An Essay on Tides
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The Tides Of War Pt. 01 free porn video
Chapter 1
The look on Andrews face as he came through the door, said it all for him.
Removing his hat, he sat down and poured out a drink from the scotch bottle on the table by the side of the bed. He drank it in one swallow, his face lined with suppressed anger.
‘The bastards have blocked any introduction other than the charge of disobeying an order. The Colonel at least had the decency to look embarrassed, but it seems the only charge is that you willfully disobeyed the order. No mitigating circumstances will be allowed into evidence. Word has come down from higher up, and you know from where.’
David swung his legs down from the cot and poured himself a drink. He tried to smother his own feeling of rage with cold reasoning, ‘Well it’s only what I expected, they have to cover up it up for the sake of the family honour.’
Andrew hesitated before continuing, ‘The old man has suggested that you could resign your commission rather than face a general court martial, that way you would keep your name intact.’
David looked at him.
Poor old Andrew had been given the hopeless task of representing him, but his hands had been tied from the beginning.
The charge was simple: Had he refused to carry out an order? Yes, he had, so on that charge he was guilty as charged.
‘David, the old man is going out on a limb for you in this. He will accept your resignation – to take effect immediately – if you decide to take that route. Barton wants the court martial to continue, that way you will be found guilty and the inference will be, that Willaby and those men died through you not carrying out an order. What the order was will never be disclosed.’
David knew that Major Barton, who had been dispatched from the General Area Headquarters of General Sir Reginald Fitzroy to carry out the prosecution, was a member of the General’s staff. As such, he had a vested interest in keeping the General’s son’s name out of any proceedings.
‘Well it looks like I have very little choice Andrew,’ he said. Moving to the desk and taking out a sheet of paper, he began to write.
‘At least this way,’ Andrew murmured, ‘questions may be raised. Every man in the regiment knows what happened, so there is a chance the truth will get out one day.’
Andrew took the letter, as David was still officially confined to his room.
He began to pack his few possessions. ‘Not much to show for nine years in the army,’ he thought ruefully as he closed the Gladstone bag.
His service uniforms, mess uniform and sword he would leave for Andrew to sell, with instructions that the money go into the fund for the widows of the enlisted.
He sat back down and contemplated what he would do.
At twenty-eight, he was out of a job. The army had been his career and he had loved it, having a natural affinity for the Ghurkha troops under his command. He thought he had won their respect in numerous engagements along the North West Frontier, rising from Cornet to Lieutenant. Having no sponsorship from well-connected family or friends, the fact that he had risen in rank at all was down to ability alone.
Andrew returned two hours later bearing his discharge papers and a bag with twenty guineas in it.
‘You was due five guineas back pay, but the old man put up the other fifteen. He wished you luck, David, and thanked you for your service to the regiment. I think the old boy was really cut up at the way you have been treated.’
David smiled, ‘He was a good commanding officer. Having Fitzroy’s brat imposed on him, must have made his life hell.’
He explained about his uniforms to Andrew and then had a look around his room for the last time.
‘Don’t come with me to the gate, I’ll walk out alone,’ he murmured shaking hands with his friend.
As he walked slowly across the parade ground to the gate Ghurkha Riflemen came to attention and saluted him, even though he was dressed now in civilian clothes. Word had obviously got around and their actions brought a lump to his throat.
He caught a horse-drawn buggy outside of the gate and gave directions to a small boarding house on the outskirts of the town.
*****
For a week, he hardly left his room, just trying to decide what to do. There was nothing for him back in England. His parents had died when he was twelve. His only other relation, an Uncle, had died three years ago. The uncle had raised him, sending him first to boarding school and later university, before finally securing him a commission in the 2nd Ghurkha Rifles.
‘India is the place to be my boy,’ he had said, ‘A man can carve a future out there, either in the army or The Right Honourable East India Company.’
Although The Company had ceased to exist on paper, powerful businessmen, both in India and London still, maintained a grip on the country, dictating its development.
He smiled to himself remembering.
