Flashman Papers 3-Book Collection 2: Flashman and the Mountain of Light, Flash For Freedom!, Flashman and the Redskins. George Fraser MacDonald

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СКАЧАТЬ say on its general staff) was that it was short and to the point.

      I count it from the moment we set out south, the six of us in column of twos, gorracharra to the life in our oddments of mail and plate and eccentric weapons; Gardner had furnished me with two pistols and a sabre, and while I’d have swapped the lot for my old pepperbox, I consoled myself that with luck I’d never need to use them.

      I was in two minds as we cantered down towards Loolianee. On the one hand, I was relieved to elation at leaving the horrors of Lahore behind me; when I thought of that hellish gridiron, and Chaund Cour’s bath, and the ghastly fate of Jawaheer, even the knowledge that I was venturing into the heart of the Khalsa didn’t seem so fearful. A glance at the scowling unshaven thug reflected in Gardner’s pocket mirror had told me that I needn’t fear detection; I might have come straight from Peshawar Valley and no questions asked. And Lal Singh, being up to his arse in treason, would be sure to speed me on my way in quick time; in two days at most I’d be with my own people again – with fresh laurels, too, as the Man Who Brought the News that Saved the Army. If it did save it, that is.

      That was t’other side of the coin, and as we rode into the thick of the invading army, all my old fears came flooding back. We kept clear of the road, which was choked with transport trains, but even on the doab we found ourselves riding through regiment after regiment marching in open order across the great sunbaked plain. Twice, as you know, I’d seen the Khalsa mustered, but it seemed that the half hadn’t been shown unto me: now they covered the land to the horizon, men, wagons, horses, camels, and elephants, churning up the red dust into a great haze that hung overhead in the windless air, making noontide like dusk and filling the eyes and nostrils and lungs. When we came to Kussoor late in the afternoon, it was one great park of artillery, line upon line of massive guns, 32 and 48 pounders – and I thought of our pathetic 12 and 16 pounders and horse artillery, and wondered how much use Lal’s betrayal would be. Well, whatever befell, I’d just have to play my game leg for all it was worth, and keep well clear of the action.

      There’s great debate, by the way, about how large the Khalsa was, and how long it took to cross the Sutlej, but the fact is that even the Sikhs don’t know. I reckoned about a hundred thousand were on the move from Lahore to the river, and I know now that they’d been crossing in strength for days and already had fifty thousand on the south bank, while Gough and Hardinge were trying to scramble their dispersed thirty thousand together. But muster rolls don’t win wars. Concentration does – not only getting there fustest with the mostest, as the chap said, but bringing ’em to bear in the right place. That’s the secret – and if you run into Lars Porsena he’ll be the first to tell you.²⁹

      At the time, I only knew what I could see – camp fires all about us in a vast twinkling sea as we came down by night to the Ferozepore ghat. Even in the small hours they were swarming over the ferry in an endless tide; great burning bales had been set on high poles on either bank, glaring red on the three hundred yards of oily water, and men and guns and beasts and wagons were being poled across on anything that could float – barges and rafts and even rowing boats. There were whole regiments waiting in the dark to take their turn, and the ghat itself was Bedlam, but Ganpat thrust ahead, bawling that we were durbar couriers, and we were given passage in a fisher craft carrying a general and his staff. They ignored us poor gorracharra, and presently we came to the noisy confusion of the southern bank, and made our way by inquiry to the Wazir’s headquarters.

      Ferozepore itself lay a couple of miles or so from the river, with the Sikhs in between, and how far their camp extended up the south bank, God alone knows. They’d been crossing as far up as Hurree-ke, and I suppose they’d made a bridgehead of about thirty miles, but I ain’t certain. As near as I’ve been able to figure, Lal’s headquarters lay about two miles due north of Ferozepore, but it was still dark when we passed through the lines of tent-lanes, all ablaze with torches. Most of his force were gorracharra, like ourselves, and my memory is of fierce bearded faces and steel caps, beasts stamping in the dark, and the steady throb of drums that they kept up all night, doubtless to encourage Littler in his beleaguered outpost two miles away.

      Lal’s quarters were in a pavilion big enough to hold Astley’s circus – it even had smaller tents within it to house him and his retinue of staff and servants and personal bodyguard. These last were tall villains with long chainmail headdresses and ribbons on their muskets; they barred our way until Ganpat announced our business, which caused a great scurry and consultation with chamberlains and butlers. Although it was still the last watch, and the great man was asleep, it was decided to wake him at once, so we didn’t have to wait above an hour before being ushered into his sleeping pavilion, a silken sanctum decked out like a bordello, with Lal sitting up naked in bed while one wench dressed his hair and combed his beard, another sprayed him with perfume, and a third plied him with drink and titbits.

      I’ve never seen a man in such a funk in my life. At our previous meetings he’d been as cool, urbane, and commanding as a handsome young Sikh noble can be; now he was like a virgin with the vapours. He gave me one terrified glance and looked quickly away, his fingers tugging nervously at the bedclothes while the wenches completed his toilet, and when one of them dropped her comb he squealed like a spoiled child, slapped her, and drove them out with shrill curses. Ganpat followed them, and the moment he’d gone Lal was tumbling out of bed, hauling his robe about him and yammering at me in a hoarse whisper.

      “Praise God you are here at last! I thought you would never come! What is to be done?” He was fairly quivering with fright. “I’ve been at my wits’ end for two days – and Tej Singh is no help, the swine! He sits at Arufka, pretending he must supervise the assembly, and leaves me here alone! Everyone is looking to me for orders – what in God’s name am I to say to them?”

      “What have you said already?”

      “Why, that we must wait! What else can I say, man? But we can’t wait forever! They keep telling me that Ferozepore can be plucked like a ripe fruit, if I will but give the word! And how can I answer them? How can I justify delay? I don’t know!” He seized me by the wrist, pleading. “You are a soldier – you can think of reasons! What shall I tell them?”

      I hadn’t reckoned on this. I’d always thought myself God’s own original coward, but this fellow could have given me ten yards in the hundred, and won screaming. Well, Gardner had warned me of that, and also that Lal might have difficulty thinking of reasons for not attacking Ferozepore – but I hadn’t expected to find him at such a complete nonplus as this. The man was on the edge of hysterics, and plainly the first thing to be done was to calm his panic (before it infected me, for one thing) and find out how the land lay. I began by pointing out that I was an invalid – I’d only been able to limp into his presence with the aid of a stick – and that my first need was food, drink, and a doctor to look at my ankle. That took him aback – it always does, when you remind an Oriental of his manners – and his women were summoned to bring refreshments while a little hakim clucked over my swollen joint and said I must keep my bed for a week. What they thought, to see a hairy gorracharra sowar treated with such consideration by their Wazir, I don’t know. Lal fretted up and down, and couldn’t wait to drive them out again, and renew his appeals for guidance.

      By that time I’d got my thoughts into some order, at least as far as his Ferozepore dilemma was concerned. There are always a hundred good reasons for doing nothing, and I’d hit on a couple – but first I must have information. I asked him how many men he had ready to march.

      “At hand, twenty-two thousand cavalry – they are lying a bare mile from Ferozepore, with the enemy lines in full view, I tell you! And Littler Sahib has a bare seven thousand – only one British regiment, and the rest sepoys ready to desert to us! We know this from some who have already come over!” He gulped at his cup, his teeth chattering on the rim. “We could overrun him in an hour! Even a child can see that!”

      “Have СКАЧАТЬ