concerted action which must be the envy of the country powers. At the canvas pavilions, the assembled potentates were watching to a commentary by the major of brigade as relays of khitmagars served iced champagne and sherbet.
‘The brigadier, having received word that the enemy is approaching, has sent out scouts to range beyond the ridge,’ explained the brigade-major through a speaking trumpet, pointing out the direction. ‘Mindful that the enemy may deploy his own scouts forward, a line of vedettes will be established to counter them.’
The brigade-major handed his speaking trumpet to the officer who was to continue with the commentary, and rode down to the brigade commander — the signal for the vedettes to deploy and the horse artillery to unlimber. According to the carefully worked scheme there would be a quarter of an hour before the vedettes would signal the enemy’s approach, and so the brigadier concluded he had time for one small innovation. He cursed himself for not thinking of it before.
Hervey observed him through his telescope — Major-General Sir Mortimer Massey, a man of whom no one had heard until New Orleans, when he had parleyed successfully with the Americans to take the wounded from the field. He was an impressive figure, tall in the saddle, plumed, scarlet-coated, riding a grey Arab that would have made Bonaparte himself envious.
‘Sir Ivo,’ said the general, as he trotted up to the Sixth. ‘Seeing the ground this morning, I am much taken by the possibilities of that nullah over to your right.’
Sir Ivo looked to where the general was indicating.
‘I believe it ought to be possible to get a troop along it unseen to all the nabobs, to come up on the flank of the vedette line.’
Sir Ivo glanced about the field to the points of reference. ‘I see it, General. To what advantage, may I ask?’
The general frowned. ‘By heavens, you’re slow this morning, Lankester! As the enemy come over the ridge and the vedettes pull back, the troop can take them in the flank. It will be the devil of a surprise to the nabobs!’
The proposition was entirely fair, though Sir Ivo wondered why, since this was a day to impress, they had not rehearsed it. Hervey’s troop might be in want of riding practice, but the other troops had scarcely had much opportunity for field drill. But he could hardly balk at so elementary a manoeuvre. ‘Very well, General. Shall you give me the signal?’
‘No, you may judge it for yourself, Sir Ivo. There’s no point in waiting for my off when you’ll see the vedettes signalling as well as I shall.’
A sensible decision, thought Sir Ivo, if late in the day.
The general reined about and trotted to the centre of the brigade.
‘Captain Rose and Mr Assheton-Smith, please.’
The commanding officer’s voice was raised no higher than if he were speaking to his charger, but the word was passed at once to A Troop’s leader, nearest the guns, and the adjutant in the supernumerary rank.
‘Gentlemen, the brigadier has determined a change in the manoeuvres,’ said Sir Ivo as they rode up. He explained the intention.
‘I’ll take a look then if I may, Colonel,’ said Rose.
‘Yes. But do it covertly.’
Rose saluted and returned to his troop.
‘A pity we did not have more time before today,’ said Sir Ivo to the adjutant. ‘It would have been a fair question of E Troop.’
Bands played for the entertainment of the spectators meanwhile, as the ‘enemy’, a regiment of native infantry, advanced to the ridge in full view of the pavilions but concealed from the brigade. The design was that when the infantry reached a bullock-cart track which ran obliquely across their front, some five hundred yards short of the ridge, the vedettes would start to signal their approach. The general, a prudent man, had also placed a galloper to observe from a flank so that he could be warned independently. The infantry had rehearsed the manoeuvre twice, but in the early morning; the heat was now unexpectedly slowing their advance, so that the general was becoming anxious. When he saw his galloper approaching, dust rising behind him and exaggerating his speed, he was half convinced that something was amiss.
‘The infantry have reached the track, sir,’ said the lieutenant, saluting, pleased that he had been able to bring the report his general wished to hear.
But General Massey was disturbed by the news. He turned to his brigade-major. ‘Why in heaven’s name aren’t the vedettes signalling, Neville? Can’t they see?’
Brigade-Major Neville could have no more idea than the general. He turned to the galloper. ‘You saw with your own eyes they had reached the track?’
‘Sir! With my own eyes.’
The general looked about anxiously. He saw Hervey’s troop standing dismounted a furlong away. ‘Good God, Neville. What’s Sir Ivo doing? He’s not moved that troop into the nullah yet!’
The brigade-major turned round in the saddle to see for himself. ‘If the vedettes haven’t reported anything, General, Sir Ivo has no notion he should move them.’
The general, now very agitated, turned back to his galloper. ‘Go and tell Hervey’s troop to get into that nullah at once!’
‘What are they to do there, sir? I did not know of this part of the scheme.’
‘Tell him, Neville!’ snorted the general. The brigade-major obliged them both.
The galloper lost no further time. Hervey saw him approaching, the trail of dust indicating more speed than his descent from the ridge. ‘Hallo, Shawe,’ he said, returning the salute, bemused by the apparent urgency. ‘Who are you looking for?’
‘
Hervey looked astonished. ‘Shawe, I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean!’ He looked again towards the ridge, then lowered his telescope. ‘And the vedettes are stock-still.’
Lieutenant Shawe, his artilleryman’s coat more earth-coloured now than blue, was equally perplexed. ‘You have no orders at all for the nullah?’
‘No! We’re to stand here looking alert, that is all.’
Lieutenant Shawe rattled off the brigade commander’s intention.
Hervey understood perfectly. ‘But those were not Sir Ivo’s orders, and I am under his direct command. I think you had better go and see him, and then hare back to the general.’
The galloper saluted, reined about and kicked up even more dust than before as he spurred away.
Hervey turned to his trumpeter. ‘Storrs, bring me the officers and sar’nt-major, please.’
It took less than a minute to assemble them. Hervey told them of the exchange, and what they would have to do if it came to it. He had no idea what the nullah was like, how wide it was or how steep its banks. They would have to lead the horses and mount at the last minute, though how much time they would have he couldn’t say.
The officers had just retaken post when another cloud of dust signalled the return of the brigadier’s galloper. ‘Looks like you were right,’ said Armstrong.
‘I wish I had
‘Captain Hervey, brigade-major’s compliments, and would you execute the orders at once.’
With no sign from the vedettes, Hervey could not see the necessity of such urgency. ‘Have you spoken with Sir Ivo?’
‘Captain Hervey, sir, those are the brigadier’s express orders, and they were most imperative.’
‘Yes, but have you spoken to Sir Ivo?’
‘The general himself has, sir. Really, Hervey, there’s no time to lose!’
Hervey had received an order, in front of his troop, and he was not in possession of more information than was the brigadier.
‘Very well, Mr Shawe.’ Johnson handed him back the reins. ‘E Troop, right incline for column of route!’
Dragoons shortened reins to lead, and Hervey took post at the head of the column.
‘Forward!’
