He pulled the trigger of the rifle.
Nothing happened. He worked the bolt again and again.
Cursing viciously, he made a swift thrust with the bayonet as a man came close, a thrust right into the rib-cage. A wrist-wrenching twist dragged the blade clear just in time to deal with a second man.
Five left now.
They drew back a little way, and talked among themselves in low voices. As they did so, a little more light touched the scene: Ogilvie glanced upward at the moon’s brown outline. It was more visible now. ‘See,’ he called out. ‘Now Mahomet is withdrawing the sign. It is as I myself prophesied. Mahomet is displeased.’
Whether or not they were impressed, Ogilvie could not tell; but there seemed to be some hesitancy in the air now, though this could be due merely to a wonderment as to whether the Englishman should be held safe until Nashkar Ali Khan’s personal guard could take him over, or another attempt be made to kill him now.
At all events there was a delay; and in the end they delayed too long.
*
The first touch of dawn in the sky showed up the sadhu’s corpse, with one leg twisted up around the trunk, and the skull broken and shedding its contents; and somewhere in its violent bouncing off the hillside a jag of rock must have gashed and penetrated the gut, for this too was rent asunder and spilling, to the satisfaction of the busy vultures who were no respectors of sadhus and who were currently profaning the remains.
But that early dawn showed up something else, away down the pass: two horsemen, like advanced scouts, keeping one on either side of the track. And then, behind them, a considerable number more. They were natives, Ogilvie saw — more Pathans.
And yet, as they came closer, Ogilvie found some odd and unexpected familiarity and a wild hope grew. A moment later the men guarding him, evidently suspicious also, began to run —and then the firing started and the horsemen came pounding on in a dangerous gallop, and Ogilvie realized that Lord Dornoch was calling to him, and that he had been found by a detachment of the Royal Strathspey.
It seemed like a miracle. His mind had been full of Mahomet, and now God had turned up to redress the balance.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
‘I had not come specifically to attack,’ Lord Dornoch said. He lifted a hand to shade his eyes from the climbing sun, shining through a gap in the eastern hills. ‘My objective was to find you, James, that and no more.’
‘Yes, Colonel. Nevertheless, there is that Pathan striking force, down in the hills beyond Maizar. If that could be destroyed, or at any rate dispersed —’
‘By one battalion?’
Ogilvie said, ‘Not precisely that, Colonel.’
‘Then what, man?’ Lord Dornoch shifted restlessly, irritably. ‘Out with it! Time’s short, as you should know as well as I.’
‘Yes, Colonel. I was thinking...it should be perfectly possible, the way things have turned out, to convince the runner that the tribes are not onto such a good thing as they’ve been believing. He’s intact and functioning, but he’ll be having plenty to think about at the moment — with the sadhu’s death, and the apparent withdrawal of the sign, and your own arrival here.’ He hesitated. ‘Colonel, I believe we may be able to make him spread the gospel.’
‘Kindly be more explicit!’
‘Yes, Colonel.’ Ogilvie took a deep breath and came out with his suggestion. ‘I think we could try to disaffect the main army, Colonel. You see — the symbolism of the death, at that particular moment! The fact it may have registered with the runner, however, with just one solitary tribesman — that’s not enough! We need to communicate it, and undermine Nashkar Ali Khan’s personal authority. Do you not see, Colonel?’
‘By God!’ Agitatedly Dornoch moved his horse a few paces away, then came back again. ‘James, that’s a bold stroke, is it not? Disaffect an entire army — and as likely as not be torn to shreds before we could open our mouths?’
‘Yes, Colonel, but I’m sure it could work out. We can show them the actual body of the sadhu while keeping ourselves in a defendable position until the word has spread — and use the runner to substantiate the fact that the sadhu died when the sign appeared. You know the Pathan mind, Colonel...don’t you agree it could work?’
Dornoch frowned; there was a battle light in his eyes and he had his regiment not too far away, and fighting was in his very blood, was his whole training. He said, ‘It might - it might! When all’s said and done...a sign’s a sign!’
‘Very much so, from my observation, Colonel.’
‘And a botched sign - which we might consider this to be could cause grave doubts in native minds?’
