THE NIZAM’S
DAUGHTERS
ALLAN MALLINSON
BANTAM BOOKS
LONDON • TORONTO • SYDNEY • AUCKLAND • JOHANNESBURG
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THE NIZAM’S DAUGHTERS
A BANTAM BOOK: 9780553507140
First published
in Great Britain in 2000 by Bantam Press
a division of Transworld Publishers
Bantam edition published 2001
Copyright © Allan Mallinson 2000, 2007
Allan Mallinson has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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To
the dwindling but gallant band of members of
The Indian Cavalry Officers’ Association,
who truly cared about India and their sowars,
this book is with admiration dedicated.
CONTENTS
Cover
Title
Copyright
Dedication
Contents
FOREWORD
I
THE AIDE-DE-CAMP
II
A STAR IN THE EAST
III
FIGHTING INSTRUCTIONS
IV
A PROSPEROUS VOYAGE
V
THE HONOURABLE COMPANY
VI
LICENCE TO PLUNDER
VII
FALSE CIVILIZATION
VIII
DESPATCHES
IX
THE RAJAH OF CHINTAL
X
THE BOURRH LANDS
XI
FORESTS ANCIENT AS THE HILLS
XII
RACE TO THE SWIFT
XIII
LOST SOULS
XIV
THE SUBSIDIARY ALLIANCE
XV
FEVER
XVI
WEAKLY TO A WOMAN
XVII
GOOD AND EARLY INTELLIGENCE
XVIII
IN THE CANNON’S MOUTH
XIX
RECALL
ALLAN MALLINSON
ALLAN MALLINSON IS A FORMER CAVALRY OFFICER. Besides the Matthew Hervey series, he is the author of Light Dragoons, a history of four regiments of British Cavalry, one of which he commanded, and a regular reviewer for The Times and the Spectator. His Matthew Hervey novels are all available in Bantam paperback and his new novel, Man of War, is now available in hardcover from Bantam Press.
For more information on Matthew Hervey, please visit his website on www.hervey.info
www.booksattransworld.co.uk
Also by Allan Mallinson
AND FEATURING MATTHEW HERVEY
A CLOSE RUN THING
1815: introducing Matthew Hervey, fighting for King and country at the Battle of Waterloo.
‘I have never read a more enthralling account of a battle . . . This is the first in a series of Matthew Hervey adventures. The next can’t come soon enough for me’
DAILY MAIL
THE NIZAM’S DAUGHTERS
1816: in India Matthew Hervey fights to prevent bloody civil war.
‘Captain Hervey of the 6th Light Dragoons and ADC to the Duke of Wellington is back in the saddle . . . He is as fascinating on horseback as Jack Aubrey is on the quarterdeck’
THE TIMES
A REGIMENTAL AFFAIR
1817: Matthew Hervey faces renegades at home and in North America.
‘A riveting tale of heroism, derring-do and enormous resource in the face of overwhelming adversity’
BIRMINGHAM POST
A CALL TO ARMS
1819: Matthew Hervey races to confront Burmese rebels massing in the jungle.
‘Hervey continues to grow in stature as an engaging and credible character, while Mallinson himself continues to delight’
OBSERVER
THE SABRE’S EDGE
1824: in India Matthew Hervey lays siege to the fortress of Bhurtpore.
‘Splendid . . . the tale is as historically stimulating as it is stirringly exciting’
SUNDAY TELEGRAPH
RUMOURS OF WAR
1826: while Matthew Hervey prepares for civil war in Portugal, he remembers the Retreat to Corunna twenty years previously.
‘I enjoyed the adventure immensely . . . as compelling, vivid and plausible as any war novel I’ve ever read’
ANDREW ROBERTS, DAILY TELEGRAPH
AN ACT OF COURAGE
1826: a prisoner of the Spanish, Matthew Hervey relives the blood and carnage of the Siege of Badajoz.
‘Concentrating on the battle of Talavera and the investment of Badajoz, both sparklingly described, [Mallinson] plays to his undoubted strengths’
OBSERVER
COMPANY OF SPEARS
1827: on the plains of South Africa, Matthew Hervey confronts the savage Zulu.
