On the face of it, in Madras men like Sammy were as the sands of the sea. Were they all as he, though, in their simple virtue? On Sunday they’d sung of bringing them enlightenment:

From Greenland’s icy mountains,

From India’s coral strand,

Where Afric’s sunny fountains

Roll down their golden sand,

From many an ancient river,

From many a palmy plain,

They call us to deliver

Their land from error’s chain.

Good Bishop Heber had written it, a rousing hymn (and a fit memorial too to that tireless Christian). Hervey had known him a little in Calcutta when the regiment was there – and Kezia even better. But what chain fettered Sammy?

Yes, they did good work here, for it wasn’t so much error’s chain but chains – so many practices repugnant to civilized society. But for how long would they do good? Theirs, the Sixth’s, was a temporary reinforcement, contrived in large measure by Sir Eyre Somervile, the pro-governor and Hervey’s old friend, and the purpose for which they’d come here – the overthrow of the Rajah of Coorg, and the pacification of Mysore thereby – was accomplished. The court of directors of the Honourable East India Company would soon wish to see retrenchment.

‘Is any more, Colonel-sahib?’

‘No, thank you, Sammy.’

‘I dismiss, Colonel-sahib?’

It had become a ritual. ‘Dismiss, Sammy.’

When the door was closed, St Alban sat down. ‘The sar’nt-major says he’s the best scout in the garrison. There was adulterated flour brought in yesterday, and Sammy gave the quartermaster the word.’

‘Did he indeed? How did he learn of it? I trust that Collins made much of him?’

St Alban nodded. ‘These Hindoos and their damned “caste”: it seems that when it comes to “untouchables” they never bother to guard their tongues.’

‘And Sammy has a good ear, evidently.’

‘Just so. And Collins has made much of him, yes.’

Hervey smiled. He could picture the scene – and when the quartermaster turned the tables on the corn merchants. Collins could make his one arm even more fearsome than two.

But there was work to be done, of a sort. ‘Well now, Edward, what shall be the answer to the King’s pleasure?’

‘Oh, I can’t suppose it will be of great moment to the serjeants and other ranks, Colonel. It scarcely affects their fortunes, I would think. I imagine it will provide diversion for the officers, though. I venture to say opinions will be equally divided. There’ll be those who calculate it a financial advantage in the longer term – raise the price of their commission – and those who baulk at the cost of the uniform.’

‘No doubt.’

St Alban opened his order book and smiled wryly. ‘Well, it spares us the trouble of growing mustachios. There’s an order from the Horse Guards commanding they be abolished.’

‘The sky falls! What say the Horse Guards?’

St Alban read: ‘The mustachios of the cavalry (excepting in the Life Guards, the Royal Horse Guards, and the Hussars), to be abolished, and the hair of the non-commissioned officers and soldiers throughout the regular forces, to be cut close at the sides and at the back of the head …’