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 advanced 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
