Windrush: Cry Havelock (Jack Windrush Book 4)

by Malcolm Archibald

  'I wish I could, Logan,' Jack said truthfully. Riley was a friend as well as one of his men. They had gone through a lot together in the Crimea, and he was as close to him as to a brother; closer, Jack thought, remembering how his half-brother William had treated him.

  'We'll be in Cawnpore today, Riley,' he tried to help. 'We don't know anything for sure until then.'

  'We'll kill them all, Riley,' Logan responded in the only way he knew, the law of an eye for an eye he had learned in the horrendous slums of Glasgow. 'We'll kill every murdering black pandy bastard in India. Don't you worry, mate. We'll get them for you.'

  Jack put a hand on Riley's shoulder and turned away. Nothing he said could help. He expected the tears in Riley's face; he was surprised at the raw emotion that Logan did not bother to hide. Iron-hard men such as Donnie Logan were not expected to show sympathy and grief.

  This campaign was changing them all.

  Jack had never experienced the atmosphere with which Havelock's column entered Cawnpore. The determination and anger on the march from Allahabad were compounded many times by the ugly rumours. British soldiers were not naturally bloodthirsty; they were professionals who fought when they had to, but these men wanted to kill.

  'It's as well that Nana Sahib has not stood again.' Elliot said. 'He blew up the magazine and fled; we all heard the explosion. The lads would have killed every single one of the Mutineers after hearing of the murder of the women.'

  Thinking of Riley, Jack nodded. 'We'll get the bastard,' he said. 'We'll hang draw and quarter him.'

  Elliot glanced at Jack, opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it and closed it again.

  Some of the inhabitants of Cawnpore gathered to watch the British arrive. Most cowered away or ran when they saw the set faces of the British soldiers. These were not the rough, friendly raucous lalkurti they had come to know, but another breed entirely. The city waited in apprehension close to fear to see how the British would react.

  'Did you hear what happened here?' The 113th clustered outside the house known as the Bibighur, where Nana Sahib imprisoned the women and children. Elliot spoke quietly, with his knuckles white as he gripped the hilt of his sword.

  Jack nodded. 'I heard.'

  Elliot continued; he had to talk to release the images of horror from his mind. 'Old General Wheeler trusted in Nana's loyalty, but Nana turned traitor and assumed the leadership of the Mutineers and rebels.'

  'We know that,' Jack wished Elliot would keep quiet so he could be alone with his thoughts.

  'So Wheeler got the few defenders and all the woman and children into a shallow entrenchment, surrounded by thousands and thousands of the rebels. He held out for three weeks, repulsing every rebel attack and the women and even the children playing their part.'

  Jack thought of an open entrenchment under the Indian summer sun, with women and children lacking food or medical supplies and having no sanitation. He thought of the rebels firing at them day and night and the wounded piling up, and the women exposed to hideous sights and sounds. 'I see,' he did not hear the harshness in his voice.

  Elliot continued, speaking slowly and with a vacant expression on his face. 'Seeing the condition of the women, Wheeler agreed to surrender as long as the women and children were given safe passage out of Cawnpore. The men, you see, would take their chance.'

  'He was thinking of the women and trusting to the word of Nana Sahib,' Jack touched the butt of his revolver.

  'Nana Sahib agreed and brought boats to Sati Chaura Ghat on the Ganges. He promised the British safe passage to Allahabad. When Wheeler brought the garrison out of the entrenchment and onto the ghat, the Mutineers attacked with swords, rifles and bayonets.'

  Jack pictured the scene, the heat and the flies, the hope of the women, the crying children and the sudden swoop by the Mutineers. He thought of the swish of the river, the fear and the shouts, the women screaming, the men trying to fight back, the blood swirling greasy on the water. He said nothing.

  'They had no chance,' Elliot said. 'The pandies burned the boats and murdered nearly all the men, old General Wheeler among them. They dragged the woman and children who survived from the river. They robbed the survivors of everything they had, all jewels and personal possessions and rebels took them to a building known as Savada Kothee and then here, to the Bibighar.'

  Jack nodded. The Bibighar stood within the compound of the cantonment magistrate. It was respectably sized large but not huge and had a courtyard with a central well.

  'The house of the ladies,' he translated without effort or expression.

