Another volley. White smoke billowed from a thicket not a hundred yards away.
Bad soldiers, tutted Kerr. No target for the volley and all to lose by giving away the position. The bayonet should dislodge them easy enough!
But no – his eyes deceived him. It was no haphazard cover in which the musketeers hid, but bamboo walls as before, only this time most artfully, cunningly, concealed. He looked up and down the bank. There was no other place to land to advantage. 'Stand up, men!'
As soon as fire was opened, Captain Birch had signalled for the other boats to row for the bank, covered from view by abundant mangrove. 'We'll just have to hack through,' he called to Hervey, gesturing at the tangle that overhung the river.
Both were now standing in the stern trying to get a clearer picture of Kerr's skirmish.
'Not two dozen muskets by the sound of it,' said Hervey. 'Your man might yet do it on his own.'
That indeed was Ensign Kerr's intention. 'Fix bayonets! On guard!'
He would waste no time trying to load – certainly not to have so many of them misfire with damp powder. And the clattering of bayonets locking home was a fine sound! 'Advance!'
Captain Birch gasped at the audacity. 'Make after them!' he bellowed. 'Pull hard!'
They fairly raced through the slack water of the bank, but there wasn't the same room to get the boats run up the shoal.
'Out! Out!' roared Birch, leaping from the stern into water knee-deep, followed by Hervey and Corporal Wainwright.
The silting was so bad it took the greatest effort to make the five yards to the bank. 'All right, sir?' asked Wainwright as they crawled out. 'Ay, just,' said Hervey, sliding back a second time before getting to grips with a firm-rooted clump of rushes to pull himself free of the silt. 'I'd forgotten how much easier it is on four legs.'
Captain Birch was only a stride ahead of them, and Ensign Kerr's picket was half-way to the stockade. 'Come on you grenadiers, form line!' he bellowed.
But his voice could barely be heard above those of the NCOs, all of whom had the same idea.
'Right marker!' a corporal was screaming, his hand raised.
A line started to take shape, in double rank -if not as on parade, then no very great distance from it.
Birch doubled to the front and centre. He would have regularity. 'Company will fix bayonets. Fix… bayonets!' Hervey, coming up beside him, drew his sabre.
Behind him came the rattle of a full five dozen blades being rammed home. 'Company, on guard!'
Up came the muskets, bayonets thrust out to impale the luckless souls who stood in their way.
'Company will advance, by the centre, quick march!'
The stockade had fallen silent. The going was heavy but Ensign Kerr's dozen grenadiers had kept admirable dressing. They had but twenty yards to go. Kerr raised his sword. 'Double march!' A ragged volley greeted them. A ball struck the hilt of Kerr's sword, knocking it from his hand. Another struck him in the groin so that he staggered left and right, then fell to his knees, his mouth open. The line wavered.
The serjeant, his face a picture of horror, shouted for them to keep going as he rushed to the ensign.
'No, no. That's not the way,' groaned Captain Birch, seeing plainly the loss of momentum. He pointed his sword at the fort. 'Company, double march!'
It was not what he'd wanted to do – not to blow them all by doubling through this mud. They'd need every bit of breath to scale the walls. But he couldn't have the picket faltering.
Hervey saw it too. These Burmans were a deal more resolute than the others. If they could volley as fast as British infantry they had less than half a minute to get to the lee of the stockade.
It was as well the defenders were more resolute than capable, for the mud clung to the grenadiers' feet as if demons were trying to pull them into hell. Never did Hervey think himself so powerless.
He could scarcely get his breath as they made the walls. The others looked no better, and some much worse. Furious musketry from above felled two corporals and enveloped the walls in smoke. A ball struck a grenadier full in the mouth. He ran back towards the river squealing like a stuck pig until another ball sent him sprawling in the mud, choking his way to a merciful death.
Hervey crouched watching as two grenadiers holding a musket between them put their shoulders to the wall.
A third, a big Irishman, jumped onto it. 'By Jasus I'll not spare one of them!' he cursed as they heaved him up full stretch.
Hervey could only marvel at their strength – and then at the Irishman's raw fight as he withstood the rain of blows to his head and hands. He got a footing on the parapet and at once the defenders shrank back, but another rushed him with a spear, and the point sank deep in his chest. The Irishman seized the man's head with both hands and they fell to the ground as one.
Hervey drew his pistol to despatch the executioner, but the grenadiers beat him to it.
There was no shortage of volunteers for the escalade. The lieutenant himself, not long out of his teens, was now hauling himself up, his sword in his mouth like a pirate boarding a prize.
Where were the ladders, wondered Hervey? Why were they going against stockades without so much as a grapple and line?
'Will you be going, sir?' called another of the grenadiers, as if they were asking if he intended taking a walk.
'Me first, sir,' said Corporal Wainwright, his foot on the musket in an instant.
Up it went before Hervey could protest. Wainwright, a jockey-weight compared with the grenadiers, was almost flung over the parapet.
He rolled forward in a neat somersault and sprang to his feet facing the way he had come, sabre already in hand. A clumsy lunge from a spearman was met by a parry and then a terrible slice which parted the spear, and the hand gripping it, from its wielder. Another two spearman backed away at once. 'Clear, sir!' he called.
Hervey clambered up the same way seconds later, by which time Wainwright had accounted for the reluctant supports. He looked at his covering-corporal's handiwork, and nodded: he could not have done it neater himself – perhaps not even as neat.
Left and right, all along the parapet, there were grenadiers duelling with Burmans. Theirs was not so neat work – the jabbing bayonet, the boot, the butt end. There were few shots, a pistol here or there. It was the brute strength of beef-fed redcoats and good steel that were carrying the day, although the grenadiers had had precious little beef this month.
The parapet was now treacherous, running as much with blood as rain. Hervey nearly lost his footing as he made for a down-ladder.
Wainwright was first to the ground, sabre up challenging any who would contest his entry. But there were none that would. Those who could get away from the parapet were making for the back of the stockade, some of them crawling with fearful wounds and a trail of blood. The grenadiers pouring over the wall were looking for retribution, and these men now obliged them. With each point driven into Burman flesh they avenged their comrades – a very personal slaughter, this. Hervey was only glad of the anger that could whip men up to escalade high walls with no other wherewithal than the determination to do so. Ferocious, savage; not a pretty sight, but the proper way, no question. And then get the men back in hand so that blind rage did not lead them to their own destruction. Where was Captain Birch?
Hervey soon learned. The serjeant-major was a colossus even among the giants of the grenadier company, and Captain Birch lay across his shoulder like a rag doll. 'Have you seen Mr Napier, sir?' he asked, coolly, seeing the fight was all but over.
'No, Sar'nt-major, I haven't,' replied Hervey, dismayed at the lifeless form of the company commander. 'Is the captain dead?'
'Sir. He took a ball in the throat just as he was broaching the wall.'
'Very well, Sar'nt-major. Will you have his orderly attend him, and come with me if you please. We must put the stockade in a state of defence at once.' Hervey did not imagine a counter-attack was likely, but that did not remove his obligation to take measures to repel one.
'Ay, sir. But let me just lay the captain aside decently first.'
Hervey hurried to the back of the stockade. 'Close the gates!' he shouted to two grenadiers. They seemed uncomprehending.
