The Tigress of Mysore

by Allan Mallinson

  ‘But you’ve not invited me here, Sir Eyre, to discuss our friend. Nor indeed matters of steam, I fancy.’

  Somervile smiled. ‘My engineer says you had a most useful exchange yesterday, and that you expressed surprise that we’ve a railway here; or, I should say, shall soon have – and with a fair wind for the Indiaman bringing the engines, a steam train to run upon it.’

  Fairbrother admitted his surprise. He’d not supposed there’d be the need, or indeed the expertise until he’d learned of the Madras Engineers. ‘I look forward to seeing the line of survey as soon as may be.’

  For it was twice the length of that in Ireland, all of thirteen miles, though for a less picturesque purpose – to bring ironstone from the quarries in the Red Hills for the roads in the city.

  Somervile shook his head, quizzically. ‘But I am yet undecided whether to call it “rail-way” or “rail-road”. What say they at home? I read both in the papers.’

  Fairbrother had no especial opinion on the matter. ‘I believe that “rail-road” is preferred in America.’

  ‘Mm. I shall reflect on it further.’

  Fairbrother was now quite baffled. Could this really be the reason he was being so royally entertained? He understood that the governor of the presidency in which the first of these great works was to be undertaken must decide when the name was in dispute, but it hardly seemed a matter for prolonged study.

  But then Somervile turned grave. ‘You are, however, correct in assuming that matters of steam locomotion were not my purpose in asking you this morning. I have a commission I would offer you, which would be of greatest service to His Majesty and to the people of the presidency – and, it must be said, to me also.’

  Fairbrother put down his spoon and fork.

  ‘It is this business of “thuggee”. Bentinck is of the opinion that it is become a very present danger, and that under the new … “arrangements” – I mean the Act changing the Company’s preeminent function in India – its suppression is of the first importance. Now, I have very capable politicals here at Fort St George, but they are not so practised as you in what I have in mind. It seems to me that I ought not to be in ignorance of so great a threat to the peace as the governor-general suggests. Not that I question his judgement in this – I know Bentinck to be a man of highest principle; he’s been unstinting in the suppression of suttee these past five years.’

  ‘Suttee?’

  ‘Ah, I’d supposed … widow-burning.’

  Fairbrother nodded. ‘Now I recollect.’

  ‘But Bentinck’s in a hurry, for he leaves Fort William next year, and it may yet be that his judgement in this is … precipitate. When this political from Fort William comes, I would have you listen to him – as you’ve agreed – but then to go yourself into the Northern Circars and explore on my behalf. The Duke had his exploring officers in Spain did he not? I would have you do as they did: bring me intelligence by whatever means you judge best. You’d have a free hand … and well provided for by the Secret Fund. Would you think on it, and give me your answer as soon as may be? Before the political arrives, so that we may speak further.’

  Fairbrother put down his spoon and fork again, and nodded slowly, as if turning it all over in his mind. ‘Sir Eyre, I have no need of time to think. I will take up the commission, and eagerly, but on one condition, that our mutual friend has no objection. I am not obligated to him in the strict sense, but my coming here is at his invitation.’

  Somervile bowed. ‘A very proper sentiment.’

  He rang a silver bell, and khitmagars came to replenish the cups and glasses.

  ‘And now, Captain Fairbrother, we shall speak only of sporting matters.’

  * * *

  Kezia’s piano greeted Hervey on return, as so often it did. He’d stayed at office throughout the day, then ridden home at a gentle trot. It was a little before five, and there were still the usual outdoor servants to attend his arrival. The malee, an old sepoy of the 40th Native, stood at attention with flower pot in one hand and trowel in the other; a syce, who’d been apprenticed as a boy to the Artillery, led away the Marwari that Hervey liked to keep for sport and which served him day to day, while the chowkidar, a turbaned Maharatta (of undisclosed back-ground), saluted with his stick.

