Windrush: Cry Havelock (Jack Windrush Book 4)

by Malcolm Archibald

  'He was right to be concerned,' Jack said.

  'Yes, sir.' Elliot hesitated again. 'The Mutineers are called pandies now sir after a sepoy of the 34th Native Infantry called Mangal Pandey. He attacked his adjutant on the parade ground in March, and was executed a few days later.'

  'Pandies; a soft name for a Mutineer,' Prentice said grimly.

  'The men adopted it quickly,' Elliot said.

  'I know about Pandey; the name does not matter; tell me more of what happened at Gondabad,' Jack said.

  'The senior officers had a meeting, sir, and the colonels of the native infantry swore from Monday to Christmas that their men were loyal. They refused to have them disarmed. As there was only a single company of the 113th here, Colonel Jeffreys offered to send for another Queen's regiment to enforce any disarmament, but the Company colonels rejected any suggestion their men would mutiny.'

  'Where are they now?' Jack asked. 'I saw Captain Irvine among the dead.'

  Elliot shook his head. 'I don't know, sir. I presume they're also dead. The pandies killed Colonel Jeffreys.'

  'I saw his body.' Jack said.

  'With most of our regiment in Malta or penny-pocket sized garrisons up and down the country, sir, and Major Snodgrass away, you are now in command of the largest contingent of the 113th.' Prentice pointed out.

  Jack blinked. While acutely aware he commanded Number Two Company; he had never considered his relative position. 'So be it,' he said quietly. At that moment, with the ordered world of British India turned upside down, it did not matter if he commanded a picket of the 113th or if he was Governor- General. He would do his duty and get his men to safety, and the devil help any murdering Mutineer who got in his way.

  'Carry on, Elliot.'

  'When the Colonel sent the women and children away the sepoys must have guessed our suspicions.' Elliot reached inside his tunic for his silver hip-flask. 'They were restless, nothing more; there was no sign of mutiny. And then they seemed to go mad. They attacked everything and anybody to do with us or John Company.'

  Jack remembered the warnings he had heard and passed on. 'It's hardly a coincidence that all these outbreaks occurred at the same time. This is more than just a local mutiny,' he said. 'We passed a deserted village yesterday.' Was that only yesterday? It feels like weeks ago.

  'Do you think the whole country is in rebellion, sir?' Kent asked. 'Is this the end of Company rule in India?'

  'No,' Jack said flatly. 'This is a few disgruntled sepoys.'

  'There are hundreds involved,' Prentice reminded. 'Maybe thousands.'

  'Most are followers,' Jack tried to find a silver lining. 'As in any riot or any mutiny, there will be a few malcontents stirring up trouble and a majority of followers too stupid or too lazy to think for themselves.' He thought back to the chaos in Gondabad. 'Did you notice any particular man among the Mutineers, Elliot?'

  'Nobody springs to mind. Some of the native officers tried to stop their men. The sepoys killed them.'

  'How about the servants?' Jack asked.

  'I didn't see many,' Elliot frowned. 'Only the colonel's pet Pathan.'

  'Sarvur Khan.' Jack could not stop himself blurting the name.

  'That's the fellow,' Elliot said. 'Sarvur Khan. He was involved in the attack on the Colonel I think; he was certainly in the mob that came from the colonel's bungalow.'

  'I want him,' Jack said. For a moment the entire perplexing situation coalesced into the face of one man. Sarvur Khan personified the mutiny and all the murders, the brutality and the shocking breach of faith. 'I want him dead.' He remembered the face in his recurring nightmare: Sarvur Khan.

  'That's not like you, Jack.' Elliot reverted from an officer of the 113th to becoming a friend.

  Jack felt Jane's gaze fixed on him. He did not care; they could all think whatever they liked. He had seen Sarvur Khan working as a trusted servant in the Mess, and now the Pathan was heavily involved in the mutiny of children, women and men of the 113th. He had seen Khan personally throw a baby into a fire. 'I want him dead,' he repeated. 'We have to eradicate this poison from India before it infects us all.'

  'It seems to have already affected you,' Elliot said.

  'I'll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself, Lieutenant Elliot!' Jack snapped.

  'Yes, sir.' Elliot stiffened to attention as the men looked around, interested in raised voices from their officers.

  'Murdering black bastards,' Fairbairn glowered at Jane and Mary as if they were in some way responsible for all the ills of India. 'We should kill every single one of them. Show them all what happens when they oppose England.'

