give any undertaking. 'Well, I may tell you that I must give an answer to the military secretary within the week. But I tell you, Emma, I have scarcely ever found a decision so troublesome.'
Emma simply raised an eyebrow and inclined her head, a gesture to say she understood perfectly but could be of no help.
'But how is Somervile today?' asked Hervey, determined now to be bright. 'In good spirits, I trust. Shall he dine with us in mess, as we arranged?'
Emma brightened too. 'Oh, he is in excellent spirits, though he is angered by the commander-in-chief.' 'Combermere? How so?'
'He had a letter this morning from Sir Charles Metcalfe, who complains that the prize agents are appropriating property by rights the rajah's. He says it's little better than outright theft.'
Hervey sighed. He had imagined it might be so, though he supposed it was nothing entirely new. 'And the bulk of it, I fear, will find its way down the throat, though the widows will be glad of their share.'
Serjeant-Major Armstrong stepped from the forage store as they drew parallel. He saluted and hailed them in a model combination of propriety and familiarity.
'Mr Armstrong, I am sorry we have not met since your return,' said Emma, beaming wide. 'Let me shake your hand. I am all admiration for your exploits. The whole of Calcutta is!'
Armstrong glanced at Hervey, who nodded. 'Ah, them exploits, ma'am!'
'I believe Mrs Armstrong may have told me of the others, Serjeant-Major,' replied Emma, with just the right note of mystery.
'Well, ma'am, it felt queer to be on me hands and knees again after all these years, but it worked in the end.'
'And I hope it is rightly esteemed.' Emma looked at Hervey.
Armstrong had no doubt of it, however. 'It is indeed, ma'am. Advanced in seniority and service by three years no less. As I was saying to Mr Hairsine, I'm only a molehill from being RSM.'
Emma smiled again, and turned to her companion. 'Are there moles in India, do you know, Major Hervey?' On the Saturday morning following, after the customary weekly parade, Hervey sat down at his desk in regimental headquarters and began at last to compose his letter to Lord Combermere's military secretary: 'Sir, I have the honour to…'
The clerk had lit a fire, but Hervey did not expect the letter would take him many minutes to draft.
He was scarcely begun when a red-faced Joynson marched in and began angrily waving a sheet of paper in front of him. 'Look! Unspeakable! Infamous!'
Hervey could not suppose what on earth might bring so equable a man to such a rage. He stood up, took the sheet and began to read. There were a good many words, and figures, before he came to the offending ones. 'I cannot believe it!' 'Hah! My thoughts too. Read on!'
Hervey continued to the second page. 'I am astonished. Wholly dismayed,' he said, shaking his head, still half incredulous.
'Is this what we were about at Bhurtpore, then?' Joynson sounded like a man betrayed. cIs this what Armstrong risked making a widow with three orphans for? And Lankester?'
On the other side of the door to the orderly room, Private Johnson's ear was pressed as close to the keyhole as it could get. 'What's it about, Smithy?' he said quietly, turning to the clerk behind him.
The clerk frowned. 'It's about the prize money. An order's come. It says what the Company will pay us.' 'Ow much do we get?' 'You and me get forty siccas.'
'It's better than nowt. What's wrong wi' Major 'Ervey and t'colonel?'
'I think it's because it says Lord Combermere's going to take all his share.'
'That's not right. Everybody knows that's not right! 'E ought to give 'alf of it to us!'
Private Johnson pressed his ear to the door again, straining hard to make out what else was to come.
Brevet-Lieutenant-Colonel Joynson took up the order and began looking at the figures again. 'It's plunder, Hervey – plunder, pure and simple. As I recall, Cornwallis gave away half his share after Seringapatam. That's the way.'
'All of it,' Hervey corrected. 'He gave away every last rupee.'
Joynson threw down the orders contemptuously. 'I have a mind to make protest. Do you suppose there is anyone with honour left in Calcutta to take note?'
Hervey shook his head slowly, without a word. Then he picked up his sheet of writing paper and tore it in half. 'Eustace, my mind is now made up. I stay with the regiment.'
THE END
The Burmese war dragged on until the end of February 1826, with Campbell's force getting within fifty miles of Ava before King Bagyidaw conceded defeat. Of the 3,500 British troops who originally landed at Rangoon, only a couple of hundred survived the campaign. All but 1'0 or so died from disease and sickness rather than by the enemy's hand. The sepoys fared little better, twelve thousand of the twenty-seven thousand who eventually landed at Rangoon failing to return. It was, simply, the worst-managed campaign in the long history of the British army.
Maha Bundula deserves further mention. He was, even allowing for the generally atrocious quality of his peers, a very fine commander. His feats of forced marching through jungle and swamp in the midst of the monsoon were remarkable. He had a shrewd mind too. He early came to the conclusion that the British could not be beaten: they could deploy more troops in both Arakan and Burma itself then he could possibly counter, and he was quick to recognize their technical superiority as well. On first encountering the explosive shell he is said to have gone into deep meditation for a whole day. When he realized that Bagyidaw would not sue for peace, he put himself in the front line and openly courted death. He was killed by a rocket in April 1825, and from then on both Bagyidaw's and the army's spirit seem to have ebbed.
The controversy over the Bhurtpore prize money was very real. Lord Combermere was held in high regard for his Peninsular record and for his determined conduct of the siege – he had to be physically restrained from taking part in the final assault – but there was first a widespread belief that the army had looted Bhurtpore rather than merely taking the legitimate spoils of war. And then the news that Combermere would retain all his share – close on Ј60,000 – provoked almost universal disgust when a private soldier received Ј4 and a sepoy half of that.
The haul of ordnance at Bhurtpore was great too: 133 guns, and a further 301 'wall pieces' firing a one-pound ball. One of the biggest guns can be seen today at the eastern end of the parade ground at the Royal Artillery barracks, Woolwich.
The battle was the first time the lance was used in action by British cavalry, and the first time that Gurkhas fought on the British side.
Of the great fortress itself, 'the pride of Hindoostan', nothing remains but a small and derelict part of the citadel. The walls were blown up or pulled down almost at once, and the jheels are now a spectacular bird sanctuary.
Bhurtpore fell to mines and the bayonet as my narrative recounts, but Serjeant-Major Armstrong's innovation was in truth that of a slightly later military generation – and in America. The credit must go to the splendid men of the 48th Pennsylvania Infantry, recruited from the coal-mining districts of Schuykill County, who achieved devastating surprise over the Confederate defenders in the siege of Petersburg, 1865, prelude to the famed 'battle of the crater'.
The medal inscribed 'To the Army of India', perhaps the most romantic of all, bears last among its twenty-four clasps that for 'Bhurtpur'. The cavalry received especial praise from Lord Combermere, in marked contrast to the, at best, grudging recognition that the Duke of Wellington had usually bestowed, since 'none of the Enemy escaped from the Fort but on the conditions of surrender'. Of Skinner's Irregular Horse, Combermere said that 'nothing could exceed the devotion and bravery of this valuable class of soldiery'; and James Skinner was granted an honorary King's commission as a lieutenant-colonel and appointed Companion of the Order of the Bath.