  'If you say so,' Elliot said. 'About two hundred women and children crammed in here, some wounded, all in fear, many recently widowed. Cholera came, and dysentery.'

  Jack thought of the sounds and smells and feelings of these women, imprisoned so far from home, hoping the British relief column could save them. He said nothing.

  'Nana Sahib did not bother about the women,' Elliot said. 'He put some prostitute called Houssaini in charge, and she made them work, grinding corn for food. Nana wanted to keep the women as insurance, hostages, but when he heard our column was advancing and smashing everything they put in our path he ordered them all murdered.'

  'Yes.' Jack said only one word. If he said more, he would un-man himself by breaking into tears, and English gentlemen did not cry. He looked toward the well, imagining the women and children here waiting for relief with their hopes rising as they learned about Havelock's victories.

  'I heard two versions of the story,' Elliot spoke in a steady monotone. 'The first said Nana Sahib himself ordered the sepoys to put their muskets through the windows and shoot the women, and the second said it was the prostitute, Houssaini, who gave the order.'

  'It matters little who gave the word,' Jack said.

  'I heard that the sepoys fired one volley and then could not continue; they were sickened by the screams of the children and women and refused to fire more. Nana or Houssaini called them cowards and all sorts of things. Either Nana or Houssaini called up a bunch of butchers, with a Pathan in charge.'

  'Sarvur Khan.' Jack knew the name without being told.

  'Yes, sir. He was said to be Hossaini's lover. He and the butchers entered the building and chopped the women up with meat cleavers.'

  'Oh, sweet Jesus in heaven,' Jack said. 'Oh, dear God.' He looked toward the well, knowing there was worse to come.

  'They stripped the bodies, men, women and children, defenceless, innocent children and women, and threw them down the well. This well in this compound.'

  Jack nodded again. The men of the 113th were around the building, together with the 78th Highlanders and the 64th and 84th Foot. 'I'm going inside,' he said.

  'Best not,' Elliot said.

  'I have to,' Jack said. He entered the Bibighar. Riley and Logan were already there; Riley was fighting to keep back his tears, while Logan's arm was tight around his shoulders. Logan's face twisted with grief for his friend, and he was intoning the same word again and again.

  'Bastards; bastards; bastards.'

  A fur of flies feasted on the blood that in places was an inch deep on the floor, with the walls marked and scored with the scars of cleavers. Women's and children's clothing was piled in the corners and scattered through the echoing rooms and in the courtyard itself. Jack saw a baby's bonnet floating in a puddle of blood, while a pink ribbon tangled around a tuft of fair downy hair.

  'Oh, dear God in heaven.'

  He saw a great-bearded Highland sergeant pick up a blood-soaked child's jacket and press it to his lips while tears rolled unheeded down his cheeks. He saw some of the men secreting small pieces of women's clothing inside their tunics and swearing revenge on the pandies.

  God have mercy on the Mutineers now, because I won't and these British soldiers won't. Not after this.

  'I must find Charlotte,' Riley said. 'I must find Charlotte.' Sinking to his knees, he paddled about in the blood, lifting pieces of clothing, inspecting them and putting
them away. 'That's not hers; that's not hers.'

  'What's that madman doing?' A broad- faced corporal of the 84th asked and jerked back as Logan grabbed him by the throat.

  'None of your business! You mind your own affairs!'

  'Logan.' Jack pulled him clear. 'Ignore them. You look after Riley.'

  'Yes, sir,' Logan said, glowering hatred at the startled corporal. 'Come on Riley; I'll help.' Without hesitation, Logan joined Riley on his knees in the blood and searched through the debris for anything that may have belonged to Charlotte.

  Blinking the tears from his eyes, Jack walked to the well. He had been dreading this moment ever since he heard what it contained. Taking a deep breath as the crowd parted for him, he looked in.

  The reality was worse than anything he could have imagined. Bloodied heads and bare arms, naked legs and gashed torsos of women and children filled the well to within a few feet of the brim.

  'We have to get them out,' Riley sounded nearly calm as he stared down at the scene of sickening slaughter, buzzing with questing flies. 'Charlotte's in there somewhere. We have to get them out.'

  'Come on Riley,' Jack eased him away. 'Come on.'

  'Sir,' Riley pulled against him. 'Sir; Charlotte's in there! I must get her out.'

