The Passage to India

by Allan Mallinson

  Hervey put down his glass, looking as if something troubled him. ‘You’ve said nothing of General O’Callaghan.’

  Old friends that they were, the military proprieties must nevertheless be observed. There was a commander-in-chief at Fort St George – Lieutenant-General the Honourable Sir William O’Callaghan KCB – and the removal of the Rajah of Coorg by military means was first and foremost his business. He himself had yet to report to him, for the general was in the Northern Circars on a tour of inspection.

  ‘No-o … But it can’t be long before his return.’ Somervile’s look suggested that it wasn’t his first consideration.

  ‘Do you imply there’s something you would have me do in the meantime?’

  Somervile looked puzzled. ‘Had I not made it plain? I shall wish you to command the field force when active operations begin.’

  ‘No, you’d not made it in the least plain! But I’m all anticipation.’

  Indeed he was. (Afterwards Somervile would tell his wife that their old friend had leapt like a hare sprung late from its form.)

  ‘There’ll be “difficulties” of course,’ he added. ‘I mean, it won’t serve if there’s a challenge to my seniority. The Company’s officers don’t count in that regard, as you well know, but how do things stand with the King’s? It’s just possible that one of them may have a brevet senior to mine. And there’s a major-general at Bangalore, is there not?’

  It was a troublesome regulation at times that a King’s officer took seniority over one of the Company’s no matter what the latter’s rank, but in practice things were often as not sensibly arranged. A day’s seniority between King’s officers was, however, another business entirely. And when it came to generals …

  ‘There is indeed a major-general at Bangalore, but I can’t have him leave on an expedition to Coorg. It would only risk inviting trouble in Mysore again. As to seniority, I’ll have the Fort look into it, but I have the authority to promote you brigadier-general for the duration.’

  Hervey nodded. That would indeed address the proprieties – the ‘niceties’ as he sometimes thought them. ‘Very well. Seems set fair. I should just say, however, on a point of strict military detail, I would be appointed brigadier-general, not promoted, since it isn’t a substantive rank. That said,’ he added, smiling, ‘it will bring resentment enough.’

  Somervile smiled too. He had a high regard for the profession of arms – indeed, Hervey always considered him a soldier manqué – but he did enjoy on occasions offending against King’s Regulations. ‘Mind, things proceed slowly in this country, as well you know, but then go off like a petard. Our advantage, at present at least, is that the rajah doesn’t know that we know of his part in the plot at Bangalore. There’s no reason to suppose therefore that he suspects our intention to remove him. That said, there’s no possibility, to my mind, of having it done before the winter. That much I’ve learned already from Bentinck’s people. Strictly speaking, I don’t need his authority, since it’s the business of Madras only, but as he’s primus inter pares, it’s only prudent therefore. It’d certainly be imprudent to begin any movement of troops in anticipation. When we make a beginning it must be as near to the end as may be, and therefore we must know when exactly is the beginning.’

  It was not the way a soldier would have put it, but Hervey nodded. ‘So we make ready for the spring.’

  Somervile shook his head doubtfully. ‘The monsoon in Coorg blows June to September. Even if Bentinck signals his intention soon, it seems to me unlikely you’d be able to have the business done before then – and the rain in June’s especially heavy. If you were to assemble your force in October, therefore, you’d be able then to enter Coorg at the best time. The thermometer never falls below fifty-five even in December there. So even if this rajah eluded you to begin with, there’d be five months to hunt him out and quieten the place before the rains returned.’

  Hervey nodded again. ‘If he took to the forest we’d certainly need them.’

  ‘I doubt by all accounts he’s a likely guerrillero, but I agree you can’t proceed on that as a supposition. The Coorgs are a warlike people, and if somehow he manages to rouse them … We must think how best to tempt him to give up the fight. What I wish you to do in the coming weeks is consider everything there is to consider and present me with a scheme of campaign that I can submit to Bentinck. He’s more likely to agree if I can show it would be done expeditiously. You’ll find the Fort has a good account of the place.’