‘A damn fine rip-roaring read’
LITERARY REVIEW
FOREWORD
The Nizam’s Daughters is a work of fiction: the princely state of Chintal never existed. However, the story is firmly rooted in what was happening in India just after Waterloo in the build-up to the third Maratha war. And Chintal (even with its singular rajah) is, I would maintain, not untypical of the minor princely states whose precarious existence depended increasingly on the Honourable East India Company. They were states where young Englishmen like Hervey – as soldiers, administrators or tutors to the royal household – often had disproportion-ate influence.
India had its own military language, of course, and in this story I use some of that language, though in a way, I trust, that will not bar understanding if the words are unfamiliar. But just a few words of explanation of the different terms used by the Honourable East India Company’s army – and others – may be of help. The list is by no means exhaustive, and it must b
e remembered that terms (and spelling) varied between the Company’s three ‘presidencies’ (Bengal, Madras, Bombay), and were in unofficial use long before being formalized:
Sowar
cavalryman of the lowest rank
Sepoy (sipahi)
infantryman of the lowest rank
Jemadar
junior officer (second lieutenant/lieutenant), infantry or cavalry
Subedar
next senior officer (lieutenant/captain), infantry
Rissaldar
next senior officer (lieutenant/captain), cavalry
Subedar-major
most senior officer (major), infantry
Russaldar-major
most senior officer (major), cavalry
Daffadar
serjeant, cavalry
Lance-daffadar
corporal, cavalry
Havildar
serjeant, infantry
Naik
corporal, infantry
Khansamah
butler
Khitmagar
servant (waiter)
Bhisti
water-bearer/sprinkler
Syce
grass-cutter
Ryot
peasant
Rissalah
a body of cavalry, one-or two-hundred strong
Jingal
gun mounted on and fired from a horse or elephant
ON LIVING INDIA
I know that all classes of the people look up to me and it will be difficult for another officer to take my place. I know also that my presence would be useful in the settlement of many points . . . But these circumstances are not momentary . . . very possibly the same state of affairs which now renders my presence desirable will exist for the next seven years . . . I have considered whether in the situation of affairs in India at present, my arrival in England is not a desirable object. Is it not necessary to take some steps to explain the causes of the late increase in military establishment, and to endeavour to explode some erroneous notions which have been entertained and circulated on this subject . . . I conceive there-fore that in determining not to go into the Deccan, and to sail by the first opportunity for England, I consult the public interest not less than I do my own private convenience and wishes.
Major-General Sir Arthur Wellesley, to his brother,
the Governor-General, January 1805
ON THE POLICY OF
NON-INTERVENTION IN THE AFFAIRS
OF THE COUNTRY POWERS
I entreat the Directors to consider whether it was expedient to observe a strict neutrality amidst these scenes of disorder and outrage, or to listen to the voice of suffering humanity and interfere for the protection of the weak and defenceless states who implored our assistance against the ravages of the Pindarees and the Patans.
Lord Minto, Governor-General of India,
to the Court of Directors of the Honourable East
India Company, 1812
THE AIDE-DE-CAMP
The Embassy of His Britannic Majesty
to the Court of the Tuileries, Paris, 13 August 1815
Captain Matthew Hervey had put on his best uniform. It was only the second time he had worn it. He was not even sure he should be in levee dress, for his orders to report to the Duke of Wellington’s headquarters had not been concerned with trifles. Yet dress, to a cavalry-man in his situation, could hardly be a matter of indifference, and so he had followed the regiment’s maxim that no senior officer could be affronted by seeing an excess of uniform, even if he were bemused by it. The newest captain of the 6th Light Dragoons was therefore waiting in an ante-room, with dress sabre-tache and mameluke hanging long from his girdle, and tasselled cocked hat, with its ostrich feathers, under his arm, in some degree of apprehensiveness. He wore no aiglets, however. He had bought two pair in London on learning that he was to be promoted and appointed to the duke’s staff, but he did not yet presume to wear those coveted insignia of an aide-de-camp. Indeed, his astonishment at his preferment was scarcely less than when first he had comprehended it only two days ago at the Horse Guards.
