A Call to Arms

though, for had he not prayed for a year and more for the strength to endure? What was his true fault, therefore, if he could not bear things as he ought? He was as close to slipping away to the Paterghatta now as he was to falling to his knees.

But he would not go to the bibi khana. Neither would he pray. He would not even pick up his pen to reply at once to Horningsham, as had always been his practice. For he had not the right to put his own desires first. It was not a question of Christian morals but of his soldier’s duty: he had spent the last hours, with Somervile, considering the possibility of war with the Burmans — there was no other word for it — and he had done nothing since with regard to his own troop. Part-trained though they were, there would be calls on them for such skills as they possessed: guarding, escorting, the occasional undemanding patrol perhaps. And he might accelerate, or in some other way modify, his plans for the completion of their training. This was what his duty required, and he felt wholly ashamed at having to remind himself of it.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. CASUS BELLI

Four days later

Hervey drew his sword and brought the pommel to rest on his foreleg. The morning sun at his back warmed him in a most comforting way, as indeed did the sight before him. Serjeant-Major Armstrong rode up from the centre of the ranks opposite, halted and brought his sword upright from the shoulder. ‘Good morning, sir! There are nine non-commissioned officers and thirty-eight private men on parade, sir!’

Hervey returned the salute with a nod of his head. ‘Thank you, Serjeant-Major. Take post, please.’

It had been the Sixth’s custom for many years to invite its serjeant-majors to take post on formal parades, and many had been the time that the troop captains had done the same in the field as a defiant gesture of composure in the face of the enemy. E Troop was not in review order this warm November morning, but campaign dress, for it was their first field day. Since Somervile’s alert, Hervey had worked tirelessly in the troop’s instruction — picket work on the first day, patrols and escorts the second, and yesterday the crossing of defiles and rivers. Dry work, first in the ‘classroom’ and then demonstrations, dismounted, using the NCOs to represent parts of the troop or the enemy, and buckets, ropes and all manner of commissary things to portray the features of the terrain. In the afternoons, while the troop was at stables, Hervey had ridden the country to lay out in his mind the course of the field day, the culmination of which was to be a crossing of one of the tributaries of the Hooghly — a stream deep enough to have the horses swim, and yet not so wide as to unnerve the unpractised dragoons. The river was sluggish and the banks were low, making for easy entry and exit. They would be lucky to find so accommodating a crossing site on campaign, that much was certain. He had seen men and horses come to grief in Spain in rivers not much trickier than here. But it was a start.

‘Fall in the officers!’

Seton Canning and Vanneck pressed their chargers forward. Hervey glanced up and down the line. He saw dragoons now, not recruits. Here and there he picked out a face and remembered what it had been when first he had seen it. He saw French that day in the barracks when they were being sluiced down, indignant at Armstrong’s suggestion that he had enlisted after losing his name. He saw Harkness at the same parade looking confused when Armstrong said he must answer ‘sir’, though it must not be addressed to him. There was McCarthy, flugelman, his rank restored by virtue of Hervey’s powers as detachment commander, but local rank, limited and unpaid; Hervey recalled McCarthy’s awkwardness when first he had sat astride a horse. He saw Shepherd Stent when first he had come to The Bell in Warminster, a silent, brooding, wounded man, and Rudd in that same place, smart, eager, but answerable to his mother in the millinery shop. And there were the Warminster pals themselves, in the squalor of the Common, Wainwright above all, a lad to whom others looked for the lead. A year had made dragoons of them, all but. Another month and—

Off to his right, Hervey saw a mounted orderly approaching. He nodded to his trumpeter to intercept him.

‘The troop will return swords. Retu-u-urn swords!’

By the time the drill was complete and they had formed two ranks, Trumpeter Storrs was handing Hervey the orderly’s message. Its terse contents startled him: ‘Come at once to my quarters. Imperative. ES.’

‘Mr Seton Canning, if you please!’

His lieutenant raised a small trail of dust as he trotted up. ‘Sir?’ The formalities were always observed on parade, even without earshot of the ranks.

‘Take the troop out to the exercise ground and put them through skirmishing drill. The lieutenant-governor wants to see me. I’ll join you directly.’ Hervey turned without waiting for an acknowledgement and put Gilbert into as unhurried a trot as he could manage.

At the Somerviles’ he found the lieutenant-governor in his study and still in his dressing gown. As Hervey came in, Somervile’s look of anxiety turned to one of near relief. ‘I’ve been up since the early hours again. I almost sent for you a dozen times.’

‘I wonder you did not. What has happened?’

‘Two reports, that is what; and notice from Calcutta that it will be the best part of two months before the brigade arrives. The Burmans are assembling a force within reach of the headwaters of the Karnaphuli. They’ll deliver an ultimatum before the month is out and then march on the city, splitting the country in two.’

Hervey peered at the map lying on Somervile’s desk. ‘This is very precise intelligence.’

‘It is. And I’ve paid handsomely for it. We have a Burman fugitive from the court of Ava. And the intelligence of the force assembling has been corroborated by the Chakma tribesmen from the hill tracts.’

‘What say the Arakanese?’

‘I’ve heard nothing yet. But they wouldn’t go into the hill tracts alone.’

‘You had better ask the town major to take defensive measures, then. We shall at least know their route.’

‘I shall summon him shortly. What do you think his force can do?’

‘Two battalions of native infantry and guns? Well sited they might stop five times their number.’

‘My agent says there will be twelve thousand, and war barges with guns.’

‘Then they can do little but inflict losses and delay on them, but not, I think, for two months.’

‘No, nor I. I’ve sent word this very morning to Calcutta to hasten the brigade. They might at least send them in whatever groups they muster.’

Hervey frowned. ‘That could be a scheme for losing them piecemeal. I doubt the commander-in-chief would commit anything less than in battalion strength.’

‘That’s why I’ve sent for you, Hervey. You shall have to take charge of the defences of this place. You have experience of these things, and you’ve seen the way of war here in the east. We both agree the town major’s a dear enough man, but not a match for this.’

Hervey narrowed his eyes.

‘If rank is the problem I can give you a local colonelcy. That’s well within my powers.’

‘No, rank is not the problem,’ said Hervey, shaking his head. ‘A King’s officer always takes seniority over one of the Company’s. The problem’s topography. The country’s too flat to make defences. It’s only numbers of men — men able to manoeuvre — that could tell.’

Somervile looked dismayed. ‘I have to do something, Hervey!’

Hervey did not have to think what that something must be. It was, in his view, obvious to the newest cornet. ‘You shall have to forestall the attack.’

Somervile looked at him uncertainly.

‘We have spoken of it. The Burmans must be defeated before they can fall on us from those boats. Before they embark in them, indeed.’

Somervile’s look of astonishment was sufficient.

‘Truly, there’s no alternative.’