Читать книгу The Flashman Papers: The Complete 12-Book Collection - George Fraser MacDonald - Страница 68

I may not be good for much, but if I have a minor talent it’s for finding the back door when coppers, creditors, and outraged husbands are coming in the front. I had the advantage of having my pants up and my boots on this time, and even hampered by the need to drag Elspeth along, I was going like a rat to a drainpipe before the butler even had his mouth open. Elspeth gave one shriek of astonishment as I bundled her along a passage beneath the stairs.

“Harry! Where are you going – we have left my band-box—!”

“D--n your band-box!” I snapped. “Keep quiet and run!”

I whirled round a corner; there was a corridor obviously leading to the back, and I pounded along it, my protesting helpmeet clutching her bonnet and squeaking in alarm. A startled black face popped out of a side-door; I hit it in panic and Elspeth screamed. The corridor turned at right angles; I swore and plunged into an empty room – a glimpse of a long table and dining chairs in the silent dark, and beyond, French windows. I hurtled towards them, hauling her along, and wrenched them open. We were in the garden, dim in the moon-shadows; I cocked an ear and heard – nothing.

“Harry!” She was squealing in my ear. “What are you about? Leave go my arm – I won’t be hustled, do you hear?”

“You’ll either be hustled or dead!” I hissed. “Silence! We are in deadly danger – do you understand? They are coming to arrest us – to kill us! For your life’s sake, do as I tell you – and shut up!”

There was a path, running between high hedges; we sped along it, she demanding in breathless whispers to know what was happening: at the end I got my bearings; we were to the side of the building, in shrubbery, with the front drive round to our left, and from the hidden front door I could hear a harsh voice raised – in Malagassy, unfortunately, but I caught enough words to chill my blood. “Sergeant-general … arrest … search.” I groaned softly, and Elspeth began babbling again.

“Oh, my dress is torn! Harry, it is too bad! What are you – why are we – ow!” I had clapped a hand over her mouth.

“Be quiet, you silly mort!” I whispered. “We’re escaping! There are soldiers hunting us! The Queen is trying to kill me!”

She made muffled noises, and then got her mouth free. “How dare you call me that horrid word! What does it mean? Let me go this instant! You are hurting my wrist, Harry! What is this absurd nonsense about the Quee—” The shrill torrent was cut off as I imprisoned her mouth again.

“For G-d’s sake, woman – they’ll hear us!” I pulled her in close to the wall. “Keep your voice down, will you?” I took my hand away, unwisely.

“But why?” At least she had the wit to whisper. “Why are we – oh, I think you are gammoning me! Well, it is a very poor joke, Harry Flashman, and I—”

“Please, Elspeth!” I implored, shaking my fist in her face. “It’s true, I swear! If they hear us – we’re dead!”

My grimacing frenzy may have half-convinced her; at least her pretty mouth opened and closed again with a faint “Oh!” And then, as I crouched, straining my ears for any sound of the searchers, came the tiniest whisper: “But Harry, my band-box …”

I glared her into silence, and then ventured a peep round the angle of the wall. There was a Hova trooper on the porch, leaning on his spear; I could hear faint sounds of talk from the hall – that d----d butler giving the game away, no doubt. Suddenly from behind us, in the dark towards the back of the house, came the crash of a shutter and a harsh voice shouting. Elspeth squeaked, I jumped, and the Hova on the porch must have heard the shout too, for he called to the hall – and here, to my horror, came an under-officer, bounding down the porch steps sword in hand, and running along the front of the house towards our corner.

There was only one thing for it. I seized Elspeth and thrust her down on her face in the deep shadow at the foot of the wall, sprawling on top of her and hissing frantically to her to keep quiet and lie still. We were only in the nick of time – he rounded the angle of the house and came to a dead stop almost on top of us, his boots spurning the gravel within a yard of Elspeth’s head. For a terrible instant I thought he’d seen us – the great black figure towered above us, silhouetted against the night sky, the sword glittering in his hand, but he didn’t move, and I realized he was staring towards the back of the house, listening. I could feel Elspeth palpitating beneath me, her turned face a faint white blur just beneath my own – oh, Ch---t, I prayed, don’t let him look down! Suddenly he bawled something in Malagassy, and took a half-step forward – my blood froze as his boot descended within inches of Elspeth’s face – but right on top of her hand!

She started violently beneath me – and then he must have shifted his weight, for as in a nightmare I heard a tiny crack, and her whole body shuddered. Paralysed, I waited for her scream – he must glance down now! – but a voice was shouting from the back of the house, his was bellowing right above us in reply, he plunged forward, his leg brushing my curls, and then he was gone, striding away down the path behind us into the dark, and Elspeth’s breath came out in a little, shivering moan. I was afoot in an instant, hauling her upright, half-carrying her into the denser shrubbery on the lawn, knowing we hadn’t an instant to lose, bundling her along and hoping to heaven she wouldn’t faint. If we could get quickly through the shrubbery unobserved, moving parallel with the drive, and so come to the gate – would they have left a sentry there?

Fortunately the shrubbery screened our blundering progress entirely; we plunged through the undergrowth and fetched up gasping beneath a great clump of ferns not ten yards from the gate. Far back to our left the Hova was still on the house porch beneath the lamp; through the bushes ahead I could make out the faint gleam of the gate – lantern, but no sound, except from far behind us, where there were distant voices at the back of the house – were they coming nearer …? I peered cautiously through the fringe of bushes towards the gate – oh, G-d, there was a d----d great Hova, not five yards away, his spear held across his body, looking back towards the house. The light gleamed dully on his massive bare arms and chest, on his gorilla features and gleaming spearhead – my innards quailed at the sight; I couldn’t hope to pass that, not with Elspeth in tow – and at that moment my loved one decided to give voice again.

“Harry!” She was hissing in my ear. “That man – that man stood on my hand! I’m sure my finger is broke!” I recall noting that it must have been indignation rather than complaint, for she added a word which frankly I didn’t think she knew.

“Ssht!” I had my lips against her ear. “I know! We’ll … we’ll mend it presently. There’s a guard on the gate – must get past him!” The voices at the back of the house were growing louder – it was now or never. “Can you walk?”

“Of course I can walk! It is my poor finger—”

“Sssht, for Ch---t’s sake! Look, old girl – we must distract his attention, d’you see? The chap on the gate, d— it!” I wouldn’t have thought I could yammer and whisper simultaneously – but then I wouldn’t have thought I’d be stuck in the bushes in Madagascar plotting escape with a blonde imbecile whose mind, I’ll swear, was divided evenly between her wounded finger and her lost band-box. “Yes, he’s out there! Now, listen – you must count to five – five, you know – and then stand up and walk out on to the drive! Can you, dearest? – just walk out, there’s a good girl! Nod, curse you!”