  'Control yourself, Lieutenant!' Jack understood Fairbairn's anger and humiliation, yet knew that indiscriminate slaughter was not the answer. 'And watch your language when there are ladies present.'

  'They're not ladies, they're…' Fairbairn started until Jack glowered at him and ordered him to tour the sentries.

  'Ensure every man has his bayonet loose in his scabbard; make sure their picket route overlaps his neighbours.' Jack said. 'My apologies ladies; feelings are running a little high at present.'

  Jane nodded graciously. 'It's understandable, Captain Windrush.'

  'Mrs Niven,' Jack tried to keep his voice gentle. 'Could you tell us what happened to you? Start at the beginning, please.'

  'I am Jane Niven,' Jane spoke quietly yet with some authority. 'I act as a tutor to the children of the officers and sometimes the men.'

  'Why did you not go to Cawnpore with the other women and children?' Lieutenant Kent sounded nervous.

  'Colonel Jeffreys decided I am not British enough.' Jane faced him squarely. 'He said the British women might feel uncomfortable with Eurasians – half-breeds he called us – along with them.'

  Jack stifled his desire to swear. He remembered Myat, the Burmese girl he had felt very attracted to as a griffin ensign, only to learn she was married to a British sergeant. 'You are very welcome with us,' he injected iron into his tone in case Fairbairn or any other of his officers objected. 'And if anybody, officer or other rank treats either of you as anything other than a lady, you let me know.'

  He was not sure what expression crossed Jane's face. He only knew he had said the right thing. Even the quiet Mary, palpably shocked by her experiences, gave him a small smile and a long look from under her eyelashes.

  A parrot screeched nearby. Mary started; Jane took her arm. 'It's all right, Mary.'

  'We've got pickets out,' Jack said. 'My men know their job. You're safe.'

  The women nodded, with Mary looking at Jack as if he was her saviour. He frowned and continued. 'Now, Mrs Niven, could you tell me what happened this morning?'

  'It was last night. We were at home, and the sepoys came.' Although she was sitting on a squared off block with her back straight, and her head held proudly, the tremble in Jane's voice gave away the emotions within her. She looked away.

  'They grabbed Mary, and one was going to stab her with his bayonet. She escaped, and we ran.'

  There was so much left unsaid that Jack nearly asked for details. He tried to picture the scene; two women alone in a bungalow, not thought sufficiently British to save, not thought Indian enough by the sepoys to leave alone. Two unprotected women and a horde of soldiers bursting in, intent on murder and maybe rape; how had they escaped?

  'We did not know where to go,' Jane continued. 'We heard firing from the officers' bungalows, and the soldiers' barracks were on fire, so we hid in the forest.'

  Jack imagined them sheltering under the trees, watching as the sepoys killed and plundered.

  'Then the sowars came, searching for British soldiers. They found two privates near us and killed them both. The first private fought hard and strangled a sowar. The second soldier made a lot of noise as they hacked him to pieces. We saw the sowars looting the store hut, and then we thought they would not be back there, so we hid until you came.'

  'Was your daughter badly hurt?' Jack indicated Mary who now sat with her back
to a carved pillar, mouth slightly open, staring into nothing. She had somehow managed to cobble her torn dress together.

  'My daughter?' Jane frowned. 'Mary Lambert's not my daughter; she's my assistant!'

  'I'm sorry,' Jack apologised immediately. 'I thought…'

  'You thought that because we are both Eurasian, we must be related?' Jane's voice was as cold as anything Jack had ever heard.

  'I thought you were a mother looking after her daughter,' Jack felt the colour rise to his cheeks.

  'I never knew my mother,' Mary's voice was soft and rendered more attractive by her faint Indian accent.

  'I never knew mine either,' Jack told her and immediately pressed shut his mouth. Why on earth had he made that admission? Fortunately, none of the officers appeared to have heard or understood the implications although Elliot was watching him through narrowed eyes. Jane lifted a hand as if in sympathy, and dropped it just as quickly. A pi-dog howled outside, setting off chattering from the monkeys.

  'What do we do now, sir?' Elliot brought Jack back to the matter in hand.

  'We go to the nearest British garrison town,' Jack had made his decision. 'Cawnpore.'

  'That's where the Colonel sent the rankers' families,' Kent said.

