 'sworn to die'. His wealth from booty was said to be prodigious, he had three wives - one Mahomedan, one Hindoo, one Christian -yet he was no dissolute nabob. He was as much a scholar as Babur had been, speaking and writing flawless Persian, and knowledgeable in the history and art of all of Hindoostan. His men worshipped him. But why was he here, in the field, in person? Hervey wondered. He was three years older than the duke had been at Waterloo. He might easily have devolved command on an executive officer. The share in any booty, such that it might be in a campaign made in the territory of an ally, would anyway go to him as the colonel of the corps -even if London (Hervey understood) would not officially recognize his rank. Did Colonel Skinner, who could have taken his ease in Dehli or on his jagirs nearby, crave still the sword and the saddle for their own sake? There were such men, and Hervey saluted them. Indeed, he took more pleasure in Skinner's chair and his whisky at that moment than if they had been those of the duke himself.

'Jaswant Sing tells me you have a promising seat. He says you were quick to the Rajpoot way of riding.'

Hervey was gratified, and smiled obligingly, though puzzled that Skinner should know of it. 'But I fear I had the best of attention and horses. I could not imitate those airs when later I tried them on my own horses.'

Colonel Skinner nodded slowly as if he understood. 'Woordi-major, you may go to your ledgers or you may stay and drink whisky, as you please. Which is it to be?'

The woordi-major answered in English. 'Huzoor, I have many papers to return for the Lord Combermere.'

'Very well, my friend. There will be time for us to drink whisky when we have taken Bhurtpore.'

'
Ji
,
huzoor
,’
and he continued in Urdu, though too quickly for Hervey to catch more than the odd word.

Colonel Skinner took it up, but Hervey managed to catch even less. They seemed to be turning over an idea - about horses, he thought, but the idiom was beyond him.

When the woordi-major had gone, Colonel Skinner poured more whisky. 'Now, Major Hervey, what is it that His Excellency has in mind?'

Hervey was surprised at the connection Colonel Skinner made, but he judged it of no matter; it was just the way of things in India. 'I beg you would read this, Colonel,' he said, handing him the order.

Colonel Skinner took longer to read it than Hervey expected. At length, the commandant looked up and said, thoughtfully, 'The jheels?'