Nizams Daughters mh-2 Read online

  Nizams Daughters

  ( Matthew Hervey - 2 )

  Allan Mallinson

  ALLAN MALLINSON. THE NIZAM’S DAUGHTERS

  To

  the dwindling but gallant band of members of

  The Indian Cavalry Officers’ Association,

  who truly cared about India and their sowars,

  this book is with admiration dedicated.

  FOREWORD

  The Nizam’s Daughters is a work of fiction: the princely state of Chintal never existed. However, the story is firmly rooted in what was happening in India just after Waterloo in the build-up to the third Maratha war. And Chintal (even with its singular rajah) is, I would maintain, not untypical of the minor princely states whose precarious existence depended increasingly on the Honourable East India Company. They were states where young Englishmen like Hervey — as soldiers, administrators or tutors to the royal household — often had disproportion-ate influence.

  India had its own military language, of course, and in this story I use some of that language, though in a way, I trust, that will not bar understanding if the words are unfamiliar. But just a few words of explanation of the different terms used by the Honourable East India Company’s army — and others — may be of help. The list is by no means exhaustive, and it must be remembered that terms (and spelling) varied between the Company’s three ‘presidencies’ (Bengal, Madras, Bombay), and were in unofficial use long before being formalized:

  Sowar — cavalryman of the lowest rank

  Sepoy (sipahi) — infantryman of the lowest rank

  Jemadar — junior officer (second lieutenant/lieutenant), infantry or cavalry

  Subedar — next senior officer (lieutenant/captain), infantry

  Rissaldar — next senior officer (lieutenant/captain), cavalry

  Subedar-major — most senior officer (major), infantry

  Russaldar-major — most senior officer (major), cavalry

  Daffadar — serjeant, cavalry

  Lance-daffadar — corporal, cavalry

  Havildar — serjeant, infantry

  Naik — corporal, infantry

  Khansamah — butler

  Khitmagar — servant (waiter)

  Bhisti — water-bearer/sprinkler

  Syce — grass-cutter

  Ryot — peasant

  Rissalah — a body of cavalry, one-or two-hundred strong

  Jingal — gun mounted on and fired from a horse or elephant

  ON LIVING INDIA

  I know that all classes of the people look up to me and it will be difficult for another officer to take my place. I know also that my presence would be useful in the settlement of many points… But these circumstances are not momentary… very possibly the same state of affairs which now renders my presence desirable will exist for the next seven years… I have considered whether in the situation of affairs in India at present, my arrival in England is not a desirable object. Is it not necessary to take some steps to explain the causes of the late increase in military establishment, and to endeavour to explode some erroneous notions which have been entertained and circulated on this subject… I conceive there-fore that in determining not to go into the Deccan, and to sail by the first opportunity for England, I consult the public interest not less than I do my own private convenience and wishes.

  Major-General Sir Arthur Wellesley, to his brother,

  the Governor-General, January 1805

  ON THE POLICY OF NON-INTERVENTION IN THE AFFAIRS OF THE COUNTRY POWERS

  I entreat the Directors to consider whether it was expedient to observe a strict neutrality amidst these scenes of disorder and outrage, or to listen to the voice of suffering humanity and interfere for the protection of the weak and defenceless states who implored our assistance against the ravages of the Pindarees and the Patans.

  Lord Minto, Governor-General of India,

  to the Court of Directors of the Honourable East

  India Company, 1812

  I. THE AIDE-DE-CAMP

  The Embassy of His Britannic Majesty

  to the Court of the Tuileries, Paris, 13 August 1815

  Captain Matthew Hervey had put on his best uniform. It was only the second time he had worn it. He was not even sure he should be in levee dress, for his orders to report to the Duke of Wellington’s headquarters had not been concerned with trifles. Yet dress, to a cavalry-man in his situation, could hardly be a matter of indifference, and so he had followed the regiment’s maxim that no senior officer could be affronted by seeing an excess of uniform, even if he were bemused by it. The newest captain of the 6th Light Dragoons was therefore waiting in an ante-room, with dress sabre-tache and mameluke hanging long from his girdle, and tasselled cocked hat, with its ostrich feathers, under his arm, in some degree of apprehensiveness. He wore no aiglets, however. He had bought two pair in London on learning that he was to be promoted and appointed to the duke’s staff, but he did not yet presume to wear those coveted insignia of an aide-de-camp. Indeed, his astonishment at his preferment was scarcely less than when first he had comprehended it only two days ago at the Horse Guards.

