Читать книгу Flashman Papers 3-Book Collection 4: Flashman and the Dragon, Flashman on the March, Flashman and the Tiger - George Fraser MacDonald - Страница 18

The great Taku Forts went down on the 21st, as advertised, to the astonishment of the Manchoos, who thought them impregnable, and the chagrin of the Frogs, who had violently opposed Grant’s plan of attack. They wanted to assail the forts on both sides of the river; Grant said no, settle the Great North Fort and the job’s done. Montauban squawked and hooted, saying it was an affront to military science, but Grant just shook his head: “North fort goes, rest’ll submit. You’ll see. Bonjour,” and carried on, humming bull-fiddle tunes. His force might be unwieldy, as Elgin said, but it was damned expert: he built two miles of road to the approaches, had volunteers swimming the river by night to mine the defences, hammered the place with siege guns and a naval bombardment, and sent in the infantry with pontoons and ladders to carry the walls – and sure enough, the infuriated Crapauds made sure they got in first.

Your correspondent bore no part beyond loafing up, when the Chinese guns had been safely silenced, to offer cheer and comfort to Major Temple before the final assault. A week ago he’d been damning his coolies for useless, but now he was in a desperate fret for their welfare – they were to carry in the scaling ladders in the teeth of cannon, jingal-fire, spears, stinkpots and whatever else the Manchoos were hurling from the walls, and Temple, the ass, was determined to go in with them. I found him croaking under his brolly, waiting for the word, but for once his complaint wasn’t a military one.

“These bloody magistrates!” cries he. “Have you seen the China Mail? Heenan’s been held to bail at Derby, an’ he an’ Sayers are to be charged with assault! Damned nonsense! Why can’t they leave sport alone?²⁷ Ahah!” he roars, waving to the Frog colonel. “Ready, are we? Sortons, is that it? Come on, you chaps! China forever!” And he was away, bounding over the ditches, with his yellow mob at his heels and the Frog infantry in full cry, bursting with la gloire. They had warm work crossing the moats and canals, but they and our own 44th and 67th carried the walls with the bayonet – and as Grant had said, out came the white silk flags on the other forts. Four hundred Manchoos were killed out of five hundred; we lost about 30, and ten times as many wounded. The coolies behaved famously, Temple said.

Parkes and Loch and I were in the party sent across the river to arrange terms with Hang-Fu, the local mandarin, a leery ancient with the opium shakes who received us in a garden, sitting on a chair of state with a mighty block of ice underneath to keep him cool, and his minions carrying his spectacles and chopsticks and silver watch in embroidered cases. He served us champagne, but when Parkes demanded a signed surrender the old fox said he daren’t, not being military, and Prince Sang had already left up-river.

Parkes then came all over diplomatic, promising to blow the forts to kingdom come, at which Hang-Fu said, well, the Emperor would be graciously pleased to give us temporary occupation of them (which we already had) and we could take our gunboats up to Tientsin. Parkes almost had to take him by the throat to get it in writing, and then we ploughed back to the boat in the dark, past the huge gloomy fort-buildings, with slow-fuse mines which the Chinks had thoughtfully left behind exploding here and there. (Another trick was to bury cocked gun-locks with bags of powder, for the unwary to tread on; subtle, eh? – and yet some of their fort guns were wooden dummies.) I was never so glad to get back to a boat in my life.

So now the way was clear, and with the gunboats leading the way up the twisty moonlit river, it began: the famous march on Pekin, the last great stronghold on earth that had never seen a white soldier, the Forbidden City of the oldest of civilisations, the capital of the world, to the Chinese, having dominion over all mankind. And now the foreign devils were coming, the whining pipes echoing out across the sodden plain, the jaunty little poilus with their kepis tilted, stepping it out, the jingling troopers of Fane’s and Probyn’s with the sun a-twinkle on their lance-heads, the Buffs swinging by to the odd little march that Handel wrote for them (so Grant told me)²⁸, the artillery limbers churning up the mud, the Hampshire yokels and Lothian ploughboys, the Sikhs and Mahrattas and Punjabis, McCleverty bare to the waist in the prow of his gunboat, Wolseley halting his pony to sketch a group of coolies, Napier riding silent, shading his eyes ahead, Elgin sitting under the awning of Coromandel fanning himself with his hat and reading The Origin of Species, Montauban careering up and down the columns with great dash, chattering to his staff, Grant standing by the roadside, tugging his grizzled whiskers and touching his cap to the troops who cheered him as they marched by. Fifteen thousand horse, foot and guns rolling up the Peiho, not to fight or to hold or to conquer, but just so that the Big Barbarian could stand before the Son of Heaven and watch him put his mark on paper. “And when he does,” says Elgin, “the ends of the earth will have met at last, and there will be no more savage kings for our people to subdue. We’ve come a long way from our northern forests; I wonder if we were wise.”

