Windrush: Cry Havelock (Jack Windrush Book 4)

by Malcolm Archibald

  'That's another two gone.' Logan said. Riley watched, as expressionless as the Mutineers had been a minute earlier.

  'Captain Windrush!' Lieutenant Havelock approached, as eager as ever. 'General Havelock requests the pleasure of your company, sir.' He lowered his voice. 'There's a captured native saying he knows you.'

  Mangalwar was a typical small Indian town, now crowded with unhappy infantry and the heavy supply waggons, together with palanquins and dhoolies that carried the wounded and sick back to Cawnpore for treatment.

  'Ah, Captain Windrush,' General Havelock greeted Jack with his intense stare. 'Your Private Fraser has returned. He says he has something important to tell you.'

  Fraser was wounded. He lay on his side on the ground with blood soaking through the bandages stretched across his chest and his eyes wide open.

  'Sorry to see you in this condition, Fraser.' Jack crouched at his side. 'What happened?'

  'One of the Fusiliers shot me, sir.' Fraser coughed up blood. 'I was coming into the camp, and he must have thought I was a pandy.' He glanced down at himself. 'I should have changed out of my native clothes first.'

  'They'll fix you up in Cawnpore,' Jack said.

  'Maybe sir.' Fraser coughed up more blood. 'I may have found your families, sir.'

  'Good man.' Jack listened as Fraser's voice dropped. He wiped away the blood. 'Can you tell me more?'

  'I heard the natives talking.' Fraser coughed again, and blood dribbled down his chin. 'They said there is a village near Banda where there are twenty white women and some children hiding.'

  Jack thought of Riley. 'I don't know Banda, Fraser; where is it?'

  'In the Vindhya Hills, sir, in the forest. I did not get the name of the actual village.' Fraser's voice faded. 'Near Banda in the hills.'

  'Fraser!' Jack bent closer as Fraser's body contorted in a spasm.

  'He's a goner, sir.' A Fusilier corporal said. 'I never knew he was one of our spies. I thought he was a pandy.'

  'He isn't a spy,' Jack said. 'He's one of my men, a private of the 113th and he's not dead yet.' He stood up, calling for a medical orderly.

  It was too late. Fraser died on the damp ground, duty done; he was another forgotten casualty, another casual farthing toward the cost of Empire.

  Havelock had been listening. 'Banda is in the centre of a rebellious area,' he said. 'Any British women and children there are in great danger of their lives, and worse.'

  Jack nodded. 'Yes, sir.'

  'We know what atrocities these savages are capable of.' Havelock said. 'I wish there was some way we could rescue these poor people.'

  Jack felt the familiar tingle of mixed excitement and dread. 'There may be, sir. During the Crimean campaign, my men were skilled at operating behind the Russian lines. The 113th countered the Plastun Cossacks.'

  'What are you suggesting, Windrush?' Havelock's gaze was even more penetrating than usual.

  'I could take some my men and look for these women. If you'll recall, our families were sent away from our cantonment back in May, and they vanished; these women may be ours.'

  Havelock pondered for a moment. 'I can't afford to lose any more men, Windrush. I intend gathering reinforcements and advancing to relieve the Residency at Lucknow. Your fifty veterans are too important.'

  'I won't take all of them, sir. I could take half a dozen; sufficient as an escort but hardly a diminution of your strength. Lieutenant Elliot is a very experienced officer, and Prentice is also a capable man. They could command my company.' He hesitated. 'The men are a bit down after withdrawing, sir. Imagine the boost to their feelings if we rescue British women from the hands of these monsters.'

  'How well do you speak Urdu? Or Pushtu? Or any other Indian language?' Havelock asked. 'Unless you want to spend your days blundering about the countryside, you will have to ask the natives questions, and they won't speak English. No, Windrush.'

  'I could translate, sir.' Mary appeared from the shade of a baggage waggon. 'I know Urdu and Marathi, Bengali and some Gujarati, and I can make myself understood in Punjabi and Rajasthani.'

  For a moment even the collected Havelock looked nonplussed. 'In the name of heaven; Captain Windrush is proposing marching into a rebel-held area. It is no place for a woman.'

  'It's certainly no place to leave the women of the 113th, sir, with respect. On the other hand, I know Captain Windrush well. He rescued me from Gondabad and brought me to safety. I know the dangers, and my presence will increase his chances of success.' Mary gave a smile that would have charmed a snake from its hole. 'Perhaps some officers of the Madras Fusiliers speak the native languages, sir, if you can afford to lose their services.'

  Havelock nearly smiled. 'You are persuasive, madam.' He looked around the encampment, where tired British infantry searched for shade while the artillerymen cleaned their guns and men unloaded the supply waggons.

  'All right, Windrush. We are here until my reinforcements arrive, which hopefully won't be more than a few days. You may take no more than a dozen men.' He nodded to Mary, 'and this intrepid lady, whose courage is a beacon for us all to admire.'

  'Thank you, sir,' Jack said.

  'I trust you will seek the guidance and protection of the Lord in your endeavours,' Havelock said.

  'I always do, sir,' Mary answered at once.

