At last the lieutenant-governor found his tongue. ‘But how in heaven’s name do you propose we do it?’
‘I don’t know. We did something of the same in Chintal, but that was a madness I thought never to repeat, and five years past. Do you have licence to attack the Burmans, by the way? In their own country, I mean?’
‘I have plenipotentiary powers, yes. But as far as the Company goes we should be licensed ultimately by success.’
Hervey frowned. ‘My dear Somervile, we must face the possibility that if we undertook such a thing, you are more likely to be arraigned in failure, and I court-martialled.’
Somervile sighed. ‘Hervey, I have no wish to prompt you to rashness, to any adventure that might bring such a thing to you.’ He scratched his head and called for his bearer. ‘No wish at all. Would you therefore make an assessment, a thorough, measured affair? It might reveal some course we have not imagined.’
It was reasonable in one sense, thought Hervey, but the facts were unpromising and time was not on their side. An assessment could only betray how desperate were their straits, and that was too evident already: his own troop was still scarcely better than half-trained — unpractised, at least. ‘I shall make a very measured assessment,’ he replied, and in a tone intended to reassure Somervile that he would have his best efforts. ‘But directed only towards an attack on those boats with all the promptness to be had.’
Somervile, though defied, looked surprisingly relieved.
‘I think I should first like to hear all that there is of the Burman force. Are your agents here yet?’
At four o’clock, as the sun’s strength was fast diminishing, Hervey left his quarters and went to the stables. His neck was aching from holding his head too long in the same position as he pored over books, manuscripts and maps in order to make his ‘measured assessment’. Somervile’s Burman agents had not appeared, however, and so all his calculations were based on a supposition that the scant intelligence of the enemy was accurate. This worried him. It was one thing to go bald-headed for a rabble of mutineers, as he had done in Chintal; quite another to undertake an expedition against an organized force which was itself preparing an offensive expedition.
And then there was the problem of the maps. He could hardly expect that they would be as faithful as the Ordnance sheets with which the most part of England was served, nor even the military surveys of Bonaparte’s legions which had tramped over the best part of the Continent. However, those with which he was obliged to make his assessment were sketchy in the extreme.
‘It’s the rivers which give me the greatest trouble,’ confided Hervey, as Armstrong listened to the summary of the appreciation. ‘There are too many of them and they’re too unpredictable.’
Armstrong shifted his weight on the sack of gram, pushed his legs out straight and reached into his pocket for his pipe. ‘Rivers are rivers, aren’t they?’
To another, the remark might have meant nothing. To Hervey, who had consulted many maps and negotiated many rivers in Armstrong’s company, there was no need of elaboration. ‘Not here, by all accounts. I’ve been reading the natural history of the country, and strange it is too. Only thirty years ago the Jamuna shifted its course a full fifty miles.’
Armstrong was not overawed. ‘But if these Burmans is coming down a river to attack, then they must know where it leads. And in that case we just hunt the heel line. That’s what you’d call it, isn’t it?’
Hervey smiled. Armstrong had never followed hounds, but he had always studied his officers’ pastimes to advantage. ‘We need guides, though. And from what Mr Somervile says, they don’t much travel in these parts. I’ve yet to see these Burman agents who brought him the intelligence. They ought to have some idea of the country between here and there, even if they’ve not seen the assembly area for themselves.’
‘I’ve always distrusted guides. Ever since that time in Spain.’
A searing experience that had been. Hervey could see it now — Armstrong’s ferocious strength unleashed on the Spanish guides who had proved treacherous the night before Corunna. Never again had he had much trust in men who did not wear a uniform. ‘Mr Somervile places great faith in the hill tribes, the Chakma especially. They know the forest well, and they’re no friends of the Burmans.’
Armstrong made a face as if to say they would have to prove it first. ‘And what do your books say about the weather, sir? Thank God it’s over the worst, at least.’
Hervey knew that if Bagyidaw had threatened invasion but two months before, there could have been no thought of an anticipatory operation. The humidity at that time induced a torpor which would have prevented any expedition. The monsoon, which battered them daily, made the going so treacherous that no man was permitted to leave camp except in the company of two others. It had been a time when the stoutest hearts had begun to wonder how long they could endure. ‘Yes, it’s surely over the worst. We must hope the rivers are falling.’
Private Johnson appeared. ‘Oh, there thee is, Cap’n ’Ervey. Mr Somervile’s man’s been lookin’ for thee.’
‘What does he want?’
Johnson took off his forage cap and wiped his brow with his sleeve. ‘Somethin’ abaht some blackies that needs to talk to thee.’
‘This sounds promising,’ said Hervey. ‘Where is Mr Somervile’s man now?’ he asked, turning back to Johnson.
‘Waitin’ outside. Shall I fetch ’im in?’
‘No, no. I’ll be along shortly. Would you ask Mr Seton Canning to take evening stables for me? And tell my bearer to expect me late; and to leave some collops or whatever.’
‘Ay sir.’ Johnson replaced his cap, glanced at the serjeant-major and nodded his respects, then turned to leave the feed store.
‘Nearly got his name in the incident book last night, did Johnson,’ said Armstrong when he was gone.
‘Really?’ Hervey thought Johnson long past the orderly serjeant’s notice.
Armstrong blew out a great cloud of sweet-smelling smoke from the last of the Tokay-soaked leaf he had bought in Calcutta. ‘He put BC on his back. With a left hook, too!’
‘Did he indeed? Do we know why?’
‘Disputed ownership.’
‘Of a woman?’
‘None of ’em’d come to blows over that. They’d share ’em quite happily.’
‘Well what, then?’
‘A razor.’
‘Great heavens.’
‘Seems there’s been a bit of light-fingering of late. Thought was that it must be one of the darkie-wallahs. There are so many of them that come and go.’
‘And Dodds was found with Johnson’s razor?’
‘Seems so. But the circumstances sounded a bit queer. Dodds swore blind it must’ve been put with his kit by mistake.’
‘Is that likely?’
‘It’s
Hervey smiled with a certain pride, though the inference of Dodds’s recidivism worried him. ‘I thought he’d been treading a straight path. You yourself said so.’
‘I did, and he had, to start with. He needs chasing, though. That sort just can’t stick with it.’
Hervey sighed. But even if he needed chasing, Dodds was still a sabre. He could only hope that he was not a prigster, as the men had it. ‘I have a feeling that between them, Corporal McCarthy and that subdivision will keep his hand to the task.’
‘They better had,’ Armstrong muttered. ‘What about dhoolies and syces and the like?’
Hervey shook his head. ‘No dhoolies, no syces, no gram-grinders — no
Armstrong made notes. ‘And Boy Porrit?’
Porrit had come with four other boys at the last minute in Chatham, sons of the gun or dockyard foundlings. He and another had been mustered with E Troop, though his ‘twin’ had died of a fit not long out to sea.
‘It’s a year since he was enlisted — at sixteen — Sar’nt-Major. The farrier will need him.’
‘Sir, he was nowt but a bairn when he ’listed — barely fourteen, I’d reckon.’
‘His papers say otherwise, and now’s not the time to be counting. He’d want to go, anyway.’