I saw her lips framing “Why?” but then she nodded – and suddenly kissed me on the cheek. Then I was sliding away to the right, fumbling for my hilt beneath the cloak … three … four … five. There was a rustle as she stood up; she seemed to sway for a moment, and then she had stepped through the bushes and turned to face the gate.

The Hova leaped about four feet, stood with eyes bulging, and let out a yell as he started towards her. Two paces brought him level with me; I clutched the hilt in a frenzy of fear (if it had been any other woman I believe I’d have bolted straight for the gate, but one’s wife, you know …) and launched myself through the ferns at his flank, drawing as I sprang. There wasn’t time to use the point; I continued the draw in a desperate sweep, and as he whirled to meet me the blade took him clean across the face with a sickening jar. I had an instant’s glimpse of blood spurting from the gashed mouth and cheek, and then he tripped and fell, screaming.

“Run!” I bawled, and she was past him, her bonnet awry, her skirts kilted up. I turned with her, plunging for the gate – and out from the shadows of the watchman’s hut leaped another of the swine, plumb in our path, whipping up his spear into the on-guard. I stopped dead – but by the grace of God Elspeth didn’t, and as he swung to cover her I lunged at his naked chest. He parried, jumping side, and Elspeth was through the gate, squeaking, but now he was thrusting at me, stumbling in his eagerness. His point went past my shoulder, I cut at him but he turned the blade quick as light, and there we were, face to face across the gateway, his eyes glaring and rolling as he poised, looking for an opening.

“Make for the trees!” I yelled, and saw Elspeth scamper away, holding her bonnet on. There was shouting from the house, footsteps running – and the Hova struck, his spear darting at my face. By sheer instinct I deflected it, straightening my arm in an automatic lunge – God bless you, dear old riding-master of the 11th Hussars! – and he screamed like the d----d as my point took him in the chest, his own rush driving it into his body. His fall wrenched the hilt from my hand, and then I was high-tailing after Elspeth, turning her into the trees, where the horses still stood patiently, cropping at the grass.

I heaved her bodily on to one of them, her skirts riding up any old how, vaulted aboard the other, and with a hand to steady her, forced the beasts out on to the road beyond. There was a tumult of hidden voices by the gate, but I knew we were clear if she didn’t fall – she was always a decent horsewoman, and was clinging to the mane with her good hand. We ploughed off knee to knee, in a swaying canter that took us to the end of one road and down the next, and then I eased up. No sounds behind, and if we heard any we could gallop at need. I clasped her to me, swearing with relief, and asked how her hand was.

“Oh, it is painful!” cries she. “But Harry, what does it mean? Those dreadful people – I thought I should swoon! And my dress torn, and my finger broke, and every bone in my body shaken! Oh!” She shuddered violently. “Those fearful black soldiers! Did you … did you kill them?”

“I hope so,” says I, looking back fearfully. “Here – take my cloak – muffle your head as well. If they see what you are, we’re sunk!”

“But who? Why are we running? What has happened? I insist you tell me directly! Where are we going—”

“There’s an English ship on the coast! We’re going to reach her, but we’ve got to get out of this h--lish city first – if the gates are closed I don’t—”

“But why?” cries she, like a d--n parrot, sucking her finger and trying to order her skirts, which wasn’t easy, since she was astride. “Oh, this is so uncomfortable! Why are we being pursued – why should they – oh!” Her eyes widened. “What have you done, Harry? Why are they chasing you? Have you done some wrong? Oh, Harry, have you offended the Queen?”

“Not half as much as she’s offended me!” I snarled. “She’s a … a … monster, and if she lays hands on us we’re done for. Come on, confound it!”

“But I cannot believe it! Why, of all the absurd things! When I have been so kindly treated – I am sure, whatever it is, if the Prince were to speak to her—”

I didn’t quite tear my hair, but it was a near-run thing. I gripped her by the shoulders instead, and speaking as gently as I could with my teeth chattering, impressed on her that we must get out of the city quickly; that we must proceed slowly, by back streets, to the gates, but there we might have to ride for it; I would explain later—

“Very good,” says she. “You need not raise your voice. If you say so, Harry – but it is all extremely odd.”

I’ll say that for her, once she understood the urgency of the situation – and even that pea-brain must have apprehended by now that something unusual was taking place – she played up like a good ’un. She didn’t take fright, or weep, or even plague me with further questions; I’ve known clever women, and plenty like Lakshmibai and the Silk One who were better at rough riding and desperate work, but none gamer than Elspeth when the stakes were on the blanket. She was a soldier’s wife, all right; pity she hadn’t married a soldier.

But if she was cool enough, I was in a ferment as we picked our way by back-roads to the city wall, and followed it round towards the great gates. By this time there were hardly any folk about, and although the sight of two riders brought some curious looks, no one molested us. But I was sure the alarm must have gone out by now – I wasn’t to know that Malagassy bandobast^a being what it was, the last thing they’d have thought to do was close the gates. They never had, so why bother now? I could have shouted with relief when we came in view of the gate-towers, and saw the way open, with only the usual lounging sentinels and a group of loafers round a bonfire. We just held steadily forward, letting ’em see it was the sergeant-general; they stared at the horses, but that was all, and with my heart thumping we ambled through under the towers, and then trotted forward among the scattered huts on the Antan’ plain.

Ahead of us the sky was lightening in the summer dawn, and my spirits with it – we were clear, free, and away! – and beyond those distant purple hills there was a British warship, and English voices, and Christian vittles, and safety behind British guns. Four days at most – if the horses I’d sent to Ankay were waiting ahead of us. In that snail-pace country, where any pursuit was sure to be on foot, no one could hope to overtake us, no alarm could outstrip us – I was ready to whoop in my saddle until I thought of that menacing presence still so close, that awful city crouching just behind us, and I shook Elspeth’s bridle and sent us forward at a hand-gallop.

But our luck was still with us. We sighted the change horses just before dawn, raising the dust with the groom jogging along on the leader, and I never saw a jollier sight. They weren’t the pick of the light cavalry, but they had fodder and jaka in their saddle-bags, and I knew they’d see us there, if we spelled ’em properly. Thirty miles is as far as any beast can carry me, but that would be as much as Elspeth could manage at a stretch in any event.

