"The fellow was using a rifle! " Major Stokes said in wonderment. "I do declare, a rifle! Can't have been anything else at that range. Two hundred paces if it was an inch, and he fanned my head! A much underestimated weapon, the rifle, don't you think?"
"A toy, " Captain Morris said.
"Nothing will replace muskets."
"But the accuracy! " Stokes declared.
"Soldiers can't use rifles, " Morris said.
"It would be like giving knives and forks to hogs." He twisted in the camp chair and gestured at his men, the 33rd's Light Company.
"Look at them! Half of them can't work out which end of a musket is which. Useless buggers. Might as well arm the bastards with pikes."
"If you say so, " Stokes said disapprovingly. His road had reached the plateau and now he had to begin the construction of the breaching batteries, and the 33rd's Light Company, which had escorted Stokes north from Mysore, had been charged with the job of protecting the sappers who would build the batteries. Captain Morris had been unhappy with the orders, for he would have much preferred to have been sent back south rather than be camped by the rock isthmus that promised to be such a lively place in these next few days. There was a chance that Gawilghur's garrison might sally out to destroy the batteries, and even if that danger did not materialize, it was a certainty that the Mahratta gunners on the Outer Fort's walls would try to break down the new works with cannon fire.
Sergeant Hakeswill approached Stokes's tent. He looked distracted, so much so that his salute was perfunctory.
"You heard the news, sir?" He spoke to Morris.
Morris squinted up at the Sergeant.
«News,» he said heavily, 'news?
Can't say I have, Sergeant. The enemy has surrendered, perhaps?"
"Nothing so good, sir, nothing so good."
"You look pale, man! " Stokes said.
"Are you sickening?"
"Heart-sick, sir, that's what I am in my own self, sir, heart-sick."
Sergeant Hakeswill sniffed heavily, and even cuffed at a non-existent tear on his twitching cheek.
"Captain Torrance, " he announced, 'is dead, sir." The Sergeant took off his shako and held it against his breast.
"Dead, sir."
"Dead?" Stokes said lightly. He had not met Torrance.
"Took his own life, sir, that's what they do say. He killed his clerk with a knife, then turned his pistol on himself The Sergeant demonstrated the action by pretending to point a pistol at his own head and pulling the trigger. He sniffed again.
"And he was as good an officer as ever I did meet, and I've known many in my time. Officers and gentlemen, like your own good self, sir, " he said to Morris.
Morris, as unmoved by Torrance's death as Stokes, smirked.
"Killed his clerk, eh? That'll teach the bugger to keep a tidy ledger."
"They do say, sir, " Hakeswill lowered his voice, 'that he must have been unnatural."
"Unnatural?" Stokes asked.
"With his clerk, sir, pardon me for breathing such a filthy thing.
Him and the clerk, sir.
"Cos he was naked, see, the Captain was, and the clerk was a handsome boy, even if he was a blackamoor. He washed a lot, and the Captain liked that."
"Are you suggesting it was a lovers' tiff?" Morris asked, then laughed.
"No, sir, " Hakeswill said, turning to stare across the plateau's edge into the immense sky above the Deccan Plain, 'because it weren't. The Captain weren't ever unnatural, not like that. It weren't a lovers' tiff, sir, not even if he was naked as a needle. The Captain, sir, he liked to go naked. Kept him cool, he said, and kept his clothes clean, but there weren't nothing strange in it. Not in him. And he weren't a man to be filthy and unnatural. He liked the bibb is he did. He was a Christian. A Christian gentleman, that's what he was, and he didn't kill himself. I knows who killed him, I do."
Morris gave Stokes a shrug, as if Hakeswill's maunderings were beyond understanding.
"But the nub of the thing is, sir' — Hakeswill turned back to face Morris and stood to attention 'that I ain't with the bullocks no more, sir. I've got orders, sir, to be back with you where I belongs, sir, seeing as some other officer has got Captain Torrance's duties and he didn't want me no more on account of having his own sergeant." He replaced his shako, then saluted Morris.
