Windrush: Cry Havelock (Jack Windrush Book 4)

by Malcolm Archibald

  'Listen to me, men.' Jack held up his hand. 'Mary has found a list of the people recently murdered in Cawnpore.' He dropped his hand; he could have cut the silence with a blunt knife. 'Mary brought it to me in person to tell me that none of the people murdered was from the 113th.'

  He saw Riley's head jerk up. 'How about Charlotte, sir?'

  'I'll read out the names,' Jack said. 'Listen.'

  They did. The men sat in utter silence. He saw Riley shaking, and Logan put a supporting arm around his shoulder. Mary moved closer until O'Neill shook his head, frowning.

  Jack felt the lump in his throat. 'You will note there is no mention of any of our people.' He lowered the list. 'I know we are all grateful to Mary here.'

  Riley was staring, his mouth opening and closing. He took a deep breath to compose himself. 'Sir,' he said, 'does this mean Charlotte is still alive?'

  'We don't know quite what it means, Riley,' Jack said. 'All it tells us is that Mrs Riley was not among the prisoners held by Nana Sahib, and she was not murdered in the late massacre.'

  'Sir.' Williams spoke out. 'Have you heard anything about Major Snodgrass and the other lads, sir?'

  'Not a thing, Williams.' Jack said truthfully. 'The major and the entire convoy of our families have vanished.' He shifted his gaze from Williams to Riley. 'We just don't know where they are. Thanks to Mary we do know that none of our people was murdered in the Bibighur.'

  'So what now, sir?' Riley asked.

  'Now we win this war, Riley, defeat the rebels, restore order to India, and in the process, we'll find out where your wife and all our other missing people are.' He saw the stiffening of shoulders and straightening of backs.

  Dismissing the men, Jack called Fraser over. Brown faced and grey-haired, Fraser looked out of place in the stiff uniform of the 113th. He came to attention automatically.

  'Fraser, you know this country better than anybody else in the army.'

  'Probably, sir,' Fraser agreed.

  'You know our families were sent off from Gondabad and have not been seen since.' Jack waited for Fraser's nod. 'Do you have any inkling of what may have happened to them?'

  'No, sir.' Fraser said. 'I could try and find out if you wish.'

  'How?' Jack asked.

  'I could tramp the road as a local again,' Fraser said. 'I'm as Indian as I am British Army now.'

  'That is amazingly dangerous,' Jack said. 'If the Mutineers catch you they'll kill you.'

  'And if General Neill catches me he'll hang me,' Fraser said cheerfully. 'I'll be careful, sir.'

  Jack nodded. 'I can't order you to do such a thing,' he said. 'I'll let you think about it for a while.'

  'Thank you, sir,' Fraser pulled at the collar of his tunic. 'I'll be glad to get into more sensible clothes.'

  'Be careful, Fraser,' Jack said, but Fraser was already changing into the looser clothing of India.

  Havelock ordered Mowbray Thompson, another Cawnpore survivor, to create earthworks beside the Ganges while he found some means of crossing the mile-wide river. His offer of an amnesty to any boatman who helped the British attracted a score of locals, and when a steamer chugged up from Allahabad with reinforcements, he had the nucleus of a flotilla. Shortly afterwards General Neill marched in a few hundred more men with vengeance in their hearts and blood on their bayonets.

  'Now we'll be moving,' Elliot said. 'Old Holy won't wait much longer.

  Elliot was correct. Leaving Neill and a strong garrison behind, Havelock began the next stage of his march.

  'We're going to free Lucknow,' Logan said. 'Cheer up, Riley; Charlotte will be all right. You'll see. She'll turn up when you least expect it and slap you across the head for drinking or something.'

  Riley's forced smile lacked any humour.

  'Look at the bloody rain!' Thorpe shivered under the constant monsoon deluge. 'It's worse than Worcester in November.'

  'That's right Thorpey,' Coleman said. 'Nana Sahib prayed to the great elephant or Kali or somebody to get the rains down.'

  'He never did!' Thorpe swore as he stepped into a deep puddle.

  'Oh, yes, Thorpey boy. This wetness is all Nana's fault. We beat him so often he turned to religion and ordered the rain.'

  Thorpe's face twisted with the effort of thought. 'So if we prayed for it to stop,' he said at last, 'it might work.'

