by V. A. Stuart
“I had no troops to spare,” Wilson told him coldly. “We had to secure the European cantonment and barracks.” He glanced at General Hewitt, who sat, his eyes closed, apparently taking no interest in the discussion, and added, with a warning cough, “A decision with which the general entirely agreed, did you not, sir?”
Thus appealed to, the old man opened his eyes, subjected Alex to a frowning scrutiny and grunted peevishly, “Damn, of course I did! We had to be ready for an attack.” He looked about him, saw that the column had stopped and demanded the reason.
Wilson told him. “Colonel Sheridan,” he finished, with heavy emphasis on the title, “wants us to accept the word of a mutinous native officer that the Light Cavalry, and presumably the other native regiments, are planning to take themselves off to Delhi. He’s suggesting that, instead of attacking the native lines, we ought to establish a blockade of the Delhi Road.”
“Sheridan?” the General interrupted sharply. “Isn’t he the damned feller who brought those letters, the ones the Shahzada are supposed to have written … Lawrence’s man?”
“Yes, sir, he is.”
“There’s no blasted mutiny in Delhi, is there? Is there, Sheridan?” The bloodshot eyes bored into his and Alex shook his head. “No, not yet, sir. But if those regiments get there—”
“Who says they’re going? A blasted Pandy? Damn, that could be a trap, a deliberate attempt to deceive you! No, we’ll stick to our original decision. We’ll secure the native lines and teach these insolent, murdering devils a lesson they won’t forget in a hurry. Eh, General Wilson? I take it you concur, don’t you?”
“I do, sir,” Archdale Wilson answered promptly. “No sense in going on a wild goose chase, without reliable intelligence. Oblige me, Colonel Jones, by continuing your advance on the racecourse, if you please. I want to get this over. I’m not happy about leaving the European cantonment so lightly guarded, not happy at all.”
Jones said nothing. He took off his pince-nez and started to polish them vigorously, opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again as a young captain in the uniform of the 6th Dragoon Guards, who was riding with the brigadier’s staff, ventured diffidently, “Excuse me, sir?”
“What is it? Who are you, sir?”
“Rosser, sir—Carabineers. If you would permit me to take one mounted squadron of my regiment, and a half troop of the Horse Artillery, I could blockade the road, sir, and make sure the mutineers don’t make for Delhi.”
“A squadron?” Wilson exclaimed. “Good God, you’ve only got two mounted squadrons, haven’t you? We need them—and the Horse Artillery—to cover our attack.”
“Then let me take a patrol, sir,” the captain pleaded. “I could confirm whether Colonel Sheridan’s information is correct. Indeed, he might care to come with me, and we could be back with a report by the time you—”
It was General Hewitt who silenced him. “Certainly not, Captain Rosser! We’re facing over two thousand armed and mutinous sepoys. I will not have my force weakened. Dammit, we need every man we’ve got. Now, for God’s sake, let us get this column moving or it’ll be daylight before we even set foot on the racecourse!”
Wilson turned again to Colonel Jones and snapped irritably, “Continue your advance, Colonel, if you please.”
“Very well, sir,” Jones acknowledged. “If you insist.” He motioned Alex to follow him and, when he was once more at the head of the column, gave the order to advance in a controlled voice, which clearly cost him an effort. To one of his officers, who enquired whether they were to shoot to kill any uniformed sepoys remaining in the lines, he answered testily, “By all means, my dear Muter. If you can find anyone at all to shoot at, execute them.”
Half an hour later, the Rifles deployed on the smooth turf of the race-course and, flanked by the two mounted Carabineer squadrons, advanced at the regulation one hundred and forty paces a minute on their objective. The Horse Artillery troop unlimbered, loaded their four nine-pounder guns with grape and waited for the order to open fire.
There were no sepoys in sight but, hearing a babel of voices coming from behind a clump of brushwood on the perimeter of the parade ground, General Wilson gave the expected order. The Rifles obediently fired two volleys; the nine-pounders discharged their hail of grape and then Colonel Jones despatched a company in extended order through the smoldering line of huts, with instructions to bring out any British bodies which might be lying there. They repeated the process in the infantry lines, led this time by the dismounted Carabineers but, apart from the bodies of Colonel Finnis and some of the other murdered officers, they found only devastation, a rifled magazine and a few loose and injured horses.