‘Yes, Colonel.’
‘It’s the devil of a march to Gumatti!’
‘But a faster ride, Colonel. And my information is that the tribes are encamped well this side of Gumatti. The distance from Maizar to the camp is no more than about twenty miles, in fact.’
‘Which is still a long way in this kind of country, and would take us at least a full day’s forced marching - and we have still to get back to that arms dump to rejoin the battalion. Not that that’s so far.’ He stared along the pass, then turned to MacKinlay at his side. ‘What think you, Rob?’
‘I’m all for finishing the job, Colonel.’
‘Hm. James, time is of the essence now. And you talk of riding — I haven’t horses for the whole battalion!’
‘No, Colonel. But I have one, and so has the runner.’
Dornoch stared. ‘My dear young man, you’re not suggesting you should go to this camp alone, are you?’
‘I shall have the sadhu with me, Colonel.’
‘You’re wasting my time,’ Dornoch snapped.
‘No, sir.’ Ogilvie sounded obstinately determined now. ‘If you will allow me to go in ahead of the battalion I can handle it, and handle it better in the first stages alone. I can sow the seed, Colonel, work on their superstitious fears, and get them worked up into a — a frenzy of doubt. That’s the point! I’ll tell them that if they don’t take the sadhu’s death as the sign it was meant to be, and disperse, then the British will come, that they’ll be hoist with their own petard and invaded. That should at least delay the start of Nashkar’s march across the border! There’ll be plenty of argument - but I’ll bet they’ll never move out when there’s the slightest possibility the signs may be against them rather than with them! Remember, Colonel, the whole thing depended on a sign right from the start —’
‘True, true —’
‘And once I’ve done my work, Colonel, you arrive with the battalion — spread out to give the impression of an army corps!’
This time Lord Dornoch laughed. ‘By God, James, you think of everything! Rob?’
MacKinlay said, ‘There’s sense behind it, Colonel. If we mean to try to inhibit the rising at all, it’s the only way. To attack without this sort of preparation would be suicide, that’s certain. This idea may be crazy, but if we can bring it off, well, General Fettleworth’s going to have to destroy an awful lot of anti-Scots bumph he’ll have been making ready since we sneaked out of cantonments!’
Dornoch laughed again, and there was a tinge of real excitement in the laugh. The idea, Ogilvie saw, was beginning to appeal. The Colonel moved his horse, riding slowly a little way along the pass, thinking deeply. Coming back, he said, ‘One condition, James, for your part of the expedition. I give my approval on the clear understanding you make no damn silly attempt actually to penetrate that army, to get inside the camp. This must be done from the outside in, if you follow me?’
‘Yes, Colonel.’
‘I know the kind of country — not unlike this, hilly. You must find a vantage point, much as you yourself suggested, it’ll not be hard, and use it the best way you can until I come up with the battalion. Understood?’
‘Yes, Colonel.’
‘There will be no heroics, no throwing away life. Shout your persuasion from the hilltops — but remember your backside and make certain it has a nice clear route
to the rear. And another thing. Although I realize well enough the urgency of speed, of your reaching the camp before Nashkar moves, you must compromise to this extent, James: you will not put too great a distance between yourself and the regiment. It will be vital that I am not too far behind you, as I’m sure you’ll appreciate. All right?’
‘Yes, Colonel.’
‘Very well, then.’ Lord Dornoch turned again towards the men. ‘We’re an infantry battalion, just under a thousand of us all told, against God knows how many of the heathen — but we’ll not be making history, for that part of it has been done before now, and successfully. Remember that. Remember another thing of importance. We’re not just an infantry battalion of the British Army, we’re a Scots regiment of Highlanders — and there’s no prouder thing than that on all the face of the globe!’
*
The sadhu’s body did not, after all, accompany Ogilvie; Lord Dornoch considered this too dangerous, for the sight of that mangled body could well cause the tribesmen to jump to hasty conclusions before listening to the truth, in which case Ogilvie’s death, torn to shreds by a shrieking mob, could be considered a certainty. The sadhu would therefore make his final earthly appearance at a more appropriate, more propitious time — with the advance of the 114th Highlanders once the ground had been prepared by Ogilvie. Also, Ogilvie did not in the event go alone with the runner. He went with a mounted escort of ten native-dressed Scots privates, and Bosom Cunningham, wild-looking ruffians who could still fool any hilltop snipers, sure to be encountered along the way. Cunningham guaranteed that he would prime the runner in his part and see that there was no talking out of turn. The runner would give the evidence of what he had genuinely seen, and no more.