I dismissed the bewildered groom, and on we went at a good round trot. A small horse-herd ain’t difficult to manage, if you’ve learned your trade in Afghanistan. My chief anxiety now was Elspeth. She’d ridden steady – and commendably silent – until now, but as we forged ahead into the empty downland, I could see the reaction at work; she was swaying in the saddle, eyes half-closed, fair hair tumbling over her face, and although I was in a sweat to push on I felt bound to swing off into a little wood to rest and eat. I lifted her out of the saddle beside a stream, and blow me if she didn’t go straight off to sleep in my arms. For three hours she never stirred, while I kept a weather eye on the plain, but saw no sign of pursuit.

She was all demands and chatter again, though, when she awoke, and while we chewed our jaka, and I bathed her finger – which wasn’t broke, but badly bruised – I tried to explain what had happened. D’you know, of all the astonishing things that had occurred since we’d left England, I still feel that that conversation was the most incredible of all. I mean, explaining anything to Elspeth is always middling tough – but there was something unreal, as I look back, about sitting opposite her, in a Madagascar wood, while she stared round-eyed in her torn, soiled evening dress with her finger in a splint, listening to me describing why we were fleeing for our lives from an unspeakable black despot whom I’d been plotting to depose. Not that I blame her for being sceptical, mind you; it was the form her scepticism took which had me clutching my head.

At first she just didn’t believe a word of it; it was quite contrary, she said, to what she had seen of Madagascar, and to prove the point she produced, from the recesses of her under-clothing, a small and battered notebook from which she proceeded to read me her “impressions” of the country – so help me, it was all about b----y butterflies and wild flowers and Malagassy curtain materials and what she’d had for dinner. It was at this point that it dawned on me that the conclusion I’d formed on my visits to her at Rakota’s palace had been absolutely sound – she’d spent six months in the place without having any notion of what it was really like. Well, I knew she was mutton-headed, but this beat all, and so I told her.

“I cannot see that,” says she. “The Prince and Princess were all politeness and consideration, and you assured me that all was well, so why should I think otherwise?”

I was still explaining, and being harangued, when we took the road again, and for the best part of the day, which took us to the eastern edge of the downs, near Angavo, where we camped in another wood. By that time I had finally got it into her head what a h--l of a place Madagascar was, and what a hideous fate we were escaping; you’d have thought that would have reduced her to terrified silence, but then, you don’t know my Elspeth.

She was shocked – not a bit scared, apparently, just plain indignant. It was deplorable, and ought not to be allowed, was how she saw it; why had we (by which I took it she meant Her Britannic Majesty) taken no steps to prevent such misgovernment, and what was the Church thinking about? It was quite disgusting – I just sat munching jaka, but I couldn’t help, listening to her, being reminded of that old harridan Lady Sale, tapping her mittened fingers while the jezzail bullets whistled round her on the Kabul retreat, and demanding acidly why something was not done about it. Aye, it’s comical in its way – and yet, when you’ve seen the memsahibs pursing their lips and raising indignant brows in the face of dangers and horrors that set their men-folk shaking, you begin to understand why there’s all the pink on the map. It’s vicarage morality, nursery discipline, and a thorough sense of propriety and sanitation that have done it – and when they’ve gone, and the memsahibs with them, why, the map won’t be pink any longer.

The one thing Elspeth couldn’t accept, though, was that the outrageous condition of Madagascar was Ranavalona’s fault. Queens, in her conception of affairs, did not behave in that way at all; the mother of Prince Rakota (“a most genteel and obliging young man”) would never have countenanced such things. No, it could only be that she was badly advised, and kept in ignorance, no doubt, by her ministers. She had been civil enough to me, surely? – this was asked in an artless way which I knew of old. I said, well, she was pretty plain and ill-natured from the little I’d seen of her, but of course I’d hardly exchanged a word with her (which, you’ll note, was true; I said nothing of bathing and piano-playing). Elspeth sighed contentedly at this, and then after a moment said softly:

“Have you missed me, Harry?”

Looking at her, sitting in the dusk with the green leaves behind her, in her dusty gown, with the tangled gold hair framing that lovely face, so serene in its stupidity, I suddenly realized there was only one sensible way to answer her. What with the shock and haste and fear of our flight it absolutely hadn’t occurred to me until that moment. And afterwards, lying in the grass, while she stroked my cheek, it seemed the most natural thing – as if this wasn’t Madagascar at all, with dreadful danger behind and unknown hardship before – in that blissful moment I dreamed of the very first time, under the trees by the Clyde, on just such a golden evening, and when I spoke of it she began to cry at last, and clung to me.

“You will bring us there again – home,” says she. “You are so brave and strong and good, and keep me safe. Do you know,” she wiped her eyes, looking solemn, “I never saw you fight before? Oh, I knew, to be sure, from the newspapers, and what everyone said – that you were a hero, I mean – but I did not know how it was. Women cannot, you know. Now I have seen you, sword in hand – you are rather terrible, you know, Harry – and so quick!” She gave a little shiver. “Not many women are lucky enough to see how brave their husbands are – and I have the bravest, best man in the whole world.” She kissed me on the forehead, her cheek against mine.

I thought of her finger, under that crushing boot, of the way she’d stood up in the bushes and walked straight out, of the bruising ride from Antan’, of all she’d endured since Singapore – and I didn’t feel ashamed, exactly, because you know it ain’t my line. But I felt my eyes sting, and I lifted her chin with my hand.

“Old girl,” says I, “you’re a trump.”

“Oh, no!” says she, wide-eyed. “I am very silly, and weak, and … and not a trump at all! Feckless, Papa says. But I love to be your ‘old girl’” – she snuggled her head down on my chest – “and to think that you like me a little, too … better than you like the horrid Queen of Madagascar, or Mrs Leo Lade, or those Chinese ladies we saw in Singapore, or Kitty Stevens, or – my dearest, whatever is the matter?”

“Who the h--l,” roars I, “is Kitty Stevens?”

“Oh, do you not remember? That slim, dark girl with the poor complexion and soulful eyes she thinks so becoming – although how she supposes that mere staring will make her attractive I cannot think – you danced with her twice at the Cavalry Ball, and assisted her to negus at the buffet …”

We were off again before dawn, crossing the Angavo Pass which leads to the upland Ankay Plain, going warily because I knew the Hova Guard regiment which I’d sent out couldn’t be far away. I kept casting north, and we must have outflanked them, for we saw not a soul until the Mangaro ford, where the villagers turned out in force to stare at us as we crossed the river with our little herd. It was level going then until the jungle closed in and the mountains began, but we were making slower time than I’d hoped for; it began to look like a five-day trek instead of four, but I wasn’t much concerned. All that mattered was that we should keep ahead of pursuit; the frigate would still be there. I was sure of this because it was bound to wait for an answer to the protest which, according to Laborde, had only reached the Queen a couple of days ago. Her answer, even if she’d sent it at once, would take more than a week to reach Tamitave, so if we kept up our pace we’d be there with time in hand.

