the plateau. Dry and cooler than on the plain, though it was still
damned hot. Dust devils whirled between the farther tent rows where
muskets were stacked in neat tripods. Some shirt sleeved officers,
presumably from the East India Company battalions, were playing cricket
on a smoother stretch of turf, watched by bemused sepoys and men from
the Scotch Brigade.
“Not their game, sir, is it, sir?” Hakeswill’s voice disturbed
Stokes.
The Major turned.
“Eh?”
“Cricket, sir. Too complicated for blackamoors and Scotchmen, sir, on
account of it being a game that needs brains, sir.”
“Do you play, Sergeant?”
“Me, sir? No, sir. No time for frittering, sir, being as I’m a
soldier back to front, sir.”
“It does a man good to have a pastime,” Stokes said.
“Your Colonel, now, he plays the violin.”
“Sir Arthur does, sir?” Hakeswill said, plainly not believing
Stokes.
“He’s never done it near me, sir.”
“I assure you he does,” Stokes said. He was irritated by Hakeswill’s
presence. He disliked the man intensely, even though Hakeswill had
spent only a short time as Sharpe’s substitute.
“So what is it, Sergeant?”
Hakeswill’s face twitched.
“Come to be of use to you, sir.”
The reply puzzled Stokes.
“I thought you’d been returned to company duties?”
“That I am, sir, and not before time. But I was thinking of poor
Sharpie, sir, as you tell me he languishes in the heathens’ jail, sir,
which I did not know, sir, until you told me.”
Stokes shrugged.
“He’s probably being fairly treated. The Mahrattas aren’t renowned for
being unduly cruel to prisoners.”
“I was wondering if he left his pack with you, sir?”
“Why would he do that?” Stokes asked.
“I was just wondering, sir. Officers don’t like carrying their baggage
everywhere, sir, not if they want to keep their dignity, and if he did
leave his pack with you, sir, then I thought as how we might relieve
you of the responsibility, sir, seeing as how Mister Sharpe was a
comrade of ours for so long. That’s what I was thinking, sir.”
Stokes bridled, but was not certain why.
“It isn’t a heavy responsibility, Sergeant.”
“Never thought it was, sir, but it might be a nuisance to you, sir,
seeing as how you’re charged with other duties, and I would relieve you
of the responsibility, sir.”
Stokes shook his head.
“As it happens, Sergeant, Mister Sharpe did leave his pack with me, and
I promised him I would keep it safe, and I’m not a man to break
promises, Sergeant. I shall keep it.”
“As you chooses, sir!” Hakeswill said sourly.
“Just thought it was a Christian act, sir.” He turned and marched
away. Stokes watched him, then shook his head and turned back to gaze
at the growing encampment.
Tonight, he thought, tonight we shall make the batteries, and tomorrow
the big guns will be hauled forward. Another day to fill the magazines
with powder and shot and then the stone-breaking could begin. Two days
of battering, of dust and rubble and smoke, and then the cricketers
could lead the charge across the isthmus. Poor men, Stokes thought,
poor men.
“I hate night actions,” Captain Morris complained to Hakeswill.
“Because of Serry-apatam, sir? A right dog’s mess, that was.” The
battalion had attacked a wood outside Seringapatam by night and the
companies had become separated, some became lost, and the enemy had
punished them.
Morris attached his scabbard to its slings and pulled his hat on. It
was dark outside, and soon the oxen would drag the gab ions forward to
the position Stokes had chosen for the breaching batteries. It would
be a prime moment for the enemy to sally out of the fortress, so Morris
and his company must form a picquet line ahead of the proposed
batteries.
They must watch the fortress and, if an attack was made, they must
resist it, then slowly fall back, protecting the sappers until the
reserve troops, a battalion of sepoys, could be brought forward from
the plateau. With any luck, Morris fervently hoped, the enemy would
stay in bed.
“Evening, Morris!” Major Stokes was indecently cheerful.
“Your lads are ready?”
“They are, sir.”
Stokes led Morris a few yards from his tent and stared towards the