At Alex’s urgent request, the Rifles’ commander was about to send search parties into some of the burnt-out bungalows which had housed the married Company officers’ families, when an A.D.C. galloped up with orders for the column to retire immediately to The Mall and their own barracks. As this order was being reluctantly obeyed, Alex and Clark, joined by two surviving officers of the 11th Native Infantry, contrived to make their own brief search. With the single exception of Henry Craigie’s—which was untouched but deserted—every house had been looted and set on fire, furniture that was too heavy to carry away smashed and littering the once neatly tended gardens. In the garden next to Craigie’s they found the body of the unhappy Charlotte Chambers and they all four turned away, sick with horror at the realization of the ghastly torture she must have endured, before death put an end to her sufferings. Alex, thinking of Emmy, found himself retching uncontrollably as his gaze fell on the trampled remains of a child, prematurely delivered by those who had butchered its poor young mother.
“I’ll find whoever did this to her if it’s the last thing I ever do,” Lieutenant Möller of the 11th vowed thickly, as he knelt to cover the two pathetic bodies with a charred curtain, tears streaming down his grimly set face. “And by God I’ll kill him, with my bare hands if I have to!”
Anxious to find Henry Craigie, Alex and Melville Clark left him to his grief and extended their search over as wide an area as they could but without success.
“They must have made their escape, sir,” Clark said, when they were recalled to the column by Colonel Jones. “Odd that Henry’s bungalow wasn’t touched, though, wasn’t it? I wonder if his sowars mounted guard over it until the bazaar mobs made off?”
It was a possibility, Alex thought, and infinitely to Craigie’s credit if the men of his troop had stayed with him to ensure his safety, as well as that of his house, before riding off to join the rest of their regiment.
“Where’s Hugh Gough?” he asked wearily. “I haven’t seen him, have you?”
Clark shook his head. “No, I haven’t, sir. But knowing Hugh, I should think he came back here to help the Craigies, after General Wilson sent him packing. Which leads me to hope that they’re all safe. We may even find them when we get back to the European lines. Shall I have a look for them?”
“Yes, do that,” Alex agreed. “I’m going to find Rosser of the Carabineers. Perhaps, once he’s satisfied that the European lines are secured and in no serious danger of attack, Wilson will give us permission to set up a blockade on the Delhi road, or at least let us take out a mounted patrol to ascertain what is happening and how far the mutineers have got. We can’t just sit here all night, damn it, it’s only 38 miles to Delhi! They could be there by tomorrow morning, if something isn’t done to stop them.”
Captain Rosser, when he found him preparing to obey the order to bivouac in The Mall for what remained of the night, was in a state of angry exasperation.
“It’s confirmed, you know. And, of course, you were right, Colonel. All three blasted regiments are making for Delhi! A police officer came in from Hapur with the news. He ran slap into a bunch of them and was lucky to escape with his life.”
Alex expelled his breath in an anxious sigh. “Does the general know?” he asked flatly.
Rosser nodded. “General Wilson does. S
hall we endeavour to approach him again?”
“That was what I came to suggest. There may still be time to intercept them if we act now.”
Rosser called for his horse. “Get those remounts over here,” he bade to the sergeant who answered his shout, and turning to Alex, said eagerly, “After the appalling fiasco he’s just led us into, Wilson surely cannot refuse to let me have my squadron, on fresh horses, and a couple of guns. We must have guns, obviously, if we’re to have a hope of stopping them but we could call for volunteers, could we not, if he’s unwilling to spare any of his gunners? A party of officers, perhaps. I feel sure that some of the Company’s officers would be willing to volunteer and—”
“They will volunteer to a man, sir!” Alex recognized young Möller’s voice, coming from behind him, and reined in, to enable him to catch up.
“And you’re the first of them?” he suggested.