The Chinese evidently thought not, for having given us fawning assurance of free passage and no resistance, they hampered us every yard to Tientsin. Transport and beasts had vanished from the country, the local officials used every excuse to delay us, and to make things worse the weather was at extremes of broiling heat and choking dust or deluges of rain and axle-deep mud²⁹. Fortunately the Manchoos hadn’t had the wit to break bridges or block channels, and the peasantry, with a fine disregard for Imperial policy, were perfectly ready to repair our road and sell us beef and mutton, fruit, vegetables and ice at twenty times their proper price. Snug on Coromandel, I could endure our leisurely progress, but Parkes was plumb in the path of all the Manchoos’ growing insolence and deceit, and I could see his official smile getting tighter by the hour.

“At this rate we may reach Pekin by Christmas. The more we submit to their lies and hindrance, the less they respect us.” He was at the rail, glaring coldly at the glittering salt-heaps that lined the banks below Tientsin. “In ’58, after we shelled Canton, the river banks were black with Chinese – kow-towing. You will observe, Sir Harry, that they do not kow-tow today. Much as I admire our chief, I cannot share his recently-expressed satisfaction that in these enlightened times we no longer require every Chinaman to take off his hat to us.”

But even Elgin’s patience was beginning to wear thin. Somehow he preserved a placid politeness through every meeting with Manchoo officials who barely concealed their satisfaction in wasting time and frustrating our progress, but afterwards he’d be in a fever to get on, snapping at us, tugging his fringe, urging Grant and Montauban with an energy that stopped just short of rudeness; Montauban would bridle and Grant would nod, and then we staff-men would get pepper again. He was bedevilled, trying to keep the Chinks sweet and the advance moving, fearful of provoking downright hostility, but knowing that every hour lost was time for the war party in Pekin to get their nerve back after Taku; we knew Sang-kol-in-sen was back in the capital, urging resistance, and Elgin in his impatience was being tempted by a new Manchoo ploy – speedy passage to Pekin in return for a promise of active British help against the Taipings, which he daren’t concede or bluntly refuse.³⁰

It took us ten crawling days to cover sixty miles to Tientsin, a stink-hole of salt-heaps and pi-dogs – and smiling Manchoo mandarins sent by Pekin to “negotiate” our further progress. They talked for a full week, while Parkes risked apoplexy – and Elgin nodded gravely, with his lip stuck out. Finally, after interminable discussion, they agreed that we might advance to Tang-chao, eleven miles from Pekin – provided we didn’t take artillery or too many gunboats to alarm the people – and from there Elgin and Baron Gros might go into Pekin with a thousand cavalry for escort, and sign the damned treaty. It seemed too good to be true – although Grant looked grim at the smallness of the escort – but Elgin accepted, hiding his satisfaction. And then the mandarins, smiling more politely than ever, said of course they couldn’t confirm these arrangements, but doubtless Pekin would do so if we were patient a little longer …

If Bismarck or D’Israeli or Metternich had had to sit through those interminable hours, listening to those bland, lying old dotards, and then received that slap in the face, I swear they’d have started to scream and smash the furniture. Elgin didn’t even blink. He listened to Parkes’s near-choked translation of that astounding insolence, thanked the mandarins for their courtesy, stood up, bowed – and told Parkes, almost offhand, to pass ’em the word that they now owed Britain four million quid for delays and damage to our expedition. Oh, aye, and the treaty would now contain a clause opening Tientsin to European trade.

Back on Coromandel he was grimly satisfied. “Their bad faith affords the perfect excuse for proceeding to Pekin forthwith. Sir Hope, the army will no longer halt when discussions take place; if they want to talk we’ll do it on the march. And if they don’t like it, and want a fight, they can have it.”

Suddenly everyone was grinning; even Parkes was delighted, although he confided to me later that Elgin should have taken a high hand sooner. Elgin himself looked ten years younger, now that he’d cast the die, but I thought exuberance had got the better of him when he strode into the saloon later, threw The Origin of Species on the table, and announced:

“It’s very original, no doubt, but not for a hot evening. What I need is some trollop.”

