Everything hinged on their meeting at Borkardan.
Most of the men had little idea of what waited for them. They sensed the sudden urgency and guessed it presaged battle, but though the rumours spoke of the enemy as a numberless horde, they marched confidently. They grumbled, of course, for all soldiers grumble. They complained about being hungry, they swore at being made to tramp through the cavalry’s manure, and they cursed the oppressive heat that seemed scarcely alleviated by marching at night. Each march finished by midday when the men would rig their tents and sprawl in the shade while the picquets set guards, the cavalry watered horses and the commissary butchered bullocks to provide ration meat.
The cavalry were the busiest men. Their job was to ride ahead and to the flanks of the army to drive any enemy scouts far away so that Scindia would not know that the two red-coated armies marched to trap him, but each morning, as the eastern horizon turned grey, then flushed with pink, then glowed gold and red before finally exploding into light, the patrols searched in vain for any enemies. The Mahratta horse seemed to be staying home, and some of the cavalry officers feared that their enemy might have slipped away again.
As they were nearing Naulniah which would be Wellesley’s last resting place before he marched through the night to Borkardan, the General called his patrols closer to the army, ordering them to ride just a mile or two in front of his column. If the enemy was asleep, he explained to his aides, then it was best to do nothing to wake him. It was Sunday, and if the enemy was still engaged in its durbar, then the next day would bring battle. One day to let fears harass hope, though Wellesley’s aides seemed careless enough as they marched the last few miles to Naulniah. Major John Blackiston, an engineer on Wellesley’s staff, was needling Captain Campbell by saying that the Scots had no harvest to speak of.
“Oats alone, isn’t that it, Captain?”
“You’ve not seen barley, Major, till you’ve been to Scotland,” Campbell declared.
“You could hide a regiment in a field of Scottish barley.”
“Can’t think why you’d want to do such a thing, but doubtless you have your reasons. But as I understand it, Campbell, you heathen Scots have no order of service to give thanks to God for a harvest?”
“You’ve not heard of the kirn, Major? The mell feast?”
“Kirn?”
“Harvest-home, you call it, when you scavenge those few weeds in England, then beg us generous Scots to send you food. Which we do, being Christian folk who take pity on those less fortunate than ourselves.
And talking of the less fortunate, Major, here’s the sick list.” Campbell handed Blackiston a piece of paper on which was tallied the number of men from each regiment who were too sick to march. Those men were now being carried on the ox carts of the baggage train and, routinely, those who were unlikely to recover quickly were sent southwards on returning convoys, but Blackiston knew the General would not want to detach any cavalry to protect a convoy just before a battle.
“Tell Sears the sick can all wait in Naulniah,” Blackiston ordered, ‘and warn Captain Mackay to have at least a score of empty wagons ready.”
He did not specify why Mackay should prepare empty wagons, but nor did he need to do so. The wagons would carry the men wounded in battle, and Blackiston fervently prayed that no more than a score of ox carts would be needed.
Captain Mackay had anticipated the need for empty wagons and had already put chalk marks on those whose burdens were light and could be transferred to other carts. Once at Naulniah he would have the cargoes rearranged, and he sought out Sergeant Hakeswill to supervise the business, but Obadiah Hakeswill had other plans.
“My criminal’s back with the army, sir.”
“And you haven’t arrested him already?” Mackay asked in surprise.
“Can’t march a man in irons, sir, not at this pace. But if you’re establishing a camp, sir, at Naulniah, sir, I can hold my prisoner under guard like my duties say I should.”