A Call to Arms

flies.

This time, however, the flies were evidently more tired than the horses, falling away after the second furlong. Hervey pressed on for a third and then pulled up to a walk. Five minutes later they were still without their tormentors, so he presumed they could walk the remainder of the way in peace. And peaceful the land looked to be at this hour. The hills to the east were still shrouded with the morning’s mist — it was Hemanto, Hervey’s bearer had told him, the misty season — and the country looked even greener than in the days that followed the August deluges. An unruly flight of Brahminy duck passed high overhead, their funny clanging call seeming to protest against the intrusion.

Johnson was pleased to be able to resume the earlier conversation. ‘And so, this ’ere King Baggydrawers reckons we’d just give ’im t’country an’ go ’ome?’

‘That’s about the long and the short of it,’ said Hervey, not imagining there was any point insisting on respectful pronunciation. ‘And Mr Somervile says that Bagyidaw would not stop until he reached Calcutta.’

‘ ’Ow’s ’e think ’e’d get across all them rivers?’

‘I think he’d go by sea. They have a lot of war barges, apparently.’

‘ ’E wants tipping a settler, that’s what ’e wants!’

‘Just so, Johnson. But how? There’s the rub.’

‘ ’Fore ’e’s art o’ ’is pit.’

Mutual comprehension was by now a matter of context rather than knowledge of vocabulary, especially since Johnson, when aroused to indignation, reverted to a particularly impenetrable strain of Sheffield.

‘Yes, but how shall you find the pit? You’re right, though. Mr Somervile says that the Governor-General, a few years ago, wanted to do just that — march into Burma and teach them a lesson. Not that Bagyidaw was king at that time.’

‘Daft name. Mebbe if ’is men knew what it meant they’d pack it all in.’

Hervey smiled. ‘I think they would be parted from their heads first. He’s a very brutal man, it seems.’

‘Sounds as if they’d be pleased if we did knock ’im abaht a bit.’

‘Perhaps. Anyway, we might get to know a bit more from these Arakanese in an hour or so.’ He checked his watch. ‘Come on; we’d better not dawdle.’

All about Eyre Somervile’s study were papers and ledgers, boxes and maps. ‘Did you have an agreeable ride?’ he asked, without looking up.

Hervey felt rather guilty. ‘Yes. I watched the native horse at drill. They go very well.’

‘Mm,’ was the reply.

‘What has engaged you?’

‘The Bengal Secret and Political Consultations. And they would have engaged far less of my time had they a proper index. I found what I was looking for by a most circular exercise — in volume ninety-one, no less.’

Hervey had learned to tread gently when Somervile was in his ‘scholarly’ frame of mind, as he thought of it. ‘May I ask what were you searching for?’

‘After you had gone this morning, I remembered that Lord Wellesley had sent an officer to Ava to treaty with the then king, Bodawpaya, Bagyidaw’s grandfather. A Colonel Symes it was, and it occurred to me that his reports must include some military assessments, and so I have been searching them out.’

‘And do they contain that information?’

‘In admirable detail. You must read him. The papers are on yonder table.’ He gestured without looking up again.

Hervey turned, but at that moment Somervile looked up and took off his spectacles. ‘You know, the real danger is these war boats. There are five hundred of them: every town or village near the rivers has to supply a certain number of oarsmen and soldiers — a hundred or so for each boat — and they mount a gun in the bows. These could swarm on Chittagong — and Calcutta for that matter — and there’d be the very devil of a fight.’

Hervey made rapid calculations. The results were indeed ominous. ‘Then the answer would be to destroy the boats before they discharged their cargo. But that too might be easier said than done, though I dare say Commodore Peto would know how.’

Somervile raised an eyebrow. ‘I have a sense that we shall feel his want very keenly before too long.’ He took out his watch. ‘Let us go and see who of the Arakanese is come.’

There were a dozen of them, men who hitherto had been regarded as at best troublesome and at worst practitioners of dacoity. Now they all sat in the lieutenant-governor’s audience room as if they were waiting for a wedding. ‘I have called you here today,’ began Somervile, in confident Bengali, ‘to ask you for information on the activities of the Burmans.’

There was at once a hubbub, with keen looks of anticipation on the faces of the Arakanese.

Somervile halted it magisterially. ‘I must warn you, however, that this does not mean we are contemplating any hostilities. It is simply that the Company in Calcutta wishes to know what movements in general are there.’

None of the Arakanese looked convinced, but that suited Somervile. He wanted their help, and it would be the more vigorous for believing that the fight might be taken to their old enemy. He pointed to the map several times as he elaborated on his requirements, unsure as to its usefulness in that company, but the place names he mentioned, especially the rivers, brought eager nods. At length he promised them the Company would meet all reasonable expenses. ‘But I must warn you that the Company cannot extend any protection. And I will not condone any offensive action whatever. Indeed, I shall deal with it with infinitely greater severity than hitherto.’

This latter was unwelcome news, but the manifest disappointment was soon replaced by enthusiasm for the covert action to come, and the meeting was ended with Somervile shaking each of the Arakanese by the hand and bidding them khuda hafiz, and expressing his hope that he would see them again soon — abar dekahobe. When they were gone he asked Hervey for his opinion.

Hervey smiled. He had understood barely a word. ‘I’d wager those men will bring you your intelligence, and severed heads too to prove their word.’

Somervile nodded, and frowned. ‘That is my fear. I wanted them keen, but I warned them there was to be no dacoity.’

Hervey nodded as well. ‘What shall you do now?’

‘There is nothing more to do. I’ve sent word to the town major telling him to put the border patrols on alert — such as there are. He ought just about to manage that. Any more and I should have little confidence.’

Hervey sighed. ‘He is certainly past his prime.’

‘He’s close to his military dotage!’

They both smiled.

‘I’ve heard tell there are seven ages of the military man,’ said Hervey.

‘I believe we might examine such a theory, but let us do so at table. I think that Emma will be eager to hear of the morning’s work.’

When Hervey returned to his quarters in the afternoon he found letters from England, carried from Calcutta by the same packet as the Governor-General’s messenger. He settled to read them at once. They were filled with good news and much cheer. His infant daughter was strong and healthy, and showed spirit and intelligence. Elizabeth likewise enjoyed excellent health and uncommon contentment. His father and mother, it seemed, were more active than ever. There were no reports of depredations by the squatters of Warminster Common, nor of violence by the Hindon Luddites, nor of pestilence in the town workhouse, nor any of a dozen things which periodically threatened the repose of the honest citizens of the neighbourhood. There were not even malevolent clerics. And yet these letters brought about so palpable a dejection that even Private Johnson would be moved to remark on it. For there was no Henrietta in their pages, and nor could there ever be, of course. The finality of it was never more apparent to him than by her absence from these modest records of daily life. It tore at his gut like the eagle of Shelley’s masterwork. Perhaps more than anything he was dismayed by the suddenness of his descent from sunny spirits to dark discouragement. How much he wished to see that villainous poet again, if only his hand in a letter. He would tell him all, even that of which he was half ashamed. Only half ashamed,