I couldn’t believe my ears, and him a church-goer, too. “Well, my lord, I dunno,” says I. “Tientsin ain’t much of a place, but I’ll see what I can drum up –”

“Michel’s been reading Dr Thorne since Taku,” cries he. “He must have finished it by now, surely! Ask him, Flashman, will you?” So I did, and had my ignorance enlightened.³¹

It was bundle and go now. We left 2nd Division at Tientsin, shed all surplus gear, and cracked away at twice our previous pace, while the Manchoos plagued Elgin with appeals to stop the advance – they would appoint new commissioners, they had further proposals, there must be a pause for discussion – and Elgin replied agreeably that he’d talk to ’em at Tangchao, as agreed. The Manchoos were frantic, and now we saw something new – great numbers of refugees, ordinary folk, streaming towards us from Pekin, in evident fear of what would happen when we arrived. They flooded past us, men, women, and children, with their possessions piled on rickety carts – I remember one enormous Mongol wheeling four women in a barrow. But no sign of armed opposition, and when our local guides and drivers decamped one night, spirits were so high that no one minded, and Admiral Hope and Bowlby, the Times correspondent, took over as mule-skinners, whooping and hawing like Deadwood Dick. We swung on up-river, the gunboats keeping pace and the Frog band thumping “Madelon”, for now Pekin was barely thirty miles ahead, and we were going to see the elephant at last, seven thousand cavalry and infantry ready for anything, not that it mattered for the Manchoo protests had subsided to whines of resignation, and we were coming home on a tight rein, hurrah, boys, hurrah!

And the dragon … waited.

It happened the day after we held divine service in a big temple, and afterwards there was much fun while we looked over a book of pictures which Beato, who’d been photographing the march, presented to Elgin. Word came that new Manchoo commissioners, including the famous Prince I, were waiting just up ahead, at Tangchao, and they hoped the army would camp on the near side of the town while we negotiated the details of Elgin’s entry to Pekin.

“Go and see him,” says Elgin to Parkes, so on the Monday, in the cool of a beautiful dawn, about thirty of us set out to ride ahead. There was Parkes, Loch, De Normann from Bruce’s office, Bowlby of The Times, and myself, with six Dragoon Guards and twenty of Fane’s sowars under young Anderson, as escort. Walker, the Q.M.G., and Thompson of the commissariat rode along to inspect the camp site.

We trotted up the dusty road, myself in the lead as senior officer, with Parkes (who rode like an ill-tied sack of logs, by the way). To our right was the river, half a mile off, and on our left empty plain and millet fields to the horizon. Beyond a little village we were met by a mandarin with a small troop of Tartar cavalry, who said he would show us our camp-site; it proved to be to the right of the road, where the river took a great loop, near a village called Five-li Point. Walker and I thought it would do, although he’d have preferred to be closer to the river, for water; the mandarin assured us that water would be brought to us, and as we rode on he chatted amiably to Parkes and me, telling us he’d been in command of the garrison we’d defeated at Sinho.

“As you can see.” He touched the button on his hat; it was white, not red. “I was also degraded by losing my peacock feather,” he added, grinning like a corpse, and Parkes and I made sounds of commiseration. “Oh, it is no matter!” cries he. “Lost honours can be regained. As Confucius says: Be patient, and at last the mulberry leaf will become a silk robe.”

I remember the proverb, because it was just then that I chanced to look round. The six Dragoons had been riding immediately behind Parkes and me since we set out, in double file, but I’d paid ’em no special heed, and it was only as I glanced idly back that I saw one of them was watching me – staring at me, dammit, with the oddest fixed grin. He was a typical burly Heavy with a face as red as his coat under the pith helmet, and I was just about to ask what the devil he meant by it when his grin broadened – and in that moment I knew him, and knew that he knew me. It was the Irishman who’d been beside me when Moyes was killed.

I must have gaped like an idiot … and then I was facing front again, chilled with horror. This was the man who’d seen me grovelling to Sam Collinson, my abject companion in shame – and here he was, riding at my shoulder like bloody Nemesis, no doubt on the point of denouncing me to the world as a poltroon – it’s a great thing to have a conscience as guilty as mine, I can tell you; it always makes you fear far more than the worst. My God! And yet – it couldn’t be! the Irishman had been a sergeant of the 44th; this was a trooper of Dragoon Guards. I must be mistaken; he hadn’t been staring at me at all – he must have been grinning at some joke of his mate’s, when I’d caught his eye, and my terrified imagination was doing the rest –

“Where the hell d’you think you’re goin’, Nolan?” It was the Dragoon corporal, just behind. “Keep in file!”

Nolan! That had been the name Moyes had spoken – oh, God, it was him, right enough.

I daren’t look round; I’d give myself away for certain. I must just ride on, chatting to Parkes as though nothing had happened, and God knows what I said, or how much farther we rode, for I was aware of nothing except that my cowardly sins had found me out at last. You may think I was in a great stew over nothing – what had the great Flashy to fear from the memory of a mere lout of a trooper, after all? A hell of a deal, says I, as you’ll see.

But if I was in a state of nervous funk for the rest of the day, I remember the business we did well enough. At Tang-chao, we met the great Prince I, the Emperor’s cousin, a tall, skinny crow of a Manchoo in gorgeous green robes, with all his nails cased; he looked at us as if we were dirt, and when Parkes said we hoped the arrangements agreed for Elgin’s entry to Pekin were still satisfactory to their side, he hissed like an angry cat.

