He peered between two sandbags that formed the forward lip of the trench. The South Cauvery rippled prettily between its flat boulders, the paths across its bed marked with the little white flags on their bamboo sticks. In a moment he would launch men across those paths, then through the gap in the glacis and up that mound of stone, brick, mud and dust. He counted eleven cannonballs stranded on the breach, looking for all the world like plums stuck in a pudding. Three hundred yards of ground to cover, one river to cross, and one plum pudding to climb. He could see men peering from between the city’s battered crenellations. Flags flew there. The bastards would have guns mounted crosswise to the breach and perhaps a mine buried in the rubble. God preserve the Forlorn Hopes, he thought, though God was not usually merciful in such matters. If Colonel Gent was right, and there was a massive mine waiting for the attackers, then the Forlorn Hopes would be slaughtered, and then the main attack would have to assault the breach and climb its shoulders to where the enemy was massed on the outer ramparts. So be it. Too late to worry now.
Baird pushed through the waiting men to find Sergeant Graham. Graham would lead one of the two Forlorn Hopes and, if he lived, would be Lieutenant Graham by nightfall. The Sergeant was scooping a last ladleful of water from one of the barrels that had been placed in the trenches to slake the thirst of the waiting men. ‘Not long now, Sergeant,’ Baird said.
‘Whenever you say, sir.’ Graham poured the water over his bare head, then pulled on his shako. He would go into
the breach with a musket in one hand and a British flag in the other.
‘Whenever the guns give their farewell volley, Sergeant.’ Baird clicked open the watch again and it seemed to him the hands had scarcely moved. ‘In six minutes, I think, if this is accurate.’ He held the watch to his ear. ‘It usually loses a minute or two every day.’
‘We’re ready, sir,’ Graham said.
Tm sure you’re ready,’ Baird said, ‘but wait for my order.’
‘Of course, sir.’
Baird looked at the volunteers, a mix of British and sepoys. They grinned back at him. Rogues, he thought, every last man jack of them, but what splendid rogues, brave as lions. Baird felt a pang of sentimentality for these men, even for the sepoys. Like many soldiers the Scotsman was an emotional man, and he instinctively disliked those men, like Colonel Wellesley, who seemed passionless. Passion, Baird reckoned, was what would take men across the river and up the breach. Damn scientific soldiering now. The science of siege warfare had opened the city, but only a screaming and insane passion would take men inside. ‘God be with you all, boys,’ he said to the Forlorn Hope and they grinned again. Like every man who would cross the river today none of them was encumbered with a pack. They had all stripped off their stocks, too. They carried weapons and cartridges and nothing else, and if they succeeded they would be rewarded with General Harris’s thanks and maybe a pittance of coins.
‘Is there food in the city, sir?’ one of the volunteers asked.
‘Plenty, boys, plenty.’ Baird, like the rest of the army, was on half-rations.
‘And some bibbi, sir?’ another man asked.
Baird rolled his eyes. ‘Running over with it, lads, and all of them just panting for you. The place is fair crammed with bibbi. Even enough for us old generals.’
They laughed. General Harris had given strict orders that
the inhabitants were not to be molested, but Baird knew that the terrible savagery of an assault on a breach almost demanded that the men’s appetites be satisfied afterwards. He did not care. So far as Major General David Baird was concerned the boys could play to their loins’ content so long as they first won.
He edged his way through the crush of men to a point midway between the two Forlorn Hopes. The watch still ticked, but again the minute hand seemed scarcely to have moved since he last looked at the face. Baird closed the lid, pushed the watch into his fob, then peered again at the city. The undamaged parts of the wall glowed white in the sun. It was, with its towers and shining roofs and tall palms, a beautiful place, yet it was there that Baird had spent close to four years as a prisoner of the Tippoo. He hated the place as he hated its ruler. Revenge had been a long time coming, but it was here now.