by Peter Watt
The servant girl, wearing a long flowing colourful dress and headscarf, brought a tray of alcoholic drinks to them. Gin and tonic was the preferred choice, and she poured the gin with a dash of bitter tonic water.
Scott raised his tumbler. ‘Chin, chin,’ he said, taking a sip.
‘You are not worried about your troops causing trouble after what happened today?’ Peter asked.
‘Not at all,’ Scott replied. ‘The purpose of the display was to ensure the rest of the rabble knew what was in store for them should they disobey orders. It will all settle down now and we can get on with the job of administering the territory.’
‘Do you have concerns, Peter?’ Alice asked, noticing her husband’s expression.
‘I watched the faces of the men on the parade. I saw hatred there, and fury at their powerlessness.’
‘Your concerns are unfounded,’ his brother scoffed. ‘This is India and the natives know their place.’
Peter was not reassured. It was eerily quiet when he and Alice retired that evening and he lay on his back under the mosquito net, staring into the dark. He had a bad feeling and wished that he had chosen to leave India before the journey to Meerut. But it had been an opportunity to share something exotic with Alice before they returned to the grey shores of England.
Alice also found it hard to sleep and thought about the news she still held secret. Maybe she could share it with her husband when his disquiet about today’s events was lessened. She resolved that she would tell him after church the following day, when the sun was setting and they were alone on the veranda. Hopefully then they could share what she imagined would be a peaceful and precious moment together.
Part Two
Mutiny!
Ten
Major Scott Campbell settled back on the veranda in a comfortable cane chair to read Dombey and Son, a novel by his favourite author, Charles Dickens. He had cheerfully seen off his brother and Alice as they left in a covered light-sprung one-horse coach to drive to the chapel for a service on this pleasant Sunday evening.
Scott was not a religious man and the choice between God and Charles Dickens was an easy one. He reached for the gin and tonic at his elbow and flipped open the pages of the book. All had gone well today. The sepoys had learned their lesson and things were calm at the regimental barracks.
The sound of voices drifting on the gentle evening breeze was faint, but Scott set down the book, listening with a frown on his face. He swore that he could hear the word maro being repeated. He knew that was an Indian word for kill.
Then it grew louder, Maro! Maro!
Scott leapt to his feet just as one of his Indian troopers rushed in shouting, ‘Hulla goolla!’ Riot! The young soldier was in uniform and flushed with fear and excitement.
Scott was aware of key phrases in the local language and asked his soldier what was happening. The soldier breathlessly explained that the native regiments had gone on a rampage, with weapons seized from the regimental armoury. At first Scott tried to convince himself this was simply a small-scale mutiny by a few disenchanted sepoys protesting the treatment of their comrades. The young trooper was surely carried away by excitement and had exaggerated the situation.
Scott quickly dressed in his field uniform, strapping on his sword and holstering a loaded revolver. He mounted his horse, leaving orders to the trooper to remain in the bungalow in the event Peter and Alice returned. He galloped from the gates of the compound towards the regimental barracks, where Scott could see a cloud of dust being raised by a mob swarming towards him. A few of the men running ahead of the mob reached Scott on his horse, and an infantry sepoy slashed at him with a sword, cutting Scott’s right shoulder lanyard. Scott had no time to draw his own sabre as the horse lunged forward, knocking down the sepoy infantryman.
Scott wheeled his steed around, sword in hand, ready to engage the soldier on the ground, but the sepoy was not prepared to engage a mounted cavalryman and wisely fled over a low wall to safety.
Scott pulled his horse around again to see a small column of his cavalry troopers galloping towards him from the regimental lines. For a moment he felt a sense of relief and ordered them to halt. They did, but immediately encircled Scott, and he knew that they were not friendly but hostile. Their sabres were drawn and they attacked immediately. Scott was hopelessly outnumbered but he parried the many slashing blades aimed at taking his life. He was an expert with the cavalry sword, and it was only his many hours of practice that kept him alive. From the corner of his eye he could see one of his mounted junior officers galloping towards the melee, cutting down one of the Indian cavalrymen threatening Scott. The sudden intervention of a second British officer was enough for the small enemy detachment to scatter and gallop towards the compound bungalows a few hundred yards away.