"Under orders, sir! With Privates Kendrick and Lowry, sir. Others have taken over our bullocking duties, sir, and we is back with you like we always wanted to be. Sir!»
"Welcome back, Sergeant, " Morris said laconically.
"I'm sure the company will be overjoyed at your return."
"I knows they will, sir, " Hakeswill said.
"I'm like a father to them, sir, I am, " Hakeswill added to Stokes.
Stokes frowned.
"Who do you think killed Captain Torrance, Sergeant?" he asked, and when Hakeswill said nothing, but just stood with his face twitching, the Major became insistent.
"If you know, man, you must speak! This is a crime! You have a duty to speak."
Hakeswill's face wrenched itself.
"It were him, sir." The Sergeant's eyes widened.
"It were Sharpie, sir!»
Stokes laughed.
"Don't be so absurd, man. Poor Sharpe is a prisoner!
He's locked away in the fortress, I've no doubt."
"That's what we all hear, sir, " Hakeswill said, 'but I knows better."
"A touch of the sun, " Morris explained to Stokes, then waved the Sergeant away.
"Put your kit with the company, Sergeant. And I'm glad you're back."
"Touched by your words, sir, " Hakeswill said fervently, 'and I'm glad to be home, sir, back in me own kind where I belong." He saluted again, then swivelled on his heel and marched away.
:
"Salt of the earth, " Morris said.
Major Stokes, from his brief acquaintance with Hakeswill, was not sure of that verdict, but he said nothing. Instead he wandered a few paces northwards to watch the sappers who were busy scraping at the plateau's thin soil to fill gabions that had been newly woven from green bamboo. The gab ions great wicker baskets stuffed with earth, would be stacked as a screen to soak up the enemy gunfire while the battery sites were being levelled. Stokes had already decided to do the initial work at night, for the vulnerable time for making batteries close to a fortress was the first few hours, and at night the enemy gunfire was, likely to be inaccurate.
The Major was making four batteries. Two, the breaching ones, would be constructed far down the isthmus among an outcrop of great black boulders that lay less than a quarter-mile from the fortress. The rocks, with the gab ions would provide the gunners some protection: from the fortress's counter-fire. Sappers, hidden from the fort by the lie of the land, were already driving a road to the proposed site of the breaching guns. Two other batteries would be constructed to the east of the isthmus, on the edge of the plateau, and those guns would enfilade the growing breaches.
There would be three breaches. That decision had been made when Stokes, early in the dawn, had crept as close to the fortress as he had dared and, hidden among the tumbled rocks above the half-filled tank, had examined the Outer Fort's wall through his telescope. He had stared a long time, counting the gun embrasures and trying to estimate how many men were stationed on the bastions and fire steps Those were details that did not really concern him for Stokes's business was confined to breaking the walls, but what he saw encouraged him.
There were two walls, both built on the steep slope which faced the
, plateau. The slope was so steep that the base of the inner wall showed high above the parapet of the outer wall, and that was excellent news, for making a breach depended on being able to batter the base of a wall.
These walls, built so long ago, had never been designed to stop artillery, but to deter men. Stokes knew he could lay his guns so that they would hammer both walls at once, and that when the ancient stonework crumbled, the rubble would spill forward
down the slope to make natural ramps up which the attackers could climb.
The masonry seemed to have stayed largely unrepaired since it had been built. Stokes could tell that, for the dark stones were covered with grey lichen and thick with weeds growing from the gaps between the blocks. The walls looked formidable, for they were high and well provided with massive bastions that would let the defenders provide flanking fire, but Stokes knew that the dressed stone of the two walls' outer faces merely disguised a thick heart of piled rubble, and once the facing masonry was shattered the rubble would spill out. A few shots would then suffice to break the inner faces. Two days' work, he reckoned. Two days of hard gunnery should bring the walls tumbling down.
Stokes had not made his reconnaissance alone, but had been accompanied by Lieutenant Colonel William Kenny of the East India Company who would lead the assault on the breaches. Kenny, a lantern jawed and taciturn man, had lain beside Stokes.