Before Ogilvie’s group left, the whole party moved back along the pass as the sun came up. They had gone a couple of miles when native horsemen were seen ahead, horsemen who came on in surprise but not in suspicion. The party, whose members looked anything but British, could have been levies coming in from Afghanistan. The bitter truth was learned when Lord Dornoch gave the order to fire; and Cunningham thereafter used his extricatory talents to prise out of the survivors the information that they were a second group to have been dispatched by Nashkar Ali Khan to find Wilshaw Sahib and the sadhu. Nashkar, they said, was worried and upset, and also angry. It was rumoured that he planned to ride out for the encamped tribes, together with the Earless One. With the dead concealed, the survivors rode along in the centre of the British files; and a little to the north of Maizar, the two sections parted company, Lord Dornoch taking his men back towards the main body of the battalion at the arms dump, and Ogilvie — himself now in the disguise of native dress — heading east towards Gumatti with his escort, following the directions of the former runner, who now seemed only too anxious to placate those who, so strangely, seemed to have become the elect of the Prophet. As they made their way along, passing to the north of Maizar, keeping south of Miram Shah, they were aware now and again of men watching from the peaks, men of that eternal band of snipers that roamed the Waziri hills, indeed all the hills along the Frontier, the majority of them bandits pure and simple. But, keeping strictly to the tracks, they went by unmolested. They formed a reasonably strong force, and they were clearly armed, and would give a good account of themselves if attacked; and besides, it was well-known that levies were coming in from Afghanistan and to fire upon levies riding to join the great army outside Gumatti would be to invite the most terrible reprisals from Nashkar Ali Khan...
‘The Colonel’s taking a devil of a chance, Sar’nt-Major,’ Ogilvie remarked soon after they had parted company with Dornoch.
‘In what respect, sir?’
‘Why, bringing the regiment across the border without orders.’
‘Aye, sir, a great risk it is indeed, and certain to lead to a Court Martial.’
‘He must have known that.’
‘Of course, Captain Ogilvie, sir, he knew it well, and so did all of us, but it’ll be a Court Martial without disgrace!’ Cunningham spoke with some heat; his big face was angry, but there was anxiety beneath the anger. He, of all the men in the regiment, knew the army and its ways. The Nelson touch was a fine thing and there were still senior officers around who appreciated the grand gesture — one of them being Sir Thin Ogilvie himself. But the Nelson touch and the grand gesture had to result in total success; that was the essential thing! Failure would lead to professional ruin for the Royal Strathspeys’ Colonel and even Sir Iain might well be powerless — would be powerless — to prevent it. Cunningham, who had a profound respect and a personal devotion for Lord Dornoch, could not bear to think of failure; and was filled with bitter thoughts that it was he himself who had started the ball rolling down the slippery slope of acting without orders. It had perhaps been a foolish thing to do, and no doubt His Lordship had also acted foolishly, but he had acted as a man, a Scot and a brave battalion commander who would not stand by and see anyone of his regiment left to die as a result of incompetence and bloody-mindedness and a lack of feeling in high circles. And, as Cunningham had just said, no disgrace would attach afterwards, to a Court Martial on a charge of impetuously engaging the enemy. Lord Dornoch had shirked no duty, had chosen no easy option. He would go out of the British Army with his head held high, an officer and a gentleman who had preferred not to skulk behind the golden tassels and cocked hats of the Staff.
‘With one proviso,’ Cunningham said aloud.
‘I beg your pardon, Sar’nt-Major?’
‘I’m sorry, sir. I was speaking some thoughts aloud.’
‘Then a penny for them, Sar’nt-Major!’
Cunningham shook his head. ‘They wouldn’t help, Captain Ogilvie, not at this moment. But there’s one thing I’ll say, and it’s this: I hope you’ll do your persuading well!’