‘God, sir!’ the young officer gasped. ‘The rascals are heading towards our unarmed loved ones attending church.’
‘I can see that, Mr Craigie,’ Scott said, observing that the detachment that had attacked him had already disappeared into the compound. His first thought was to gallop after them and save his brother and Alice, but he knew he was probably too late. All he could hope for was that they had found some kind of safety, but for now he, as a senior officer, had to address the main problem of the mutineers. It was an agonising decision to make – rescue those he loved or attack the main problem in the regimental lines.
‘Follow me, Mr Craigie, we must reach the lines!’
Scott and the young British officer galloped into the lines and entered a confused melee of Indian troops and British officers milling around the great parade ground. Scott’s hopes fell when he saw many of his men already mounted, brandishing swords, firing off pistols and carbines in the air. Others were saddling their mounts whilst horses careened wildly around the parade ground. It was a scene of absolute chaos. Scott could see his fellow British officers attempting to bring the mutinous soldiers to their senses, sometimes pleading with them, other times threatening them, but nothing was working to quell the mutiny.
Scott was pleased to notice that the mutineers at the barracks were not attempting to attack the small number of European officers but yelling at them to be off and that the days of the British Raj were over. It was then that Scott sensed this was no longer a mutiny but the beginning of a full-scale rebellion by the people against Queen Victoria’s Empire in India.
The young officer accompanying Scott was a fluent speaker of the local language and had been able to persuade around forty of the would-be mutineers to avoid joining their comrades.
The sun was beginning to set and the dust was like a ghostly haze.
‘Sir! Sir!’ The frantic words came from another one of Scott’s young officers galloping towards him. ‘The mutineers are attacking the gaol and releasing the prisoners.’
As the loyal Indian troops and the British officers galloped towards the gaol, they passed crowds of Indian civilians along the road cheering them on.
‘They think we are mutineers,’ Lieutenant Craigie yelled to Scott. ‘It does not bode well.’
Scott could see the clouds of smoke boiling up from burning houses near the prison and suddenly he felt something hit him in the chest, flinging him from his horse. He hit the ground, stunned for a moment. When he regained his focus and sat up he saw Lieutenant Craigie reaching down to him.
‘They have cut the telegraph lines,’ he said. ‘You had the misfortune of being caught up in one.’
Scott scrambled back into the saddle of his horse and to his horror saw a driverless hooded carriage slowly making its way along the road. A mutineer cavalryman was riding alongside, plunging his sabre into the carriage. The two junior officers wheeled about to attack the mutineer and he was killed by Lieutenant Craigie with a slashing blow to his neck. Scott rode up and when he looked inside he could see the blood-soaked body of a European woman slumped across the seat.
; Nearby another mob of around twenty mutinous cavalrymen saw their comrade killed, and in their rage commenced screaming, ‘Maro! Maro!’ but dared not attack the determined body of troopers accompanying Scott and his officers.
Scott and his party of loyal sepoys reached the gaol but the prisoners had already been freed. A few scattered ineffectual shots were aimed in their direction.
‘What do we do now, sir?’ Lieutenant Craigie asked.
‘There is nothing we can do here,’ Scott answered wearily. The sun was just disappearing beyond the horizon. ‘I think we should ride back to our bungalows and ascertain the situation there.’
The British officer nodded agreement and Scott led his troop back to the European residences. As he rode he tried not to think about the bloody state of the dead woman he had seen in the carriage. Would he find Peter and Alice in a similar state? When they wheeled about, the full horror confronted Scott. Flames rose above the rows of bungalows and it did not seem that any had been spared. He broke into a hard gallop and his men followed.