  'Somebody will retrieve her, Riley,' Jack said. 'She'll get a Christian burial. I promise you.'

  'Charlotte!' Riley raised his voice to a shout, 'Charlotte!'

  'Come on Riley,' Logan said urgently. 'Come away with me.'

  Coleman and Thorpe appeared with Parker, who had a small dog in his arms. 'Come on Riley, son,' Coleman said. 'Charlotte is safe now.' He looked up at Jack. 'We'll take care of him, sir.'

  'He's one of my men,' Jack said.

  'If he gets into trouble,' Coleman explained rationally, 'you'll have to put him on a charge, while me and the boys will just cover it up.'

  'Off you go then, Coleman,' Jack understood the logic.

  'The boys are going mad' Elliot reported later. 'They've found a warehouse full of wine and spirits, and they're drinking themselves to insanity and attacking any native they come across.'

  Jack thought of the butchery of the women and children. 'That's not surprising,' he said.

  'It's like Badajoz all over again.' Elliot said.

  'I did not think British soldiers would act in such a manner.' Kent had been in the town. 'It's disgusting; drinking, looting and rioting.' He lowered his voice and spoke in hushed tones. 'I even believe they were cavorting with the women of the town. You know, the ladies of the streets.'

  'Whores,' Prentice found the words for him. 'Or even prostitutes.' He smiled. 'Yes, British soldiers use such women and just as well too. Imagine if they did not … They might go after respectable ladies instead.'

  'I've been looking for Major Snodgrass,' Jack said. 'After he brought our women here he must have joined the garrison. I presume he died at the ghat massacre.'

  'I haven't heard his name mentioned,' Elliot said.

  Jack shrugged, slightly ashamed of himself for being so callous toward a fellow officer. Although he had never liked Snodgrass, he was one of the 113th and as such a brother-in-arms. 'Let's hope he turns up.'

  'He won't be a loss,' Elliot said. 'I never took to him.'

  Jack raised his eyebrows. For Elliot, a man of a nearly perennial sunny disposition, to openly say such a thing showed how much this campaign had altered them all.

  After the stress and danger of the advance and the horror of the Bibighur, the soldiers, British and Sikh, who had relieved Cawnpore, drank themselves to a frenzy of looting and carnage.

  'You two had better keep out of the streets,' Jack said as Mary and Jane sat in the shade within the house he had requisitioned for the officers of the 113th. 'The men are going crazy out there.'

  'How is poor Riley?' Jane asked.

  'He's a broken man,' Jack said truthfully.

  'He is hurting,' Jane said. 'He is hurting badly. He thinks he could have done something more to help her.'

  'How makes you think that?' Jack asked.

  'He is a good man,' Jane said. 'Not an angel; he's a bit of a rogue, but he's honest with his wife.'

  'We'll be moving on soon,' Jack said. 'We're going to relieve Lucknow next. You two stay here. The Mutineers won't be giving much trouble after the drubbings General Havelock has handed them.'

  'Who's taking charge here?' Jane asked.

  'General Neill,' Jack said. 'He's the man the Mutineers are scared of so you will be all right.' He saw the women exchange glances. 'I want no more of your nonsense now, you two!'

  'There will be no nonsense,' Jane promised. 'Will there, Mary?'

  'Oh, no nonsense at all,' Mary said, and although her face was straight, Jack saw the twinkle of mischief in her deep brown eyes.

  'I mean it!' He blustered.

  'I know you do,' Jane said. 'Isn't he sweet when he tries to take command?'

  Mary smiled without replying, and Jack shook his head. He refused to be irritated by the jibes of a woman. Mary's eyes altered to deep sorrow.

  'The well was an awful thing to find,' Jane was looking directly at Jack. 'It will affect you as well as your men.'

  'Yes,' Jack said. The images were too fresh in his mind for coherent speech or thought.

  'Try not to think of it,' Jane continued.

  'My men are angry,' Jack said. 'They want to kill every Mutineer, and everybody who might be a Mutineer.'

  'God knows what General Neill will do,' Mary said. 'He was like a mad dog before. When he gets here and sees this.' She looked away. 'Cawnpore will not be a safe place.'

  Jack wondered anew how it must feel to be Eurasian, not quite belonging to either camp. He grunted; a bit like it felt to be the illegitimate son of a general and a kitchen maid.