‘You mean, make the most of the sadhu?’
‘Aye, Captain Ogilvie, I mean just that. They say there’s upwards of sixty thousand tribesmen ready in Waziristan, and maybe a great deal more by this time. The 114th are but a thousand men, just under. There must be no massacre...no wiping out of the regiment. And you’ll do me the honour, Captain Ogilvie, of understanding that I speak from no personal fear of battle —’
‘Of course, Sar’nt-Major. That goes without saying.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Cunningham wiped the back of a hand across his forehead; it came away dripping with sweat. ‘I fear for the Colonel, that’s the truth. His name would not survive the massacre of a regiment, sir — in the circumstances. You have his honour in your hands now, Captain Ogilvie.’
‘I know,’ Ogilvie said quietly. ‘By God I know, Sar’nt-Major!’
*
There were halts for rests, to ease the strain on men and horses and also to ensure that they did not too far overshoot Lord Dornoch and the main body of the regiment. Water-bottles were used sparingly, though there was a good hope of replenishing them from the rivers along the way, for the rains had not been too long over for the water-courses to have dried, and cold water was still trickling down from the melted snow on the highest peaks. Iron rations were handed out, also sparingly, and were eked out by fruit that the men picked along the track as they began to descend into the valleys. Ogilvie and Cunningham spent a good deal of time during these respites in priming the native runner in the part he was to play when Nashkar’s army was reached. Cunningham left him in no doubt as to what would happen to him if he said too much, or if he failed to be convincing of the truth. The man, his dark eyes flickering as he followed every move Cunningham and Ogilvie made, was mostly silent, merely nodding when asked if he understood. It was only too obvious that he couldn’t be trusted an inch, but Ogilvie formed the impression that he had a due regard for his own life and could probably be made to function just so long as he was firmly in their hands. Moving on, coming farther towards a valley, they entered a more fertile district, with more fruit for the picking, and signs of scattered habitation, and a cluster of huts in the distance, forming a k
hel. As they rode along they could see men coming out from the huts to stand and stare, men who would have seen last night’s lunar eclipse and would now be awaiting word to join the concourse of tribesmen towards Gumatti. But they did not come down from their khel and made no contact with the riders. Perhaps, Ogilvie thought, they were the old men, the ones who would be left behind. The fighting men may already have left for the assembly zone. By this time that assembly must be complete — and certainly they had seen no movement of armed men anywhere along the way. Waziristan, ready for war, was in a state of suspension, a state of pause and inaction that could be released either way depending upon whose interpretation of last night’s events would in the end prevail.
Ogilvie gave a sudden shiver. The day was fine and bright, with long views across the mountains, and the air was invigorating, the wind cold; and Ogilvie, after a whole night with no sleep, was very tired now. But the shiver was not a shiver of cold or weariness; it was the kind of shiver that makes men say that someone is walking over their graves. He was visited by an unnerving sense of failure ahead, almost a premonition of evil and of doom. Suddenly, the whole of their endeavour, all Lord Dornoch’s impetuous disregard of the high command, seemed utterly pointless, wasteful and insane.
*
When another night’s full darkness had settled on the mountains and valleys Nashkar Ali Khan, who had come from Maizar by way of a different pass, still accompanied by the Earless One, rode in to join the great gathering of war-bent Pathans. He entered the arena to the sound of reedy native pipes, and rifle shots, and a wild acclaim. Men surged around him, yelling, chanting, praising, knowing now that the time had come, that their leader had come to announce the meaning of the sign they had all seen, that by the morrow’s light they would be rolling across the Waziri borders in a tumultuous rush upon the British.
Nashkar, apparently supremely confident, every inch the war leader, sat his horse surrounded by his advisers, both military and civil. His dress now was splendid. He wore a magnificent sky-blue turban that shone in the light from the many campfires, and a long cloak of brilliant red that fell across the rump of his horse, which was also regally caparisoned. His eyes were bright, seeming to reflect the glow of the fires, as he rode slowly through the throng of warriors and the shouts of war, the shouts of ‘Kaspaturos...death to the British, death to the infidel invaders...death and destruction...Kaspaturos!’
Soldier of the Raj Page 27
