Such an intimation was not to be disregarded, and by a pure coincidence the General had an audience of some size when he came suddenly upon the waiting ambassadors, and learned their errand. Receiving the letter at their hands, he gave it to Richard to read, remarking that it was convenient he should happen to be there. “Aloud, if you please,” he added.
The messengers clustered together a little more closely, as though for mutual support, as Richard ran his eye over the elaborate and inevitable compliments occupying the first part of the epistle. There was a look about them as of naughty boys—bold yet frightened—as he reached the business part. “I am to read his Highness’s letter aloud, sir?” he asked. “Then this is what he suggests—you are to be free to quit Khemistan with you troops and baggage, on condition of liberating the Khans now in captivity, and restoring the occupied territory and towns, and all spoil of every kind.”
A murmur of indignation rose and swelled among the European part of the group, but the General held up his hand for silence. Into the silence there came the heavy boom of the evening gun from the Fort. Sir Harry laughed. “There! d’ye hear that?” he said. “That’s my answer. Be off with it to your master!” and off the messengers went, hardly waiting for the words to be translated into Persian.
“Now Rickmer will have to look out for himself; or rather, we must look out for him,” said the General. “Kamal-ud-din has had a nasty snub, and in his naughty pride he will do his best to pay me back. Methinks it will cool his hot blood a little if we explore towards him to-morrow, and display an impolite curiosity as to the disposition of his forces.”
The “exploration”—which would now be called a reconnaissance in force—was carried out on three successive days, the General moving out with cavalry and guns in such warlike array that any young commander might have been excused for expecting an immediate assault. It was clear that Kamal-ud-din thought so, for he acted according to his lights in calling in his stragglers and raiding parties and waiting to be attacked. He was not attacked, but the General was able to get a very fair idea of the strong positions he had prepared. The secondary object of tempting him out into the open in order to ascertain his strength was not attained, but a far more important one was. It was three days before Kamal-ud-din realised that he had been kept so busy and so much interested in front that Colonel Rickmer and the Sahar column had got up behind him within two or three marches of the General. Thereupon he decided to treat frontal demonstrations with contempt in future, and take strong measures on his own account in his rear.
On the evening of the day of the third reconnaissance, the General was giving a dinner-party. It was clear by this time that Kamal-ud-din had perceived the real nature of the entertainment devised for his benefit, for the spies brought word that a large body of his men had marched into the desert in a north-easterly direction, evidently with the intention of making a circuit and falling upon Colonel Rickmer’s column from an unexpected quarter. It was an anxious moment for Sir Harry—not merely on the column’s account, but on his own. Until Colonel Rickmer arrived, he had merely the less than three thousand men of Mahighar—their numbers now sadly diminished by casualties and sickness, as well as by the necessity of furnishing a garrison for the Fort and guards for the camp and for the Khans on their voyage. True, victory was possible even with this remnant—he would have knocked any man down for denying it,—but the prudence which was so curiously blended with his rashness made him loath to contemplate fighting without the help of the northern column. The other reinforcements coming by water might almost safely be discounted, for they could not be expected for five days or even a week. Therefore the situation was critical in the extreme, and because the General knew it, and knew that his army knew it, and knew that the enemy must at least guess it, he invited his officers to dinner to celebrate one of the Duke of Wellington’s victories in the Peninsular War. He remembered and observed them all religiously, as he did everything connected with his old chief, but otherwise it is to be feared that few in camp could have told when or where the battle of Tarbes was fought. The increasing heat of the weather had obliged Sir Harry to give up his favourite habit of eating and doing business in the open air, and the burra khana took place in a large double tent, its magnificent lining of brocaded silk showing that it was part of the spoil taken from the Khans. The table furniture was unchanged, however, consisting of contributions from the Headquarters Mess and the canteens of the staff. Above the General’s place simpered the portrait of the girl Queen which had once hung in the reception-room in the Fort. By day it was covered with a curtain—because, said Sir Harry, servants and common people must not look upon the royal features—and exhibited only as a high honour to loyal chiefs.
Eveleen, as the only lady present, was handed gallantly to the seat on the General’s right, and the meal had not been long in progress before she saw Richard, who was nearly opposite, receive a whispered message from his servant and leave the table quietly. It was his duty to translate or decode any messages that might arrive, and she was not surprised when presently he reappeared at Sir Harry’s elbow, and handed him a small piece of tissue paper, creased as though it had been rolled up lengthways very small. As the General took it up, she saw that there were two of these pieces of paper, both covered with writing.
“From Colonel Rickmer, General, brought in a quill by a cossid of Colonel Welborne’s,” murmured Richard. Colonel Welborne was in modern phrase Director of Intelligence, organising the elaborate system of espionage and counter-espionage on which so much depended.
“And enclosing a message from Welborne, I see. Why, what’s this?” Sir Harry’s growl of rage startled the table, and the diners who had been politely pretending not to notice what was passing looked at him quickly. He pulled himself together in an instant, and laughed harshly.
“See here, gentlemen; this is good, ain’t it? Poor Rickmer desires me to tell him what on earth he is to do, for Welborne sends him word, ‘For God’s sake, halt! You will be attacked to-morrow by forty thousand men at least. Entrench yourself until the General can arrive to your relief.’ Is he to halt or not, he asks me, since I have sent him no orders to that effect. Here’s my answer—a pencil, Ambrose.” He turned the note over and wrote in his sprawling characters on the back, “‘Welborne’s men are all in buckram. Come on.’ Be good enough to have that sent off at once. How does it strike you, gentlemen?”