"Well?" he had finally asked after Stokes had spent a silent five minutes examining the walls.
"Two days' work, sir, " Stokes said. If the Mahrattas had taken the trouble to build a glacis it would have been two weeks' work, but such was their confidence that they had not bothered to protect the base of the outer wall.
Kenny grunted.
"If it's that easy, then give me two holes in the inner wall."
"Not the outer?" Stokes asked.
"One will serve me there, " Kenny said, putting an eye to his own telescope.
"A good wide gap in the nearer wall, Stokes, but not too near the main gate."
"We shall avoid that, " the Major said. The main gate lay to the left so that the approach to the fortress was faced by high walls and bastions rather than by a gate vulnerable to artillery fire. However, this gate was massively defended by bastions and towers, which suggested it would be thick with defenders.
"Straight up the middle, " Kenny said, wriggling back from his viewpoint.
"Give me a breach to the right of that main bastion, and two on either side of it through the inner wall, and we'll do the rest."
It would be easy enough to break down the walls, but Stokes still feared for Kenny's men. Their approach was limited by the existence of the great reservoir that lay on the right of the isthmus. The water level was low, and scummed green, but the tank still constricted the assault route so that Kenny's men would be squeezed between the water and the sheer drop to the left. That slender space, scarce more than fifty feet at its narrowest, would be furious with gunfire, much of it coming from the fire steps above and around the main gate that flanked the approach.
Stokes had already determined that his enfilading batteries should spare some shot for that gate in an attempt to unseat its cannon and unsettle its defenders.
Now, under the midday sun, the Major wandered among the sappers filling the gab ions He tested each one, making certain that the sepoys i, were ramming the earth hard into the wicker baskets, for a loosely filled gabion was no use. The finished gab ions were being stacked on ox carts, while other carts piled with powder and shot waited nearby. All was being done properly, and the Major stared out across the plateau where the newly arrived troops were making their camp. The | closest tents, ragged and makeshift, belonged to a troop of Mahratta j horsemen who had allied themselves with the British. Stokes, watching i the robed guards who sat close to the tents, decided it would be best if he locked his valuables away and made sure his servant kept an eye on the trunk. The rest of the Mahratta horsemen had trotted northwards, going to seek springs or wells, for it was dry up here on the plateau. Dry and cooler than on the plain, though it was still damned hot. Dust devils whirled between the farther tent rows where muskets were stacked in neat tripods. Some shirt sleeved officers, presumably from the East India Company battalions, were playing cricket on a smoother stretch of turf, watched by bemused sepoys and men from the Scotch Brigade.
"Not their game, sir, is it, sir?" Hakeswill's voice disturbed Stokes.
The Major turned.
"Eh?"
"Cricket, sir. Too complicated for blackamoors and Scotchmen, sir, on account of it being a game that needs brains, sir."
"Do you play, Sergeant?"
"Me, sir? No, sir. No time for frittering, sir, being as I'm a soldier back to front, sir."
"It does a man good to have a pastime, " Stokes said.
"Your Colonel, now, he plays the violin."
"Sir Arthur does, sir?" Hakeswill said, plainly not believing Stokes.
"He's never done it near me, sir."
"I assure you he does, " Stokes said. He was irritated by Hakeswill's presence. He disliked the man intensely, even though Hakeswill had spent only a short time as Sharpe's substitute.
"So what is it, Sergeant?"
Hakeswill's face twitched.
"Come to be of use to you, sir."
The reply puzzled Stokes.
"I thought you'd been returned to company duties?"
"That I am, sir, and not before time. But I was thinking of poor Sharpie, sir, as you tell me he languishes in the heathens' jail, sir, which I did not know, sir, until you told me."
Stokes shrugged.
"He's probably being fairly treated. The Mahrattas aren't renowned for being unduly cruel to prisoners."
"I was wondering if he left his pack with you, sir?"
"Why would he do that?" Stokes asked.
