‘Really — really! Nothing in the way of action, perhaps, but there are other things.’ Fettleworth drummed his fingers hard, beating out a tattoo on the desk top. ‘Sir Iain Ogilvie must be informed at once —’
‘But of what, sir?’
‘Of the facts!’
‘But what are the facts, sir? We have nothing to go on, absolutely nothing except what you think Dornoch is doing. In my submission, that is not evidence enough to form the basis of any useful report to Murree.’
‘We can report that he’s made off with a whole damn battalion, can’t we? What more do you want?’
‘I think Sir Iain will want a reason, sir. Or at least the result of your attempt at interception. Would it not be advisable to wait for some report from the Guides first? This could all turn out to be a storm in a tea-cup.’
‘Oh, balls, Lakenham — balls!’
Lakenham said stiffly, ‘I realize you don’t agree, sir. But would you not agree at least to wait for Captain Black?’
‘Ah — now, that’s an idea! Why didn’t you think of it sooner — hey, Lakenham? Get hold of Black at once and I’ll talk to him.’
‘I doubt it, sir. If you remember, I said I’d been told he was more than a little drunk. In point of fact, the Staff Captain who made the report to me said he was incoherent. It seems we must give him a little time.’
‘Time? Give him coffee, hot and black and strong, and as many buckets of water as necessary. Get him here — d’you hear, Lakenham? Get him here!’
*
Black’s face was flushed a deep red with the drink he had taken, and looked swollen. He appeared almost in a state of apoplexy as he walked into the Divisional Commander’s presence, but somehow or other he managed to maintain an upright stance and his salute was impeccable.
‘Sit down!’ Fettleworth snapped, eyeing him with displeasure.
Black sat.
Fettleworth barked suddenly, ‘Well, where are your damn manners? Take your damn helmet off this instant.’
Black made a curious sound in his throat and obeyed. ‘I’m s...sorry, sir.’
‘All right, all right. Now. I want a fully detailed account of what’s been going on in the 114th’s lines. To start with, where is Lord Dornoch, where is the battalion, and why the devil aren’t you with them — hey?’
‘I...didn’t wan’ to go.’
Fettleworth raised his eyebrows. Cowardice was cowardice, notwithstanding a Colonel’s contempt of authority. ‘You are afraid to face the enemy, Captain Black?’
‘What?’ Black’s face suffused even more. ‘Who said...who said...anything about the enemy?’
‘I did!’
‘Oh, did you. I don’t know anything about the enemy. And I’ll tell you this, General or no General — sir — I’m never afraid to face shot and shell or cold steel. By God I’m not.’
‘Oh, very well.’ Breath hissed down Fettleworth’s nostrils angrily, but he knew better than to delay the possible helpfulness that might emerge from Black by indulging in drunken arguments at this stage. ‘Then I apologize, and salute your bravery. Come now, Captain Black. The facts, if you please, and quickly!’
Black shook his head. ‘I don’t know any facts...sir.’
‘Damn it, you must!’
‘I know I must not, sir.’
‘D’you realize who you’re talking to, sir?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Who, sir?’
There was a snigger. ‘Bloody Francis, sir.’
Once again, in the interest of information, Fettleworth held on to his temper; but there was a look in his eye that said Black had gone too far, and irrevocably, this time. ‘For the moment I shall overlook your confounded rudery and lack of breeding —’
‘I’m well enough aware I’m not a gentleman —’
‘Yes, yes —’
‘Oh, so you agree, do you, General Fettleworth?’ Black half lifted himself from his chair, but the effort was a trifle too much and he lurched back. ‘May I ask what’s wrong with an officer’s family being in trade, when —’
‘I’m not interested in...Oh, God give me strength!’ Fettleworth lifted his arms in despair and fury. ‘Kindly do me the courtesy of paying attention to what I have repeatedly asked you, Captain Black. What are the facts of Lord Dornoch’s apparent abandonment of his lines?’
‘I can’t say anything about that,’ Black said with a drunk’s obstinacy, ‘for I’ve given my word, and even if I’m not a gentleman, I don’t break —’
‘I’m giving you an order, man! Never mind your word — do as you’re told! What’s all this about giving your word, anyway?’
