acknowledged them. 'That would appear to be what Combermere is about, is it not – doing well what's to be done?'
'I hope so. I hope he's listening to Anburey rather than Murray. I can't see that this business will be settled other than by powder and the bayonet. You know, I've a mind to leave things here for a while and go see Armstrong and his cohort. I've a mind that Armstrong's shovel will be a deal more serviceable in this than the whole of Murray's brigade. You'll come with me?' As they rode into the extensive earthworks that Buldeo Singh's garden had become, the battery at Kuddum Kundee, a furlong away, fired in unison – eight of the artillery's biggest siege guns laid painstakingly on the same point of the long-necked bastion, 250 pounds of iron hurled with a velocity which vastly multiplied that weight on impact. Hervey pressed Gilbert to the top of one of the earth ramparts just in time to observe the effect – a column of dust higher than the walls of the fortress itself. Were there troops ready to assault the breach?
As the dust cleared, he saw there was no need of a breaching party, nor even a sign of the gunners' work. The long-necked bastion stood as before, prominent and defiant. He frowned and turned Gilbert back down the bank, muttering about Joshua and his trumpets.
'God in heaven!' cursed Joynson, climbing from the saddle. His mare looked as if she had taken root, her legs splayed, immovable.
'It was enough to startle a seasoned trooper, Eustace. She's very green, still.' Joynson's luck with horses was evidently not great, thought Hervey. 'Give her a lead?'
Joynson shook his head crossly. 'No, no. I'll walk in, damn it! Serjeant Lightfoot!'
The major's covering-serjeant took the reins. Hervey dismounted and handed his to Private Johnson.
They set off through the tamarisk grove with Joynson still tutting about his second charger.
'It's as well we approach on foot, anyway,' said Hervey, leading. 'The place is getting tight-packed with limbers.'
They picked their way through the siege park like sightseers at a fair. There were piles of shot, powder kegs in dugout bays, explosive shell in others, all manner of engineer stores neatly piled, sacks of corn for the horses, tubs of salt beef, dripping, biscuit, heaps of black bread, barrels of water, firewood and quartermaster stores, and the surgeon's dressing post, empty now, though at the same hour yesterday it was a sorry butcher's shop. It all spoke of the effort and patience a siege required, the organization. Someone at least knew his job, thought Hervey. And it was as well, given the impotence of the eighteen-pounders that had just been demonstrated.
'Steady, man!' bawled Joynson suddenly, as Private Harkness all but ran into him.
'Sir! We need the surgeon sir! It's the serjeant-major!' 'What?'
'He's in the tunnel, sir. The roof's tumbled in!'
Joynson pointed to the surgeon's tent, then set off after Hervey, running for the first time in years.
At the foot of the drift, where the tunnel began, an artificer stopped them. 'There're too many in there, sir. It's too narrow.'
'Stay here, Eustace,' said Hervey, unfastening his swordbelt and taking off his shako. 'No use in two of us going.' 'My orders, sir,' said the artificer. cMy sar'nt-major, though,' said Hervey, pushing him aside.
The tunnel was well lit by oil lamps, but silent. Hervey moved as fast he could, neither quite walking nor running, ducking lower still every few yards to avoid a roof support. It took him a while to reach the airlock.
'Who's that?' said the crouching figure at the burlap partition. 'Armstrong's officer. What's to do?'
'Oh, Major Hervey, sir; it's Irvine. I'm officer of the day. The roof's fallen about fifty yards in. There are two of your men and Brigadier Anburey digging the sar'nt-major out.' Hervey pulled aside the burlap. 'Sir, it's awfully tight in there.' 'Yes, thank you, Irvine.'
It was not so well lit the other side of the burlap. Hervey could see the flicker of lamps ahead, and hear voices. He crouched lower still, and pushed on as best he could again. 'Who's that? Surgeon?' came a voice.
'No, sir. It's Hervey, Armstrong's officer.' Hervey could just make out Shepherd Stent on his knees beyond Anburey, shovelling earth to one side. 'Who's with you, Stent?' 'Corporal Stray, sir.'