I kept telling myself this on the third day, when our rate slowed to a walk with the long, twisting climb up the red rutted track that led into the great mountains. Here we were walled in by forest on either hand, with only that tortuous path for a guide. I knew it because I’d been flogged over it in the slave-coffle, and I had to gulp down my fears as we approached each bend – suppose we met someone, in this place where we couldn’t take to our heels, where to stray ten yards from the path would be certain death by wandering starvation? Suppose the path petered out, or had been overgrown? Suppose swift Hova runners overtook us?

I was in a fever of anxiety – not made any easier by the childish pleasure Elspeth seemed to be taking in our journey. She was forever clapping her hands and exclaiming at the saucer-eyed white monkeys who peered at us, or the lace-plumed birds that fluttered among the creepers; even the hideous water-snakes which cruised the streams, with their heads poking out, excited her – she barred the spiders, though, great marbled monsters as big as my hand, scuttling on webs the size of blankets. And once she fled in terror from a sight which had our horses neighing and bucking in the narrow way – a troop of great apes, bounding across the path in leaps of incredible length, both feet together.⁴³ We watched them crash into the undergrowth, and not for the first time I cursed the luck that I hadn’t even a clasp-knife with me for defence, for G-d knew what else might be lurking in that dark, cavernous forest. Elspeth wished she had her sketch-book.

There’s forty miles of that forest, but thanks to good Queen Ranavalona we didn’t have to cross it all, as you would today. The jungle track runs clear across towards Andevoranto, whence you travel up the coast to Tamitave, but in 1845 there was a short-cut – the Queen’s buffalo road, cut straight through the hilly jungle to the coastal plain. This was the track, hacked out by thousands of slaves, which I’d seen on the way up; we reached it on the fourth day, a great avenue through the green, with the mountain mist hanging over it in wraiths. It was eerie and foreboding, but at least it was flat, and with half our beasts already abandoned in exhaustion, I was glad of the easier going.

It’s strange, as I look back on that remarkable journey, that it wasn’t nearly as punishing as it might have been. Elspeth still swears that she quite enjoyed it; I dare say if I hadn’t been so apprehensive – about our beasts foundering, or losing our way if the mist settled down, or being overtaken by pursuers (although I knew there was scant chance of that), or how we were going to make our final dash to the frigate – I might have marvelled that we came through it so easily. But we did; our luck held through hill and jungle, we hardly saw a native the whole way, and on the fourth afternoon we were trotting down through the strange little conical hillocks that line the sandy coastal plain, with nothing ahead of us but a few scattered villages and easy level going until we should come to Tamitave.

Of course, I should have been on my guard. I should have known it had gone too smooth. I should have remembered the horror that lay no great way behind, and the mad hatred and bloodlust of that evil woman. I should have thought of the soldier’s first rule, to put yourself in the enemy’s shoes and ask what you would do. If I’d been that terrible b---h, and my ingrate lover had tried to ruin me, cut up my guardsmen, and lit out for the coast – what would I have done, given unlimited power and a maniac’s vengeance to slake? Sent out my fleetest couriers, over plain and jungle and mountain, to carry the alarm, rouse the garrisons, cut off escape – that’s what I’d have done. How far can good runners travel in a day – forty miles over rough going? Say four days, perhaps five, from Antan’ to the coast. We were approaching Tamitave on the evening of the fourth day.

Aye, I should have been on my guard – but when you’re within the last lap of safety, when all has gone far better than you’d dared hope, when you’ve seen the Tamitave track and know that the coast is only a few scant miles away over the low hills, when you have the gamest, loveliest girl in the world riding knee to knee with you, that eager idiot smile on her face and her tits bouncing famously, when the dark terrors have receded behind you – above all, when you’ve hardly slept in four nights and are fit to topple from the saddle with sheer weariness … then hope can fuddle your wits a little, and you let the last of your rations slip from your hand, and the dusk begins to swim round you, and your head is on the turf and you slip down the long slide into unconsciousness – until someone miles away is shaking you, and yelping urgently in your ear, and you come awake in bleary alarm, staring wildly about you in the dawn.

“Harry! Oh, Harry – quickly! Look, look!”

She had me by the wrist, tugging me to my feet. Where was I? – yes, this was the little hollow we’d camped in, there were the horses, the first ray of dawn was just peeping over the low downs to the east, but Elspeth was pulling me t’other way, to the lip of the hollow, pointing.

“Look, Harry – yonder! Who are those people?”

I stared back, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes – the distant mountains were in a wall of mist, and on the rolling land between there were long trails of fog hanging on the slopes. Nothing else – no! there was movement on the crest a mile behind us, figures of men coming into plain view, a dozen – twenty perhaps, in an irregular line abreast. I felt an awful clutch at my heart as I stared, disbelieving what I saw, for they were advancing at a slow trot, in an ominously disciplined fashion; I recognized that gait, even as I took in the first twinkle of steel along the line and made out the white streaks of the bandoliers – I’d taught ’em how to advance in skirmishing order myself, hadn’t I? But it was impossible …

“It can’t be!” I heard my voice cracking. “They’re Hova guardsmen!”

If any confirmation were needed it came in the faint, wailing yell drifting on the dawn air, as they came jogging down the slope to the plain.

“I thought I had better rouse you, Harry,” Elspeth was saying, but by then I was leaping for the horses, yelling to her to get aboard. She was still babbling questions as I bundled her up bareback, and flung myself on to a second mount. I slashed at the three other beasts remaining to us, and as they fled neighing from the hollow I spared another wild glance back; three-quarters of a mile away the skirmishing line was coming steadily towards us, cutting the distance at frightening speed. G-d, how had they done it on foot in the time? Where had they come from, for that matter?

Interesting questions, to which I still don’t know the answer, and they didn’t occupy me above a split second just then. In the nick of time I stifled my coward’s instinct to gallop wildly away from them, and surveyed the ground ahead of us. Two, perhaps three miles due east, across rolling sandy plain, was the crest from which, I was pretty sure, we’d look down on the shore; there was the Tamitave track a mile or so to our right, with a few villagers already on it. I struggled to clear my wits – if we rode straight ahead we ought to come out just above the Tamitave fort, north of the town proper – the frigate would be lying in the roads – Ch---t, how were we going to reach her, for there’d be no time to stop and scheme, with these d---ls on our heels. I looked again; they were well out on the plain by now, and coming on fast … I gripped Elspeth’s wrist.