Lying full across the open doorway of the ante-room was a springing spaniel, old and ill-smelling, sound asleep and snoring with perfect regularity and constant pitch. It had not been in the least disturbed when the Staff Corps corporal had shown the new ADC into the room a quarter of an hour before, when both had had to step long over the outstretched animal to avoid entanglement of spur and coat, and Hervey, waiting in the otherwise silent embassy, pleased to find some distraction which might help keep his mind from disquiet, was now timing the length and interval of these snuffling crescendos and decrescendos by the ticking of the clock on the chimney piece. There were five seconds for the inspiration, three for the equipoise and four to complete exhalation – then a further five, where all life seemed suspended, before the sequence was repeated da capo. He had counted a dozen of these recitals before seeming suddenly to realize what he was doing. He glanced about anxiously to see if anyone were there, then snapped back to the full attentiveness appropriate for an officer awaiting interview with the commander-in-chief of the allied armies in France.
Outside, the Sunday bells, which had drowned even the sound of hooves on the pavé as he had driven to the Rue Faubourg-Saint-Honoré, had been silent for some time now, and he was relieved that he might thereby be able to hear the duke’s remarks, when they came, with absolute clarity. He was in no doubt of the singularity of his position. He was certain that in the whole of the army there could not be an officer below field rank who would not envy him it. Another quarter of an hour passed, the keen anticipation of the honour to come increasing with every minute. Shortly after eleven-thirty a minor commotion in the ante-hall alerted him to the duke’s return from his daily ride, though it did not disturb the recumbent spaniel. He snapped his whole body to attention, as well as his wits. And then the field marshal was there, at the door-way, looking directly at him. Hervey stepped forward sharply, halting three paces from him, the spaniel occupying all that remained, and bowed his head briskly. The duke made no bow in return, neither did he extend his hand, saying instead simply, ‘Captain Hervey, I am glad you are come. Colonel Grant has need of you. He will be along presently. It will be deuced tricky work, but I should not ask it if I thought it beyond you. Good day then, sir.’
As the duke turned, Hervey saw the young woman in riding dress close by him. She cast a brief backward glance as the duke said something to her, and then she smiled wide and adoringly at the great man as they retired to his quarters. The spaniel woke suddenly and looked up at Hervey with a puzzled expression before breaking wind at considerable length. Hervey sighed as long, and smiled. How the glamoury of aiglets could be so rudely abraded! And how trifling did the appointment of aide-de-camp seem to the great man himself. ‘Deuced tricky work’ – Hervey had never doubted it would be. He had no experience of staff work; neither did he possess the skills of the courtier, which seemed more necessary now than did any military prowess. But he could read and write French and German and converse in both with perfect fluency. If the duke had confidence in him, then why should not he himself? In any event, he had a shorter time to wait than he expected to find out how tricky was the work, for the corporal returned to announce that Colonel Grant would see him at once. Not the best of news, sighed Hervey, for when he had first met the duke’s chief of intelligence, a month ago, it had not been an especially cordial affair. Indeed, Grant had been decidedly livery.
Lieutenant-Colonel Colquhoun Grant of the 11th Foot (North Devon), ‘Grant el Bueno’ as the Spanish guerrillas had called him (to distinguish him from ‘Grant the Bad’), was an officer who had spent more time on active service behind the enemy’s lines than before them. He was impatient of formality, and this had, no doubt, been at the root of his abruptness at their first meeting. This morning, however, although he was brisk he was perfectly civil. Hervey might have appreciated the offer of coffee, but the absence of hospitality was not going to st
and in the way of regard for the man whom many believed to be the duke’s most trusted adviser.
‘Sit down if you please, Captain Hervey,’ said Grant, indicating the largest gilded chair Hervey had ever seen, which made him feel that his levee dress was not so out of place after all. ‘I shall come at once to the point, sir: do you know anything of India?’
How might he begin to answer such a question? He had read and heard as much as any man in his position might, but he did not expect that it would amount to much for what must be Colonel Grant’s purposes. ‘A very little, sir – Clive and his campaigns for the most part,’ he replied frankly, racking his brains to think what could be the duke’s interest in India.
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