  'My men know you,' he spoke to them both. 'Stay close to the 113th for now. If there is any problem, mention my name if it's an officer, or shout for the 113th if it's anybody else.' He forced a weak grin. 'There you are; you have fifty of the toughest blackguards in the British Army as bodyguards.'

  'General Neill far outranks you,' Mary said.

  'If Neill or anybody else puts a hand on you,' Jack said. 'I'll blow his blasted head off.' He knew the words sounded very melodramatic; he also knew he meant them. 'That goes for you too, Jane.' He could not read the expression in her eyes.

  After checking on the safety of Jane and Mary, Jack patrolled the streets for his men, taking the drunk and the stupid and locking them in a chamber to keep them safe. Only at dawn did he slump onto his lonely cot and then the raw images in his mind kept him awake. He stood up again, to find Jane standing in the lee of a waggon, watching him.

  'Rest,' Jane said. 'You must rest.'

  'No,' Jack said. 'I've got my duty to do.'

  There was always his duty to do. His duty kept him sane when life was difficult and vigilant when things were quiet. Now his duty chased away the horrors as he cared for his company. With cholera and sunstroke rife among the British, and Havelock promising to 'hang up, in their uniform, all British soldiers that plunder', Jack joined the other officers in rounding up the more wayward of his men.

  The 113th gathered in the old stone building Jack had requisitioned as barracks. He harangued them for their ill-discipline and their drunkenness, while all the time he was noting the gaps in the ranks where men had fallen to enemy fire or the equally fatal scourges of fever and cholera.

  'The general is gathering boats to get us across the Ganges,' Jack said, 'and then we're off to relieve Lucknow.'

  The men nodded. With the usual efficient information service of British soldiers, they probably knew more than he did, and with the habitual reticence of British other-ranks, they hid their knowledge from their officers. Such was the way of the Army.

  'You will have heard about the death of Sir Henry Lawrence in Lucknow,' Jack tried to sound unemotional, although the loss of a first-class soldier was a blow to the British position. The men nodded. 'The defenders are
still fighting,' he said.

  A few cheered, others banged their boots on the ground.

  'How are you holding out, Riley?'

  'All right, sir, thank you.' Riley's reply was stiff and formal as befitted a private talking to an officer.

  'Good man.' Jack looked up as the sentry slammed to attention at his side. 'Yes, Murphy?'

  'There's a lady to see you, sir. She says it is important.' Murphy was one of the new men, a Connaught man with a broken nose and the devil in his eyes.

  'I've no time for a lady, Murphy; tell her to wait.' Generally such a message would have set the 113th cat-calling and making obscene remarks, but since the slaughter of the Bibighur, they were quieter and more serious.

  'Yes, sir. It's your lady sir.'

  'Oh,' Jack was not sure if Murphy meant Jane or Mary. 'I don't possess a lady, Murphy. Oh, all right. I'm coming. Lieutenant Prentice will take over here.'

  Mary stood outside the door. In a long pale green dress she must have found in the town, and with her hair in neat ringlets, she could have belonged in any respectable house in Herefordshire.

  'I'm a bit busy, Mary,' Jack said impatiently and added. 'Are you all right? Has somebody been bothering you?'

  'No, nothing like that.' Mary sounded quite excited. 'I might have some good news for you, Jack, and better news for Private Riley.'

  'I don't think there can be any good news for Riley,' Jack said. 'He and Charlotte were very close.'

  'Somebody found a list in the courtyard of the Bibighar,' Mary said. 'Jane and I copied it out.' she handed it over. 'It's a list of the people killed in the massacre.'

  'Who made it?'

  'One of the few survivors of the siege, a man named Shepherd.' Mary said. 'Look at the names.'

  Jack nodded and scanned the page for Charlotte's name. 'Mrs Bell; Alpen Bell; Mrs and Miss Carroll; Mrs Lupin… Mrs and Miss Peters.' He looked up. 'I can't see Charlotte Riley's name.'

  'It's not there.' Mary said quietly.

  'What does that mean?'

  'I don't know,' Mary said. 'It may not mean anything.'

  Jack scanned the list, searching for familiar names and finding none. 'Come with me,' He led Mary into the stone chamber where the 113th recovered from their night's exertions.