Windrush: Cry Havelock (Jack Windrush Book 4)

by Malcolm Archibald

  Jane eased herself up slightly from the cart. 'My legs are not weary,' she rubbed at her backside. 'Quite another part of me is suffering.'

  Mary looked momentarily scandalised, but gave a small smile and slid her hand behind her. 'Me too,' she said.

  'Not long now,' Jack hid his smile. 'Then you can ease that part as well.'

  'Sir,' Ensign Shearer was obviously anxious. 'The cavalry is closing, sir.'

  'Thank you, Mr Shearer,' Jack tried to sound calm. He raised his voice. 'Form a square; Prentice, take the left side; Elliot, the right, Kent the rear and I will command the front. Riley and Logan look after the ladies. You two, get underneath the waggon until I say it's safe.'

  'We'll be all right, Captain Windrush,' Jane said.

  'You'll do as I say!' Jack ordered sharply.

  Expecting the order, the men moved with the skill of long practice. Formed into two ranks with the front man kneeling and his rear-marker standing, they obeyed Jack's order to fix bayonets and faced outwards, waiting. The dust settled slowly. Somebody swore softly.

  The cavalry merged into a single thirty-strong body and advanced at a trot with the sun glinting from breast-plates and steel helmets and reflecting from the blades of drawn swords.

  'Here they come!' Jack felt the gravel in his throat. He took a quick sip of his water bottle to lubricate his throat.

  'Load!' He shouted above the drumming of horse's hooves. 'Home!'

  He stepped to the face of the square. The cavalry was approaching behind a screen of dust. Wellington must have had a similar view at Waterloo. 'Return! Cap!'

  The men were ready; bayonets fixed, rifles loaded.

  'Aim! Volley at fifty yards!'

  Seventy yards, sixty, the cavalry closed, partly concealed behind a curtain of dust, and then one man spurred ahead of the rest on the right flank of the square.

  'He's a white man, sir!' Elliot said. 'A blasted renegade!'

  Jack felt rather than heard the growl from the men.

  'It's bad enough when the blacks rebel,' Thorpe said, 'but when your own people join them, it's worse.'

  'Hold your fire!' Jack shouted.

  The rider approached the square. 'Who the devil are you?'

  'Number two Company, 113th Foot, British Army,' Jack shouted back. 'Who the devil are you?'

  'Captain Potts of the Allahabad Rangers. Where have you sprung from?' The man wore European civilian clothes with an oversized white turban around his head. He carried a Sikh tulwar and had a revolver thrust through his cummerbund.

  'Gondabad,' Jack said.

  'Good show!' Potts shouted. 'We thought you were all dead up there.' He rode closer to Jack. 'You'd better follow me into Allahabad then. General Havelock will wish to speak to you.'

  'We've made it, men!' Elliot shouted. 'They're British!'

  Too tired to cheer, the 113th could only raise a croak. Jack felt Mary's hand on his sleeve.

  'Thank you, Captain Jack,' she said. 'And I forgive you for shouting at me just now.' She squeezed lightly and returned to the tonga.

  Chapter Seven

  Jack had never met a soldier with such a penetrating gaze. Havelock's eyes were bright and hard and perceptive. Jack knew that General Henry Havelock was in his early sixties and this was his first independent command in a career which spanned Burma, Gwalior, Afghanistan, Persia and the Punjab.

  A fighting man, then, Jack thought.

  Havelock's North-East accent was hidden behind his curt military sentences while his lack of inches compared to Jack's nearly six feet tall was immaterial. One look at this man and Jack knew he was as capable as any officer he had ever met.

  'Gondabad fell some weeks ago,' Havelock said as he faced Jack across the desk in Allahabad Fort. 'Where have you been since?' He listened as Jack recounted his movements, nodded from time to time.

  'Tell me which Company regiments who saw in rebellion, their numbers and in which direction they were heading.'

  Jack had been prepared for the question and listed the regiments they had encountered. 'Lieutenant Prentice was most helpful in identifying these units, sir.'

  Havelock nodded. 'I will bear his name in mind. How many men did you lose on your march?'

  'Three sir; I lost two from heat exhaustion and one from fever.' Jack said.

  'Another three men gone to meet their Maker.' Havelock touched the Bible that sat on the desk in front of him. 'I presume you have thanked the Lord for your preservation and for that of your men?'