  ‘I’ll begin as soon as may be. But in any plan of campaign it’s best to make a reconnaissance first. I fancy you’ll say it could not serve in this case.’

  Somevile nodded gravely. ‘I had thought it what you’d say, and I believe there may be opportunity. But I’ll speak of it at dinner this evening if you’re still so minded. Think on it first a little. Speak to the staff at the Fort if you wish – they work again from four at this season – but for now, let me not detain you. I know you’ve much to be about, and we can talk long this evening. When is it you expect the first of the regiment?’

  ‘Within the month. Steamers to the Cape, and then on by whatever ships the Company have there.’

  XVI

  The Break of Day

  Next morning

  HERVEY’S BEARER (HE didn’t much like ‘dressing-boy’, as they called them in Madras) brought him tea at five-thirty under Corporal Johnson’s close supervision. (Johnson thought it would be a week at least before he could trust him to do it right, though in fact the little Tamul – he was not much taller than Georgiana, reckoned Hervey – made exemplary tea and brought it with military promptness, and so would be entrusted with the sacred mission after only three days.) Then came hot water five minutes later, as Johnson had instructed, and at two minutes to six Hervey was shaved, booted and spurred – and outside on the hour exactly to take the reins of his new charger.

  Minnie (her stable name; she was entered as Minenhle – in the language of the Zulu ‘beautiful day’) was a liver chestnut, three-quarter-bred at the Cape and brought to Madras as a three-year-old, turned away for eighteen months and then broken for one of the captains of the horse artillery. She was rising eight now and her owner was returning to England. Lieutenant (RM) Kewley had bagged her, and hoped his commanding officer would approve, though if not he was certain he could sell her on – and at a profit. Horses with plenty of blood were by no means common in the presidency.

  At Hounslow, Hervey had begun to take his first exercise of the day alone. Though he was hardly obliged to converse with anyone, he felt freer to observe whatever took his fancy, and above all to think. At least to begin with, he’d decided he would make it his practice here too.

  And glad he was to be doing so, for the sun was not long up, and the air still fresh. Later, the native quarter would reek of ditches and frying oil – or else the foulest ordure of God’s Creation. For now, though, smoke was beginning to rise as the first fires of the day boiled up a little rice or whatever for the morning’s labour, but no one abroad yet except for the odd bhisti, and here and there a dog standing contemplating. It was a good time to be thinking.

  Dinner had indeed given him much to think on. They’d returned late and he’d sat with Kezia until her maid came, and then read the piece in The Asiatic Journal which Somervile had pressed on him. It was a masterly summary of recent history, and a necessary one, for although he’d read what he could on the passage out, it had tended to Bengal and the troublesome frontiers. He’d not quite realized the extent of the Company’s advance of late beyond the Carnatic. He knew that after the defeat of the famous ‘Tiger of Mysore’ at Seringapatam – whose death, some thirty years ago, the young Arthur Wellesley had witnessed – a part of Tippoo’s kingdom was seized and divided between the Company and the Nizam, and the remaining territory reduced to a princely state. He knew also that on the throne of this new polity the Company had placed the five-year-old Krishna Rajah, scion of the Wodeyar dynasty that had ruled Mysore before Hyd
er Ali’s usurpation. As Krishna’s diwan – chief minister – the Company appointed the able but low-born Purnaiah, who’d served both Tippoo and his father; and as resident, Fort St George had sent Colonel Barry Close, who had served long years in the presidency and was much admired for his humanity and good sense.

  While Purnaiah ran Mysore’s internal affairs, Close had charge of its external dealings, and the Company exacted an annual tribute and a subsidy for its standing force. On Krishna’s sixteenth birthday in 1811, however, Purnaiah ceased being diwan, and died shortly afterwards – as did Barry Close, newly promoted to major-general. The cordial relations that Purnaiah and Close had forged between Mysore and Fort St George continued at first, but began to sour a dozen or so years later when the new resident alleged that the administration was corrupt. The then governor at Fort St George, General Thomas Munro, investigated the allegations and declared there was no substance to them; but the damage had been done, and the Company’s influence began to wane. Krishna’s government, however, corrupt or not, soon began to excite unrest, and in 1830 there was a revolt by the Nagar ryots. For the good of the health of Mysore and beyond, said the Asiatic Journal, the Company was obliged to take direct control of domestic administration as well as external affairs.