“Follow me close! Ride steady, watch your footing, and for G-d’s sake don’t slip! They can’t catch us if we keep up a round canter, but if we tumble we’re done!”

She was pale as a sheet, but she nodded and for once didn’t ask me who these strange gentlemen were, or what they wanted, or if her hair was disarranged. I wheeled and set off down the slope, with her close behind, and the yell as they saw us turn was clear enough now; a savage hunting cry that had me digging in my heels despite myself. We drummed down the hill, and I forced myself not to look back until we’d crossed the little valley and come to the next crest – we’d gained on them, but they were still coming, and I gulped and gestured furiously to Elspeth to keep up.

I’d have to count up all the battles I’ve been in to tell you how often I’ve fled in panic, and I’ve made a few other strategic withdrawals, too, but this was as horrid as any. There was the time Scud East and I went tearing along the Arrow of Arabat in a sled with the Cossacks behind us, and the jolly little jaunt I had with Colonel Sebastian Moran in the ammunition cart after Isandhlwana, with the Udloko Zulus on our tail – and couldn’t they cover the ground, just? But in the present case the snag was that very shortly we were going to reach the sea, and unless our embarkation went smoothly – G-d, the frigate must be there! … I stole another look over my shoulder – we were a clear mile ahead now, surely, but there they were still, just appearing on a crest and streaming over it in fine style.

I took a look at our horses; they weren’t labouring, but they weren’t fit to enter the St Leger either. Would they last? Suppose one went lame – why the blazes hadn’t I thought to drive the spare beasts ahead? But it was too late now.

“Come on,” says I, and Elspeth gave me a trembling look and kicked in her heels, clinging to the mane. The last slope was half a mile ahead; as we dropped our pace for the ascent I looked back again, but there was nothing in sight for a good mile.

“We’ll do it yet!” I shouted, and we covered the last few yards to the top through slippery sand, the sun blazed in our eyes as we reached the crest, the breeze was suddenly stiff in our faces – and there below us, down a long sandy slope, was the spreading panorama of beach and blue water, with the surf foaming not a mile away. Far off to the right was Tamitave town, the smoke rising in thin trails above the thatched roofs; closer, but still to the right, was the fort, a massive circular stone tower, with its flag a-flutter, and its outer wooden palisade; there were white-coated troops, about a platoon strong, marching towards it from the town, and looking down from our point of vantage I could see great activity in the central square of the fort itself, and round the gun emplacements on its wall.

The sun was shining straight towards us out of a blue, cloudless sky, the rays coming over a thick bank of mist which mantled the surface of the sea a mile off-shore. A beautiful sight, the coral strand with its palms, the gulls wheeling, the gentle roll of bright blue sea – there was only one thing missing. From golden beach to pearly bank of mist, from pale clear distance in the north to the vague smokiness of the town waterfront to the south, the sea was as bare as a miser’s table. There was no British frigate in Tamitave roads. There wasn’t even a bl----d bumboat. And behind us, as I turned my frantic gaze in their direction, the Hovas were just coming in sight on the hillside a scant mile away.

I can’t recall whether I screamed aloud or not; I may well have done, but if I did it was a poor expression of the sick despair that engulfed me in that moment. I know the thought that was in my mind, as I pounded my knee with my fist in an anguish of rage, fear, and disappointment, was: “But it must be there! It has to wait for her message!” and then Elspeth was turning solemn blue eyes on me and asking:

“But Harry, where is the ship? You said it would be here—” And then, putting two and two together, I suppose, she added: “Whatever shall we do now?”

It was a question which had occurred to me, as I stared palsied from the empty sea in front to our pursuers behind – they had halted on the far crest, which was an irony, if you like. They could crawl on their bellies towards us now, for all it mattered – we were trapped, helpless, with nothing to do but wait until they came up with us at their leisure, to seize and drag us back to the abominable fate that would be waiting for us in Antan’. I could picture those snake-like eyes, the steaming pits at Ambohipotsy, the bodies turning in the air from the top of the cliff, the blood-curdling shriek of the mob – I realized I was babbling out a flood of oaths, as I stared vainly round for an escape which I knew wasn’t there.

Elspeth was clutching my hand, white-faced – and then, because it was the only way to go, I was urging her down the slope to our left, towards a long grove of palms which began about two furlongs from the fort and ran away into the distance along the coastline northwards. That’s one thing about a sound cowardly instinct – it turns you directly to cover, however poor and useless it may be. They’d find us there in no time, but if we could reach the trees undetected from the fort, we might at least be able to flee north – to what? There was nothing for us yonder except blind flight until we dropped from exhaustion, or our horses foundered, or those black hounds came up with us, and I knew it, but it was better than stopping where we were to be run down like sheep.

“Oh, Harry!” Elspeth was wailing in my rear as we thundered down the slope, but I didn’t check; another minute would have us in the shelter of the grove, if no one in the fort saw us first. Crouched over my beast’s neck, I stole a look down towards the stone battlements at the foot of the hill – Elspeth’s voice behind me rose in a sudden scream, I whirled in my seat, and to my amazement saw that she was hauling in her mount by the mane. I yelled to her to ride, cursing her for an idiot, but she was pointing seaward, crying out, and I wrestled my brute to a slithering halt, staring where she pointed – and, d’you know, I couldn’t blame her.

Out in the roads something was moving in that rolling bank of mist. At first it was just a shadow, towering in the downy radiance of the fog; then a long black spar was jutting out, and behind it masts and rigging were taking shape. In disbelief I heard the faint, unmistakable squeal of sheaves as she came into view, a tall, slim ship under topsails, drifting slowly out of the mist, turning before my eyes, showing her broad, white-striped side – her ports were up, there were guns out, men moving on the decks, and from her mizzen trailed a flag – blue, white, red – dear G-d, she was a Frog warship – and there, to her right, another shadow was breaking clear, another ship, turning as the first had done, another Frenchie, guns, colours and all!

Elspeth was beside me, I was hugging her almost out of her seat as we watched them spellbound, our flight, the fort, pursuit all forgotten – she yelped in my ear as a third shadow loomed up in the wake of the ships, and this time it was the real thing, no error, and I found myself choking tears of joy, for that was the dear old Union Jack at the truck of the frigate which came gliding out on to the blue water.