  'I have not, sir,' Jack said truthfully.

  'Then I expect you will do so at the first opportunity, Windrush.'

  'Yes, sir.' Jack was glad Havelock did not ask him to sink to his knees there and then.

  'We are in the midst of a dangerous situation, Windrush,' Havelock spoke with utter sincerity, 'and only with divine help and the strength and loyalty of our men will we succeed in bringing peace to this land. God bless us all.'

  'Indeed, sir,' Jack agreed.

  'Are you by chance related to the late General Windrush?' Havelock continued before Jack could reply. 'No, his son is Captain William Windrush of the Royal Malverns. He won renown at the Redan. Well, Windrush, perhaps you will add further lustre to the Windrush name here in India.'

  'I'll do my best, sir.'

  'With God's guidance, that is all we can do.' Havelock nodded Jack's dismissal. 'Your men will stay in the fort for the present, Windrush. 'When I am ready we'll march to Cawnpore, relieve General Wheeler and rescue the women from their peril.'

  'Yes, sir.' Jack withdrew gratefully. Havelock was undoubtedly the most unsettling senior officer he had met.

  Strategically placed, Allahabad was an iron gate controlling the route from Calcutta to the North West, the road along which British reinforcements must travel to relieve Cawnpore. Previous rulers had recognised the city's importance, and in 1575 Abu'l-Fath Jalal-ud-din Muhammad, better known as Akbar had built a fort on a prime defensive position where the Ganges merged with the Jamuna. Now Allahabad Fort was the headquarters of the small British force that hoped to turn the tide in the rebellion they had inadvertently provoked.

  'This is some building,' Elliot murmured. 'These Mughal emperors knew their stuff.'

  Red-walled and massive, Allahabad Fort frowned over the huddled houses in princely pride. The footsteps of Jack and Elliot echoed from solid stone, while a native woman followed them at a few yard's distance, her blue sari nearly brushing the ground.

  'It's said to be the most haunted building in India.' Elliot said.

  'Trust you to know such things,' Jack followed as Elliot led the way to a great stone pillar, thirty feet high, with a carved lion on top. He touched the smooth stone as Jack admired the view north.

  'This is one of Ashok Pillars.' There was something like awe in Elliot's voice. 'It was built hundreds of years before Christ.' He caressed the stone nearly reverently. 'What amazing things this place has seen, what tremendous people have been here before us.'

  'And now Captain Windrush and Lieutenants Elliot and Prentice of the infamous 113th Foot are gracing it with their presence,' Jack said.

  Jack looked at the view. A faint mist only enhanced the beauty of the land, with trees draped in soft grey and the slow drift of the rivers a background to the murmur of voices.

  'We think we are civilising this land,' Prentice said softly. 'Yet one of the greatest emperors the world has ever known built this huge fort more than a century before Great Britain even existed.'

  Jack glanced at him. He was not used to such words from junior British officers, whose conversation commonly centred on hunting or women. 'You seem to know a lot about India.'

  'I've been in India all my adult life,' Prentice said. 'We are guardians here, not owners. We are only the latest in a line of peoples stretching back further than we yet know.' He touched the pillar and indicated the massive fort. 'Look at the architecture here, sir, and feel the age and the sheer scale of it. How can we feel anything but respect for people who c
an create such a tremendous place?'

  Jack grunted. 'These people have also murdered our men and women.'

  'With respect, sir, Boadicea murdered quite a few Romans when she led the Iceni in rebellion against Rome,' Prentice said. 'And we revere her as a heroine. Perhaps these Mutineers see themselves in the same light.'

  Jack raised his eyebrows. 'We can feel sympathy for their cause after we have defeated them,' he said. 'At present, all I see are sepoys who have broken their oath of fidelity. Men who pretended friendship and loyalty then stabbed us in the back.'

  'Yes, sir,' Prentice said. 'I was not suggesting we let them win, sir.'

  'I'm glad to hear it,' Jack lit one of his last cheroots and inhaled.

  'We are on the southern frontier of Oudh,' Elliot murmured, 'and near to the disaffected districts Juanpure, Azamgarh and Gorakhpur.'

  'You've been doing your homework,' Jack said. 'A few days ago you did not even know where Cawnpore was.'

