Sharpe's Fortress Part 52

"I should never have let him ride off on his own. Should have made him wait till a group went back."

"Won't be the first prison cell he's seen," Wellesley said, 'and I daresay it won't be the last."

"I shall miss him," Stokes said, 'miss him deeply. A good man."

Wellesley grunted. He had ridden up the improved road to judge its progress for himself and he was impressed, though he took care not to show his approval. The road now snaked up into the hills and one more day's work would see it reach the edge of the escarpment. Half the necessary siege guns were already high on the road, parked in an upland meadow, while bullocks were trudging up the lower slopes with their heavy burdens of round shot that would be needed to break open Gawilghur's walls. The Mahrattas had virtually ceased their raids on the road-makers ever since Wellesley had sent two battalions of sepoys up into the hills to hunt the enemy down. Every once in a while a musket shot would be fired from a long distance, but the b.a.l.l.s were usually spent before they reached a target.

"Your work won't end with the road," Wellesley told Stokes, as the General and his staff followed the engineer on foot towards some higher ground from where they could inspect the fortress.

"I doubted it would, sir."^ "You know Stevenson?"

"I've dined with the Colonel."

"I'm sending him up here. His troops will make the a.s.sault. My men will stay below and climb the two roads." Wellesley spoke curtly, almost offhandedly. He was proposing to divide his army into two again, just as it had been split for most of the war against the Mahrattas. Stevenson's part of the army would climb to the plateau and make the main a.s.sault on the fortress. That attack would swarm across the narrow neck of land to climb the breaches, but to stop the enemy from throwing all their strength into the defence of the broken wall Wellesley proposed sending two columns of his own men up the steep tracks that led directly to the fortress. Those men would have to approach unbroken walls up slopes too steep to permit artillery to be deployed, and Wellesley knew those columns could never hope to break into Gawilghur. Their job was to spread the defenders thin, and to block off the garrison's escape routes while Colonel Stevenson's men did the b.l.o.o.d.y work.

"You'll have to establish Stevenson's batteries," Wellesley told Stokes.

"Major Blackiston's seen the ground' he indicated his aide 'and he reckons two eighteens and three iron twelves should suffice. Major Blackiston, of course, will give you whatever advice he can."

"No glacis?" Stokes directed the question to Blackiston.

"Not when I was there," Blackiston said, 'though of course they could have made one since. I just saw curtain walls with a few bastions.

Ancient work, by the look of it."

"Fifteenth-century work," Wellesley put in and, when he saw that the two engineers were impressed by his knowledge, he shrugged.

"Syud Sevajee claims as much, anyway."

"Old walls break fastest," Stokes said cheerfully. The two big guns, with the three smaller cannon, would batter the wall head on to crumble the ancient stone that was probably unprotected by a glacis of embanked earth to soak up the force of the bombardment, and the Major had yet to find a fortress wall in India that could resist the strike of an eighteen-pounder shot travelling half a mile every two seconds.

"But you'll want some enfilading fire," he warned Wellesley.

"I'll send you some more twelves," Wellesley promised.

"A battery of twelves and an howitzer," Stokes suggested.

"I'd like to drop some nasties over the wall. There's nothing like an howitzer for spreading gloom."

"I'll send an howitzer," Wellesley promised. The enfilading batteries would fire at an angle through the growing breaches to keep the enemy from making repairs, and the howitzer, which fired high in the air so that its sh.e.l.ls dropped steeply down, could bombard the repair parties behind the fortress ramparts.

"And I want the batteries established quickly," Wellesley said.

"No dallying, Major."

"I'm not a man to dally, Sir Arthur," Stokes said cheerfully. The Major was leading the General and his staff up a particularly steep patch of road where an elephant, supplemented by over sixty sweating sepoys, forced an eighteen-pounder gun up the twisting road. The officers dodged the sepoys, then climbed a knoll from where they could stare across at Gawilghur.