“Nothing can be discussed until the barbarian leader has withdrawn his presumptuous request for an audience with the Son of Heaven, and begged our pardon! He does not come to Pekin!”

Parkes, to my surprise, just smiled at him as though he were a child and said they must really talk about something important. Elgin was going to Pekin, and the Emperor would receive him. Now, then …

At this Prince I went wild, spitting curses, calling Parkes a foreign cur and reptile and I don’t know what, and Parkes just smiled away and said Elgin would be there, and that was that. And in this way the time passed until (it’s a fact) six o’clock, when Prince I had cursed himself hoarse. Then Parkes got up, repeated for the four hundredth time that Elgin was going to Pekin – and suddenly Prince I said, very well, with a thousand cavalry, as agreed. Then in double time he and Parkes settled the wording of a proclamation informing the public that peace and harmony were the order of the day, and we retired to the quarters that had been prepared for us, and had dinner.

“Who said the Chinese were negotiators!” scoffs Parkes. “The man’s a fool and a fraud.”

“He caved in very suddenly,” says Loch. “D’you trust him?”

“No, but I don’t need to. Their goose is cooked, Loch, and they know it, and because they can’t abide it, they squeal like children in a tantrum. And if he goes back on his word tomorrow, it doesn’t matter – because the Big Barbarian is going to Pekin, anyway.”

It was arranged that in the morning, while De Normann and Bowlby (who wanted some copy for his rag) would stay in Tang-chao with Anderson and the sowars, the rest of us would return to the army, Parkes and Loch to report to Elgin, Walker and I to guide them to the camp site. The others turned in early, except for Parkes, who had invited one of the lesser mandarins over for a chat, so I retired to the verandah to rehearse my anxieties for the umpteenth time, able to sweat and curse in private at last.

Nolan knew me. What would he say – what could he say? Suppose he told the shameful truth, would anyone believe him? Never. But why should he say anything – dammit, he’d grovelled, too … I went all through my horrid fears again and again, pacing in the dark little garden away from the house, chewing my cheroot fiercely. What would he say –

“A foine evenin’, colonel,” was what, in fact, he said, and I spun round with an oath. There he was, by the low wall at the garden foot – standing respectfully to attention, rot him, the trooper out for an evening stroll, greeting his superior with all decorum. I choked back a raging question, and forced myself to say nonchalantly:

“Why, I didn’t see you there, my man. Yes, a fine evening.”

I hoped to God it was too shadowy for him to see me trembling. I lit another cheroot, and he moved forward a step.

“Beg pardon, sorr … don’t ye remember me?”

I had myself in hand now. “What? You’re one of the dragoons, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sorr. I mean afore that, sorr.” He had one of those soft, whiny, nut-at-ahl Irish brogues which I find especially detestable. “Whin I wuz in the 44th – afore dey posted me to the Heavies. Shure, an’ it’s just a month since – I think ye mind foine.”

“Sorry, my boy,” says I pleasantly, my heart hammering. “I don’t know much of the 44th, and I certainly don’t know you.” I gave him a nod. “Good-night.”

I was turning away when his voice stopped me, suddenly soft and hard together. “Oh, but ye do, sorr. An’ I know you. An’ we both know where it wuz. At Tang-ku, when Moyes got kilt.”

What should an innocent man say to that? I’ll tell you: he turns sharp, frowning, bewildered. “When who was killed? What the devil are you talking about? Are you drunk, man?”

“No, sorr, I’m not drunk! Nor I wuzn’t drunk then! You wuz in the yard at Tang-ku whin they made us bow down to yon Chink bastard –”

“Silence! You’re drunker than David’s sow! You’re raving! Now, look here, my lad – you cut along to your billet and I’ll say no more –”

“Oh, but ye will! Ye will dat!” He was shaking with excitement. “But first ye’ll listen! For I know, ye see, an’ I can say plenty more –”

“How dare you!” I forced myself to bark. “You insolent rascal! I don’t know what you’re talking about, or what your game is, but another word from you and I’ll get you a bloody back for your damned insolence, d’ye hear?” I towered, outraged, glaring like a colonel. “I’m a patient man, Nolan, but …”

It was out before I knew it, and he saw the blunder as soon as I did. The eyes bulged with triumph in his crimson face.

“Whut’s dat? Nolan, d’ye say? An’ if ye don’t know me, how the hell d’ye know me name, den?”