  'How far is Cawnpore?' Prentice asked.

  'Look,' Jack unsheathed his sword and drew a quick sketch map of northern India in the dust. 'Here is the River Ganges, flowing across the country. Over here is Delhi, the old capital.' He stabbed downward, 'and here, about 270 miles to the south-east of Delhi, is Cawnpore, or Kanpur to give it the correct name.'

  Prentice nodded. 'Yes, sir. Where are we?'

  Jack traced a faint line to the south. 'Here is Gondabad, and there 140 miles or so north- west, is Cawnpore.'

  'A bit of a march then,' Elliot said. 'Is it safer for the women in Cawnpore?'

  'I hope so,' Jack said. 'As far as I recall the 1st, 53rd and 56th Native Infantry are there, with the 2nd Native Light Cavalry, and some British artillery. It is, as you know, the divisional headquarters with Sir Hugh Wheeler in command. He's a man of tremendous experience with over fifty years in India, so if anybody knows how to handle native troops, he does.'

  'When do we leave?' Prentice asked.

  'We consolidate for a day or so, gather what supplies we can and scout the countryside,' Jack said at once. 'We have wounded, sick and bewildered men to care for.' He glanced at Mary. 'And ladies.'

  'Don't you worry about us,' Mary said quickly. 'Jane and I will take care of ourselves.' She lifted her chin and looked Jack directly in the eye. 'You have your duty to do, Captain Windrush.'

  Jack nodded slowly. There was always his duty to do. He held Mary's gaze for a fraction longer than he intended. She had the loveliest brown eyes.

  The temple was alive with monkeys, snakes and a million insects, all of which seemed either to bite or sting. Sitting on a pedestal, a huge statue of a four-armed goddess stared out benevolently as she held a long-necked musical instrument and a rolled up scroll.

  'That is Saraswati,' Mary explained quietly. 'She is the goddess of knowledge, music and the arts, hence the veena – the musical instrument - and the scroll.

  'I see,' Jack said. 'Is she important?'

  'Very,' Mary said.

  'Then why is the temple in ruins?' Jack ran his hand over the foot of the figurine. 'I don't believe in Hindu gods, but this was once a beautiful place, and the workmanship of the stonework is extremely impressive.'

  'The Mogul Empire was Moslem,' Mary said. 'They persecuted the indigenous Hindu population. There were massacres; the Hindus abandoned scores of temples, the Moslems destroyed others and built mosques on top; they killed or enslaved unknown numbers of people, tens, maybe hundreds of thousands.' She stopped. 'It was not a good time to be a Hindu or a Sikh.'

  Jack looked around at the slowly-crumbling temple where once holy men preached peace and a love of music and knowledge. 'There is an amazing potential for peace, and so much history in this country. Why do people ruin it with violence?'

  Mary touched his uniform, smiled, and said nothing.

  Jack kept them three days in the temple, giving the men time to rest and recover before they began their march to Cawnpore. He checked their ammunition, distributed it out as fairly as he could, and sent out small pickets to inspect any local villages and see what food they could find. 'No firing,' he ordered. 'We don't know how many Mutineers there are or if they are in this part of the country.'

  The men sat quietly, some still in shock, others visibly angry at the massacre at Gondabad.

  'Do we have any poachers among us?'

  A long-faced, saturnine man touched a hand to his forelock rather than saluting. 'Matthew Whitelam, sir.'

  Jack nodded. 'I should have known you'd be a poacher, Whitelam. You're a Lincolnshire man, aren't you? Yellowbellies are famed for their poaching skills.'

  'Yes, sir,' Whitelam seemed pleased at Jack recognising his home county. 'Are you from Lincolnshire, sir?'

  Jack shook his head. 'Herefordshire, Whitelam.'

  'Yes, sir. Imagine a Hereford man knowing about a Yellowbelly.'

  Jack forced a smile. 'You're one of my men, Whitelam. It is my duty to know about you. I want you to do some poaching; you'll know the likeliest lads in the company. Pick a few and see what you can snare. No shooting but we need food.'

  Whitelam's grin was probably bad for discipline although undoubtedly good for morale. 'There's Hutton, sir, and Armstrong. He's a nowter from the north but frit of nobody even when he gets wrong.'

  'I'll take your word for it, Whitelam.' Jack did not pretend to understand broad Lincolnshire. 'No firing mind.'