‘I have been th...threatened by my Colonel, sir. Yes — threatened. I must not reveal anything to you. I’ll give evidence at his Court Martial — yes, certainly — but at this moment I am saying nothing. I trust this will be properly no...noted in your records, sir. Nothing...nothing will I say. No.’
‘You will tell me —’
‘Nothing.’ Black waved his arms. ‘I tell you nothing.’
‘I absolutely insist upon —’
‘I may not be a gentleman in the sense that my family —’
‘I —’
‘— never did a hand’s turn in their lives to soil their lily-white hands, or in the sense that my f...forbears grabbed their lands and castles by pinching them from the peasantry, but my word’s my —’
‘Take him away!’ Fettleworth roared at Lakenham. ‘I can stand no more. Get him out of my sight. He’s to be held in arrest and I’ll see him when he’s sober. Get the doctor to him! Damn it, the man’s certainly not a gentleman!’ he added as the Chief of Staff took Black’s arm and led him from the presence of his General. Black went more or less unprotestingly, feeling somewhere inside his whisky-drenched brain that he was a clever fellow who had made his point, kept his word, and outmanoeuvred his Divisional Commander, and all in spite of the fact that he wanted very badly to see Dornoch condemned. This was not a feeling that was due to last for very long, but for the present it floated him out of Fettleworth’s sight on a wave of confidence. He was taken to a spare bedroom and put to bed, and the doctor was summoned. When this had been done, Lakenham returned to face Fettleworth’s mottled rage, and this he made the worse by somewhat tactlessly saying that he had an idea the General may have stirred up a very large hornet’s-nest indeed.
‘Hornet’s-nest be damned. What the devil d’you mean?’
‘As yet, sir, I repeat, we have no facts — or very few. I think we should be cautious and not pre-judge Lord Dornoch’s actions and motives. I think —’
‘I’ll get him back. I’ll have him —’
‘Steps have already been taken to recall him, sir. At this stage we can do no more, and I would —’
‘No more! Lakenham, I’ve a damn good mind to send out the whole Division!’ Fettleworth was shaking with the strength of his emotions, seemingly quite beside himself and liable to commit almost any act of folly to relieve the pressure. ‘Yes, I’ve a damn good mind to do just that.’ He gnawed feverishly at the trailing ends of his moustache, his light-blue eyes protuberant in a scarlet face.
‘I repeat, sir, I advise the strictest caution. If you’re right about Lord Dornoch’s intentions, then by this time he may well be inside Waziristan. You know the Scots, sir, as well as I do. You know their intense loyalty, and their fighting spirit. If they have gone in to rescue Captain Ogilvie, there is a chance they may succeed. I doubt if Dornoch is foolhardy enough to lead his regiment into a risk which he himself sees as hopeless — we must allow him that. In my opinion we should take no action that might operate against possible success, and the most I would advise is that we hold the Division at instant readiness to march in support if required. In point of fact, the Division is ready to move out, as you know. If you think it necessary, we could move the troops to strategic positions along the Waziri border. Indeed I think this would be a prudent precaution, sir, always provided we leave Peshawar adequately
garrisoned.’
‘I’ve a mind to cross the border in full strength, Lakenham.’
The Chief of Staff shook his head. ‘I advise against this, sir. We can’t commit the whole Division against the Waziris alone, since they’re only a part, if a central and vital one, of the likely tribal rising.’ He paused. ‘I think, for the time being, the Waziris could well be left to the 114th.’
‘One battalion, Lakenham? Are you mad?’
‘No, sir, I am not. I am suggesting that if Lord Dornoch can bring off this rescue, it will have an immensely strong psychological effect on the Pathans in Waziristan, and indeed all along the Frontier. The psychological —’
‘That word again! Do we now fight all our battles with the aid of witch-doctors?’
Lakenham disregarded the question. He said earnestly, ‘Sir, we must leave the situation alone for the moment, except for a movement of Division westwards. Then we shall be ready to act when necessary — and not before.’