*
Scott’s residence was fully aflame, but Lieutenant Craigie’s large, double-storeyed bungalow, surrounded by a mud wall, had been untouched by the mutineers.
‘Sir, I will see if my wife is safe,’ Craigie said, leaping from his mount. Scott continued staring at his burning house but could see no sign of his brother and sister-in-law. If they had been fortunate enough to return at the first outbreak of the violence, then their fate had been sealed when the house was ransacked and set alight.
‘Sir! Your brother and his wife are safe in my house,’ Lieutenant Craigie called to him, and Scott felt a surge of elation. They were safe! He dismounted and rushed into the house where he saw Peter holding Alice in his arms. Peter broke the embrace, taking strides towards him.
‘You are safe,’ Peter said, grasping his brother by the shoulders. ‘God help me, I thought you might be dead.’
‘How the devil did you dodge the murderous mob?’ Scott asked.
‘We were in our carriage driving through the village when a soldier burst from a side alley. He was being pursued by a mob of villagers. He was shouting for help so Alice and I pulled him in and drove as fast as we could back to your bungalow. The mob were on foot and we soon outdistanced them. But when we got back we could see that they had already got to the compound and had pillaged the houses and set them afire – except for Lieutenant Craigie’s residence. We climbed over the wall and found Mrs Craigie, who immediately provided us with shelter. I was told by the brave woman that her husband had weapons in the house, and I secured them. Our arms consist of three shotguns, with an ample supply of powder and shot. We were prepared to make a stand here.’
‘You do the Campbell clan proud,’ Scott beamed through his fatigue. ‘Is Alice in any way harmed?’
‘No, but she is in shock – as is the soldier we brought back, and Mrs Craigie. I think seeing her husband safe is helping her state of mind. What is happening?’
‘I think the mutiny is more like a rebellion,’ Scott said, exhausted. ‘In that case, we are on our own until word gets to our general HQ that we need reinforcements. God knows when that will happen, so we have to take all measures to protect our women and children. I have a troop of loyal men outside but I cannot vouch they will remain loyal as this rebellion gathers force.’
‘I think I have an idea, sir,’ Lieutenant Craigie butted into the conversation between brothers. ‘I have a fair understanding of the local Indians. I will go outside and talk to the men.’
‘I have faith in your knowledge of these people, Mr Craigie. Do what you can.’
The young officer stepped outside and those in the residence could hear his voice ring out fluently in the local language.
‘I wish I knew what he was saying,’ Alice said, joining Scott and Peter.
Craigie ceased talking and returned. ‘I need to escort your wife, Dr Campbell, and my wife outside to meet our men,’ he said.
‘Why?’ Peter protested. ‘They are safe in here.’
‘Dr Campbell, without those men’s loyalty I dare say we will all be dead by first light. Please trust me.’
‘Mr Craigie knows what he is doing, Peter,’ Scott said, laying his hand on Peter’s arm.
‘I am not afraid to go outside,’ Alice said. ‘It cannot be as frightening as facing a tiger eye to eye.’
Alice accompanied Lieutenant Craigie and his wife to the Indian cavalrymen lined up in disciplined ranks on the horses as if they were still back on parade.
Peter and Scott watched with some trepidation as the young British officer made another address to the troops, who suddenly flung themselves from their horses. Peter raised the shotgun ready to fire at the unexpected movement. But the men were prostrating themselves on the ground, sobbing and reaching out to grab the feet of the two ladies, laying their foreheads on them.
‘They are promising to protect the ladies with their very lives,’ Craigie shouted back to Scott and Peter. ‘I know they will remain loyal to us.’
Both women re-entered the house, a little overwhelmed by the touching display of sworn promises to die for them. Meanwhile, Scott ordered his small troop to remount and patrol the large gardens of the bungalow.
‘I think we should retire upstairs,’ Peter suggested. It seemed best to defend the house from high ground. He had enough military experience from the Crimean campaign to understand such tactics, despite the fact he had been an army surgeon.