In fact, I’d heard his corporal use it that day, but in my panic I remembered only Moyes at the grog-cart. I was speechless, and he rattled on excitedly:

“It wuz you! By the Virgin, it wuz you in that yard, crawlin’ wid the rest on us, me an’ the coolies – iveryone but Moyes! I didn’t know yez from Rafferty’s pig – till I seed ye in the lines, two days since, an’ rec’nised ye! I did that! An’ I asked the boys: ‘Who’s dat?’ They sez: ‘Shure, an’ dat’s Flash Harry, the famous Afghan hero, him that wan the Cross at Lucknow, an’ kilt all the Ruskis, an’ that. Shure, ’tis the bravest man in th’Army, so it is.’ Dat’s whut they said.” He paused, getting his breath back in his excitement, and for the life of me I could only mouth at him. He stepped closer, breathing whisky at me. “An’ I sez nuthin’, but I thinks, is that a fact, now? ’Cos I seen him when he wuzn’t bein’ so bloody heroical, lickin’ a Chinese nigger’s boots an’ whinin’ fer his life!”

If I’d been heeled, I’d have shot him then and there, and damn the consequences. For there was no doubt he had me, or where he was going. He nodded, bright-eyed, and licked his coarse lips.

“Aye, so I got to studyin’. An’ whut d’ye think? Sez I to meself, ‘Shure, whut a hell of a pity it’d be, if this wuz to get about, like.’ In the Army, ye know? I mean – even if iveryone said, och, it’s just Paddy Nolan lyin’ again – d’ye not think there’s some might believe the shave^a, eh? There’d be questions, mebbe; there might even be wan hell of a scandal.” He shook his head, leering. “Talk, colonel. Ugly talk. Ye know what I mean? Bad for the credit o’ th’Army. Aye, a bloody back’s a sore thing, so it is – but it heals faster’n a blown reppitation.” He paused a moment. “I’d think, meself, it’d be worth keepin’ quiet. Wouldn’t you, colonel?”

I could bluster still – or not. Better not; it would be a waste of time. This was a cunning swine; if he spread his story as well as he’d summed it up, I was done for, disgraced, ruined. I knew my Army, you see, and the jealousies and hatreds under the hearty grins. Oh, I didn’t lack for enemies who’d delight in sniffing it all out, prying till they found Carnac, compared dates, put two and two together – where had I been on August 13, eh? Even if I could bluff it away, the mud would stick. And this sly peasant could see clear through; he knew he didn’t have to prove a thing, that being guilty I’d be ready to fork out to prevent any breath of rumour –

“Sir Harry! Are you there?” It was Parkes’s voice, calling sharply from the verandah twenty yards away; his figure was silhouetted against the glow from the house. “Sir Harry?”

Nolan took a swift step back into the shadows. “’Tis another word we’ll be havin’ tomorrow, colonel – eh?” he whispered. “Until den.” I heard his soft chuckle as I turned to the house, still stricken dumb, with Parkes crying: “Ah, there you are! Care for a nightcap?”

How much sleep I got you may imagine. I couldn’t defy the brute – the question was whether it was safer to pay squeeze and risk his blabbing another day, or kill him and try to make it look accidental. That was how desperate I was, and it was still unresolved when we saddled up at dawn to ride back to the army. As the party fell in under the trees, a sudden reckless devil took hold of me, and I told the dragoon corporal I’d inspect the escort; Parkes cocked an amused eyebrow at this military zeal, while the corporal bawled his troopers into mounted line. I rode slowly along, surveying each man carefully while they sweated in the sun; I checked one for a loose girth, asked the youngest how long he’d been in China, and came to Nolan on the end, staring red-faced to his front. A fly settled on his cheek, and his lip twitched.

“Let it be, my boy,” says I, jocular-like. “If a fly can sit still, so can you. Name and service?”

“Nolan, sorr. Twelve years.” His brow was running wet, but he sat like a statue, wondering what the hell I was about.

“Trahnsferred las’ month, sir, when 44th went dahn to Shang’ai,” says the corporal. “Cavalry trained, tho’; in the Skins, I b’lieve.”

“Why’d you transfer, Nolan?” I asked idly, and he couldn’t keep his voice steady.

“If ye please, sorr … I … I tuk a fancy to see Pee-kin, sorr.”

“Looking for excitement, eh?” I smiled. “Capital! Very good, corporal – form up.”

If you ask what I was up to … why, I was taking a closer look by daylight – and unsettling the bastard; it never hurts. But it was a wasted effort, for in the next hour everything changed, and even disgrace and reputation ceased to matter … almost.

The road had been empty coming up, but from the moment we left Tang-chao we were aware of a steady movement of Imperial troops – a few odd platoons and half-sections at first, and then larger numbers, not only on the road but in the paddy and millet-fields either side. What seemed most odd, they were moving in the same direction as ourselves – towards our army. I didn’t like the look of ’em above half, but there was nothing to do but forge ahead. We rode at a steady canter for about an hour, past increasing numbers, and when we came to Chang-kia-wan, about half-way home, the town was thick with them, and there was no doubt of it: we were in the middle of a thumping big Imperial army. Parkes wanted to stop to make inquiries, the ass, but as senior officer I wouldn’t allow it, and we cantered out of the place – and had to skirt the road to pass a full regiment of Bannermen, great ugly devils in bamboo armour who scowled and shouted abuse at us as we thundered by.