I was shouting, G-d knows what, and Elsepth was clapping her hands, and then a gun boomed suddenly from the fort, only a few hundred yards away, and a white plume of smoke billowed up from the battlements. The three ships were standing in towards the fort; the leading Frog tacked with a cracking of canvas, and suddenly its whole side exploded in a thunder of flame and smoke, there was a series of tremendous crashes from the fort as the broadsides struck home – and here came her two consorts, each in turn letting fly while sea and sky echoed to the roar of their cannonade, a mighty pall of grey smoke eddying around them as they put about and came running in again.⁴⁴

It was a badly-aimed shot screaming overhead that reminded me we were in the direct line of fire. I yelled to Elspeth, and we careered down to the trees, crashing into the thickets and sliding from our mounts to stare at the extraordinary scene being played out in the bay.

“Harry – why are they shooting? Do you suppose they are come to rescue us?” She was clutching my hand, all agog. “Will they know we are here? Should we not wave, or light a fire, or some such thing? Will you not call to them, my love?”

This, with forty guns blazing away not a quarter of a mile off, for the fort was firing back as well; the leading Frog was almost at point-blank range. Clouds of dust and smoke surged up from the fort wall; the Frog seemed to stagger in the water, and Elspeth shrieked as his foretop sagged and then fell slowly into the smoke, with a wreckage of sail and cordage. In came the second ship, letting off her broadside any old how in lubberly, garlic-eating fashion, and the fort thumped her handsomely in reply, serve her right. My G-d, thinks I, are the Crapauds going to be beat? For the second Frog lost her mizzen top and sheered away blind with the spars littering her poop – and then in came the British frigate, and while I ain’t got much use for our navy people, as a rule, I’ll allow that she showed up well in front of the foreigners, for she ran in steady and silent, biding her time, while the fort hammered at her and the splinters flew from her bulwarks.

Through the clear air we could see every detail – the leadsman in the chains swinging away, the white-shirted tars on her decks, the blue-coated officers on the quarterdeck, even a little midshipman in the rigging with his telescope trained on the fort. Silently she bore in until I was sure she must run aground, and then a voice called from the poop, there was a rush of men and a flapping of canvas, she wore round, and every gun crashed out as one in a deafening inferno of sound. The wave of the broadside hit us in a blast of air, the fort battlements seemed to vanish in smoke and dust and flying fragments – but when all cleared, there the fort still stood, and her guns banging irregularly in reply.

The frigate was tacking away neatly, but neither she nor the injured Frogs looked like coming in again – the appalling thought struck me that they might be sheering off, and I couldn’t restrain myself at such cowardly behaviour.

“Come back, you sons of b-----s!” I roared, fairly dancing up and down. “D--nation, they’re only a parcel of niggers! Lay into them, rot you! It’s what you’re paid for!” “But, see, Harry!” squeaks Elspeth, pointing. “Look, my love, they are coming! See – the boats!”

Sure enough, there were longboats creeping out from behind the Frogs, and another from the British ship. As the three vessels stood to again, firing at the fort, the smaller boats came heading in for the shore, packed with men – they were going to storm the fort, under the covering guns of the squadron. I found I was dancing and blaspheming with excitement – for this must be our chance! We must run to them when they got ashore – I ploughed back through the fronds, staring at the hill behind, to see how our Hova friends were doing – and there they were, dropping down from the crest beind us, making for the landward side of the fort. They were running any old how, but an under-officer was shouting in the rear, and it seemed to me he was pointing towards our grove. Yes, some of the Hovas were checking – he was sending them in our direction – d--n the black villain, didn’t he know where his duty lay, with foreign vessels attacking his b----y island?

“What shall we do, Harry?” Elspeth was at my elbow. “Should we not hasten to the beach? It may be dangerous to linger.”

She ain’t quite the fool she looks, you know – but fortunately neither am I. The boats were into the surf, only a moment from the shore; the temptation to run towards them was almost more than a respectable poltroon could bear – but if we broke cover too soon, with three hundred yards of naked sand between us and the spot where the nearest Frog boat would touch, we’d be within easy musket-shot from the fort to our right. We must lie up in the grove until the landing-party had got up the beach and rushed the fort – that would keep the black musketeers busy, and it would be safe to race for the boats, waving a white flag – I was tearing away at Elspeth’s petticoat, hushing her squeals of protest, peering back through the undergrowth at the approaching Hovas. There were three of ’em, trotting towards the grove, with their officer far behind waving them on; the leading one was almost into the trees, looking stupid, turning to seek instructions from his fellows; then the flat, brutal face turned in our direction, and he began to pick his way into the grove, his spear balanced, his face turning this way and that.

I hissed to Elspeth and drew her towards the seaward side of the grove, under a thicket, listening for everything at once – the steady boom and crash of gunfire, the faint shouts from the fort walls, the slow crunch of the Hova’s feet on the floor of the grove. He seemed to be moving away north behind us – and then Elspeth put her lips to my ear and whispered:

“Oh, Harry, do not move, I pray! There is another of those natives quite close!”

I turned my head, and almost gave birth. On the other side of our thicket, visible through the fronds, was a black shape, not ten yards away – and at that moment the first Hova gave a startled yell, there was a frantic neighing – J---s, I’d forgotten our horses, and the brute must have walked into them! The black shape through the thicket began to run – away from us, mercifully, a crackle of musketry sounded from the beach, and I remembered my dear little woman’s timely suggestion, and decided we should linger no longer.

“Run!” I hissed, and we broke out of the trees, and went haring for the shore. There was a shout from behind, a whisp! in the air overhead, and a spear went skidding along the soft sand before us. Elspeth shrieked, we raced on; the boats were being beached, and already armed men were charging towards the fort – Frog sailors in striped jerseys, with a little chap ahead waving a sabre and making pronouncements about la gloire, no doubt, as the grape from the walls kicked up the sand among him and his party.

“Help!” I roared, stumbling and waving Elspeth’s shift. “We’re friends! Halloo, mes amis! Nous sommes Anglais, pour l’amour de Dieu! Don’t shoot! Vive la France!”

They didn’t pay us the slightest heed, being engaged by that time in hacking a way through the fort’s outer wooden palisade. We stumbled out of the soft sand to firmer going, making for the boats, all of which were beached just above the surf. I looked back, but the Hovas were nowhere to be seen, clever lads; I pushed Elspeth, and we veered away to be out of shot from the fort; the beach ahead was alive with running figures by now, French and British, storming ahead and cheering. There was the dooce of a dogfight going on at the outer palisade, white and striped jerseys on one side, black skins on t’other, cutlasses and spears flashing, musketry crackling from the inner fort and being answered from our people farther down the beach. Then there were sounds of British cheering and cries of excited Frogs, and through the smoke I could see they were up to the inner wall, clambering up on each other’s shoulders, popping away with pistols, obviously racing to see which should be up first, French or British.