  And this fragile but necessary annexation, Hervey now understood, was what lay behind the mutiny at Bangalore. The Rajah of Coorg must know that he tempted the same fate, therefore – and more – by giving succour to the insurgents?

  An hour he rode out – more than enough to see how the cantonment began its day, but, more important, to think over Somervile’s proposition to spy out the land of the Coorgs while waiting for the regiment to arrive. For although it was an idea that appealed to every military instinct, it did not appeal to his duty of command. The very reason he was here in advance was to make ready for the exercise of that command.

  Except that all the material aspects of the regiment’s reception seemed thoroughly well in hand. The admirable Collins had shown himself the best quartermaster since Moses, and the veterinarian and the RM that they were scarcely less exemplary practitioners of their trade. He supposed he might rely on his new major, who, after all, had command of the regiment during its passage. And Armstrong – and the captains of the troops. What, indeed, should necessitate his being here when they arrived – or, for that matter, for a month and more afterwards?

  He would do it. It was irregular, but he would do it – to expedite the regiment’s readiness to take to the field without delay. For, as the saying went, time spent in reconnaissance was seldom wasted. Did he not, though, require the express permission of the commander-in-chief? He might claim that because the general was in the Northern Circars he had to use his own judgement in this – and it was certainly the governor’s wish – but it was not impossible that he should send by hircarrah to the general and await his reply. Except that the reply might be in the negative; and then where would he be? No, he would have to place his faith in the maxim that it was far easier to acquire pardon afterwards than it was to gain permission beforehand. His only true concern, indeed, was that he would have to leave Kezia for the best part of a month.

  He turned for home, giving Minnie her head.

  ‘Mistress not good, sahib,’ jabbered the ayah as he made for Kezia’s room. ‘Please no go in. Mistress not good.’

  ‘Not good? How not good?’

  The ayah looked anxious, but it might have been concern that she didn’t make herself understood. He knew these native servants were ever in fear of a sharp word, or worse.

  ‘Mistress …’ She clutched at her stomach and pretended to cast up.

  Hervey pushed past her, knocked and opened the door. Kezia was sitting at the window, the shutters open, with a bowl on her knee covered with a piece of towel. She looked very pale.

  ‘Dear heart! What is it?’

  He put a hand to her forehead. There was no great temperature. But Somervile had told him there was a case of cholera in the civil lines. But it couldn’t be so quick – surely?

  ‘Do you have pain in your stomach?’

  She managed a smile of sorts again, and told him it was nothing, but that she would like more tea, very sweet.

  It was a surprising request, for as a rule she drank it with the least bit of sugar, if any. Hervey sent the ayah for Mrs Stray.

  He felt her forehead again. He was sure there was no fever. He brought her shawl from the bed, for there was a breeze off the sea, though very faint.

  Annie came. ‘Begging your pardon, sir – ma’am – but Mrs Stray is gone into the market.’

  Hervey asked her to bring tea, and to boil the water long, and first to filter it over the charcoal, as the surgeon aboard ship had told them. Annie, looking equally anxious now, hurried away to the kitchen.

  ‘Such an obliging girl, Annie,’ said Kezia, though her voice lacked strength. ‘I hope she’ll find kindred spirits here.’

  ‘I’m sure,’ said Hervey, trying to manipulate one of the shutters into a position that deflected the breeze from her face. ‘But I wonder why Mrs Stray should go to the bazaar when every dokan-awe in Fort St George will be hawking their wares at her door before the day’s out.’

  Kezia smiled, if weakly. ‘Mrs Stray wants to see everything for herself, as she puts it – and no doubt what the Indian pays for his mangoes and such, rather than what the shopkeeper asks of her.’