  Inside, Corporal Johnson took his hat, but Hervey dismissed him silently so that he could listen to Kezia’s playing without her knowing he was there. Perhaps his ear was better attuned to fine music these days, for once where her playing had been … (frankly) disquieting, now it pleased him. It might be, of course, that she played different music; he joked that besides ‘God Save the King’ he could recognize only two tunes – one of them the regiment’s march, and the other not. But he thought he recognized this piece, for he’d heard her practising before – Beethoven, which as a rule he didn’t find pleasing. This, however, pleased him very much. And – though heaven knew, he was no judge in these things – it sounded no easy piece to play.

  He stood unobserved until she was finished.

  ‘Matthew.’ She sounded as content as ever he’d heard.

  ‘You have played that before, or am I mistaken?’

  ‘I have,’ she said, rising to kiss him. ‘I have tried to, that is.’

  ‘Beethoven?’

  ‘Yes. I thought you might think it apt, for it’s supposed to suggest a horse galloping. I think it must be so, for it’s in three-eight time, the rhythm of a gallop.’

  ‘The rhythm of a canter, certainly,’ he agreed, though he’d no very clear idea of what was three-eight time.

  ‘I’ll ring for tea. Georgiana’s riding with Annie, and Allegra.’

  He looked mildly anxious.

  ‘And Serjeant Stray,’ she added.

  ‘Then no great harm can come to any of them,’ he said, with a sigh.

  Kezia raised her eyebrows and smiled. ‘It was by all accounts a venturesome affair last evening.’

  They’d got back late, what with the retrieval of the tiger and a good deal else, and he’d left early that morning. ‘Georgiana was a little knocked about by the fall, a little bruised no doubt, but evidently it’s not dampened her zeal. Nor Annie’s, for she was thrown too. Did Georgiana say more?’

  ‘She said that Annie came at once to her side.’

  ‘She did indeed. The girl’s unconscionably brave.’

  ‘Georgiana said there was a second tiger, but unseen … that Major Garratt somehow divined its presence.’

  Hervey smiled. ‘He has a remarkable eye. He says it’s the Rifles’ way.’

  A khitmagar came with a jug of lime water, and then another with a tray for Kezia to mix and make their tea.

  ‘I wish I’d been there to see it … Although perhaps on that I am not so sure.’

  Hervey wasn’t surprised. Kezia was full of spirit, but Annie’s account – and Georgiana’s the more so (with, no doubt, corroborative detail from Corporal Johnson) – would have been vivid, and, as she’d implied, she was herself by no means unacquainted with the hazards.

  ‘It is well that you weren’t. Besides, if you’re so inclined, Garratt is gone for the second beast. We might ride out to see the sport.’

  ‘I am all admiration for Major Garratt, but I shall forgo the pleasure, for it might otherwise be thought reckless.’

  He smiled. ‘There might be talk, yes.’

  She laughed.

  ‘By the bye, do you know what is an ophicleide,’ he asked, drinking a glass of lime water in one go.

  She shook her head. ‘Yet another sort of snake?’

  ‘Oh, yes; I hadn’t made the connection – serpent. It’s an instrument of some sort is all I know – a band instrument. Garratt said to me this morning he intended procuring one. I confess I didn’t want to disappoint him by appearing not to know. You recall I asked him to make good the band as soon as may be. He does sterling work already.’

  ‘We shall all be happier for a little more music,’ said Kezia decidedly. It was one of the minor calamities
of the passage to India that but a dozen musicians had come with the regiment, and that most of their instruments lay on the bed of the sea in the Madras roads, practically the only loss in the transfer of men, women and chattels from trooping ship to shore.

  ‘He really is quite extraordinary. He’s conceived the most fantastical scheme of reprieve for Askew.’

  Kezia looked at him keenly. She knew every detail of Private Askew’s transgression. Although it was rare for Hervey to speak of the discipline of the regiment – it was merely part and parcel of everyday life – a capital offence was a different matter.

  ‘He came to see me this morning. He says that once a tiger has scent of easy prey it will return, so he intended lying in wait for it this evening, but to quieten the villagers he’d set a bait some distance out. Then he said he proposed Askew act as the bait—’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I know; we’ve denounced more than one rajah for baiting with village boys. I said it was fantastical, but Garratt proposed to skin a goat and for Askew to wear it.’