“Indeed I am, sir. After what I have seen tonight, I’d give my immortal soul for the chance to make my sepoys answer for the innocent blood they have shed.” Möller broke off and added, with restraint, “More to the point, sir, I served for a year with the Bengal Artillery, so permit me to come with you to General Wilson and add my voice to yours. He’s on the Rifles’ parade ground; I’ve just seen him there.”
“And General Hewitt?” Rosser enquired, his voice carefully expressionless.
“He’s gone to his own house, I understand, sir, to write a report for the commander-in-chief.”
“Then I fear he will have to perjure himself,” the Dragoon officer observed under his breath. Meeting Alex’s gaze, he smiled. “But let us thank heaven for small mercies, Colonel Sheridan. We may be able to persuade the brigadier to listen to us this time. You know, I suppose, that following your subaltern’s appeal, General Wilson had second thoughts and ordered me to your support at the jail earlier this evening?”
“No, I didn’t know,” Alex confessed. “Should I ask what prevented you from obeying that order?”
“Do you need to, sir? General Hewitt countermanded the order, of course. He insisted he could see your Light Cavalry preparing to attack us.” Rosser laughed shortly. “As it happened about a dozen of them did come to ascertain what we were doing but, needless to tell you, they made off at speed without firing a shot when they saw that we were more than ready to receive them! Probably considered themselves fortunate that they were able to do so, in the circumstances. Since then, I believe, the entire jail has been emptied of its inmates. Ah, there’s Wilson! Will you make the initial approach or shall I?”
“It might be better received, if it comes from you, Captain Rosser.”
“Then here’s hoping,” Rosser said dryly. He rode forward, with Alex and Möller at his heels, and saluted. “If you please, sir …”
Archdale Wilson had Colonel Smyth with him, Alex saw. Both looked tired and harassed, their faces and uniforms caked with ash and it was clear that neither welcomed the interruption.
“Well, what is it?” the brigade commander demanded. He listened with weary resignation to Rosser’s request and his refusal was emphatic. “Nothing more can be done until daylight, gentlemen. Those are General Hewitt’s orders and I can’t disregard them. Besides, the report I have just received is that the mutineers are in force all along the road and are guarding the first river bridge. You’d be wiped out if you tried to intercept them. I can’t afford to lose a squadron of cavalry, even if you are prepared to throw your own lives away.”
“With guns, sir,” Alex began, “I feel confident that we—”
“Guns, Sheridan? For God’s sake, we have only one troop of Horse Artillery and a single field battery, from which every lascar has fled! I can’t let you have any guns. If you lost them to the sepoys, there really would be hell to pay. Don’t you agree, George?”
Carmichael Smyth mopped at his brow with a torn and bloodstained handkerchief. There was a livid weal across one cheek, as if a bullet had creased it. “Most certainly, General. In my view it would be madness. You’d risk running into an ambush, Sheridan, if you went after them in darkness. As I’ve just told the general, I believe the mutineers had no definite plan to go to Delhi. It will have been a last-minute decision, based on the fear of retribution because they know damned well that we shall be after them, as soon as we’ve dealt with the escaped convicts and budmashes here.”
“But, Colonel,” Alex said, trying vainly to bide his impatience, “Delhi is only 38 miles away and—”
“Exactly!” Colonel Smyth exclaimed. “It’s the nearest place where they can hope to find sanctuary. They’re hoping to throw themselves on the old king’s mercy. They probably imagine that he’ll hide them in the Red Fort. Well, they’re in for a disappointment. … They’ll come up against an ordered brigade in Delhi, which will swiftly put an end to any ideas of that kind.”
