The Empire Trilogy - J. G. Farrell [370]
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It had become evident by now that the sepoys were preparing to make a major assault in order to bring about the end of the siege. From the observation post on the Residency roof Mr Ford reported that new contingents of sepoys were streaming into the enemy lines from every direction. It was impossible to be sure whether these were new recruits to the Krishnapur field, perhaps freed from the victorious siege of the feringhees somewhere else on the plain, or simply men who had deserted during the rains returning now to finish the job. Among the arriving troops, however, Mr Ford noticed several squadrons of lancers trailing the green flag of Islam; they looked much too well drilled and well equipped to be merely returning deserters. He also noticed several cannons being dragged into the sepoy camp by bullocks from the direction of the bridge of boats.
Mr Ford, as befitted an engineer, possessed a methodical nature; he made a careful scrutiny of the sepoy encampment and noted on an improvised map the location of various groups and regiments; he also came to deduce, by painstakingly observing the arrival and departure of ammunition carts, the position of the main sepoy magazine. This last piece of information was passed on to Harry Dunstaple, whose skill as a gunner was now celebrated throughout the enclave. But Harry was unable to use it. The magazine was out of his range.
On the afternoon of 12 September, a Saturday, Mr Ford sent an urgent message to the Collector...He had become certain by watching the preparations in the sepoy camp that they would make a major assault within the next few hours. The Collector had independently arrived at the same conclusion by watching the slope above the melon beds where the number of spectators was beginning to increase rapidly.
“Is there no way we could hit their magazine? That would give us a few extra days.”
“It’s just out of range, Mr Hopkins. If we still had horses...”
The Collector smiled wanly. “If we still had horses we could eat them.”
Towards evening the Collector gave the order for everyone who could be spared from the ramparts to assemble in the hall, he wanted to say a few words to the garrison.
“I suppose he’s going to tell us that gentlemen now abed in England will be sorry that they’re not here,” remarked the Magistrate, but nobody was amused by this loathsome display of cynicism and the Magistrate was left to chortle grimly by himself, his soul pickled in vinegar.
“We’ve a lot of work to do tonight,” said the Collector when everyone had assembled in the hall. “It’s almost certain that the enemy will attack the Residency from the north, very likely at dawn tomorrow. We shall do our best, of course, to hold the Residency against them, but the chances are that we are now too few to be able to do so...For this reason all the wounded, the ladies, and the children must be taken to the banqueting hall tonight, together with water, powder, cloth, and indeed every single object that might come to our assistance. Provided we take enough water with us there’s no reason why we shouldn’t be able to hold out for a considerable time in the banqueting hall, which is in a far better situation for defence...and let me remind you that with every passing day, relief comes nearer...perhaps as much as twenty miles nearer with every day’s march...You must believe me when I tell you that they’re out there on the plain somewhere and coming towards us. I know they are. Another week and we are saved.
“There’s just one other matter which I mention only to set your minds at rest...We’ve decided to conserve