The Sabre's Edge

Hervey smiled. 'Does it seem ill that I would?'

'Not at all. The cobbler is better at his last. I wonder you've exchanged a dry billet at all for this.'

Hervey clapped a hand on Birch's shoulder. 'Oh, don't mistake me; I would not miss this for all the tea in China, even if I mayn't be dry-shod.'

Birch offered him his brandy flask.

'What is your intention then?' asked Hervey, taking a most restorative swig.

'It is not easy to say without seeing the object, but I shall land out of musketry range and then advance with skirmishers. I think the navy might feint beyond. You never know: we might yet bolt them as we did before.'

'It will be a famous business if you do,' said Hervey, taking another draw on the flask. 'That and to put a torch to the place.'

The reason they were making now for Kemmendine was Peto's fear of fire boats, for it was no hindrance to progress if the general struck for the Irawadi. That said, if Campbell could not proceed for a month or so - and in this weather Hervey thought it nigh impossible - then it would not do to have the village become a fortress from which Maha Bundula's men might sortie. The general himself believed that the same weather would also hold up the Burmans, but Hervey had reasoned that they would be moving on interior lines and might therefore do so much swifter. And he knew enough of Maha Bundula's reputation to know that he would march where others could not. Captain Birch's work today might well be an affair on which the expedition turned. He had better let him know it.

How those sailors pulled on the oars! Hervey marvelled at their skill and strength - like the free hands that propelled the triremes of ancient Greece faster than could the galley-slaves of their enemies. The rain had stopped, quite suddenly, revealing how warm was the morning - and how soon could the mosquitoes set about them again, so that in a little while both red- and bluejacket alike would have welcomed back the rain in whatever measure. And, of course, the rain dispersed the miasma, the mist that brought the fevers. Hervey, having lowered his collar and unfastened his cloak, quickly reversed the decision with the first bites at his neck. He was lucky to have his hands free for it, unlike the oarsmen.

'There's the place,' exclaimed Captain Birch suddenly, double-checking his map. 'It's good and flat, and Kemmendine just around the bend ahead. We land there.'

Hervey searched with his telescope. It was an excellent place to disembark. Boats could beach and the grenadiers jump to dry land, if that description was at all apt. ' 'Ware pickets, though, Birch. It's altogether too likely a place.'

'It may be so, Hervey, but we're beggars in choice.' He hailed his ensign in the boat alongside. 'Secure a footing, Kerr!'

Ensign Kerr, looking half the years of any man in his boat, saluted and put the cutter at once for the shoal.

'Pull!' bellowed the mate: he would have it run well up the bank.

Out scrambled the grenadiers as the boat stuck fast, a full ten feet of keel out of the water. At once a fusillade opened on them.

Musket balls struck the clinker side. A grenadier crumpled clutching his stomach. One dropped to his knees, his hip shot away. Another fell backwards into the water with a ball in his throat.

'Lie down!' shouted Ensign Kerr.

They did so willingly, even in so much mud, while Kerr himself stood brazenly looking for the source of the musketry.

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