“What can this mean?” cries Parkes, as we drew clear. “They cannot intend to put themselves in Sir Hope’s way, surely?”

“They ain’t going to a field day!” says I. “Colonel Walker, how many d’you reckon we’ve come through?”

“Ten thousand, easily,” says he. “But God knows how many there are in the millet-fields – those stalks are fifteen feet high.”

“Take the rear, and keep ’em closed up!” says I. “Forward!”

“My dear Sir Harry!” cries Parkes. “Surely we should stop and consider what is to be done!”

“What’s to be done is get to the Army. Close up, there!”

“But, my dear sir! They cannot mean any treachery, I –”

“Mr Parkes,” says I, “when you’ve ridden through as many armies as I have, you learn how to smell mischief – and it’s breast-high here, I can tell you.”

“But we must not exhibit any signs of distrust!”

“Right you are,” says I. “Anyone who pukes or soils himself will answer to me!” Which had the troopers haw-hawing, while Parkes looked furious. “Really, sir – if they intended any harm, would they advance in full view? Why, the country to our right is quite clear!”

So it was, and the millet was so high to the left that for a moment we seemed all alone. I glanced right – and Walker was doing the same thing. Our eyes met, and I grabbed Parkes’s bridle as we rode, heading him out to the right, while he demanded to know what I was about.

“You’ll see,” I told him. What Walker and I had noticed was a big nullah away on the right, and now we went for it full lick, turning down its lip as we reached it, and Parkes gave a great cry of astonishment, and would have reined in, but I kept him going.

“In full view, eh?” says I. “That settles it!”

There were three thousand Tartar horsemen in that nullah if there was one, dismounted, with drawn sabres, and they gave a great roar at the sight of us. But now I had us heading left again, towards the road and the little village beyond which lay the camp-site to which our army would presently be advancing. As we thundered past it a little group of horsemen broke cover, led by a mandarin who yelled at us to keep away. Beyond him I could see the guns in the trees.

“Masked battery!” cries Walker. “Jesus – look at that!”

As we came through the fringe of trees to the camp-site, the whole eastern horizon seemed to be moving. Immediately to our left, a long bund stretched away, and it was lined with heavy guns, covering the camp-site; in the millet behind the bund the country was alive with Tiger soldiers, the black and yellow stripes clear to be seen, but on the eastern flank of the plain was the sight that had brought Walker up in his stirrups – long lines of Tartar cavalry, advancing at the walk, thousands upons thousands of them. We raced out into the unoccupied camp-site, and suddenly Parkes reined in, white-faced.

“Sir Harry! Stop, if you please!” I reined up, and the whole troop followed. “Sir Harry, I am returning to Tang-chao! I must inform Prince I of this … this extraordinary proceeding!”

I couldn’t believe it – and then I realised his pallor wasn’t fear, but anger. He was in a positive fury, so help me.

“Good God!” I cried. “D’you think he doesn’t know?”

“It is impossible that he should! Mr Loch, will you return to Lord Elgin at once, and inform him of what is happening? Sir Harry, I must ask for a small escort, if you please. One trooper will be sufficient.”

I’m a true-blue craven, as you know, but I’m also too old a soldier to waste time raving. “You’ll never come out alive,” says I.

“No, you are mistaken. I shall be perfectly safe. My person is inviolate.”

D’ye know, it was on the tip of my tongue to holler “It may be in bloody lilac stripes for all the good it’ll do you!” but I kept a grip, thinking in the saddle. It must be a good ten miles to the army, with God knew how many Chinese along the road; if there was trouble it would be here, and the risk of cutting and running was appalling: The prospect of returning to Tang-chao was even worse – except for one thing. Parkes was right: he was inviolate. Whoever the Chinks cut up, it wouldn’t be Her Majesty’s biggest diplomatic gun bar Elgin himself; they wouldn’t dare that. It came home to me with blinding clarity that the one safe place in the whole ugly mess was alongside H. Parkes, Esq.

“Very good, Mr Parkes,” says I. “I’ll ride with you. Corporal, detail two dragoons as escort. Mr Loch, take one trooper, ride to the army, inform Sir Hope and Lord Elgin. Colonel Walker, remain here with the rest of the party to observe; retire at discretion. Corporal,” I drew him aside; he was a rangy lantern-jawed roughneck with a tight chinstrap. “If it gets ugly, scatter and ride through, d’ye hear? Get to Grant – whatever anyone else says, tell him – Flashy says ‘Close up.’ Mind that. I’m counting on you … Mr Loch, what the dooce are you waiting for? Be off – at a steady canter! Don’t run! Mr Parkes, I suggest we lose no time!”

