Nizams Daughters

minds. This was the time that Alter Fritz chose to make up their minds for them. He fired two more of the fougasses, and then another two, and then the galloper guns opened up with explosive shell. His trumpeter sounded the advance, and the rissalah lowered its line of lances and began to march forward.

It was enough. The front ranks of the Pindarees turned. But their way back was blocked by the rear ranks, who were thrown into confusion by the retrograde movement. There was panic, suddenly, and many of the horsemen turned to the river for escape, followed by many more in the rear who must instinctively have believed that water rather than their own lines would be their salvation. Alter Fritz put his left wing into a canter to envelop their right. When they saw what was to come, all order among the Pindarees disintegrated and there was a headlong dash for the river.

The rajah, roused from his sombre thoughts, grabbed Hervey by the arm. ‘Why do you not send the rest of my lancers to assist their comrades? We can surely finish those devils in the river?’

Nothing would have given Hervey greater pleasure — or, at least, satisfaction. It was just what a cavalryman should do, for this was the moment when, if he threw in even half his remaining rissalah, the Pindarees who had advanced would be destroyed to a man. ‘Your Highness, my object must remain the guns: it is not necessary that we finish those at the river. And there is, I must point out, at least their number again still at the redoubts. If they were to attack then we should be deuced hard-pressed to withstand them.’

The rajah sighed. ‘Captain Hervey, forgive me for seeming to doubt you. What now is your intention?’

Hervey took in the whole of the kadir at a glance. It was not difficult to do so, for the attention of the enemy seemed entirely focused on the slaughter at the river, the nizam’s guns keeping up a furious but ineffective fire, shot falling wide or well short of the press of horsemen. The rajah’s sowars had slung their lances to set about the fleeing Pindarees with their tulwars, and still those Pindarees by the guns made no move to their comrades’ relief. Perhaps they were wise not to do so, thought Hervey, as those at Waterloo who had gone to the aid of the Heavies — himself included — might have been wiser to stand their ground. But it was alien to every instinct of a soldier to stand by while a comrade was in trouble. If only the sepoys on the left were closer to the Pindaree lines: now would be the perfect opportunity to take the remaining rissalah to the enfilade. ‘Your Highness, I had wished that we might tempt the rest of the Pindaree cavalry to advance, to tie them to a fight on our right so that — as I earlier explained — we might then advance to the guns on the other flank. But they will not be tempted. Though I hope that is more by lack of courage than judgement.’

‘And so, Captain Hervey?’

‘And so, sir, I must chance to gallop for the flank and hope that your sepoys are able to come to our relief before too long!’

The rajah looked alarmed.

‘Do not concern yourself, sir. I cannot suppose that the enemy has much appetite left after seeing what has just befallen those at the river. And they are not to know that we have expended all our fougasses. Nor, I suspect, do they truly know what they are.’

But Hervey had judged it wrong. He galloped the halfrissalah and his two guns (he would have taken the other half had he not needed to leave it as the rajah’s lifeguard) along the edge of the jungle without hindrance from either cannon or horsemen, and they were even able to dismount and take cover just inside the forest not fifty yards from the nearest redoubt. But two things stood against him then. First, the side of the redoubt was protected, contrary to what the hijdas believed (though he could see now that the sides of the others were not). They would not be able to enfilade it to any effect, for his galloper guns would make little impression on the revetted walls. Second, and more pressing, the Pindarees made immediately to counterattack. This move was halted by brisk flanking fire from the sepoy companies who had begun doubling forward as soon as Hervey had overtaken them — but not before Cornet Templer had been hit twice in the legs by musketry. He made not a sound as he fell, and would have lain there as if in cover had not one of the sowars seen him hit. Hervey crawled back to him and managed, with the sowar’s help, to staunch the bleeding. But the cornet was no longer for the fight — despite his pleading to be left to work his carbine — and Hervey called to two others to drag him back into the shade of the forest.

There was now, therefore, impasse — a bristling triangle, no side of which could move without drawing withering fire from another. Hervey knew that the initiative was not his, however, for the Pindarees could — if they were both resolute and skilful — outflank his two sides of the triangle, though he was not strong enough to do so with theirs. Now, perhaps, was his aptness for command to be most truly tested. He had already first unnerved and then impressed the rajah by his bold insistence on not throwing all his men into the fight against the Pindarees at the river. Now he would retain the same single-mindedness in pursuing his objective. He would not try to fight the Pindarees pressing upon him: he would strike at the guns.