  'No firing sir.' Whitelam's grin was infectious. 'Imagine being ordered to do what the magistrates jailed me for.' He waved to Mary. 'Don't you worry my duck; we'll get you safe from the niggers.'

  Mary waved back. 'I won't worry when there are men like you around, Mr … What's your name?'

  'Whitelam. I'm Matthew Whitelam.'

  'Off you go,' Jack said, warming to Mary. Many women would whisk aside their skirts when close to private soldiers. He was strangely glad Mary was not of that kind.

  'I've been watching you, Captain Windrush.' Jane had been gathering some early mangoes. 'So you are little Jack Windrush.' Stepping back, she ran her gaze up and down him. 'You turned out all right.' She fingered his uniform. 'But why join the 113th, and not the Royal Malverns?'

  Jack shook his head. 'It's a long story,' he said. 'How do you know about the Royal Malverns?'

  'That is also a long story,' Jane patted his chest. 'How is your father?'

  'Did you know my father?'

  'I knew him well,' Jane said. 'And I knew you as a baby.' She smiled and held out her hand, palm downward, close to her knee. 'Last time I saw you, you were this height and just learning to walk.' The light faded from her eyes. 'And then you were sent Home, and I never saw you or heard anything more about you.'

  'Were you my ayah – my nanny, Mrs Niven?'

  'In a manner of speaking,' Jane sat down on a vegetation-smothered square of carved stone and invited Jack to join her. Above them, birds circled, and the goddess stared out from blank stone eyes across the tangled wilderness. 'What do you remember about your early childhood, Captain Windrush?'

  Jack shrugged. 'Very little. I know I was born in India and sent home to be educated.'

  Jane nodded; her eyes were bright and very intent. 'Do you remember anything at all about your time here?'

  Jack pondered. 'Sometimes at night, strange images come through my head. A smiling face, the touch of a hand, a voice calling, but nothing I can make sense of.'

  Jane sighed. 'You don't remember me, then?'

  'No; I'm sorry.'

  'I would be surprised if you could. You were very young. Too young.' Jane looked away for a second. Jack could see she was tense, nearly trembling. 'Do you remember your mother?'

  'My mother?' Jack was surprised at the question, yet answered it frankly.
There was something about this woman that inspired respect, and he knew instinctively he could trust her. 'Until I was eighteen years old I believed my stepmother was my real mother. I did not know otherwise until the day of my father's funeral.'

  'Your father is dead?' Jane said the words quickly. 'I am sorry.'

  'Don't be,' Jack said. 'I hardly knew him. He was always in India or somewhere. I doubt I saw him half-a-dozen times in my life. I'm sorry; I forgot you knew him as well.'

  'We used to meet here,' Jane said slowly, holding his gaze. 'In this very temple.'

  'Oh, I see,' Jack said. 'You mean…'

  'I mean that for a while we were close. In the absence of a wife, men sometimes need the comfort of a woman. It is as natural as breathing, so I don't want you to think ill of him.'

  'No, no of course not,' Jack said. He knew many soldiers out East took native or Eurasian women as mistresses but had never imagined his father doing such a thing. Strangely it made him more human.

  Reaching out, Jane touched his arm. 'You must have a girl somewhere?'

  Jack shook his head in instant denial. 'No.'

  'Oh.' Jane looked disappointed. Her voice was soft as she continued. 'Why not, Jack? I presume you would go to a public school in England. I hope you did not indulge in the practices that I hear are so prevalent in such places?'

  For a moment Jack was confused and then shook his head violently. 'Oh, God no! No! I am not that way inclined.'

  'I am glad to hear it.' Jane said. 'You must think me very forward to broach such a subject.'

  Jack felt himself blush. 'I have never spoken of such a thing to a woman before,' he admitted.

  'And never should again, I hope,' Jane said. 'You will wonder at my interest in you.'

  'Yes, a little,' Jack said. The questions made him uncomfortable, yet he did not want to leave Jane's company.

  'Your father and I spent a lot of time here,' Jane was smiling again. She stood up and walked around the courtyard, touching the Hindu goddess with her open hand. 'He always vowed … Well never mind what he vowed. You are like him in many ways.'

  'What was he like?' Jack asked.

  'He was more assertive than you,' Jane said. 'He was tall and proud and confident. His men would have followed him anywhere; that is something you share.'