*
Lakenham’s advice was followed, albeit grudgingly; orders were despatched to the various Brigade headquarters, and thence to the regiments, and almost within the hour the British troops were moving out for the Waziri border with their transport and supply trains kicking up the dust behind while the drums of the infantry battalions beat out the step ahead. Three long columns of route were formed to march respectively on Parachinar, Thal, and the general vicinity of Bahodur Khel in Kohat. In the meantime Murree had been informed and Sir Iain Ogilvie’s approval obtained for the movement; and reinforcements of the Peshawar garrison had been requested as a matter of the greatest urgency.
There was no one in all the Peshawar cantonment area who could remain unaware that a movement was in progress; and Mary Archdale watched the soldiers march out behind their beating drums and their colours, a long line of men in stiffly starched khaki-drill tunics with rifles and side-arms gleaming under the hot Indian sun. She was one of many British women who waved as the regiments went by, one of many others whose hearts went with the men as they moved towards the flame and the smoke of war, marching once again to enhance the glory that was the British Raj, to keep the rule of the Queen-Empress in being and to preserve by battle the Pax Britannica. They went on their way singing, eager enough to play their part, and the sounds rolled back from the cantonment buildings as the columns marched away. ‘We’re soldiers of the Queen, my lads...We’re part of England’s glory, lads...The Queen, my lads, the Queen, my lads.’
It faded into the distance at last. Mary Archdale’s eyes were wet and shining, much as were frequently those of Her Majesty Queen Victoria herself on the occasions when she rolled in her open carriage past the review lines of her beloved soldiers drawn up for her inspection in Hyde Park or Windsor or on the Horse Guards’ Parade. But that regal little woman in the black bonnet had never had the ache in her heart, the personal involvement with one man among so many, that Mary Archdale felt on that hot Indian day as the drums and the singing and the marching feet and the rumble of the transport wheels dwindled towards the North-West Frontier.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Nashkar Ali Khan’s escort kept close as they rode out that first time from the palace, but tended to fall a little behind as the ride progressed. It was possible for Ogilvie and Healey to talk openly from time to time.
Ogilvie asked if there had been any further word of the arms supply party.
‘Not yet, old boy, though I rather gather they’re not so far off Maizar now — at least, that’s Nashkar’s estimate. He hasn’t told me of any definite report from his scouts.’
‘Anything about the main movement?’
‘The rising? Again, nothing definite. I have the feeling there’s something about to break, though. I doubt if we’ve got much longer, Ogilvie. Touch and go, now.’
‘Can you be more precise?’
Healey shook his head. ‘Fraid not. It’s just a feeling. I know these people. Nashkar’s getting cagey, and that’s a sign in itself.’
‘Talking of signs...’
‘Yes, indeed!’ Healey grinned. ‘Talking of signs, as you say —the sadhu’s still as mute as an egg.’
‘Then are you suggesting Nashkar’s going to jump the gun?’
‘No. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t do that. I think he has a simple premonition the sadhu’s going to utter shortly.’ He paused. ‘The thing is, what do we do?’
‘That’s soon answered! We break from the escort and join the supposed arms caravan as soon as they arrive, and we fight our way out across the border and report in full to my Divisional H.Q. How’s that?’
‘It’s all we can do, though I shan’t be with you that far, old boy —’
‘But —’
‘No buts, Ogilvie. Oh, I’ll be doing all I can to help, of course, but I’m not leaving Waziristan just yet. Remember, I’m a Political Officer, I can still be more use here than in Peshawar.’ He waved a hand around the hills. ‘This is my parade ground, old man — and Nashkar’s palace makes a pretty comfortable Officers’ Mess! I’m well content, and I don’t want old Nashkar to lose his trust in me, you know!’
‘But that’s what he’s going to do, isn’t it, the moment I ride out on him? After all, you vouched for me.’
‘It’s a chance I’ll have to take. I think he’ll allow me one mistake.’
‘I wouldn’t be too sure! Honestly, Healey, I don’t feel I can let you down like this — just ride out and leave you to it, you know.’