  'It might,' Coleman pretended to consider the possibility. 'We'd have to do it the right way of course. It would be no good praying to our god here. We're in India where only Indian gods work.'

  'Oh?' Thorpe looked more confused than ever. 'How do we pray to an Indian god?'

  Coleman winked at Parker and Williams, who were watching in some amusement. 'The important thing is the sacrifice. You have to find a couple of bottles of rum and give it away as a sacrifice. You can give it to one of their gods or a friend.'

  'I would give it to you, Coley.'

  'Would you? You're a true friend Thorpey. I heard that Lieutenant North of the 78th has a few bottles stored away in his baggage…'

  'Right lads!' Jack interrupted the conversation before Coleman sent Thorpe on a looting spree that got him into serious trouble. 'We're moving out soon. Make sure you all have ammunition and caps, fill your water bottles and eat what you can.'

  Logan looked at him. 'Fill our water bottles, sir? It's pissing down.'

  'So it is, Logan. Well observed.' Jack rode the blow. 'Parker, dump the dog, we've no room for passengers. Riley, the quicker we defeat the Mutineers, the quicker we can find Charlotte. Williams…' He spoke to the men individually, making them feel important and part of the whole, checking their morale, ensuring the lazy were fully equipped, bolstering the inexperienced, reining back the over-enthusiastic and preparing them for the ordeal ahead.

  'Sir,' Riley asked. 'When are we leaving?'

  'Soon, I think.' Jack said. 'Keep your chin up, Riley.'

  Used to the armies of the Crimea, Jack thought that Havelock's brigade of about eighteen hundred men plus ten guns was pitifully small to advance across hostile territory and attack a besieging rebel force of unknown strength. But he had faith in Henry Havelock. His forty-nine surviving men of the 113th waited their turn to cross the river as the rain teemed down and the clouded skies pressed upon them.

  'Here we go again, then,' Elliot said as they landed on the opposite side of the river, crashed down their boots to prove ownership and began the march toward Lucknow. 'We have General Havelock, the 113th Foot and less than two thousand men against half the Mutineers of India, plus God-alone-knows how many badmashes, outlaws, hangers-on, rebel tribesmen and other assorted riff-raff.'

  'Put your trust in Havelock,' Jack said, 'and he'll put his in God.'

  'Amen,' Elliot said.

  Five miles along a road awash with surface water, Havelock halted his force at a village called Mangalwar to wait for his commissariat convoy. On either side of the road, constant rains had transformed the ground into a swamp. Without shelter, the men huddled in miserable groups, sucking on empty pipes and cursing the weather, the officers, the Mutineers and unkind fate that had landed them in such a situation.

  'The boys aren't happy,' Elliot removed his forage cap, squeezed it to remove the rain water and replaced it on his head.

  'They're grumbling,' Jack agreed. 'But if British soldiers ever stop grumbling I'll really get worried.'

  'We've three more men down with dysentery,' Elliot continued.

  'As long as it's not cholera they have a chance of survival.' Jack looked back toward the Ganges. Although he did not admit it, he wondered if Mary and Jane had managed to inveigle a passage onto the commissariat waggons. Part of him longed to see them and part hoped they had remained safe in Cawnpore. Neither liked General Neill, but Jack felt they were safer with him in command than just about any general in the army.

  'Sir,' Coleman's salute was so smart that Jack knew it was a prelude to a request. 'There are native houses here, sir, and we're out in the rain.'

  Jack understo
od. 'Be careful when you take them over. There may be Mutineers hiding inside.'

  'Not for long, sir.' Coleman said grimly.

  The 113th had been waiting for Jack's permission and burst inside the houses, so the men were at least out of the worst of the weather.

  'There's no pandies here, sir!' Coleman reported happily.

  'Let's join the men,' Jack said.

  'We're losing men steadily to disease,' Elliot said. 'Not only in the 113th but the other regiments too. We're down to seventeen hundred and seventy- seven men already, and Nana Sahib is at Fatehpur Chaurassi with an army of three thousand and a clutch of artillery.' He patted his hip-flask. 'The pandies are also waiting to contest our crossing of the river Bani.'

  'This won't be an easy march to Lucknow,' Jack looked up as water dripped through the roof of their hut.

