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 lat when he leasts expects ’em and his own men are so fagged they’ll be marching on their chinstraps! Tej Singh will back you up, if you prime him first –”

      “But suppose … suppose we beat the Jangi lat – he has only ten thousand, and as you say, they will be tired –”

      “Tired or not, they’ll tear your gorracharra to pieces if the odds ain’t too heavy! And I doubt if Gough’s as weak as you think. Good God, man, he’s got another twenty thousand somewhere between Ludhiana and Umballa – he ain’t going to send ’em on furlough, you know! And the Khalsa will be in three parts, don’t you see? Well, none of those three parts is going to be a match for Paddy Gough’s boys, let me tell you!”

      I believed it, too, and if I wasn’t altogether right it was because I lacked experience. I was trusting to the old maxim that one British soldier is worth any two niggers any day. It’s a fair rule of thumb, mind you, but I can look back now on my military career and count four exceptions who always gave Atkins a damned good run for his money. Three of them were Zulu, John Gurkha, and Fuzzy-wuzzy. I wasn’t to know, then, that the fourth one was the Sikh.

      It took me another hour of explanation and argument to convince Lal that my scheme was his only hope of getting his army properly leathered. It was hard sledding, for he was the kind of coward who’s too far gone even to clutch at straws – not my kind of funk at all. In the end I gave him Jeendan’s recipe to Jawaheer, which you’ll recall was to rattle a wench to put him in fighting trim, but whether Lal took it or not I can’t say, for I caulked out in an alcove of his pavilion, and didn’t wake until noon. By that time Tej Singh had arrived, still fat as butter and quite as reliable, to judge from the furtive enthusiasm with which he greeted me. But while he was every bit as windy as Lal, he was a sight smarter, and once the Flashman Plan had been expounded he hailed it as a masterpiece; let my directions be followed and Gough would have the Khalsa looking like a Frenchman’s knapsack in no time, was Tej’s view. I guessed that what really commended my scheme to him was that he’d be well away from the firing, but he showed a good grasp of the details, and had some sound notions of his own: one, I remember, was that he would take care to keep his guarding force on the north and west of Ferozepore, so that Littler would be able to slip away and join Gough without hindrance if he wanted to. That, as you’ll see, proved to be of prime importance, so I reckon Tej earned himself a Ferozeshah medal for that alone, if everyone had his due.

      You must imagine our conference being carried on in lowered voices in Lal’s sleeping quarters, and a bonny trio we were. Our gallant Wazir, when he wasn’t peeping out to make sure there were no eavesdroppers, was brisking himself up with copious pinches of Peshawar snuff which I suspect contained something a sight more stimulating than powdered tobacco; he seemed to take heart from the confidence of Tej Singh, who paced the apartment like Napoleon at Marengo, heaving his guts before him and tripping over his sabre while describing to me, in a gloating whisper, how the Khalsa would flee in disorder at the first setback; I lay nursing my ankle, trying to forget my own perilous situation and praying that Lal Singh could browbeat his staff into obedience before the effect of the snuff wore off. I wonder if there was ever such a conspiracy in the history of war: two generals intent on scuppering their own army, confabulating sotto voce with an agent from the enemy, while their commanders waited impatiently outside for the word that (with luck) would send them marching to ruin? You would think not, but knowing human nature and the military mind, I’d not wager on it.

      I stayed hidden when Lal and Tej went out in the afternoon to announce their intentions to the divisional commanders. Lal was brave in silver armour, with a desperate glitter in his eye – half fear, half hashish, I would guess – and they held their conference on horseback, with Ferozepore in view. Tej told me later that the Wazir was in capital form, lining out my plan like a drill sergeant and snarling down any hint of opposition, of which there was less than I’d feared. The fact was, you see, that the strategy looked sound enough, but what impressed them most, apparently, was Lal’s refusal to engage any commander except Gough himself. That argued pride and confidence, and they cheered him to the echo, and couldn’t wait to get under way. The gorracharra were riding east before dusk, and Tej, by his own account, made a great meal of sending orders to mobilise his foot and guns, with gallopers riding in all directions, bugles blowing, and the Commander-in-Chief finally retiring to Lal’s tent, having issued orders which with luck would take days to untangle.

      The final scene of the comedy took place that night before I rode out. Lal was keen that I should make straight for Gough, to let him know what good boys Lal and Tej were being, offering up the Khalsa for destruction, but I wasn’t having that. Gough might be anywhere over the eastern horizon, and I had no intention of hunting him through country which by now was swarming with gorracharra; far better, I said, if I rode the couple of miles to Ferozepore, where Littler would see that Gough got the glad news in good time (and Flashy could take a well-earned repose). Tej agreed, and said I should go under a flag of truce, ostensibly carrying the Wazir’s final demand to Littler to surrender. Lal boggled at that, but Tej grew excited, pointing out the risk if I tried to sneak into Littler’s lines unobserved.

      “Suppose he were shot by a sentry?” squeaks he, waving his podgy hands. “Then the Jangi lat would never know of our good will to him, or the plans we have made for the destruction of these Khalsa swine! And our dear friend” – that was me – “would have died in vain! It is not to be thought of!” I found myself liking Tej Singh’s style better by the minute.

      “But will the colonels not suspect treason, if they see a courier sent to Littler Sahib?” cries Lal. The puggle had worn off by now, and he was lying exhausted on his silken bed, fretting himself witless.

      “They will not even know!” cries Tej. “And only think – once our dear bahadur has spoken with Littler Sahib, our credit with the Sirkar is assured! Whatever may happen, our friendship will have been made plain!”

      That was the great thing with him – to stand well with Simla, whatever happened to the Khalsa. He even proposed that I carry a written message, expressing Lal’s undying devotion to the Sirkar; it would be so much more convincing than mere word of mouth. This so horrified Lal that he almost hid under the sheets.

      “A written message? Are you mad? What if it went astray? Am I to sign my own death-warrant?” He flung about in a passion. “You write it, then! You announce your treason, over your signature! Why not, you’re Commander-in-Chief, you fat tub of dung –”

      “You are Wazir!” retorts Tej. “This is a high political affair, and what am I but a soldier?” He shrugged complacently. “You need say nothing of military matters; a mere expression of friendship will suffice.”

      Lal said he’d see him damned first, and they snarled and whined, with Lal weeping and tearing the bedclothes. Finally he gave in, and penned the following remarkable note to Nicolson, the political: “I have crossed with the Khalsa. You know my friendship for the British. Tell me what to do.”³⁰ He bilked at signing, though, and after more shrill bickering Tej turned to me.

      “It will have to do. Tell Nicolson Sahib it is from the Wazir!”

“From both of us, you greasy bastard!” yelps Lal. “Make that clear, Flashman bahadur! Both of us! And tell them, in God’s name, that we and the bibi sahiba^a are their loyal friends, and that we beg them to cut up these badmashes and burchas^b of the Khalsa, and free us all from this evil! Tell them that!”

      So it was that in the small hours a gorracharra rider with a game leg and a white flag on his lance rode out of the Khalsa lines and down to Ferozepore, leaving behind two Sikh generals, one fat and frightened and t’other having hysterics with a pillow over his face, both conscious of duty well done, I don’t doubt. As for me, I went half a mile and sat СКАЧАТЬ