  She put the bowl aside, pulled the shawl closer about her shoulders and rose to look out of the window. The soft lawn clutched her tight in the breeze. Hervey swallowed hard.

  Annie returned with a plate. ‘Excuse me, ma’am, but I’d just made some toast, and I thought it might serve for how you’re feeling.’

  Kezia smiled warmly. ‘Oh, Annie, that is so very good of you, but I fear I couldn’t eat so much as a crumb, but please leave it by, for I’m sure I’ll feel well again very soon, and it would be a help.’

  Johnson came not long afterwards, but Hervey said there was nothing to do, and would he wait on him in an hour.

  Then in ten minutes more, Annie returned with tea. Johnson had carried the tray to the landing for her, but didn’t wish to be seen; except that Annie thanked him as she took it, which both Hervey and Kezia heard.

  ‘Please thank Corporal Johnson for me, Matthew. I’m sorry to be such an invalide so soon after our coming.’

  There was colour returning to her cheeks. ‘Shall I leave you to …’

  ‘No, please: stay and have tea with me.’ She sat down again. ‘Annie, I think I should like to bathe in half an hour. I’m sure I shall. Would you ask the bearers?’

  ‘Of course, ma’am.’

  When she was gone, Hervey brought a chair to the window to sit beside her, and took his cup. ‘You look quite remarkably better already.’

  ‘I feel quite remarkably better. It was tiredness, that was all.’

  ‘I confess I had a great fear it was … But you know this country.’

  ‘Yes, I do, if only a very little. But it is intensely pleasing. Indeed, I am so enlivened by it, I shall take Allegra for a drive later. How was your ride?’

  Hervey, relieved beyond measure at her recovery, was now in two minds about what in the saddle had appeared to be the right course. How could he leave his wife when she was not yet acclimated, and clearly suffering the change of air?

  ‘It was peaceful. I came to a decision also – about that which Somervile and I spoke when you withdrew last night. But now, frankly, I think it wrong.’

  ‘Not on my account, I trust?’ said Kezia, sounding faintly alarmed. She put a hand on his and smiled. ‘Matthew, you mustn’t let a little thing like this stand in the way of your duty. I am not ill. I’m quite certain of it. What is it you decided?’

  ‘To make a reconnaissance of Coorg as soon as may be.’

  ‘Then should you not?’

  ‘How could I do so, anxious for your condition?’

  She squeezed his hand. ‘There’s no cause to be anxious,
I assure you. And if you and Eyre Somervile believe it should be done with despatch then so it should be. What is the pretext, by the way?’

  Hervey looked suddenly less convinced by the pretext than he’d earlier imagined. ‘The rajah pays an annual tribute of an elephant, which is due at this time, and Somervile believes this to be the perfect pretext on which to spy out the capital. The beast is supposed to be brought to Mysore, but Somervile’s design is to send the rajah word that this year the Company will do him the courtesy of sending a collecting party to his palace, with the present of a sword.’

  ‘And you shall be the collecting party.’

  ‘Just so. But I’d first thought you might accompany me to Bangalore. The country is very pleasant by all accounts, and would take seven or eight days, and you might have waited there at the residency while I spied out Coorg.’

  Kezia turned her head to the window in thought, and then back again. ‘Matthew, I should like that very much – very much indeed. But … Oh, I had not wished to speak of it until I was properly sure.’ She took both his hands. ‘I am with child. I am sure, but I’ve seen no physician yet, for it’s such early days and …’

  Hervey could barely speak, and shook his head gently to hush her, to save her the effort of words when none were needed. He gazed at her through moistening eyes, kissed her with the greatest tenderness, and then again with ardour.

  XVII

  Deccani Wallahs

  A fortnight later

  WHO SHOULD GO with him, and in what order of dress? Somervile had thought twenty sowars with lances and pennants – full parade dress. Twenty would be about the number to give due dignity to the representative of ‘John Company’, but not so many as to disturb the rajah – there must be no misunderstanding – and a few feringhees: ten of Hervey’s dragoons perhaps?