  'If we don't get through,' Elliot said, 'Lucknow will fall, and we all know what that means.'

  Jack thought of the horrors within Cawnpore. 'Aye,' he said. 'Don't we just.' He accepted the hip-flask that Elliot passed over. 'Let's hope the garrison in the Residency building can hold out until we get there.'

  'At least there are Queen's regiments in the Residency, unlike in Cawnpore,' Elliot took back his flask. 'There are over five hundred of the 32nd, fifty of the 84th as well as a few score artillerymen and a host of officers from the native regiments. There are also about eight hundred sepoys, although only the Lord knows how trustworthy they are.'

  'Not a bad garrison,' Jack said. 'Who is in charge now?'

  'Brigadier Inglis of the 32nd.' Trust Elliot to know. 'He was born in Nova Scotia and is reputed to be a superb regimental officer. He'll hold firm whatever the pandies throw at him. Once he hears what happened in Cawnpore, he'll hold out until Judgement Day.' He looked up. 'There is iron in our hearts now.'

  'We had enemies in the Crimea,' Jack said, 'but I've never know our men so full of hatred as they are now.'

  'God help the pandies if we let slip the leash from our army.' Elliot took another sip from his flask. 'I hope we get our hands on Nana Sahib.'

  'I only hope we can get through to Lucknow.' Jack looked outside at the savage rain. With less than two thousand men and surrounded by unknown numbers of a ruthless enemy, only the skill of Havelock and the courage of the ordinary British infantrymen could save them. He glanced back along the road. The baggage train was there, struggling in their wake through this hostile territory of Oude.

  In a sudden flash of insight, Jack knew that Mary and Jane had managed to hitch or bribe their way onto it. He did not like to think of them out there with only a slender escort of British soldiers, yet his duty was to his men. He closed his eyes. Why had these women attached themselves to him? Jane must be in her forties and would be safer and much more comfortable settling in Calcutta or some British-garrisoned town until the present emergency was over and order restored.

  And Mary?

  Jack shook his head. She was some woman. He struggled with his thoughts, unsure quite how he regarded her. There was no doubt she was attractive. She was also intelligent, thoughtful and capable. He smiled at recent memories and touched the letter in his pocket. Was he only seeking solace after the loss of Helen, or was there more?

  'Sir,' O'Neill slammed to attention at his side and threw a salute. 'Some of the lads are short of ammunition sir, and Thorpe's vanished. May I have permission to organise a party to find him before he loses his fool head to the pandies?'

  Jack dragged himself back to his duty. 'Thank you, Sergeant. I'll come along. I presume you've asked Coleman where Thorpe is.'

  'Yes, sir.'

  Jack sighed; the nitty-gritty, hour-by-hour minutiae of an officer's life took up far more of his time than fighting the enemy. 'Come on then, O'Neill.'

  On July 29th, with his army ravaged by cholera, Havelock pushed on toward a village and town that shared the name Unao, where the Mutineers were in position, as always waiting behind earthworks and artillery.

  'March and fight,' Elliot said. 'March and fight.'

  'Here we go again,' Jack peered forward. 'These rebels know their stuff, don't they?'

  As well as waiting behind the earthworks, the Mutineers were in a walled garden beside the village, while they had strengthened and loopholed every house in Unao. Muskets and rifles pointed outward in a hedgehog of death. The Mutineers knew they outnumbered the British; they knew the British could not replace their casualties, while a victory could encourage more men to swarm to their standards. In a war of attrition, they held every card.

  'Here we go again, Thorpey,' Coleman said quietly. 'Keep your head down, boy.'

  'You too, Coley.' Thorpe said. 'I don't want you to get killed.'

  'Come on, Holy! Give us the order!' Logan growled. 'Dinnae you fret, Riley. We'll smash they pandies and get Charlotte back.'

  There was a narrow road separating the village of Unao from the town, while the monsoon had flooded the ground to the right and swampy ground defended Unao to the left, so the houses were on an island with the road as a causeway. The rains stopped as the British approached, with the return of tropical heat dragging steam from the road and adding a surreal, misty quality to the surroundings.

  'We can't outflank this one,' Elliot said.

  'We'll go through the front door.' Jack said quietly, wondering how many of his men would be casualties before this day was done. 'Here's Havelock now.'

