Next he had gone to Skinner's Horse, and if he had anticipated vexations with the Eleventh, he was positively certain that they would be legion with the irregulars since Colonel Skinner was in personal command. He had never met James Skinner, he had only heard of him. Indeed, there had been times since coming to India when he had heard nothing but of Skinner and his silladar horse. Three regiments there were of these singular cavalrymen, of which the second was commanded by James's brother Robert, and the third, hastily raised for service in East Bengal five years before, had without doubt saved his own troop in the affair of the Chittagong river. The Sixth Light Dragoons, or Hervey's troop at least, regarded them as special friends. They admired their skill as horsemen, and with the lance; they admired their boldness and proud independence; and they admired their determination to see things through. Skinner's was not native horse in the sense the canteen would understand it - serviceable but inferior: Skinner's was a corps apart.
Their camp was a vivid, lively place, noisier by half than any King's regiment's, with much music and singing. It might have been Tamerlane's own, the canvas and caparisons, the silks and the streamers, and all of the richest colours. As Hervey rode towards the guard tent, the sowars of the picket began falling in under their daffadar, lance pennants picking up the merest breath of wind, men and lances otherwise like statuary.
A syce ran forward to hold Gilbert's bridle as Hervey dismounted. The daffadar saluted. Hervey turned, to find a jemadar beaming at him. 'This way, please, sahib.'
Hervey followed to the tent of the woordi-major, who explained that both the second in command and the adjutant were at exercise. Then a bearer came into the tent, and, after an exchange of words, the woordi-major said that Colonel Skinner himself would see him. Hervey put his forage cap back on and walked with him across the maidan to a yellow-striped pavilion set to one side nearest the river. The sentry came to attention as the two began walking the line of whitened stones. As they reached the beaded entrance a voice called from inside. 'You are most welcome. Major Hervey!'
Hervey noted with appreciation how nimble must be the regiment's hircarrahs. He pushed aside the strings of beads and paid his compliments.
'I know very well who you are, Major Hervey. I have naturally heard all there is of the affair of the Chittagong river. I stand in admiration, sir,' said James Skinner, designated commandant of what was officially the 1st Local Horse. He held out his hand.
Hervey took it, and acknowledged the accolade with a bow of the head. 'But it is I who stand in admiration, Colonel Skinner.'
'Well, well, let not either of us stand long. Take a seat. You will have some whisky?’
It was a moment or so before Hervey could judge whether he was speaking to a British or a native officer. One half of Colonel Skinner was Scotch, his father's half. His voice was that of a British officer, perhaps a shade fastidious, but without all the music of the native voice, the hanji-banji as Somervile called it. But it was the Rajpoot half, his mother noble-born, that presented itself in appearance most. James Skinner was forty-seven years old, his hair was silvering, and his face, though benign, spoke of many years’ campaigning, and for several masters (only in Lord Lake's day had he thrown in with the Company). He had raised and trained the corps himself. He had given it its creed, and thence its uniform, and had led it to victory after victory against any that would oppose those 'sworn to die'. His wealth from booty was said to be prodigious, he had three wives - one Mahomedan, one Hindoo, one Christian -yet he was no dissolute nabob. He was as much a scholar as Babur had been, speaking and writing flawless Persian, and knowledgeable in the history and art of all of Hindoostan. His men worshipped him. But why was he here, in the field, in person? Hervey wondered. He was three years older than the duke had been at Waterloo. He might easily have devolved command on an executive officer. The share in any booty, such that it might be in a campaign made in the territory of an ally, would anyway go to him as the colonel of the corps -even if London (Hervey understood) would not officially recognize his rank. Did Colonel Skinner, who could have taken his ease in Dehli or on his jagirs nearby, crave still the sword and the saddle for their own sake? There were such men, and Hervey saluted them. Indeed, he took more pleasure in Skinner's chair and his whisky at that moment than if they had been those of the duke himself.
'Jaswant Sing tells me you have a promising seat. He says you were quick to the Rajpoot way of riding.'
Hervey was gratified, and smiled obligingly, though puzzled that Skinner should know of it. 'But I fear I had the best of attention and horses. I could not imitate those airs when later I tried them on my own horses.'
Colonel Skinner nodded slowly as if he understood. 'Woordi-major, you may go to your ledgers or you may stay and drink whisky, as you please. Which is it to be?'
The woordi-major answered in English. 'Huzoor, I have many papers to return for the Lord Combermere.'
'Very well, my friend. There will be time for us to drink whisky when we have taken Bhurtpore.'
'Ji, huzoor,’ and he continued in Urdu, though too quickly for Hervey to catch more than the odd word.
Colonel Skinner took it up, but Hervey managed to catch even less. They seemed to be turning over an idea - about horses, he thought, but the idiom was beyond him.
When the woordi-major had gone, Colonel Skinner poured more whisky. 'Now, Major Hervey, what is it that His Excellency has in mind?'
Hervey was surprised at the connection Colonel Skinner made, but he judged it of no matter; it was just the way of things in India. 'I beg you would read this, Colonel,' he said, handing him the order.
Colonel Skinner took longer to read it than Hervey expected. At length, the commandant looked up and said, thoughtfully, 'The jheels?'
Hervey saw little point in protesting. 'May I ask how you knew, Colonel?'
'It is evident, from the size and composition of the party, that the object is detached from the fortress, for otherwise it would be futile. There can be but one such object if one has read the accounts of Lord Lake's endeavours.'
'Do you know the bund, Colonel?'
'Of course.'
'I am of the opinion that such a force as mine could hold them until relieved - within the twenty-four hours following. We should rely greatly on your galloper guns, of course.'
Colonel Skinner nodded. 'I am of this opinion, too. I cannot suppose the Jhauts will garrison the jheels until they perceive the army is moving on them. There is much industry in the Jhauts, but little imagination. They will work most fiercely to eject you once you have them, however. Who is to lead the relief?'
'General Sleigh, or perhaps even General Reynell, as I understand.'
'Good. Combermere sees its importance then.' The commandant drained his glass. 'You will stay and dine with us, Major Hervey?'
Hervey saw his duty done. 'I thank you, yes. My corporal . . .'