"I was just wondering, sir. Officers don't like carrying their baggage everywhere, sir, not if they want to keep their dignity, and if he did leave his pack with you, sir, then I thought as how we might relieve you of the responsibility, sir, seeing as how Mister Sharpe was a comrade of ours for so long. That's what I was thinking, sir."
Stokes bridled, but was not certain why.
"It isn't a heavy responsibility, Sergeant."
"Never thought it was, sir, but it might be a nuisance to you, sir, seeing as how you're charged with other duties, and I would relieve you of the responsibility, sir."
Stokes shook his head.
"As it happens, Sergeant, Mister Sharpe did leave his pack with me, and I promised him I would keep it safe, and I'm not a man to break promises, Sergeant. I shall keep it."
"As you chooses, sir! " Hakeswill said sourly.
"Just thought it was a Christian act, sir." He turned and marched away. Stokes watched him, then shook his head and turned back to gaze at the growing encampment.
Tonight, he thought, tonight we shall make the batteries, and tomorrow the big guns will be hauled forward. Another day to fill the magazines with powder and shot and then the stone-breaking could begin. Two days of battering, of dust and rubble and smoke, and then the cricketers could lead the charge across the isthmus. Poor men, Stokes thought, poor men.
"I hate night actions, " Captain Morris complained to Hakeswill.
"Because of Serry-apatam, sir? A right dog's mess, that was." The battalion had attacked a wood outside Seringapatam by night and the companies had become separated, some became lost, and the enemy had punished them.
Morris attached his scabbard to its slings and pulled his hat on. It was dark outside, and soon the oxen would drag the gab ions forward to the position Stokes had chosen for the breaching batteries. It would be a prime moment for the enemy to sally out of the fortress, so Morris and his company must form a picquet line ahead of the proposed batteries.
They must watch the fortress and, if an attack was made, they must resist it, then slowly fall back, protecting the sappers until the reserve troops, a battalion of sepoys, could be brought forward from the plateau. With any luck, Morris fervently hoped, the enemy would stay in bed.
"Evening, Morris! " Major Stokes was indecently cheerful.
"Your lads are ready?"
"They are, sir."
Stokes led Morris a few yards from his tent and stared towards the fortress that was nothing but a dark shape in the night beyond the closer blackness of the rocks.
"The thing is, " Stokes said, 'that they're bound to see
our lanterns and must hear the carts, so they're liable to unleash a pretty furious artillery barrage. Maybe rockets as well. But take no heed of it. Your only job is to watch for infantry coming from the gate."
"I know, sir."
"So don't use your muskets! I hear musket fire, Captain, and I think infantry. Then I send for the Madrassi lads, and the next moment the whole place is swarming with redcoats who can't tell who's who in the dark. So no firing, you understand? Unless you see enemy infantry.
Then send a message to me, fight the good fight and wait for support."
Morris grunted. He had been told this twice already, and did not need the instructions a third time, but he still turned to the company which was paraded and ready.
"No one's to fire without my express permission, you understand?"
"They understands, sir, " Hakeswill answered for the company.
"One musket shot without permission and the culprit's earned himself a skinned back, sir."
Morris took the company forward, following the old road that led directly to the gateway of the Outer Fort. The night was horribly dark, and within a few paces of leaving the engineers' encampment, Morris could hardly see the road at all. His men's boots scuffed loud on the hard-packed stones. They went slowly, feeling their way and using what small light came from the merest sliver of moon that hung like a silver blade above Gawilghur.
"Permission to speak, sir?" Hakeswill's hoarse voice sounded close to Morris.
"Not too loud, Sergeant."
"Like a mouse, sir, quiet I will be, but, sir, if we're here, does that mean we'll be joining the assault on the fort, sir?"
"God, no, " Morris said fervently.
Hakeswill chuckled.
"I thought I should ask, sir, on account of making a will."
"A will?" Morris asked.
"You need a will?"
"I have some wealth, " Hakeswill said defensively. And soon, he reckoned, he would have even more, for he had cleverly confirmed his surmise that Sharpe's missing pack was in Major Stokes's keeping.
Sharpe's Fortress s-3 Page 23