Doing my duty by the army, you see, before bolting to what I hoped to God was safety. I glanced round: Tartar cavalry two miles to the left, closing slowly; masked batteries on the bund – and now the concealed Tartars emerging from the nullah to the right, streaming down in a great mass. The camp-site was a death-trap … but Grant would steer clear of it. I slapped Parkes’s screw, and we raced away, the two dragoons at our heels, back through the trees and on to the Tang-chao road.

Before we’d gone a mile I was breathing easy; whether all the troops we’d seen coming down had now reached the camp-site, I don’t know, but the way was clear, and when we met Chinese they didn’t attempt to stay us. We were in Tang-chao under the hour, and while Parkes hurried off to find Prince I, I set the dragoons searching for Anderson and the others. It was only then that I realised one of my dragoons was Nolan. Hollo, thinks I, we may find advantage in this yet.

Tang-chao ain’t a big place, and I found two Sikh troopers near the bazaar. Bowlby Sahib was buying silk, says they, grinning, and sure enough he was festooned in the stuff, with his money on the table while the vendor shook his sticks to determine the price, with Anderson and De Normann chaffing and half a dozen sowars chortling round the stall.

“I can’t gamble with Times money!” Bowlby was laughing, pink in the face. “Delane will go through my accounts himself, I tell you! I say, Anderson, tell him to name a price and I’ll cough it up, hang it!”

I tapped Anderson’s arm. “Everyone to the square, quietly, in two’s and three’s. No fuss. We’re riding in ten minutes.”

Good boy, Anderson; he nodded, called a joke to De Normann, passed word to his jemadar, and the Sikhs began to drift off, slow and easy. I left him to bring Bowlby, and went to find another horse from our two remounts; I ride thirteen stone, and if there was one thing I wanted it was a fresh beast.

Anderson had his troop ready in the square by the temple – loafing so as not to attract notice, I was glad to see – and there was nothing to do but wait for Parkes and tell De Normann and Bowlby what had happened. It was roasting hot now, in the dusty square; the beasts stamped and jingled, and the sowars yawned and spat, while Anderson strolled, hands in pockets, whistling; my nerves were stretching. I can tell you, when there was a clatter of hooves, and who should it be but Loch, with two sowars carrying white flags on their lance-points, and young Brabazon, a staff-walloper.

Yes, Loch had seen Grant, and after reporting had felt bound to return for Parkes and me; he said it almost apologetically, blinking and stroking his beard, while I marvelled at human folly. The Imps were in greater force than ever at the camp-site, and in Loch’s opinion, presenting a most threatening appearance, but while Montauban had been all for a frontal attack, Grant was sitting tight, to give us time to get clear. That cheered me up, for if he didn’t advance the Imps would have nothing to shoot at, and all might blow over; but it was still gruelling work waiting for Parkes; I beguiled the time trying to think of fatal errands on which I might despatch Trooper Nolan, who was sitting aside, puffing his pipe, his bright little eyes sliding every so often in my direction.

Suddenly here was Parkes, riding alone, pausing to scribble furiously in his note-book, and in a fine taking. “I am out of all patience with I!” snaps he. “He is a lying scoundrel! Sam Collinson has been at work, stirring up resistance, and what d’you think I had the effrontery to say? That it is all our fault for insisting on Lord Elgin’s entering Pekin!”

“You said that?” says Loch, puzzled.

“What? Of course not! I said it!” cries Parkes, and as God’s my witness, they began to discuss the personal pronoun. One thing rapidly became clear: the Chinks had repudiated the agreement made only yesterday, and were now vowing that unless Elgin withdrew his demand, they were ready to fight. “There can be no peace!” Prince I had shouted at Parkes. “It must be war!”

I gave the word to Anderson, and we were off at the canter, stretching to a gallop as we left the town. With luck, we might pass through before the explosion came, but barely a mile out on the road Parkes’s horse fell, and although he remounted, I could see that his beast, and De Normann’s, would never stay the course. I slowed to a trot, wondering what the devil to do; if it came to the pinch, they could damned well take their chance, but for the moment we must hold together and hope. By God, it was a long ride, with my ears straining for the first crack of gunfire ahead; if only Grant held off a little longer …

We passed through Chang-kia-wan again, in a solid phalanx with the Sikh sowars around us, thrusting by main force through streets choked with jingal-men and Tiger soldiers who sneered and spat but kept their distance from those razor-sharp lance-heads. Then we were out and trotting down the long slope towards the distant camp-site; the plain either side was black with Imps, foot and horse; the huge coloured banners were streaming in the breeze, paper standards were flapping and filling, their horns were blaring and cymbals clashing, every group we passed turned to scream execrations at us; suddenly before us was a troop of Manchoo artillery, absolutely slewing round their great dragon-headed brass pieces to threaten us. I looked back – De Normann and Bowlby had fallen behind on their foundering hacks, and Parkes seized my elbow. “Sir Harry! Sir Harry, we must decide what is best to be done!”