“But only if the Delhi Brigade receives adequate warning, sir. General Graves—”
“Sir,” Möller put in, unable to contain himself, “General Wilson, may I be permitted to try to get through to Delhi with a warning? I could ride across country, sir, and if I left now I—”
“You’d never get there,” Wilson told him irritably. “In any case a warning has been sent by native courier. A native might contrive to get through but any British officer would be seen and recognized before he’d gone half a mile. Enough of these heroics, gentlemen. I appreciate your zeal, but I’ve told you General Hewitt’s orders. Nothing more can be done until daylight. This brigade will bivouac in a full state of readiness and, at first light, we shall commence mopping up operations in cantonments and in the Sudder Bazaar and the native city, from whence most of this trouble has sprung. The sepoys weren’t responsible for half the arson and looting that has taken place … or the murders. We can thank the escaped convicts and the blasted goojurs for that! When order has been restored here, we can think about Delhi, although we probably won’t have to, since I am confident that General Graves has sufficient disciplined native troops under his command to arrest and disarm any disorganized mob of mutineers which may reach Delhi.”
Rosser and Alex looked at one another in dismay.
“For God’s sake!” the Dragoon officer whispered, as Wilson started to turn away. “Isn’t there anything we can do?”
Alex reached a swift decision. “Forgive me, sir,” he said quietly. “But as Colonel Smyth will confirm, I have been appointed to the Lucknow command, for service in Oudh under the chief commissioner. May I have your permission to leave this brigade and return to Lucknow?”
“What the devil …” Archdale Wilson swore loudly and venomously. He glanced at Smyth, who nodded, his mouth tight with disapproval.
“That is quite correct, sir,” he admitted reluctantly. “Sheridan has been appointed to the Lucknow Brigade, with brevet promotion, on the authority of the commander-in-chief. I was notified of the appointment by the electric telegraph two days ago and I removed his name from the active roll of my regiment. He is no longer under my command, sir.”
“Nor is he under mine, it would appear.” Wilson shrugged, looking more relieved than annoyed, Alex observed wryly. “Very well, Colonel Sheridan, by all means carry out your orders. I would advise you, however, to delay your departure until daylight. You understand, of course, that I cannot be expected to take the responsibility for your safety by whatever route you may elect to travel? And I can’t provide you with an escort, either, I regret to say, although you’re at liberty to recruit one. There are pensioners and unemployed officers who may be at your disposal.”
“Thank you, sir,” Alex acknowledged. “I understand the position.” He nudged Rosser’s knee with his own, bowed and swung his horse around; the other two saluted and trotted after him.
“Well?” Rosser said, when they were out of earshot of the brigade commander and his staff. “I take it you’ll try to get to Delhi?”
“Yes. Obviously someone has to. But I shall need a fresh horse.” Alex spoke regretfully. But it would, he
knew, be asking too much even of Sultan’s gallant heart to attempt to ride him over a grueling, forty-mile cross-country route, much of which would, of necessity, have to be covered at speed, under the blistering heat of the sun, for he could not hope to reach Delhi much before noon. And there would be two rivers to cross.
“I’ll give you the pick of my remounts,” Rosser promised. “And look after that fine creature of yours until you’re able to reclaim him.”
“I have an orderly here—a Sikh, Partap Singh—and a couple of syces. Perhaps you’d be so good as to hand the horse over to them … or to one of my brother officers, the adjutant or Hugh Gough.”
“Yes, of course, most gladly,” the carabineer assented. “But aren’t you taking your orderly with you? Are you going without any escort at all?”
Alex nodded and meeting Möller’s reproachful gaze, said crisply, “My best chance is alone. A small escort would attract attention, besides being of little use if it were attacked. I’m sorry, Möller, but we’d be going deliberately against General Wilson’s orders if I let you come with me. I tell you what though. While I’m changing horses, see if you can rake up a native chuddar for me, would you? I think it might be advisable to conceal my uniform.”
“Yes, of course, sir.” The boy reined in. “I’ll see what I can find. My bearer will probably have one.”
Alex’s preparations, such as they were, were soon completed. Mounted on a lively chestnut waler, with a dragoon’s saddle stripped of its accouterments, an ancient and somewhat strong-smelling white chuddar girt about him and a turban, also the property of Möller’s bearer, wound about his head in place of his shako, he was ready to set off on his long ride. Rosser escorted him past the now silent Sudder Bazaar, a dozen tall dragoons hiding him from any curious eyes that might be watching and, not entirely to his surprise, an A.D.C. caught up with him just before he parted from his escort, to thrust a sealed letter into his hand.