  Kezia was all astonishment. ‘Like Jacob? Why cannot the goat simply be tethered instead?’

  ‘Because to be reprieved will require an exceptional act of valour, and the tiger will be wary of human scent. I should add that Askew will have his carbine.’

  ‘I am relieved to hear it! And he has agreed to this?’

  ‘He has – and without promise of reprieve. I considered that if I were to ask Somervile first he’d forbid it, not least on grounds of connivance. But in truth, what choice does Askew have? One way or another he might at least die a hero.’

  Kezia sighed, still shaking her head in disbelief. ‘And Jacob went out from Beersheba and went toward Haran …’

  Hervey smiled. ‘That is the intention, or rather to New South Wales, where he can do hard labour for some Australian Laban and then make his fortune and marry.’

  She shook her head. ‘You have a good heart, Matthew Hervey.’

  ‘I trust so. But not a soft one. My concern is first for the good order of the regiment, not for Askew.’

  But he’d no need to tell her that. She’d long understood, from the time of her first marriage, that ‘the interests of the service’ – of the regiment indeed – were above all earthly things. Except that she also knew that Askew, being of the regiment, was a part of that interest.

  Then her eyes twinkled. ‘If they return alive from the venture, and with the goat meat, I shall have the langree spice it to taste like venison.’

  He laughed – not least in delight at her blitheness. The dark days were truly gone (even if the memory of them lingered obstinately). If the monsoon had done nothing to decrease her spirits, then plainly little else would. And he’d not heard her sport with scripture before. India, it seemed, banished care as well as sorrow.

  ‘Matthew …’

  ‘Yes?’

  But Serjeant Stray appeared. ‘Begging your pardon, Colonel, ma’am, but Lady Somervile is come.’

  VI

  La Longue Carabine

  Later

  The major took with him a syce who had better English than he himself had Hindoostanee – the man might be useful when it came to parleying with the villagers (unless they were all Tamul, in which case they’d have to rely on gesture) – but just one dragoon as escort, the provost corporal. His own coverman was detailed for guard duty that evening and he’d no wish to disrupt the serjeant-major’s carefully laid roster. For his part, Armstrong had been obliging in detailing a provost man largely because Askew remained in close arrest, and it wouldn’t do for him to be in the direct charge of an officer. Corporal Simpson was a sturdy man, and if anything untoward were to happen – Askew proving himself unworthy in some way – he could be relied on to do the right thing. Not that he, Armstrong, expected anything particularly; it was just that men did the strangest things when death stared them in the face, whether by tiger or a squad of carbines.

  Garratt didn’t speak on the ride out. He didn’t know Askew from Adam, and the man was, after all, under sentence for striking an officer. Had he been longer with the regiment he might have probed him a little, but he was still strange to many of its ways.

  When they reached the village the syce found the headman and told him they’d come to kill the tiger that would surely return to feast off their fold – again and again – and they wished to slaughter a goat as bait. This he was able to explain easily enough, but the headman said they were poor people and could not give up one of the fold without silver.

  ‘If the sahib here does not kill the tiger, you will lose many goats rather than just the one,’ argued the syce.

  ‘Accha,’ said the headman, ‘but that would be by the will of Shiva, whereas I am lord of the single goat’s fate.’

  The syce told the major of the headman’s hesitation.

  Garratt studied him for a moment or two, brow furrowed, eyes narrowed. He was more than used to sharpers, malingerers and chancers, but here was either folly of a high order or else equal cunning; or yet, perhaps, a wholly genuine display of religious scruple. How was he to know?

  Whichever way, he wasn’t inclined to spend time investigating. ‘How much does he want?’

  ‘Sahib, I say you offer one rupee.’

  ‘Very well.’ He sighed; he’d probably end up paying double – two Arcot rupees for a goat with no more meat on it than …

  Two minutes’ bargaining followed – in truth a minute doubled by the need for translation.