  'I've been boning up,' Elliot indicated the smiling young woman who stood a few yards away. 'If you want to know the country, ask a native.'

  'I thought your father was a religious man.' Jack glanced at the woman and away again. 'Would he approve of such activities?'

  'He's not here,' Elliot said. 'And anyway if he wants me to be another Wellington, I should act like Wellington, and he slept with every woman in sight.'

  Jack thought of Myat once more and smiled. 'As long as you can trust her,' he said. 'Be careful she does not slit your throat in the night.'

  'I'll be careful,' Elliot touched his revolver. 'I sleep with this under the pillow.' He looked around at the fort and the sprawling town beneath. 'The 6th Native Infantry were here you know. When they offered to march against Delhi to support the British, their officers praised their loyalty. Officers and men cheered each other on the parade ground, and the same evening the sepoys rose and murdered the officers and eight young lads who had only arrived in India a few days before.'

  'So I heard,' Jack said, and nodded to Prentice. 'So you be careful who you befriend, Prentice.'

  'I will, sir,' Prentice plainly regretted his earlier words. 'I did not mean I sympathise with the Mutineers, sir.'

  'If I thought you did,' Jack spoke slowly. 'I would ensure that you were no longer a British officer. Our first duty is to the Queen, and then to the men under our command. Politics of any kind is irrelevant.'

  'Yes, sir,' Prentice said.

  'Did you hear about Lieutenant Brasyer? He saved the day and the fort.' There was admiration in Elliot's voice. 'He started off in the ranks, you know. It was he who disarmed the remnants of the 6th and held the fort.'

  'Men like him deserve to be remembered,' Jack said. 'But he won't be. He'll be forgotten, and some titled ass will gain the plaudits and rewards.'

  'And sometimes the women will get the rewards as well.' Elliot said shrewdly.

  'What?' Jack did not understand.

  'The fair Helen,' Elliot did not withdraw. 'Who won your brother William, the hero of the Redan.' His sarcasm was evident.

  Jack touched the letter in his breast pocket. There was too much hurt for him to continue the conversation. 'Allahabad seems quiet now.'

  'Yes,' Elliot agreed. 'It was not quiet when the pandies were in charge. They burst open the doors of the jail, and all the thieves, badmashes and blackguards ran riot. They attacked anything European and progressive, ripped down the telegraphic wires, destroyed the railway, robbed the treasury and raped, tortured and then murdered the whites and Eurasians.'

  Jack thought of Jane and Mary in the hands of these creatures. 'Inhuman monsters.' The words did not adequately describe his feelings. He did not add more. Elliot understood.

  'When there was nobody left to kill and nothing to loot, the Mutineers decided they had enough of rebelling and scurried home.'

  'And so we came in,' Jack said.

  'Not quite. The local landowners already disliked us after we tried to impose British land reforms on practices they had followed since God was a toddler. When the sepoys left a fellow called the Maulavi rose up to lead the landowners.'

  'There's always somebody wanting to be a leader when others have done the dirty work,' Jack said sourly. 'Chaos brings out the opportunist.'

  'Yes, sir. Colonel Neill arrived and soon gave this Maulavi fellow the right-about-turn. Neill recaptured Allahabad, sent the women and children to Calcutta and consolidated our position here.' Elliot spoke like a school teacher. 'The Maulavi fled to Cawnpore and, as you know, we are gathering forces here.'

  'We have four regiments, or bits of them, in Allahabad,' Jack said, 'with a few guns plus some volunteer cavalry and odds and sods, such as us.' He looked around the massive fort where his men were making themselves at home.

  'It is not much to try and retake India.' Elliot said.

  'I'm sure there will be more arriving.' Jack said softly. 'The Mutineers won't grab India without a fight, I can tell you.' He pulled on his cheroot. 'You'd better go, Arthur; there's a lady there waiting patiently for you. You too, Prentice; you'll have work to do.'

  As the 113th rested and recovered after their trek across India, General Havelock and Colonel Neill prepared for the coming campaign. The fort and city of Allahabad buzzed with activity. Neill gathered camels and carts for the Commissariat and Transport Department, while Captain Brown of the Artillery and Captain Russell of the Ordnance worked all the hours they could in the stifling heat.

  On the 30th June 1857, Havelock sent Major Renaud with an advance party to test the route to Cawnpore. Renaud commanded four hundred mixed Queen's and Company soldiers, together with three hundred Sikhs and over a hundred horsemen.

