The trouble was that Sledge knew little more than Hervey in the matter. He had his manuals for reference, but he had seen nothing the like of these symptoms. 'I must warn you it's a desperate remedy. The blood's in so bad a state it renders it difficult to bring the wounds to a good digestion, and if this is not effected, there'll be a gangrene and mortification.'
Hervey understood. 'Where is Johnson, by the way?'
'I sent him for brandy. I find it has admirable cleansing properties, better than water for digesting dirt and blood. And it will preserve the flesh, too.'
Hervey smiled to himself. How alike seemed the methods of a good surgeon and a veterinarian.
Sledge opened his valise and laid out the tools of his trade on the manger – lancet, probe, scalpels, forceps, clamps, a cautery and two needles with gut already threaded. And a great quantity of lint, and a large bottle of green liquid.
Johnson returned soon afterwards with two flasks of arrack. Sledge took one of them, poured a good measure onto a handful of lint and began swabbing the mare's swollen breast. 'A bit more light, please, Johnson. And then this, if you will.' He handed him the cautery.
Johnson shifted the oil lamps closer, then set about lighting the cautery stove.
Sledge crouched looking at the swelling for some time, touching occasionally to feel for a vein. Then he picked up the lancet. 'Very well, let's try to expunge the malignance.'
He made five incisions in all, using the scalpel to elongate the lancet's work. After each one he expressed a quantity of fluid and blood, wiping the wound gently with arrack before studying it closely with his magnifying glass.
Throughout, the mare remained perfectly still. Her resignation warmed Hervey to her the more. He leaned forward as far as he could to see at close hand the veterinarian's art. 'What do you think, David?'
'I'm tempted to make more incisions. From each there's come a good deal of corruption. But there's a greater risk of mortification each time. No, I think I'll cauterize now, and sew up the two longer incisions. Johnson-'
Johnson handed him the cautery. 'I thought there'd be more blood, sir.'
'Yes, I think I did too. It seems that bad blood was likely not the cause of the inflammation. It was as well we didn't bleed her this morning.'
Johnson's admiration for Sledge these days was as great as it had been for his predecessor, Selden. Selden had elevated the Sixth's veterinary method from farriers' lore to science, and Sledge had confirmed the regiment in that practice.
'I wish she would take a little feed, though. Nothing at all, you say, Johnson?' 'Not a thing since yesterday, sir.' 'And the purgative?' 'Not 'ad a lot of effect, sir.' 'Mm.'
When he had done with cautery and needle, and had dressed the wounds with the green digestive ointment, Sledge turned to Hervey. 'Colic is the immediate concern. I worry about her gut twisting if she's eating nothing. A watch on her all night, and call me at once at any sign of distress.' Hervey nodded. 'Thank you, David.'
'Ay, sir. Thank you,' added Johnson, moving the lamps back to safety.
Sledge nodded, wiped his instruments clean with lint and arrack, put them in his valise and bid them both goodnight.
'I'll bed down 'ere, then, sir,' said Johnson when he was gone.
'Thank you, yes. I have some matters to attend to first, and then I'll come in the early hours and relieve you.'
'I'd rather tha didn't, sir. I wouldn't want it said I couldn't stag for a night.'
Hervey smiled. 'Very well. I'll come before muster, though. And if you have to send for Mr Sledge then send for me too.' 'Right, sir. 'E's good, Mr Sledge.'
'He is,' said Hervey, gently pulling the mare's ear. 'And as good a man too when not wielding a knife.' There was a light in the bungalow next to his when, an hour after midnight, Hervey walked the cantonment road. He paused for a moment, then turned down the path to the door. The chowkidar, squatting on his haunches at the foot of the verandah steps, stood and made the exaggerated salute which native servants thought correct in acknowledging the soldier-sahibs.
'Good evening, chowkidar. Is the sahib returned home?' said Hervey in confident Bengali.
The chowkidar nodded his head vigorously, gesturing with his night stick towards the door.
Hervey ascended the three steps to the verandah and pulled at the bell rope.
The bearer came quickly, saluting as high as the chowkidar, and admitted him at once. 'Captain Barrow-sahib, Captain Hervey-sahib is come,' he called as he closed the mosquito door.
Barrow appeared in his shirtsleeves, glass in hand. 'What are you doing up and about at this time, Hervey? You're not captain of the week.'
Hervey smiled as best he could. 'I've been with Sledge. He had to cut up my mare.'
'Oh? What's her problem?' The voice of Birmingham was always that much more pronounced when Barrow had had a drink or two. 'The feltoric, he thinks.' 'Lord. Will you have a peg?'
'Yes; thank you – brandy.' Hervey hoped it would wash away the dispirits as effectively as it had the blood. 'Brandy-pani for Captain Hervey, Ranga.'
The bearer produced glass, decanter and bottle as Hervey settled himself into a chair, and began to pour.
'No, Ranga: chota brandy,' Hervey protested, although his instinct was to take a very large measure indeed. 'A good evening at mess, was it?'
'Yes, though we were few. Only Seton Canning of the captains.'
'I'm not long back from Calcutta – one of the Shitpoor road wallahs. Quite a tamasha, it was. Fine wine – hock and best burgundy. And women.' Hervey nodded non-committally.
Barrow smiled. 'Or boys, for that matter, I suspect. You know these Bengalis.'
Hervey had been to tamashas at the merchants' houses, in the early days. They were lavish affairs, and the generosity of the hosts could indeed be great. Some of the merchants were undoubtedly men of culture and sensibility – and, he supposed, of honour – who merely enjoyed the company of the sahibs. But all the sahibs knew that the entertainment was in some expectation of pecuniary benefit. Barrow made no secret of his enjoying the hospitality, however much the 'proper' officers might disdain it. He was never entirely at home in the mess, and it was hardly surprising that he found his situation as guest of honour in a merchant's house so agreeable. In any case, it gave Hervey his pretext. 'Whose tamasha was it?'
'The man I bought my last lot of remounts from. And good they were too.' 'Nirmal Sen, is that?' 'You know 'im?'
Hervey thought it unworthy of their long acquaintance to dissemble. 'Barrow, I'm sorry to put this to you thus, but tomorrow Joynson will call Nirmal Sen to orderly room and question him about rumours of you and him dealing… improperly.' Barrow looked stunned.
'I'm sorry. It seems the rumours are abroad so much that Joynson feels he has no alternative but to act… formally. I understand he will ask to speak with you first in case-' 'In case what?'
'In case, I imagine, that you wish first to say anything.'
Barrow drained his glass. 'And what might there be to say?'
Hervey saw a face he had never before seen. Barrow had looked death in the eye, and defiantly, many a time, yet now he had the look of a fearful man. The eyes spoke of losing all, not simply life. And for the first time Hervey imagined him guilty. What a wreckage he had wrought in but a few seconds. 'I don't know, Ezra. I truly don't.'
'Do you think me capable of a corrupt thing, Hervey? You know me better than most, and longer.'
What was the point in expounding on the doctrine of original sin at such a time? Loyalty demanded that Hervey support him now. 'To me it is inconceivable.'
Barrow stared at him, as if trying to judge his sincerity. 'And what do you suppose the others would answer – Rose and Seton Canning, and Strickland?'
'I cannot say.' He knew it to be false, at least in the one case. 'Why should they answer different from me?'
'You know why, Hervey. You know very well why.'
Barrow's bearer returned to refill their glasses. Hervey wanted no more, but it was not possible to refuse at such a moment.
Barrow drained his new glass at once and held it out again. 'Burra peg, Ranga. And leave the bottle and be off. And tomorrow morning, my best dress.' 'Acha, sahib.' He left, looking anxious.
