It wasn’t till the middle of the morning that the dragoons recovered themselves and Maclean got them into some semblance of a brigade. That scarcely troubled Hervey, for the Nizams would by his calculation take five or six hours to negotiate ‘Dennie’s Road’, and he wanted also to see the Native Infantry come down from the north to join Lindesay’s brigade (on which he’d decided late). It gave him opportunity, too, to speak with Major Garratt, who was all blitheness at the prospect of dismounted work if, as he put it, it came to ‘winkling out’. The only question was if, when assailed both front and rear, the Chintalees would throw down their arms or scatter. By rights, taking them prisoner was the better course always, but who would be their gaolers? Hervey supposed that, being irregulars, scattered they’d take an age to rally, and therefore no trouble for a day or so, which might, contrary to the usual precepts of war, be the better. If they did yield, however, he said it would fall to the cavalry to take and keep them prisoner – though which cavalry he couldn’t yet tell.

Armstrong was with the major, too, and in his element. They’d neither a lame horse nor a sick dragoon, ‘and the farriers all idle’. Hervey walked aside with him while Garratt had a word with Parry about the gunners.

‘What isn’t clear to me is where the “Pindarees” are. Skulking in their lines perhaps, or nowhere at all, even, taken French leave, paid or unpaid. I’ve yet to have word from Captain Fairbrother.’

‘Nor from Captain Worsley?’

‘I didn’t want them breaking cover too soon, showing we were close. In any event, this road the Somersets have opened – we’ll have a thousand and more horse through by evening. It ought to serve.’

Armstrong agreed. He’d no great regard for the Pindaree relics he’d clashed with at Bhurtpore. ‘Aye, Colonel; they’re fleet enough, but they don’t stand.’

Hervey nodded. He was certainly counting on it.

Garratt had finished his discourse with Parry.

Armstrong braced up. ‘With your leave, then, Colonel – General?’

Hervey returned the salute. ‘And you will remember to allow the sar’nt-majors their share of shot and shell, Mr Armstrong?’

‘Sir!’

Half enquiry, half order – but, Hervey knew, without point.

It was towards five o’clock when they emerged from the cool and silence of the forest into the bright sun of the Nerbudda’s flood plain. A picket of the Somersets directed him to Colonel Dennie’s pennant atop a goat-house whose occupants had no further need of it, having the night before become mutton.

Everywhere was pleasing order, dragoons off-saddled and grooming, with running lines up and grass-cutters at work. The Nizams were no less exemplary, while the Somersets’ marching camp would have done them justice on any inspection, with a picket line a good half a mile distant and the gunners’ flying troop disposed to support. Whatever Dennie’s prostration, his staff and company officers knew their business.