Good luck to you, my lads, thinks I, for I’m tired. At the same moment, Elspeth cries:

“Oh, Harry, Harry, darling Harry!” and clung to me. “Do you think,” she whispered faintly, “that we might sit down now?” With that she went into a dead swoon, and we sank to the wet sand in each other’s arms, between the boats and the landing party. I was too tuckered and dizzy to do anything except sit there, holding her, while the battle raged at the top of the beach, and I thought, by Jove, we’re clear at last, and soon I’ll be able to sleep …

“You, sir!” cries a voice. “Yes, you – what are you about, sir? Great Scott! – is that a woman you have there?”

A party of British sailors, carrying empty stretchers, were racing across our front to the fort, and with them this red-faced chap with a gold strip on his coat, who’d checked to pop his eyes at us. He was waving a sword and pistol. I yelled to him above the din of firing that we were escaped prisoners of the Malagassies, but he only went redder than ever.

“What’s that you say? You’re not with the landing party? Then get off the beach, sir – get off this minute! You’ve no business here! This is a naval operation! What’s that, bos’un? – I’m coming, bl--t you! On, you men!”

He scampered off, brandishing his weapons, but I didn’t care. I knew I was too done to carry Elspeth down to the boats a hundred yards off, but we were out of effective musket shot of the fort, so I was content to sit and wait until someone should have time to attend to us. They were all busy enough at the moment, in all conscience; the ground before the palisade was littered with dead and crawling wounded, and through the breaches they’d broken I could see them spiking the guns while the scaling parties were still trying to get up the thirty-foot wall behind. They had ladders, crowded with tars and matelots, their steel flashing in the smoke at the top of the wall, where the defenders were slashing and firing away.

Above the crashing musketry there was a sudden cheer; the big black-and-white Malagassy flag on the fort wall was toppling down on its broken staff, but a Malagassy on the battlements caught it as it fell; the fighting boiled around him, but at that moment a returning stretcher party charged across my line of vision, bearing stricken men back to the boats, so I didn’t see what happened to him.

Still no one paid any mind to Elspeth and me; we were slightly out of the main traffic up and down the beach, and although one party of Frog sailors stopped to stare curiously at us, they were soon chivvied away by a bawling officer. I tried to raise her, but she was still slumped unconscious against my breast, and I was labouring away when I saw that the landing party were beginning to fall back from the fort. The walking wounded came hobbling first, supported by their mates, and then the main parties all jumbled up together, British and French, with the petty officers swearing and bawling orders as the men tried to find their right divisions. They were squabbling and jostling in great disorder, the British tars cursing the Frogs, and the Frogs grimacing and gesticulating back.

I called out for assistance, but it was like talking in a madhouse – and then over all the trampling and babble the distant guns from the ships began to boom again, and shot whistled overhead to crash into the fort, for our rearguard was clear now, skirmishing away in goodish order, exchanging musket fire with the battlements which they’d failed to overcome. All they seemed to have captured was the Malagassy flag; in among the retiring skirmishers, with the enemy shot peppering them, a disorderly mob of French and English seamen were absolutely at blows with each other for possession of the confounded thing, with cries of “Ah, voleurs!” and “Belay, you sod!”, the Frogs kicking and the Britons lashing out with their fists, while two of their officers tried to part them.

Finally the English officer, a great lanky fellow with his trouser leg half torn off and a bloody bandage round his knee, succeeded in wrenching the banner away, but the Frog officer, who was about four feet tall, grabbed an end of it, and they came stumbling down in my direction, yelling at each other in their respective lingoes, with their crews joining in.

“You shall not have it!” cries the Frog. “Render it to me, monsieur, this instant!”

“Sheer off, you greasy half-pint!” roars John Bull. “You take your paw away directly, or you’ll get what for!”

“Sacred English thief! It fell to my men, I tell you! It is a prize of France!”

“Will you leave off, you Frog-eating ape? D---e, if you and your cowardly jackanapes had fought as hard as you squeal we’d have had that fort by now! Let go, d’ye hear?”

“Ah, you resist me, do you?” cries the Frog, who came about up to the Englishman’s elbow. “It is sufficient, this! Release it, this flag, or I shall pistol you!”

“Give over, rot you!” They were almost on top of us by now, the sturdy Saxon holding the flag above his head and the tiny Frog clinging to it and hacking at his shins. “I’ll cast anchor in you, you prancing swab, if— Good G-d, that’s a woman!” His jaw dropped as he caught sight of me at his feet, with Elspeth in my arms. He stared, speechless, oblivious of the Frenchman, who was now drumming at his chest with tiny fists, eyes tight shut.

“If you’ve a moment,” says I, “I’d be obliged if you’d assist my wife to your boats. We’re British, and we’ve escaped from captivity in the interior.”

I had to repeat it before he took it in, with a variety of oaths, while the Frog, who had stopped drumming, glared suspiciously.

“What does he say, then?” cries he. “Does he conspire, the rascal? Ah, but I shall have the flag – death of the devil, what is this? A woman, beneath our feet, then?”

I explained to him, in French, and he goggled and removed his hat.

“A lady? An English lady? Incredible! But a lady so beautiful, by example, and in a condition of swoon! Ah, but the poor little! Médecin-major Narcejac! Médecin-major Narcejac! Come quickly – and do you, sir, be calm?” He was fairly dancing in agitation. “Attend, you others, and guard madame!”

They were all crowding round, gaping, and while a Frog sawbones knelt beside Elspeth, whose eyelids were fluttering, a couple of tars helped me up, and the English officer demanding to know who I was, I told him, and he said, not Flashman of Afghanistan, surely, and I said, the very same, and he said, well, he was d----d, and he was Kennedy, second of the frigate Conway, and proud to meet me. During this the little Frog officer was hopping excitedly, informing me that he was Lieutenant Boudancourt, of the Zelée, that madame would receive every comfort, and sal volatile, that the entire French marine was at her service, name of a name, and he, Boudancourt who spoke, would personally supervise her tranquil removal without delay—

“Avast there, Crapaud!” roars Kennedy. “What’s he saying? Jenkins, Russell! The lady’s British, an’ she’ll come in a British boat, by G-d! Can you walk, marm?”

Elspeth, supported by the Frog doctor, was still so faint, either from fatigue or all this male attention, that she could only gesture limply, and Boudancourt squawked his indignation at Kennedy.

“Do not raise the voice above the half, if you please! Ah, but see, you have returned madame to a decline!”

“Shut your trap!” cries Kennedy, and then, to a seaman who was tugging at his sleeve, “What the h--l is it now?”

“Beggin’ your pardon, sir, Mister Heseltine’s compliments, an’ the blacks is makin’ a sally, looks like, sir.”