  Lying full across the open doorway of the ante-room was a springing spaniel, old and ill-smelling, sound asleep and snoring with perfect regularity and constant pitch. It had not been in the least disturbed when the Staff Corps corporal had shown the new ADC into the room a quarter of an hour before, when both had had to step long over the outstretched animal to avoid entanglement of spur and coat, and Hervey, waiting in the otherwise silent embassy, pleased to find some distraction which might help keep his mind from disquiet, was now timing the length and interval of these snuffling crescendos and decrescendos by the ticking of the clock on the chimney piece. There were five seconds for the inspiration, three for the equipoise and four to complete exhalation — then a further five, where all life seemed suspended, before the sequence was repeated da capo. He had counted a dozen of these recitals before seeming suddenly to realize what he was doing. He glanced about anxiously to see if anyone were there, then snapped back to the full attentiveness appropriate for an officer awaiting interview with the commander-in-chief of the allied armies in France.

  Outside, the Sunday bells, which had drowned even the sound of hooves on the pavé as he had driven to the Rue Faubourg-Saint-Honoré, had been silent for some time now, and he was relieved that he might thereby be able to hear the duke’s remarks, when they came, with absolute clarity. He was in no doubt of the singularity of his position. He was certain that in the whole of the army there could not be an officer below field rank who would not envy him it. Another quarter of an hour passed, the keen anticipation of the honour to come increasing with every minute. Shortly after eleven-thirty a minor commotion in the ante-hall alerted him to the duke’s return from his daily ride, though it did not disturb the recumbent spaniel. He snapped his whole body to attention, as well as his wits. And then the field marshal was there, at the doorway, looking directly at him. Hervey stepped forward sharply, halting three paces from him, the spaniel occupying all that remained, and bowed his head briskly. The duke made no bow in return, neither did he extend his hand, saying instead simply, ‘Captain Hervey, I am glad you are come. Colonel Grant has need of you. He will be along presently. It will be deuced tricky work, but I should not ask it if I thought it beyond you. Good day then, sir.’

  As the duke turned, Hervey saw the young woman in riding dress close by him. She cast a brief backward glance as the duke said something to her, and then she smiled wide and adoringly at the great man as they retired to his quarters. The spaniel woke suddenly and looked up at Hervey with a puzzled expression before breaking wind at considerable length. Hervey sighed as long, and smiled. How the glamoury of aiglets could
be so rudely abraded! And how trifling did the appointment of aide-de-camp seem to the great man himself. ‘Deuced tricky work’ — Hervey had never doubted it would be. He had no experience of staff work; neither did he possess the skills of the courtier, which seemed more necessary now than did any military prowess. But he could read and write French and German and converse in both with perfect fluency. If the duke had confidence in him, then why should not he himself? In any event, he had a shorter time to wait than he expected to find out how tricky was the work, for the corporal returned to announce that Colonel Grant would see him at once. Not the best of news, sighed Hervey, for when he had first met the duke’s chief of intelligence, a month ago, it had not been an especially cordial affair. Indeed, Grant had been decidedly livery.