Hervey pushed past them both. Earth was flying back as fast as Stent could clear it, like a terrier digging out a badger. He could now make out Corporal Stray's great bulk, seeming to fill the remaining space. But it was Stray's shovel that worked like a machine. 'How long has he been buried?'
'A good ten minutes, sir,' said Stent, not checking in his own shovel work. 'The engineers had just put in another support and the serjeant-major was taking a turn at digging. And suddenly the roof just fell in.'
'I had only just arrived myself,' said Brigadier Anburey.
Buried ten minutes. Hervey bit his lip. How did they know the roof-fall they were clearing would not be replaced at once by more? Had the tunnel wholly collapsed, with a hollow in the ground above them? Should they not be digging from there too? 'I've got 'is feet, Shep!' called Stray. 'Major Hervey's here, Mick.'
'Major 'Ervey, sir, I've got 'is feet. And they're movin'!'
Hervey crawled past Shepherd Stent and laid a hand on Armstrong's boot. It was moving, very definitely moving. 'Can we pull 'im out, d'ye think, sir?'
'I don't know,' said Hervey, clawing away more earth around the foot. 'He must somehow have air under this lot. If we start to pull him out we might disturb it. How long would it take?'
Corporal Stray, breathing heavily, didn't know either. 'Even if 'e's got a bit of air, sir, it might run out soon. It can't be owt much. What else can we do? It'll take an hour to shift this lot.'
Hervey felt the desperation welling. 'We'll pull him! Keep digging while I get ropes.'
'Right, sir,' said Stray, relieved not to be the one to make the decision, and pleased to have the digging to occupy him. 'I'll get them,' said Anburey.
'Colonel, I'd be obliged if you would stay here. I am not a technical.'
Anburey nodded, and Hervey took off back down the tunnel like a bolting rabbit.
Joynson had not been idle, either. There were props, lamps, picks, shovels, all manner of stores piled at the bottom of the drift – and rope. Hervey quickly explained his intention then set off back into the tunnel with the end of a coil, Corporal Wainwright playing it out and Serjeant Lightfoot attaching other lengths with deft reef knots.
'Relay my orders, if you please, Irvine,' said Hervey as he pushed aside the burlap.
Corporal Stray had cleared to Armstrong's calves, but earth slid his way as fast as he could move it.
'There's a good fifteen feet of tunnel forward,' said Brigadier Anburey. 'It's that spoil which is falling back. I don't think the whole working has collapsed.'
'He knows we're 'ere at least, sir,' said Stray, sounding as though he was taking as much comfort by it as Armstrong himself.
The brigadier's assessment was cheering. At least they wouldn't be pulling against the weight of a dozen feet of earth. Hervey looped the rope around Armstrong's feet, binding them together tight. He thought of removing the boots, but judged it better to leave them for protection. 'Keep digging, Corporal Stray,' he said, once he had made the final hitch. 'Irvine, pull away!'
A second or so and the rope tautened. Then it began to inch back. Then more obviously. In a minute they saw the back of Armstrong's knees.
'Thank Christ, sir!' said Stray, digging for all he was worth.
'It's taking too long,' said Hervey. 'He'll soon have no air.' He started clawing away at the earth with his bare hands. 'Pull harder, Irvine!'
It was working, just. Inch by inch Armstrong's body emerged from the roof-fall, but the minutes ticked by. How in God's name could anyone go that long without air?
In five more they saw his waist. And then he was out in one, like a cork pulling evenly from a bottle. 'Stop!' bellowed Hervey down the tunnel. The rope slackened at once.
He turned over the uncharacteristically motionless frame, desperate for some sign of life. He saw only the earth-caked shell of a man he'd once believed was indestructible – limp, like a rag doll thrown down in the mud.
'Surgeon!' He cursed himself; he ought to have called him up before.
Armstrong's mouth fell open, and then his eyes, the lids flickering perceptibly.
Hervey gasped, and Stray knew they'd done it. But it was too much like the brush with death in America, when Armstrong, alone, had taken on the war party – then, as now, beyond, well beyond, the call of duty. The thought of that devotion, and its fruitless and terrible outcome in America, was too much for Hervey, and tears began welling.