  'About a third of our manpower,' Elliot calculated. 'I hope this Havelock fellow knows what he's doing.'

  Jack remembered those steady eyes. 'I think he does. In fact, I am sure he does.'

  Three days later Havelock ordered Captain Spurgin with a hundred men and two guns to take a river steamer toward Cawnpore, and then he sent for Jack.

  'You arrived in time for the advance, Windrush' Havelock said. 'Your Crimean veterans will come in useful when we meet the Mutineers.'

  'Yes, sir,' Jack watched Spurgin's steamer chug up the Ganges, her decks full of men and the water churning up creamily in her wake.

  'I understand Colonel Jeffreys sent some of your regimental families to Cawnpore for safety.' Havelock's eyes were unwavering yet full of sympathy.

  'Yes, sir. He sent them away a day or two before the outbreak at Gondabad. Major Snodgrass and a small escort accompanied them.'

  'You may have heard the rumour that General Wheeler hauled down his flag and the Mutineers have taken over.' Havelock said.

  Jack felt the increased pounding of his heart. 'I had heard, sir.'

  'I don't yet know if it is true or merely bazaar gossip,' Havelock said. 'Let us hope the Lord sees fit to care for our loved ones as well as the defenders of the city.' Havelock sounded sincere.

  'I hope He does, sir.' Jack said. His men had been shocked when they heard the stories, with Riley turning aside in horror and battered little Logan putting an arm around him in awkward companionship. 'When are we leaving to retake the city, sir?'

  'When I am ready, Windrush,' Havelock said. 'Rest your men, ensure they have all their equipment and inform them there will be trials and tribulations ahead, but with God's help, British arms and the right will triumph.'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'May the good Lord give me wisdom and strength to restore tranquillity to the disturbed districts.' Havelock looked directly at Jack with those sharp, shrewd eyes. 'Speed is a priority to save the women. There will be no private carriages for officers, Windrush, and only a minimum of baggage.'

  'My men are used to marching with nothing except what they can carry,' Jack said. 'And with some have family in Cawnpore; they would march through Hell to rescue them.'

  'There is no need for the blasphemy, Windrush,' Havelock rebuked. 'This will undoubtedly be a har
d campaign. The enemy will be stern in their desire to stop us.'

  'Yes, sir. I am sure they will.' Jack said. Within him, he knew he wanted the Mutineers to fight. He wanted revenge for the men he had lost. He needed to kill Sarvur Khan

  'You look worried.' Mary stood beside the Ashok pillar, gazing at the river and the view beyond. From up here, the land appeared beautiful, fertile and peaceful.

  He lit another cheroot. 'I am worried,' he admitted. Images of Sarvur Khan filled his mind, together with a terrible feeling of foreboding.

  'Your men are well but unsettled.' Mary folded her skirt beneath her and sat gracefully on a nearby block of stone. 'I have lived in cantonments much of my life; I know when soldiers are unhappy.'

  'They are concerned about their families,' Jack drew on his cheroot.

  'And you are worried about them,' Mary said.

  'They're my men.' Jack said. 'It's my job to worry.'

  Mary gave a little smile. 'Not all officers worry about their men.'

  Jack thought for a few moments. 'We've been through a lot together. You get close to people when you've stood side by side in battle, or waited in trenches for the Plastun Cossacks to come through the night.' He was silent; his mind clouded with memories. 'And a few were with me in the Burmese war.'

  'Even so,' Mary said, 'some officers keep a distance between themselves and the men.'

  'Maybe I should do the same,' Jack said. He drew on his cheroot and blew out aromatic smoke.

  'Why don't you?' It was a direct question asked in a tone so gentle that Jack knew Mary was genuinely interested in his answer.

  He inhaled again, considering how much he could safely tell her. Safely? He could be killed any hour of any day; did it matter if this woman sneered at him for his illegitimate birth? Yes, it did. For some reason, he valued her good opinion. 'I would feel a fraud,' he said slowly, wondering if he was destroying something fragile by saying too much. When he moved, he felt Helen's letter press against his chest. Damn Helen Maxwell.

  'In what way?' Mary spoke in a quiet voice again, so thoughtful and so different from Helen's youthful impulsiveness.