They’re smart in the diplomatic, you know, and in a moment the others had caught fire from his inspiration. Loch said that in such moments decisions should be arrived at quickly, De Normann urged the necessity of calm, and Brabazon cried out that since Parkes was the chief negotiator, he must say how we should proceed.

“Shut your bloody trap!” I roared. “Anderson – wheel right!” If there was a way through – for anyone lucky enough to have a fresh horse, anyway – it was beyond the big nullah, where we might skirt round to the army. We swung off the road, and in that moment there was a thunderous roar of cannon from far ahead, and I knew the masked batteries were in action; a breathless pause, and then as Armstrong shells began to burst among the Imps, pandemonium broke loose. I yelled to Anderson to hold them together as we surged forward through the milling infantry, and here was Bowlby clattering up, brandishing his pistol.

“Now we’ll see how these yellow fellows can fight!” cries he. I roared to him to holster his piece, heard Parkes yelling in front of me, and saw that he and Loch had reined up by a little silk pavilion where a mandarin was sitting a Tartar pony, with officers at his back; it was our acquaintance of yesterday, who had lost his spurs at Sinho. As I rode up to them, Parkes was shouting something about safe-conduct, but now there was a crowd of angry Imps in the way; they’d spotted us as enemy, clever lads, and were crowding in, waving fists and spears; suddenly there seemed to be contorted yellow faces all round us, screaming hate. Above the din I heard the mandarin cry out something about a prince; then Parkes was calling across the crowd to me. “Wait for us, Sir Harry! Prince …” And then he and Loch and one of the sowars were galloping off with the mandarin.

“Come back!” I roared. “Parkes, you idiot!”, for it was plain that our one hope was the mandarin, and we should all stay with him. Roaring to Anderson to hold on, I drove through the press in pursuit; by the time I’d cleared that howling mob my quarry was wheeling into a gully a furlong ahead, and I cursed and thundered after them. I plunged into the gully, and there they were, not twenty paces off, reined up before a group of magnificently-armoured Manchoo horsemen, banners planted in the turf beside them, and Parkes was pointing to the white rag on the sowar’s lance-point. I pulled up, and the leader of the Manchoos was standing in his stirrups, screaming with laughter, which seemed damned odd till I saw who it was: Prince Sang-kol-in-sen. In fine voice he was.

“You ask safe-conduct! Foreign filth! Crawling savages! You who would shame the Son of Heaven, and who come now treacherously to attack us! Barbarian lice! Offal! And now you come whining –”

The rest was lost in howls of hatred as his followers closed in; I saw Parkes struggling with a mounted rider, and thought “McNaghten!”³² Loch was knocked flying from the saddle, and the Sikh was thrashing with his lance as they bore him down. I didn’t linger; I was round and out of that gully like a guilty squirrel – and slap in front of me was a boiling crowd of Imp braves, with Anderson’s party struggling desperately in the middle. A musket barked, and I saw a Sikh reel in the saddle; then the sabres were out, Sikhs and dragoons laying about them, with Anderson yelling to close up; a ragged volley of musketry, a Sikh going down, the answering crash of revolver fire, Bowlby blazing away wild-eyed until he was dragged from the saddle, Nolan bleeding from a sword-cut on the brow as he drove through the press – I heard him shriek as he pitched forward over his horse’s head into the crush. It didn’t matter now; I stared appalled at that hideous mêlée, and turned to flee.

But they were streaming out of the gully, too, Tiger soldiers with drawn swords, and at their head the white-button mandarin and half a dozen mounted monsters in black bamboo armour and helmets, brandishing pennoned spears and screaming blue murder. I put my beast to the bank; he scrambled up, reared, and fell back, and I rolled clear just in time. There was a side-gully and I raced up it, howling as I went, and came down headlong over a pile of stones; I scrambled afoot, mouthing vainly for help, there wasn’t a friendly soul in sight, Loch and Parkes might be dead by now, hacked to pieces – well, by God, thinks I, if it must be, I’ll make a better end than that. I swung to face them, whipping out my sabre and dropping a hand to my pistol-butt as that devil’s horde bore down on me.

Even for old Flashy, you see, there comes the moment when you realise that, after a lifetime of running, you can’t run any longer, and there’s only one thing for it. I gritted my teeth and ran at them, spun the weapons in my hands, and bawled in my best Chinese:

“Quarter! I surrender! I’m a British staff colonel and you touch me at your peril! My sword, your excellency!”³³

^a Rumour.