He had soon learned that nepotism and corruption were the norm in both John Company, as it was called, and the army, and felt sympathy for the Indians who had to bow to the wishes of John Company in its greed-driven efforts – backed by the army – to subjugate the various principalities to their control. It was little wonder there had been so much unrest and revolt, and it was left to the common soldier to rectify matters when the kettle boiled over.
His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. On opening it he found Mrs. Brown, the owner of the boarding house, standing there.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you Mr. Ramage, but there’s a gentleman down stairs who would like to have a word with you,’ she said.
Mrs. Brown had started the boarding house after her husband, Sergeant Brown, had been killed in a clash with the Pathans ten years ago. She was an ex-army brat, her father being army, and had lived all her life in India.
‘Thank you Mrs. Brown,’ he murmured, ‘would you show the gentleman up please.’
She smiled and left.
Word had soon got around that he no longer held a commission. The fact that she had called him mister as opposed to Lieutenant, he noticed with a pang.
On opening the door to the knock he found a portly gentleman who appeared to be in his sixties standing there, a briefcase in one hand and a fan and hat in the other. His white linen suit appeared somewhat rumpled, his stiff bat-winged collar adding to the visible discomfort David observed in the sweat on his brow.
‘Do I have the honour of addressing Mr. David Ramage,’ he asked in a very cultured voice.
‘You do Sir,’ David replied.
‘Oh good,’ the man replied looking relieved, ‘I’ve had a devil of a job locating you. I thought you may have left the town.’
‘Would you like to come in and sit down?’ David asked.
The man appeared worn out and gave David a grateful look as he lowered his bulk into a chair, placing his hat on the table but fanning his face with the fan.
‘Would you care for some refreshment?’ David asked, ‘I have some lemon water available.’
The man’s face smiled appreciatively, ‘That would be most kind sir, thank you.’
Whilst David poured out the drink the man continued, ‘My name is Cox, of Abercrombie, Cox and Cox, solicitors of law in Multan.’
David handed him his drink, thinking as he drank: Multan was two hundred miles away and he was mystified as to what business a solicitor from there might possibly have with him.
Mr. Cox lowered his glass and reached for his briefcase. Opening it he removed a document from inside, ‘I’ve been instructed by his Royal Highness Prince Hazid Ibram Kahn of Kanda, to offer you a business opportunity for a consultancy post.’
David frowned. Kanda was over four hundred miles to the North, by the mountain range that divided India from Afghanistan. He searched his brain, knowing very little of the independent principality
apart from its reputation as being very rich from gold and gems and, of course, the Pass.
‘What am I supposed to consult on?’ David asked, somewhat baffled.
Mr. Cox shook his head, ‘That has not been disclosed to me. I’m instructed to give you twenty-five guineas if you agree to journey to Kanda, and you will receive a further twenty-five guinea on your arrival. The Prince has provided for train fare to Bata, and arrangements there will be made to convey you on to the Palace.’
David’s head was in a whirl. The money constituted more than a year’s army pay, but, more to the point, gave him something to do rather than sitting in this room.
Mr. Cox continued, ‘Should you agree, there is a train leaving this evening which I shall be on. You may accompany me as far as Multan where I shall leave you to continue on to Bata. There, someone will meet you for the rest of your journey.’
Chapter 2
They had a first class compartment to themselves as the train pulled out of the station. Mr. Cox had changed his suit and washed and shaved somewhere in town, David realized, when he met the solicitor at the train station.
The compartment was typical of the Victorian rail system found in India in 1888: Heavy upholstered seats with brass fittings and velvet curtains. David had never been in first class on the rail journeys he had undertaken in the past, only being able to afford second-class, which entailed sitting on hard bench seats in an open carriage packed with other travellers.
He found out from Mr. Cox that that his firm represented the Prince’s interests, and it would seem that he was one of their most distinguished clients. The fact that Mr. Cox himself had sought him out, having only been given two days’ notice to find him, was testament to the high regard in which Abercrombie, Cox and Cox held his patronage.
Mr. Cox had settled into his seat and went to sleep after an hour of travelling. Despite his snoring, David joined him.
When he awoke, he saw through the widows of the carriage that dawn was approaching. Glancing at his steel hunter, the only thing he had of his fathers, he noted it was almost six am. He wound the clock as he continued to look outside, replacing it in his top pocket.