He was pointing up the beach: sure enough, black figures in white loin-cloths were emerging through the broken palisade, braving the shot from the ships and our rearguard’s musketry. Some of them were firing towards us; there was the alarming swish of bullets overhead.

“H--l and d--nation!” cries Kennedy. “Frogs, women, an’ niggers! It’s too bad! Mister Cliff, I’ll be obliged if you’ll get those men off the beach! Cover ’em, sharpshooters! Russell, run to the boat – tell Mister Partridge to load the two-pounder with grape and let ’em have it if they come within range! Fall back, there! Get off the beach!”

Boudancourt was yelling similar instructions to his own people; among them, the médecin-major and a matelot were helping Elspeth down to the nearest boat.

“Well, go with her, you fool!” cries Kennedy to me. “You know what these b----y Frogs are like, don’t you?” He was limping along on his injured leg, the Malagassy flag trailing from his hand, little Boudancourt snapping at his heels.

“Ah, but a moment, monsieur! You forget, I think, that you still carry that which is the rightful property of Madame la République! Be pleased to yield me that flag!”

“I’ll be d--ned if I do!”

“Villain, do you defy me still? You shall not leave this shore alive!”

“Shove off, you little squirt!”

I could hear their squabbling above the din as I reached the gunwale of the French boat, with men floundering about her knee-deep in water. Elspeth was being helped to the stern-sheets through a jabbering, groaning, shouting crowd of Frenchmen – some were standing in the bows, firing up the beach, others were preparing to shove off, there were wounded crying or lying silent against the thwarts, a midshipman was yelling shrill orders to the men at the sweeps. There was a deafening explosion as the British cutter nearby fired her bow-gun; the Malagassies were streaming out of the fort in numbers now, skirmishing down the beach, taking pot-shots – they’d be forming up for a charge in a moment – and Kennedy and Boudancourt, the last men off the beach, were splashing through the shallows, tugging at the flag and yelling abuse at each other.

“Let go, G-d rot your boots!”

“English bully, you shall not escape!”

I think of them sometimes, when I hear idiot politicians blathering about “entente cordiale” – Kennedy shaking his fist, Boudancourt blue in the face, with that dirty, useless piece of calico stretched taut between them. And I’m proud to think that in that critical moment, with confusion all around and disaster imminent, my diplomatic skill asserted itself to save the day – for I believe they’d have been there yet if I hadn’t snatched a knife from the belt of a matelot beside me and slashed at the flag, cursing hysterically. It didn’t do more than tear it slightly, but that was enough – the thing parted with a rending sound, Kennedy swore, Boudancourt shrieked, and we scrambled aboard as the bow-chasers roared for the last time and the boats ground over the shingle and wallowed in the surf.

“Assassin!” cries Boudancourt, brandishing his half.

“Pimp!” roars Kennedy, from the neighbouring boat.

That was how we came away from Madagascar. More than a score of French and British dead it cost, that mismanaged, lunatic operation,⁴⁵ but since it saved my life and Elspeth’s by sheer chance, you’ll forgive me if I don’t complain. All that I could think, as I huddled beside her in the stern, my head swimming with fatigue and my body one great throbbing ache, was – by Jove, we’re clear. Mad black queens, Solomon, Brooke, Hovas, head-hunters, Chink hatchetmen, poison darts, boiling pits, skull ships, tanguin poison – they’re all gone, and we’re pulling across blue water, my girl and I, to a ship that’ll take us home …

“Pardon, monsieur,” Boudancourt, beside me, was frowning at the piece of sodden flag in his hands. “Can you say,” says he, pointing at the black script on it, “what these words signify?”

I couldn’t read ’em, of course, but I’d learned enough of Malagassy heraldry to know what they were.

“That says ‘Ranavalona’,” I told him. “She’s the queen of that b----y island, and you can thank your stars you’ll never get closer to her than this. I could tell you—” I was going on, but I felt Elspeth stir against me and thought, no, least said soonest mended. I glanced at her; she was awake, all right, but she wasn’t listening. Her eyes appeared to be demurely downcast, which I couldn’t fathom until I noticed that her dress was so torn that her bare legs were uncovered, and every libidinous Frog face in that boat was leering in her direction. And didn’t she know it, though? By George, thinks I, that’s how this whole confounded business started, because this simpering slut allowed herself to be ogled by lewd fellows—

“D’ye mind?” says I to Boudancourt, and taking the torn banner from his hand I disposed it decently across her knees, scowling at the disgruntled Frogs. She looked at me, all innocent wonder, and then smiled and snuggled up to my shoulder.

“Why, Harry,” sighs she. “You take such good care of me.”

[Final extract from the journal of Mrs Flashman, July—, 1845]

… to be sure it is very tiresome to be parted again so soon from my dear, dear H., especially after the Cruel Separation which we have endured, and just at a time when we supposed we could enjoy the repose and comfort of each other’s company in Blissful Peace at last, and in the safety of Old England. But H.E. the Governor at Mauritius was quite determined that H. must go to India, for it seems that there is growing turmoil there among the Seekh people, and that homeward bound regiments have had to be sent back again, and every Officer of proved experience is required in case of war.⁴⁶ So of course my darling, being on the Active List, must be despatched to Bombay, not without Vigorous Protest on his part, and he even went so far as to threaten to send in his Papers, and quit the Service altogether, but this they would not permit at all.

So I am left lamenting, like Lord Ullin’s daughter, or was it her father, I don’t perfectly remember which, while the Husband of my Bosom returns to his Duty, and indeed I hope he takes care with the Seekhs, who appear to be most disagreeable. My only Consolation is the knowledge that my dearest would rather far have accompanied me home himself, and it was this Dear Concern and Affection for me that caused him to resist so fiercely when they said he must go to India (and indeed he grew quite violent on the subject, and called H.E. the Governor many unpleasant things which I shan’t set down, they were so shocking). But I could never have him forsake the Path of Honour, which he loves so well, for my sake, and there really was no reason why he should, for I am extremely comfortable and well taken care of aboard the good ship Zelée, whose commander, Captain Feiseck, has been so obliging as to offer me passage to Toulon, rather than await an Indiaman. He is most Agreeable and Attentive, with the most polished manners and full of consideration to me, as are all his officers, especially Lieutenants Homard and St Just and Delincourt and Ambrée and dear little Boudancourt and even the Midshipmen …

[End of extract – Humbug, vanity and affectation to the last! And a very proper wifely concern, indeed!!! – G. de R.]

(On this note of impatience from its original editor, the manuscript of the sixth packet of the Flashman Papers comes to an end.)

^a Organization.