By now they were nearly as high as the stronghold itself and the profile of the twin forts stood clear against the bright sky beyond. It formed a double hump. The narrow neck of land led from the plateau to the first, lower hump on which the Outer Fortress stood. It was that fortress which would receive Stokes's breaching fire, and that fortress which would be a.s.sailed by Stevenson's men, but beyond it the ground dropped into a deep ravine, then climbed steeply to the much larger second hump on which the Inner Fortress with its palace and its lakes and its houses stood. Sir Arthur spent a long time staring through his gla.s.s, but said nothing.

"I'll warrant I can get you into the smaller fortress," Stokes said, 'but how do you cross the central ravine into the main stronghold?"

It was that question that Wellesley had yet to answer in his own mind, and he suspected there was no simple solution. He hoped that the attackers would simply surge across the ravine and flood up the second slope like an irresistible wave that had broken through one barrier and would now overcome everything in its path, but he dared not admit to such impractical optimism. He dared not confess that he was condemning his men to an attack on an Inner Fortress that would have unbreached walls and well-prepared defenders.

"If we can't take it by escalade," he said curtly, collapsing his gla.s.s, 'we'll have to dig breaching batteries in the Outer Fortress and do it the hard way."

In other words, Stokes thought, Sir Arthur had no idea how it was to be done. Only that it must be done. By escalade or by breach, and by G.o.d's mercy, if they were lucky, for once they were into the central ravine the attackers would be in the devil's hands.

It was a hot December day, but Stokes shivered, for he feared for the men who must go up against Gawilghur Captain Torrance had enjoyed a remarkably lucky evening. Jama had still not returned to the camp, and his big green tents with their varied delights stood empty, but there were plenty of other diversions in the British camp. A group of Scottish officers, augmented by a sergeant who played the flute, gave a concert, and though Torrance had no great taste for chamber music he found the melodies were in tune with his jaunty mood. Sharpe was gone, Torrance's debts were paid, he had survived, and he had strolled on from the concert to the cavalry lines where he knew he would find a game of whist. Torrance had succeeded in taking fifty-three guineas from an irascible major and another twelve from a whey-cheeked ensign who kept scratching his groin.

"If you've got the pox," the Major had finally said, 'then get the h.e.l.l to a surgeon."

"It's lice, sir."

"Then for Christ's sake stop wriggling. You're distracting me."

"Scratch on," Torrance had said, laying down a winning hand. He had yawned, scooped up the coins, and bid his partners a good night.

"It's devilish early," the Major had grumbled, wanting a chance to win his money back.

"Duty," Torrance had said vaguely, then he had strolled to the merchant encampment and inspected the women who fanned themselves in the torrid night heat. An hour later, well pleased with himself, he had returned to his quarters. His servant squatted on the porch, but he waved the man away.

Sajit was still at his candle-lit desk, unclogging his pen of the soggy paper sc.r.a.ps that collected on the nib. He stood, touched his inky hands together and bowed as Torrance entered.

"Sahib."

"All well?"

"All is well, sahib. Tomorrow's chitties He pushed a pile of papers across the desk.

"I'm sure they're in order," Torrance said, quite confident that he spoke true. Sajit was proving to be an excellent clerk. He went to the door of his quarters, then turned with a frown.

"Your uncle hasn't come back?"

"Tomorrow, sahib, I'm sure."

"Tell him I'd like a word. But not if he comes tonight. I don't want to be disturbed tonight."

"Of course not, sahib." Sajit offered another bow as Torrance negotiated the door and the muslin screen.

The Captain shot the iron bolt, then chased down the few moths that had managed to get past the muslin. He lit a second lamp, piled the night's winnings on the table, then called for Clare. She came sleepy eyed from the kitchen.

'75.

"Arrack, Brick," Torrance ordered, then peeled off his coat while Clare un stoppered a fresh jar of the fierce spirit. She kept her eyes averted as Torrance stripped himself naked and lay back in his hammock.

"You could light me a hookah, Brick," he suggested, 'then sponge me down. Is there a clean shirt for the morning?"

"Of course, sir."