It was as well that he did not attempt to explain his plan, for it was essentially inexplicable. He threw off his shako, threw down his pistols, gave his carbine and cartridges to the sowar who stood temporarily in Johnson’s place, and ran forward with no encumbrance but his sabre in one hand and a length of tethering rope in the other. A furious musketry opened again from the Pindarees, but, being aimed shots, they were all wide of their fast-sprinting mark — and indeed of the sowar who, without bidding, ran at his side. They threw themselves to the ground at the foot of the redoubt. It was so much bigger now they were close — half the size of a windmill, and much the same shape. Hervey expected at any minute that fire would come at them from above. But they were unseen by the gunners. The cannon overhead — a good ten feet above where he crouched — was silent, though run out and therefore, he supposed, shotted. The instant it fired, the recoil would take it back inside the embrasure, and he thus risked all even if he were able to do what was in his mind. But had he any option now?

The gun projected as proudly as if it had been one of Nisus’s main battery. Hervey made a running loop of the rope and stood to cast it over the barrel. His first attempt failed, and he froze for several seconds, expecting it to have been seen. He cast again. This time the rope looped the muzzle and he pulled the end tight closed. He waited a few seconds — again, noone had seen — then began to pull himself up, his feet scrambling for footholds on the rough face of the revetments. How many gunners did he expect to find inside? Better not to think. Even his rifled carbine would have been too slow. The sabre hanging from his wrist by its sling was his only chance. He swung his leg over the barrel and pulled himself upright, straining every muscle to do so, expecting the gun to explode at any moment or a pistol or musket to fire point-blank. And then he was through the embrasure and in among the gunners like a terrier among rats — except that these rats did not fight.

They squealed, though. Squealed and squealed and squealed as the sabre slashed and cut and thrust — without anything stronger than a raised arm to parry it. Two gunners escaped its work by diving headlong from the redoubt, but five more soon lay still or dying at Hervey’s feet. He rushed to the embrasure to call for support, and at that instant a huge roundshot crashed into the redoubt furthest from him. He saw it strike — carrying away the earthwork and dismounting the gun. He saw a second, ploughing into the debris wrought by the first, sending earth and brickwork skywards. He was dumbstruck. What? Where? How? He peered out further, towards the Godavari whence only the fire could have come… and there were the ensigns, unmistakable! And then another ‘broadside’ of such regularity that before it could strike, the nizam’s gunners were pouring from the redoubts like rats fleeing before a flood. ‘Great God!’ he gasped. ‘A fathom of water! A fathom of water and there’ll you’ll find them!’

But the Pindaree horsemen stood firm. Hervey saw with alarm that all they needed to do was assail the half-dozen budgerows on the river, from which the Nisus’s quarterdeck twelve-pounders enfiladed them, and with a modicum of resolution they might yet carry the day: the Godavari was shallow enough at the edge, and not all would have fallen to grape as they charged. Alter Fritz was engaged with the remnants of those that had earlier attacked him, and evidently did not see the danger, and all Hervey’s halfrissalah were dismounted and their horses with holders inside the forest. He looked back towards his night camp and the lancers with the rajah — and to his great relief saw them advancing at a canter.

But the Royal Navy was not yet done with its fighting. A thin line of red was also advancing, muskets at the high port, as steady as if on parade at Portsmouth. And there, in front, was Henry Locke, sword held high. The Pindarees seemed rooted to the spot, incapable even of dealing with two dozen marines. Never had Hervey seen cavalry so supine — as feeble as Sackville at Minden. And then, at fifty yards, Locke lowered his sword to the engage, the marines put their bayonets to ‘On guard’, and they began to double. At thirty Hervey distinctly heard him shout ‘Charge!’ and the Pindarees — hundreds upon hundreds — turned and broke. But a handful first discharged their firearms — perhaps more for safety as they retired — and a ball struck Locke in the throat.

Hervey rushed to where he fell, through ranks of horsemen who wanted nothing but to be away. Locke’s