  Lieutenant-Colonel Colquhoun Grant of the 11th Foot (North Devon), ‘Grant el Bueno’ as the Spanish guerrillas had called him (to distinguish him from ‘Grant the Bad’), was an officer who had spent more time on active service behind the enemy’s lines than before them. He was impatient of formality, and this had, no doubt, been at the root of his abruptness at their first meeting. This morning, however, although he was brisk he was perfectly civil. Hervey might have appreciated the offer of coffee, but the absence of hospitality was not going to stand in the way of regard for the man whom many believed to be the duke’s most trusted adviser.

  ‘Sit down if you please, Captain Hervey,’ said Grant, indicating the largest gilded chair Hervey had ever seen, which made him feel that his levee dress was not so out of place after all. ‘I shall come at once to the point, sir: do you know anything of India?’

  How might he begin to answer such a question? He had read and heard as much as any man in his position might, but he did not expect that it would amount to much for what must be Colonel Grant’s purposes. ‘A very little, sir — Clive and his campaigns for the most part,’ he replied frankly, racking his brains to think what could be the duke’s interest in India.

  ‘You know, of course, of the Duke of Wellington’s service in those lands — of his signal success in the Maratha war a decade ago?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ smiled Hervey: he had read accounts, of Assaye especially.

  ‘Well, the duke expects to be appointed governor-general in Calcutta when his duties at the Congress in Vienna are concluded.’

  Hervey was not altogether surprised, for the duke’s elder brother had occupied that office at the time of the Maratha war.

  ‘Just so, Captain Hervey, and it has been the reversal of Lord Wellesley’s policies these past ten years that has brought about the enfeeblement of the British interest in Hindoostan today.’ Colonel Grant paused before resuming, seeming to want to plant some notion in Hervey’s mind. ‘It is highly probable,’ he continued portentously, ‘that the Board of Control will soon relieve Lord Moira of his office and press the duke to accept it.’

  ‘And shall he?’ asked Hervey, unsure of the honour that such an office held for a man who was now, without dispute, the first soldier of Europe.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Grant emphatically, and then, a little less so, added that the duke would first wish to be assured of certain preconditions. ‘But I have no doubt that all these may be accommodated, and so we proceed on the assumption that the duke shall relieve Lord Moira in the new year.’

  Hervey was uncertain, now, of his own tenure of appointment. ‘Shall the duke want me with his staff in India, sir?’

  ‘Indeed he will, Hervey; indeed he will. So much so that he wishes you to proceed there in advance of him. What say you to that?’

  What might any officer say? India — the place that had made the young Arthur Wellesley’s reputation! He supposed he would soon tire of Paris in any case, for garrison duties were always irksome, even in aiglets. He presumed he would be given leave in a month or so to return to England to marry Henrietta, and they would have the best of the autumn together in this fair city before balmy days cruising in a comfortable East Indiaman. He would be some distance from his beloved regiment but… ‘I am all eagerness, sir, for I never supposed I should see Hindoostan. I imagine that the duke wishes me to arrange for his arrival in due course — is that so?’

  ‘In a manner of speaking,’ replied Grant, glancing down again at the papers on his desk, seemingly unwilling to answer the question direct. ‘Tell me, Hervey — what do you know of the country powers in India?’

  ‘That they are very largely at odds with each other, and at various times with the East India Company too. Beyond that I have no especial knowledge.’

  ‘Have you heard, say, of the kingdom of Haidarabad?’

  ‘Of course, sir: the nizam, as I understand it, rendered the duke considerable service in the war against the Marathas.’

  ‘Just so, Hervey; just so,’ nodded Grant approvingly:

  ‘—our faithful ally.’

  There was another period of silence, during which Hervey wondered if he were to be given any more tests of his scant knowledge of the subcontinent.

  ‘The point is,’ said Grant at length, seeming to search carefully for his words, ‘India is far from being in the condition now that it was when the duke and the Marquess Wellesley, his brother, left there ten years ago. There has been fearful mismanagement. Cornwallis, Lord Wellesley’s successor as governor-general, died within months of getting to Calcutta. His successor, Sir George Barlow, was nothing short of a booby, and thereafter it was Lord Minto — and he would do nothing that might result in any additional cost to the directors of the company. The Earl of Moira, who has been in Bengal for the best part of two years now, is, it seems too, a man in the same mould.’