The countryside was changing, becoming more rugged as the train climbed the foothills leading to the mountains.
Mr. Cox woke, stretched and began fastening the bat-winged collar he had removed before going to sleep.
He looked out of the window, ‘We’ll be pulling into Multan in about half an hour,’ he murmured, ‘I’ll be glad to be back home.’
He began to gather his things together as David watched.
‘You have an hour before the train leaves for Bata. You can find food just outside the station at the Railway Hotel and also clean up there if you wish.’ He reached into his briefcase and extracted a purse, ‘Your twenty-five guineas are in this,’ he said, offering it to him.
‘You’ll find the Prince is an educated man. He went to Oxford. In my dealings with him, I have found him to be very astute and well aware of the politics and intrigues that beset this country. The fact he has managed thus far to retain his county’s independence from John Company, speaks volumes about his negotiating skills.’
‘I have to confess I know very little about Kanda,’ David replied.
‘I’ve only been there once, the journey is too upsetting for a man of my age,’ Mr. Cox admitted, ‘But I have to admit that I found the country and people very happy with the conditions there.
The Prince as done a great deal for his people regarding medical care and education. He has used the best of European methods to enhance the living conditions of his people, but still retained their traditions.
‘The country itself is only about four hundred miles long by roughly ninety miles wide. It sits like a bowl in the middle of mountains to the northeast and southwest. The Kana River runs through it, washing down significant quantities of gold and gems in its flow. The land is fertile and no one goes hungry that I’m aware of. The only concern they have is the Khana Pass, a narrow fissure through the mountains that leads to Afghanistan. It is situated some 60 miles from the main city, Putan. The Afghans have raided through it, attacking villages in the surrounding areas.
‘John Company and the army have been trying to force the Prince to accept their help in protecting the Pass. The problem, of course, is once John Company gets involved they will quickly take over the running of Kanda. Something of which the Prince is well aware. But with Russia now taking an interest in India, that Pass is a likely route they could take if it came to war. He is under mounting pressure to accept help,’ he concluded.
The train began to slow as the outskirts of Multan came into view. The usual sight of ramshackle shacks slowly giving way to houses of more substance until, at last, it lurched slowly into the station.
He alighted with Mr. Cox, shook his hand as the newly energized solicitor departed for his home, and then made his way into the Railway Hotel.
Fifty minutes later he exited, having rushed his meal and clean-up, to board the train again. The train now only contained four carriages due to the hilly terrain it would have to climb to reach Bata, a further 150 miles away.
It took seven hours to reach Bata, the end of the railway line, the mountain range behind the town preventing further expansion.
David stood on the platform looking around for whomever was to meet him, when a tall Indian wearing a mixture of Indian and European clothing detached himself from the crowed and came towards him.
‘Excuse me Sahib, but are you Mr. Ramage?’ He asked in a cultured voice.
David replied that he was and the man went on to introduce himself, ‘I’m Captain Hazzor of his Majesty’s Household Cavalry. I’m ordered to conduct you to the Palace. I know you will need to rest after your arduous journey and I have booked you a room at the hotel. We will leave at dawn tomorrow on horseback, or I can arrange a cart if that is your wish.’
‘No, horseback is fine with me Captain,’ David replied.
The captain led David to Bata’s only hotel and agreed to meet him for dinner later that night.
Relaxing in a steaming bath an hour later he reflected on what he had discovered so far, but he was no wiser about why he had been approached by the Prince.
Over dinner with the Captain, he found out that even he didn’t know, only that he was to conduct him to the palace as soon as possible.
The captain continued, ‘I have taken the liberty, knowing that you wish to travel by horseback, of providing you with suitable clothes for the journey. We are of the same size I think, you will find them in your room when you go back.’
It transpired that the Captain had been in the service of the Prince for five years, his father being an advisor to the Prince. But his duties were mainly confined to the palace guard and the horse herds. Escorting David to the palace appeared to be a great adventure for him.
When he returned to his room he found the clothes the Captain had provided for him on his bed: White jodhpurs, with soft black leather riding boots, a white silk shirt and a fancy embroidered vest.