  Looking even more tense than usual, Havelock sat his horse in front of the column. 'Fusiliers, I want you and the 78th to take the walled enclosure. The 64th and the 113th will capture the village.'

  'There's no room for manoeuvre,' Jack said. 'No space for feinting or tactics. It will be a straightforward up-and-at-em attack.' He looked at his men. The veterans were sucking on the stems of their pipes or checking their rifles; they did not appear concerned. The recruits who had more recently joined were blooded now and tried to assume the nonchalance of their comrades. A few talked loudly of the great deeds they would do.

  'Just follow orders, support each other and do your duty,' Jack told them. 'You can't go wrong if you do your duty.'

  Rain still fell, splashing on the ground, aiding the defenders by increasing the depth of the swamps and flooded fields. Sheltering behind their walls, the Mutineers waited until the 78th were moving and then opened fire, catching them on the flank. Some of the Highlanders fell.

  'Right, boys!' Jack gave the order and the 64th and 113th stormed forward once again.

  'Keep together,' Jack ordered. 'Remember how we fought in the Crimea; support each other. There's nothing the pandies want more than to catch a lone British soldier.'

  They advanced at a run, firing by sections as they moved, seeing the muzzle-flare as the Mutineers replied from the loopholed houses and the wall around the village. The 64th hit the wall first and pushed over with the 113th a moment behind, yelling, hating the enemy as they remembered the well in Cawnpore. The village lay before them with men firing from windows and doorways, others crowding in alleyways with swords and shields, matchlock muskets and even spears.

  'Push on!' Jack fired at a Mutineer who leant out from a window. 'Take that house.'

  O'Neill led five men, booted in the door, stepped smartly aside as somebody inside fired and barged in. There was an outbreak of firing and Logan emerged with blood on his bayonet.

  'It's ours, sir,' he reported laconically.

  'That one there,' Jack pointed to a stone built house from where at least four rifles protruded. 'Riley, you and Logan cover us. Thorpe; you and Coleman follow me.' Taking a deep breath, he ran forward, aware of Thorpe on his right and Coleman on his left. In situations such as this, with the enemy in front, there was nobody he would rather have at his side than his Crimea veterans.

  The rifles thrust from the loopholes swung and aimed at the advancing British. Lifting his revolver, Jack fired two quick shots, more in the intention of unsettling the defenders rather than with any real hope of hitting anybody. Shouting, he c
harged forward; he saw the jetting smoke from the muzzle of a defender's firearm, saw a fountain of mud as a bullet hit the outside of a loophole and then he was at the door. It held to his first kick, and he pressed his revolver to the lock and fired, just as Coleman arrived at his side, thrust his rifle through the nearest loophole and squeezed the trigger.

  'Try together,' Jack said, and they both threw their weight against the door. It held. 'They must have barricaded it on the inside!'

  Momentarily at a loss, he reloaded his revolver with shaking fingers. A Mutineer thrust his musket from a window only a yard from Jack's shoulder and fired.

  'We could burn them out, sir,' Thorpe was smiling. 'The underside of the thatch is dry.'

  'Could you do that, Thorpe?'

  'May I, sir?'

  'Get a move on!' Jack winced as one of the defenders in a house nearby slanted an ancient matchlock musket to the left and fired. The bullet crashed into the wall an inch from Jack's head. 'Hurry man!'

  Ripping open a cartridge and ignoring the bullets slamming into the mud wall around him, Thorpe struck a Lucifer match, applied it to the grease on the cartridge, watched it fondly as the flame grew and threw it carefully onto the roof.

  'Spread all over, my little one,' he said softly, stepping back to watch his baby grow.

  'Get back you bloody idiot!' Coleman hauled him back to the wall. 'You'll get your fool head blown off!'

  'But I like to watch!'

  'You'll like my boot going up your arse unless you keep under cover,' Coleman shouted.

  The flames spread quicker than Jack had expected so within a few minutes the roof was ablaze. He heard high voices as a man struggled from the nearest window. Coleman shot him through the head. Somebody inside the house screamed, and the door jerked open, with choking smoke gushing out together with a press of bodies. Jack fired into the mass as Thorpe and Coleman were busy with bayonet, boot and rifle-butt. Men fell; there was the stink of scorched flesh and then only bleeding bodies and the heavy panting of Coleman and Thorpe.