A Call to Arms

good salt beef before they left, and it boiled up well in the surprisingly sweet river water of which they had had ample since leaving Chittagong. Only the Skinner’s sowars were less than content, for no amount of salt mutton could altogether replace the live goats. Even so, the instinct for fresh rations remained strong with the dragoons, for Hervey watched with admiration as one of the Warminster pals plucked a coucal which had fallen to the slingshot as it clambered too sluggishly in the branches above.

After he had looked at every horse with the farrier, Hervey called together Seton Canning, Vanneck and Armstrong and told them his intentions for the morning. He began with his assessment of how they had come too far to the east, and what action they must take to remedy it. He confessed freely that the absence of the Chakma guides now worried him, for whereas the Chittagong guides had previously given him confidence that they could proceed without them, he was no longer so sure — not least because he wondered if he could trust them. But, he declared resolutely, the Avan war barges, astride a river such as the Karnaphuli, could not be concealed from those determined to find them, even in jungle like this. Seton Canning asked what should be done about the woman — little more than a girl, indeed — to which Hervey confessed also that he neither knew what to do with her, beyond entrusting her to the surgeon, nor what her presence signified. The daffadar had been able to have but few words with her, concluding that she was as respectable as her rich silks suggested. Beyond the general intelligence that her people were Avan, there was little more he could discover.

Hervey saw no necessity to deviate from his course, however, especially since Collins had scouted some way along the river and found no sign of habitation. But he wanted the dragoons to know what difficulties lay ahead, and he said he would be obliged if they, his officers, would be as candid with the men as he had been with them. In Spain once, he told them, after a day in which everything that might go wrong had, Joseph Edmonds, then captain, had spoken frankly with his troop. The men, cast down by the events, had been visibly stiffened by their captain’s confidences, and their spirits restored on hearing what was his plan for the morning. As a consequence, added Hervey, he himself had come to trust more than many in the innate good sense of the private dragoon, even when his instincts sometimes told him otherwise.

As ever, theory was not wholly justified by practice. At stand-to in the morning, Armstrong was beside himself with anger as he reported to the troop lieutenant.

Hervey, standing close by, could scarcely believe what he heard. ‘Absent, Sar’nt- Major?’

‘Ay, sir, absent — gone.’

Hervey felt a wrench at his gut. ‘When? How?’

‘He’s been gone since before midnight, that’s all I can tell. Mossop couldn’t find him for the sentry change then, but he supposed he was bedded down somewhere else. It was as black as pitch last night.’

‘Damned fool Mossop!’

Armstrong did not at heart disagree. ‘There’s not much we could have done about it, even so.’

‘There’s no fear he’s lost himself in the thick of all this?’

‘I couldn’t say for certain, sir, but the orders were that no one was to leave the lines, even to ease himself. If it were anybody but Dodds I might be inclined to give it a thought.’

There was no rebuke in Armstrong’s voice, but Hervey presumed there was one in his mind. ‘The bad character is out at last, Sar’nt-Major?’

‘I fear so, sir.’

Hervey fell silent for a moment. ‘I shall see him hanged.’ He almost spat the words.

He pronounced sentence so very determinedly, indeed, that Seton Canning shivered.

Armstrong stood, silent, awaiting orders.

‘Very well, Mr Seton Canning, Sar’nt-Major: stand down. Rounds in five minutes if you please.’

*

A morning round should not have been necessary after the inspection the night before, but Hervey wanted to look each man in the eye. In truth, he doubted them less than he doubted his own judgement, and that indeed was the reason for the rounds — to restore his own pride, and his authority perhaps, for it was well known that it had been he who had championed the reform of a known bad character, against all the usages of the service and the instincts of his NCOs. He need not have troubled, though. There was not a man who appeared in the slightest degree dismayed by Dodds’s desertion. Dodds’s flight earned the contempt of the bold, and showed to the most timid that they possessed more courage than did another, whereas before they might have thought that none could be possessed of less — a discovery to fortify their own resolve, indeed.

Hervey was much brightened by the round. He wished he could get the whole troop back into the saddle now, to parade in threes and have them in a brisk trot to put the swing into them again, rather than another morning’s plodding as yesterday. But that would have to wait. If his calculations were right it would be a day before they broke cover. Then they could go at it with a swing all right! He felt his hand twitch to be at the sabre. But for now, he could not even give an animating word of command to advance, let alone sound the trumpet. Only a hand signal, a wave to have the troop set off in single file. And it could not be a wave that set them off as one, as on parade; rather it had to be the French way, each man in turn, so displeasing to an English eye. If Hervey disliked the jungle as much as did his men, it was for different reasons.

In an hour, to his immense relief, the ground began to rise as he had calculated, and with that change in inclination he felt a general rise in spirits. The pace was slower, the sweating — men and horses — even more prodigious, but with each step came the satisfaction of nearing the quarry. If any dragoon were anxious of what was to come, his fear was dulled by the anticipation of at last being able to swing his sabre to a purpose, and to discharge his carbine at more than a roundel. That, and the standing he knew it would bring when they returned to Calcutta.

A fearful cry broke the toiling silence. Hervey swung round. ‘Who in God’s name is that?’ he cursed, reaching for his sword as if he would inflict his own punishment. The column faltered for an instant then struggled on, with anxious glances over shoulders.

A short while later, garbled word reached Hervey that Private French had been attacked by something and could not move. He halted the column and pushed his way back roughly, past two dozen dragoons and more, until he came to the unfortunate French lying motionless, his face swollen beyond recognition, his arms across his chest and his fingers puffed up like cucumbers. ‘What in God’s name—?’

‘Snake, sir. It must have been,’ suggested Corporal Mossop, the NCO nearest.

‘Beggin’ yer pardon, sir,’ piped Private Rudd, the rank behind. ‘It were bees.’

‘Bees?’ Hervey knelt to feel for French’s pulse — he could see the rise and fall of his chest well enough.

‘Ay sir. I’m sure of it. They just seemed to be rushing at him.’

‘That’s not bees,’ said Mossop, certain of the symptoms plain to see. ‘Bees don’t do that.’

Hervey shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t be too sure. English bees perhaps not. But here …’

French remained silent and immobile.

Hervey searched for the obvious clues. ‘Well, there’s no sign of any bite. And I can’t see how a snake could have bit through those overalls.’

Armstrong and the surgeon arrived.

‘Ah, Ledley: bees or a snakebite? I can find no sign.’

The surgeon made a tutting sound as he saw his patient. ‘How’s his pulse?’

‘It seemed weak, but I couldn’t tell for sure.’

The surgeon took up French’s wrist, not troubling with a watch. ‘I’m not surprised. His hand’s so swollen it’s hard to find the pulse at all. Who saw the snake?’

‘I didn’t actually see it, sir,’ replied Mossop, his confidence only slightly diminished.

‘Then don’t speculate,’ said Ledley brusquely. ‘Worse than useless.’

Corporal Mossop looked crestfallen.

‘Who saw the bees then?’

‘I did, sir.’

Ledley turned to see his patient of a few days ago. ‘Those stitches can come out tomorrow, by the look of them. You saw these bees?’