He tried everything on and was surprised to find it all fit, although the boots were a little too big for him.
The next morning, dressed in his new clothes and with his jacket over his vest, he went outside with the Captain and found two other Indians dressed for riding and holding the reins of two extra horses.
The horses were magnificent he thought, both around 15 hands high and displaying an Arab ancestry. The captain handed him the reins to a bay mare. She stood placidly whilst he mounted. He noticed that the Captain had a rifle scabbard on his horse,with what looked like a Winchester rifle extending out of it. He
also had a pistol holster attached to his saddle.
They set off at a fast trot, leaving the town behind as they climbed up towards the mountains.
Once clear of the town, one of the riders rode out to the front of the procession whilst the other dropped back behind them. Carrying out standard guard duty in case of ambush, David observed. He commentated on this to the Captain.
‘These are troubled times we live in, Sahib,’ he said quietly.
They alternated between riding and, in the steeper sections, walking the rough track to give the horses a respite.
After riding for five hours they entered a narrow gorge.
‘This is the Patena Pass,’ the Captain informed him, ‘at the other end is the border post for Kanda. We change horses there.’
It took an hour to the traverse the pass. At the end of it they found soldiers in bright red Indian uniforms guarding the border.
David looked hard at the soldiers. They were wearing pillbox hats and didn’t look at all like Indians, then he noticed the Kukri’s sheathed at the back of their belts and realised that they were Ghurkhas. They were armed with what looked like Mk1 Martini Henry rifles. His old regiment had been issued with Mk3s.
They changed horses and continued on their way at a fast trot.
He took the opportunity to ask the Captain how many Ghurkhas were in the Prince’s army?
‘About fifty I’m told Sahib, they hold the Passes for the Prince.’
‘So how large is the Prince’s army?’
‘Apart from the Ghurkhas, some 200. Fifty of those are cavalry.’
‘And how many of those help to hold the Passes?’
The Captain looked horrified, ‘None, they are used to guard the city and the palace.’
David frowned at this reply.
The sun was setting as the column entered the city’s imposing walls, these guarded by troops in richly ornate uniforms and each armed with a tulwar – the classic Indian sabre – at his waist.
At the gate to the Palace they dismounted. The Captain shook hands with him before leading his horse away.
Chapter 3
A servant conducted him along wide corridors until he reached a door and beckoned David to enter.
Candles lit the interior of the spacious room and a large divan bed lay invitingly by the arched windows. There were few items of furniture in the room except for a small table and chair and a cupboard, but numerous large cushions were on display.
The servant, dressed in a Mundu, the white sarong favoured for servants and common people, bowed to him, ‘Sahib, a bath as been prepared for you. Your clothes will be taken away and cleaned if you leave them on the bed. Other clothes have been provided. We will serve you your meal after you have refreshed yourself, if that is to your satisfaction?’
David nodded his assent and the servant led the way through another door where girls wearing saris were carrying steaming copper pots and filling a sunken bath.
They returned to the bedroom where he thanked the servant and was then left to undress. He removed his trousers and shirt from his Gladstone bag and, along with his shoes, left them on the bed along with the clothes he had worn on the ride to the city.
A Mundu had been left on the bed for him. He wound it around him and went through to the bathroom.
The girls had gone so he removed the Mundu and gingerly felt the water with his toes before lowering himself into the sunken bath. His body throbbed from the long ride and for a long time he lay with his head just above the water, feeling the heat soak away the aches, before using the soap that lay in bowl along with a flannel to wash himself.
On entering the bedroom he found all his clothes had been removed and a Sherwani coat now lay on the bed along with soft leather slippers.
He had no sooner put them on than the door opened and the girls appeared carrying trays of food and fruit, followed by another carrying a low table, which she placed by the cushions.
Until the food had been served, he hadn’t realised how hungry he felt after not having eaten all day.
The stew was he thought was goat’s meat with beans and chilis in a thick gravy that he mopped up with bhatura, fried unleavened bread. Afterwards he had peaches and oranges for dessert. He had no sooner finished eating than the door flew open again and the girls appeared to remove his plates.
Sherry
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