Through the windows the light of the numerous fires lit up the rooms. The smell of the burning timber drifted to them. They could hear the shouts of the mobs rampaging through the compound, accompanied by occasional small-arms fire. Peter looked to his wife, fearing she would be terrified, but instead she was calmly loading one of the shotguns. When he glanced at Lieutenant Craigie’s wife he saw that she was also composed. They gave Peter confidence and he wondered not for the first time why it was thought by society that women were incapable of remaining calm under such conditions.
Lieutenant Craigie spoke quietly to Scott. ‘I think I should take an escort of some of our men back to the barracks to see if I can convince the others who are undecided that they should side with us,’ he said.
‘It’s a damned dangerous thing to do,’ Scott said. ‘You will have to fight your way through the mob, but I agree that our only hope of survival is to gather a stronger force until we receive help to quell this rebellion.’
Scott watched the young officer walk over to kiss his wife, before organising an escort party. It was the kind of courage displayed by Mr Craigie that would surely overcome the rebellion, Scott thought. He stepped out onto the upstairs veranda with a shotgun and was spotted by the mob on the opposite side of the street setting light to a house. They cried out and ran at the wall of the compound with fire brands, but Scott levelled the shotgun at them and they retreated. Scott knew that it was only a matter of time before they succeeded in burning the house, given their sheer weight of numbers.
Peter joined him on the veranda. ‘There is a small Hindu shrine not far from here,’ he said. ‘Alice and I visited it a couple of days ago. It has thick walls of stone and is set on high ground with only one entrance. It is like a small fortress, and I suspect impervious even to artillery fire and arson.’
‘I know the place you mean and it is a good plan. We will need to get our guns and ammunition across open ground to reach it,’ Scott said. ‘We will wait an hour to ensure that Lieutenant Craigie knows where we are.’
The two men remained on the veranda, using it as an observation post. Craigie’s loyal troops continued their patrols, discouraging the looters from getting too close, but they reported the mobs were growing larger in numbers and better armed, having captured weapons from the regimental armouries.
Lieutenant Craigie returned and he had in his possession the regimental colours discarded by the mutineers.
‘We had no luck convincing the remainder at the barracks to join us,’ he said. ‘And we had to fight our way back. The situation appears to be growing grimmer by the minute.’
Scott told him of their plan, and he agreed it was their only hope to hold out until reinforcements arrived.
Scott stared down at the tattered colours lying on the floor of the house, thinking bitterly that the mutiny had forever disgraced them. However, his main focus now was on reaching the Hindu shrine. He would order his troopers to continue patrolling while the European civilians in his charge took shelter inside the shrine. Scott gathered together his charges and briefed them on the plan. They nodded grimly and all available weapons and ammunition were gathered.
While Scott’s troopers held back the rioters, he and the others made a dash for the shrine. The women carried bundles of essential supplies, whilst the men carried the guns. Under cover of darkness and away from the light of the fires they made their way to the relative safety of the shrine, climbing its stone stairway to the interior. Scott was pleased to see that the massive stone walls had slits through which they could fire on any Indian rebels attempting to assault the building. It was dark in the small room but its stoutness made them feel safe for the moment.
Peter took up a position in a corner with a loaded shotgun, as did Alice at another. They could still hear the frenzied and chilling cries of the mob swirling through the European compound.
One of the patrolling sepoys reported to Scott, telling him of the atrocities they had observed. He held a bloody cloth found on the body of the pregnant wife of an officer hacked to death in one of the houses which was now well alight. He said he had observed similar mutilated bodies of European men and women throughout the compound – one, a little girl whose head had been cleaved with a sword. The roll of horror continued.
‘The soldiers are leaving Meerut and advancing towards the city of Delhi,’ the Indian cavalryman said. ‘But the mob remains, still searching for Europeans to kill. However I do not think they have the stomach to attempt an attack on the sacred place.’