  ‘And so the duke is chary of what he might find there,’ suggested Hervey.

  ‘Yes indeed. And he is firmly of the opinion that the predisposition of the nizam towards us is of the essence. And, too, the condition of his army. Our agents report variously on this latter.’

  Our agents — Hervey could not but be impressed by the duke’s interest and reach.

  ‘Which is where, Captain Hervey, your immediate duties in respect of your appointment will lie.’ Grant was emphatic but still a shade elusive.

  Hervey’s look conveyed both keenness and curiosity.

  ‘To put it baldly, Hervey, I wish you to go to Haidarabad and to make an assessment of the service-ableness of the nizam’s forces, paying especial attention to his cavalry and artillery. And if you are able to gauge anything of the nizam’s feelings towards us then such might be of inestimable value to the duke.’

  If Matthew Hervey had had a moment’s disappointment when, earlier, the duke had seemed dismissive, his self-esteem was now wholly restored, and with interest, for here was a mission of substance, a pivot on which the duke’s entire policy in India might turn — and entrusted to him, a captain of but a few days. Heavens but there were rewards for Waterloo! He felt his cheeks aglow. He could hear his heart beating. He had a sense of floating, even. He began imagining how, with Henrietta, he might tour the kingdom of the nizam. They would see sights of which they would never dream — perhaps riding with the nizam’s cavalry, and hunting all manner of beasts.

  Grant called him back to the present. ‘There must be great circumspection in this mission, Captain Hervey,’ he added; ‘it would not do for the nizam to believe that the duke had sent a spy. You will thereby travel to Haidarabad on a pretext.’

  Hervey nodded. It need not dull any of the thrill. ‘Is that pretext decided, sir?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Grant firmly. ‘The nizam’s cavalry are renowned for their skill with the lance. The duke has already set in train certain measures to form lancer regiments in our own army, consequent on witnessing the great effectiveness of the French lancers at Waterloo.’

  Hervey winced at his own memory of that weapon’s effectiveness. He was pleased to hear that it was at last to be put in the army’s hands.

  ‘And you will therefore be engaged in an ostensible study of the employment of that weapon,’ continued Grant. ‘Here is a l
etter of introduction to the nizam, conveying the duke’s respect, and so forth, and here is another to the authorities in Calcutta requesting them to make all arrangements for you to travel to Haidarabad. When you arrive in Calcutta you will make contact with a Mr Josephus Bazzard, a writer at Fort William — headquarters of the Honourable East India Company on that continent, as you may know. He is our agent there and he alone knows of this mission. He will render you any additional assistance necessary.’

  An uncomfortable thought now occurred to him. There was a certain immediacy in the tone of Colonel Grant’s instructions. ‘When would the duke wish me to leave for India, sir?’ he asked, but with as little concern as he could manage.

  ‘Not quite at once, Captain Hervey, but within the next day or so. The frigate which conveyed you here will at this moment be dropping anchor at Le Havre with instructions to await your rejoining her.’

  Much of the colour drained from his face.

  ‘Does that present you with difficulties?’ enquired Grant sceptically.

  ‘I am to be married, sir.’

  ‘I see. Do I take it that you therefore wish to decline this assignment?’

  If only he might have a fortnight — ten days, even. Something might be arranged…

  ‘I am afraid that is not possible, Captain Hervey. This enterprise is already some weeks past due. There was some misunderstanding at the Horse Guards about your appointment to the duke’s staff, was there not?’

  Hervey would have wished not to be reminded of that unhappy business, and Grant was insinuating that his predicament was of his own making. What could he say?

  ‘Very well then, you will leave tomorrow on the frigate Nisus,’ said Grant briskly but airily: it saved him the distaste of issuing a direct order. ‘Now, there is one more thing, Captain Hervey.’