The Sabre's Edge

'General Paget was convinced that operations should be directed principally towards securing Chittagong. He believed the Burmans were best punished then by striking from the sea.'

'It doesn't seem to amount to any great difference as far as we are concerned at this moment.' There was a distinct note of disdain in Peto's voice. 'I do despair of our great men at times. They show so little propensity to think a matter through. They seem always to think it somehow sufficient for the navy to put ashore redcoats, and that by that very act there will be fearful trembling at the heart of the enemy's enterprise. I blame Pitt - he was forever breaking windows with guineas.'

Hervey merely raised his eyebrows (Peto knew his mind in these matters without need of words). 'I should say that it is, too, Somervile's opinion. And he, I think, sees the whole very well.'

Peto shook his head despairingly. 'So it seems we have embarked on a strategy which may already be turning turtle.' He rose to fetch a chart from the table, then sat down again and began peering at it. 'We descend upon Ava from the sea, so to speak, because we cannot do so from land. And we bring no provisions or transport with us because, consequent on the taking of Rangoon, the populace will not only desist from interfering with our progress upstream but supply us with all our material needs as my ships take the army to gain its object.'

Hervey raised his eyebrows again. The course of Peto's logic was evident.

'Rangoon is burned and the populace driven off, and the Irawadi will need clearing with the bayonet to enable my ships to reach Ava. I count that a major reverse in design.'

Hervey could only nod.

'And of course, to give us every facility in the venture, the expedition is timed so that the rains which begin any day will swell the Irawadi to enable my ships to make easy progress.' Peto laid down the map, shaking his head and looking as sad as he was angry. 'You and I know those same rains will fix the army here in Rangoon. The country'll be turned to swamp. I'll warrant even Amherst would want to rethink his stratagem if he were to think through these little matters.' He smiled, but wryly. 'I concede, however, that these are early days still!'

Hervey found himself in an unusual position: he was a mere observer of events. However, all his instincts demanded still that he took his commander's view. And that required that he forgo too much criticism and look for advantage instead. 'Let us see what the day brings. Rain will at least make the country equally impassable to the Burmans.'

'You must hope so’ said Peto. He sipped his Madeira in a way that spoke to Hervey of the chalk-and-cheese difference in their fighting milieus. 'But I shall want the general to take the offensive upstream tomorrow, for we have to have all the Burman boats burned within a league. I cannot sit here beyond another day. You may take that message ashore with you, if you will.'

'It might be best if you were to impress it upon Campbell in person.'

Peto shook his head again. 'No. I'll not go ashore when there's the threat of fire boats. I'll see him early in the morning and we can agree on what support I can lend him. I take it he'll want the rest of the divisions landed?'

'I'm sure of it.' Hervey made to rise.

Peto rose with him and clapped a hand on his arm. 'I'm sorry you will not stay longer. It is very good to see you, though I could wish for better circumstances.'

Hervey smiled. 'Ours are not professions that would prosper in better circumstances!'

'Indeed, no. And I had at one time thought I should never get a command again once Bonaparte was put in his box.'

'Should we not still be saying 'God rest his soul' then?'

Peto returned the smile. 'Perhaps. It will be an unquiet one otherwise, for sure.'

'Thank you for my dinner. I have a premonition of its being the last of any substance or quality for some time.'

'Not if you can find reason to come aboard my ship, I assure you!'

Flowerdew brought Hervey his cape.

'By the way,' said Peto, his smile turning wry again. 'I did not say how very active and smart your corporal seems. A considerable improvement on your Private Johnson.'

Hervey remembered the first time his groom had presented himself to Peto's ship, almost ten years ago. No one would have declared him a model of military bearing. 'I could not bring the two of them, and Johnson's place is properly with the chargers. But I suspect I shall miss his resource.'

Peto came on deck just before dawn. The officer of the watch touched his hat but said nothing. It was not his place to extend even a greeting without invitation, and had he been sure of which side the commodore wished to stand, he would have quitted his place at once to take the other. Peto looked quickly about, searched the heavens to see what they revealed of the coming rains, then went to the starboard rail. There was the faintest glow in the sky above the jungle. The sight was not new to him, but he was fascinated still. In another ten minutes the sun would rise, and the creatures of the earth would begin the drama of another day, unseen - unseen but noisy. And here in the Indies there was no leisurely beginning, as in temperate parts; no lengthy overture in which to settle to the change to come. It was night, and then it was day, at full throat. Peto watched, wondering. He thought for a moment of the sunrise in his native Norfolk, of the times as a boy he had slipped out of his father's vicarage to run the mile or so to watch the sun come up over the grey waters of the North Sea. He had been so many years in His Majesty's navy; could he ever imagine himself on land again? He shivered, though the air was warm enough. It was not the thought of the land itself so much as the want of companionship there, for his family were few and he had never taken a wife. Indeed, he had scarcely been in the habit of speaking to a woman beyond what was necessary for courtesy -except perhaps Hervey's sister.

He had spoken of Elizabeth with Hervey at dinner. Not much, for their preoccupations had been the here and now, but he had praised her, calling her a woman of spirit and discernment; to which Hervey had replied that she was greatly more than that, worthy though the description was. She had devoted herself wholly to familial duties, not least indeed the care of her own niece, her brother's child. She made sacrifices that were humbling to contemplate.

And Peto had been moved to hear it, as well as, in truth, disheartened by the degree of nobility it spoke of.

He looked over his shoulder towards the stockaded town. It was dark now where last night it had been ablaze. Fires by night always looked worse than they were. He turned to the officer of the watch. 'Has there been gunfire at all?'

He asked so abruptly that the lieutenant half stammered his answer. 'None that I have heard these past two hours, sir. And there was none reported on my relieving Mr Afflick.'

Peto made no reply, merely turning back to watch the eastern sky. So Hervey had had a peaceful night too. Maybe these were early days after all. Maybe the populace had taken to the forest in fear for their lives, and would return as soon as the invaders showed themselves benevolent. Maybe the Burman soldiers had no fight in them when it came to facing regular troops. Maybe they had fled the ranks. Peto sighed. There were altogether too many 'maybes'.

Hervey too was awake. In the early hours, General Campbell had given orders for the 89th Foot to be landed and to make ready for a sortie from the stockades at first light. The general had not been idle. He had applied his mind to the situation his brigadiers had reported, and had become convinced that the Shwedagon pagoda was the rallying point for the Burman 'defenders'. Major Seagrass had not objected when Hervey had asked if he might accompany the Eighty-ninth, and so he now stood, with Corporal Wainwright, next to the two ensigns carrying the regiment's cased colours, waiting for the gates at the northern end of the stockade to be swung open. He was not greatly apprehensive, for like the Eighty-ninth he was only too glad to be unconfined at last. On the other hand he was at a loss to know why the general had not ordered a reconnaissance during the night. It was but normal practice after all. Someone had said the reason was that the fires would have lit up anyone moving outside the stockade. But the flames had been doused by three o'clock, and the pagoda was little more than a league distant.

The commanding officer's orders had been straightforward. The battalion would advance in column of route by companies, the light leading, and in double time for the first mile or until contact with the enemy was made (in the cool of the dawn doubling would be no hardship). On meeting the enemy's pickets, the light company would deploy to skirmish and the others in column of companies would take the position with the bayonet.

The men looked eager, even on a breakfast of biscuit and rum. Corporal Wainwright had spoken to several of