Healey laughed and reached out to clap his shoulder as the horses jogged along close together. ‘Don’t give it another thought. We both have our duty, and we both know we have to do it.’
‘You’re a brave man, Healey.’
‘Rot. I just happen to know my duty, that’s all, and I like my job. Besides, I’ve no entanglements, no dependants...no one to worry me or to worry about me either. Single and fancy free. Parents dead. My life’s India, and by India I mean the native states — which is why I went into the Political as soon as I could. Much more interesting. Look at the light on those hills.’ He reined in his horse and Ogilvie, doing likewise, followed his pointing arm. ‘Those shades of light...the browns and the purples and the yellows. You’ve seen the sun rising and setting out here often enough. What d’you think of it?’
‘Pretty spectacular.’
‘That’s all?’
‘Well...yes.’
Healey shook his head. ‘No poetry in your soul, that’s your trouble! It all does something to me. In a way I’m like the sadhu, I suppose — I feel closer to my Maker in this kind of country. In a physical sense, of course, I am, literally. But it’s spiritual as well.’ He looked into Ogilvie’s face. ‘You’re a Highlander. Surely you can feel something?’
‘Well, yes, I do, but I happen to prefer Scotland!’
‘Yes, I can understand.’ Healey’s voice softened and he stared into the distance. ‘“From the lone shieling and the misty island, mountains divide us and a waste of seas...but still the blood is pure, the heart is highland, and we in dreams behold the Hebrides.”’
‘I rather like that, Healey.’
‘So do I. It’s probably how you feel about Scotland, in your heart...and if you had enough soul, you’d say so! It’s certainly how I feel about this particular part of India. No, you really needn’t worry about me, I’ll take what comes.’ He laughed. ‘I’m feeling in the mood for poetry today. Care for another quote about your native land, old boy?’
‘Go on.’
‘Right, I will. “Let me feel the breezes blowing, fresh along the mountain side...let me see the heather growing, let me hear the thund’ring tide.” Here are my breezes, Ogilvie, and here are my mountain sides. And there’s the ling — what you call heather. I can do without the thund’ring tide, and to take its place I have the distinctive smell of the Orient! And there’s something for you.’
He pointed.
‘What?’
‘That hill, the one standing out by itself just beyond Maiza
r on it. See the one I mean?’
Ogilvie looked, across the clustered white buildings inside the walls of the town below. ‘Equidistant between two higher peaks?’
Healey nodded. ‘Correct — you have it.’
‘Well?’
‘That’s your goal. Journey’s end — or journey’s start — for you. Nashkar’s arsenal was below that hill, and it’s there your fake arms caravan is heading for. Now, we’ve done enough talking for the present. Let’s ride. Come on — I’ll race you!’ Healey sent his horse plunging ahead fast along the track. Small rocks flew as Ogilvie rode after him. The escort, taken by surprise, galloped up from behind, calling out angrily, clearly scared. But Healey pulled his horse up some four or five hundred yards ahead, laughing gaily. It was quite a good gambit; when the time came, the escort would understand that the Earless One and the English arms salesman liked to pit their riding skill against each other.
A little later they all returned to the palace.
*
The Regimental Sergeant-Major rode along the line of rock-scrambling, disreputably-dressed Scots, making his way to Lord Dornoch at the head of the column. ‘Sir!’
‘Yes, Sar’nt-Major?’
‘I have been questioning the native leader again, sir. He reports that we’re now little more than a day’s march from Maizar.’
‘Thank God for that!’ Dornoch lifted a filthy hand and mopped the sweat from his eyes. ‘I trust the palace will have a bath in it!’
‘Are we making direct for the palace, sir?’
‘No, Sar’nt-Major, we can’t do that. I’ll head for the arms dump and consolidate there. Once we’re in possession, I’ll send out my Mounted Infantry to scout. After that — we’ll see.’
‘Aye, sir. I trust our luck’ll hold.’
‘So do I, Cunningham, so do I! We’ve used up rather a lot of it the last few days. Nevertheless, we’re going to succeed, I have no doubts about that.’
Soldier of the Raj Page 24