  Eventually honour was satisfied. ‘He say “thank you”, sahib.’

  Garratt shook his head. He was better off than he’d expected to be, and yet he still wasn’t sure of the bargain. He supposed he’d never understand the ways of this country. He gave the man a silver rupee, nodding sternly.

  ‘But as we are here in the service of his village, we shall choose the goat.’ (He had every intention of making a meal of mutton when it was all done.)

  The syce told the headman, who protested loudly; but he’d taken the silver, so there was little he could do. Garratt felt that honour was now even, and chose a yearling.

  They then retraced the steps of the evening before – doubling back eastwards to begin with so as not to lay any trail between the village and the likely line of approach – until coming on the place of the previous night’s execution, of which there was now neither sight nor scent. Standing in the saddle atop the little mound, Garratt searched the country first with the naked eye – by which any movement was best detected – and then with his telescope to examine shadow and shape in the sea of lemon grass. He could see the further track which the villagers used plainly enough, and the one where he’d gone with Fairbrother – not so much a track as a trail, the lemon grass parted rather than trampled or cleared – and, fifty yards or so beyond and towards the village, a lone tree that he reckoned would serve as the baiting place. Here the grass became low scrub; a tiger wouldn’t be able to crouch unseen before springing. Private Askew would have a fair chance – a closing shot, yes, but more time therefore, and no aiming off.

  Over they rode.

  Garratt got down to spy the approaches. The tree was too spiny to climb into, but the trunk was cover enough to lean against, to steady the aim, and the grass was so poor that naught but a mouse would be able to get within twenty yards without being seen. It would do very well. He turned on his heel and slapped his thigh as if overcoming a great dispute. But Corporal Simpson had a knife out.

  ‘The deuce! Leave the blasted goat be. It can’t possibly stink more dead than alive. Tie it to the tree, Simpson.’

  ‘Sir.’

  It would also have the merit of being fresher meat on return to barracks, but that was a lesser consideration. Garratt told the syce to put away his knife too: ‘Unlike Abraham, I’ll spare the goat also.’

  ‘Accha, sahib.’ He hadn’t the faintest idea what the major meant by ‘Abraham’, but he’d no objection to leaving the goatskin where it was for the moment.

 
; ‘That were a ram, though, weren’t it, sir? This ’un’s a she-goat.’

  ‘Admirable knowledge of scripture, Corporal. I shall commend you as a reader to the chaplain.’

  Simpson could only hope the major was in jest – he’d said it with some asperity – and set about tethering the bait.

  ‘When you’re done,’ he continued, indicating a clump of bamboo fifty yards towards the village, ‘take Askew’s horse with you yonder, and field at Long-stop.’

  Cricket – another of the major’s passions. Simpson wondered if Askew was to be batsman or wicket-keeper, but it wasn’t the time to try the major’s humour. Besides, though Askew was a prisoner, a man under sentence, he saw no reason to add to the dragoon’s disquiet. ‘Sir.’

  ‘And Private Askew …’ added Garratt, beckoning the syce to remount, and gathering up his reins.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Screw your courage to the sticking-place, and we’ll not fail.’

  ‘Sir.’

  The Bible, cricket, and now Shakespeare – officers. Corporal Simpson sighed to himself. He’d certainly have plenty for the wet canteen’s hearing later that night – if he ever saw it again.

  Garratt now withdrew to his vidette post, as he put it, except that for several minutes he was undecided whether or not he could remain mounted. A shot from the saddle was always perilous, but at least he’d be able to see his quarry. From the ground it was uncertain, and his aim would be unsupported anyway, though he might risk resting on the saddle if his horse was quiet. If he lay down he’d see no further than the end of his rifle.

  In the end he decided to stay astride. Without line of sight, all effort would be to no avail; he was the best of shots, so the risk at least was as small as may be. The syce sat down nearby with his reins over his shoulder and began cleaning his old Company blunderbuss. It had killed many a meal and many a man, though never a tiger. What would be the point? Its shot made so great a mess that no sahib would ever buy the skin.