  'Then your presence with Captain Windrush will be doubly beneficial,' Havelock looked at her with increased respect, 'for without His guidance we would all be lost souls in this land as in every other.'

  Mary earned Havelock's approval with a firm 'Amen' and admonished Jack with a stern look until he added his own quieter contribution.

  'Well met.' Havelock looked at Mary with approval. 'Missionary school?'

  'Yes, sir,' Mary said.

  'Twelve men at most, Windrush, and we won't wait for you. Once you're outside the camp, you're on your own. Look after this young lady as if she was Australian gold.'

  'I will, sir,' Jack promised.

  Despite the danger and the unfamiliar terrain, it felt good to be outside the stifling rigidity of the column and to command an independent force again.

  He had chosen his old Burma hands, Sergeant O'Neill, Coleman and Thorpe, together with Logan who would voice foul-mouthed complaints while fighting to his last drop of blood. There was Riley, the gentleman thief who had married the actress Charlotte at the expense of his family fortune and Williams the miner with hands like shovels and the upper body of Hercules. There was Parker, a new man who never seemed to complain and Kelly reputed the best shot in the regiment. Finally, he had Riordan, a Leinsterman with a twisted grin and Armstrong, the deserter with little conversation.

  'Is it Charlotte, sir?' Riley asked.

  'We don't know,' Jack said. 'We'll find her, Riley if she is there.' He bit off the phrase 'if she is alive.' Riley would be all too well aware of the possibility of her death.

  He saw Mary share a whispered word with Riley and smiled. She was an impressive woman.

  They left by night, so any watching Mutineers would not see them, and they headed south and east. They followed the minor roads that spread across India like a spider's web, connecting every village and used by travellers, merchants, holy men and hardworking women, farmers, beggars and thieves since time began.

  After a couple of hours, Jack called a halt beneath a banyan tree. Each man wore light linen clothes, dyed to a drab colour that the soldiers were beginning to term 'khaki' which was a Persian word for dust-coloured. Each man carried his Enfield rifle with two hundred rounds of ammunition, his bayonet and water bottle, caps and blanket and whatever food he could stuff into his haversack.

  'Right, lads,' Jack surveyed the hard, lined faces and bitter eyes. He would trust these men to fight until the end whatever happened and whoever the enemy. 'This won't be a pleasure trip; we don't know if the intelligence is accurate, and if it is, we don't know if these women are from the 113th or are quite a different group. God knows there could be hundreds of British refuge
es out there, hiding from the pandies, not knowing if we still hold India, maybe believing the Mutineers have driven us out.'

  'Sir: do you think these women are ours?' Riley asked again.

  'I honestly don't know Riley. If they are, then your Charlotte could be among them, keeping their spirits up and looking after them.'

  'And nagging at them too, sir; knowing Charlotte.'

  There was a small laugh at Riley's words and no need to say more. After a short halt, Jack led the way again, using a map and the stars to guide him through the maze of paths and hoping his men did not fall foul of a larger body of rebels.

  'This could be a lovely country,' Jack said when they reached a clearing. They were amidst a range of low-lying hills, with tiny villages perched on the slopes or topping the crests, with stick-thin natives working the fields.

  'This is a lovely country,' Mary corrected him. 'It is timeless; these people are living the same lives as their great-grandfathers did, and their great-great-grandfathers before them. There is more continuity in these hills than you will ever find back home.'

  'Back home?' Jack smiled at the choice of words, and then looked away. 'You are correct. In Wychwood Manor we employ all the latest farming techniques, so we employ fewer farm servants. Each generation of Windrushes makes his mark by introducing some change in buildings or fields or livestock.'

  'Not here,' Mary waved a gracious hand. 'These people will neither know nor care who owns this land. It may be the Mughal Emperor or John Company or the Nawab of Oudh. They'll have to pay their taxes, and that is all they'll see of the landowner. Their life revolves around the farming seasons.'

  'Exactly like our farmers,' Jack said. 'The weather dictates everything.'

  The 113th kept clear of the villages as they moved cautiously to a level plain with areas of cultivated land, patches of scrubby jungle and stands of impressive trees. When the rain began again, Jack realised how difficult his task might be. The smaller paths quickly became quagmires and then bogs as the water levels rose.

  'Oh, look. It's raining.' Kelly said.

  'So it is.' Parker looked upward. 'It hasn't rained here before.'

  'Yes it has, Parky,' Thorpe said. 'Don't you remember? It's rained a lot recently.'

  'Nah,' Coleman said. 'You're imagining things, Thorpey. It's been dry as anything.'

  'No, honestly,' Thorpe tried to remind Coleman. 'Seriously Coley, we've had lots of rain.'

  'Never,' Coleman said. 'You've imagined it. That's why the Queen's so cross with you; you keep imagining things. Never mind Thorpey; Parky and I'll keep you right.'

  'We'll need to find higher ground,' Mary had to shout above the hammer of the rain.

  'Do you know this area?' Jack asked.

  'I used to,' Mary said. 'There is a hill ahead that will take us above the flood.'

  Jack consulted his map. 'It's l about five miles away, according to this.'

  They peered forward into what looked like a waterfall.

  'We can make it,' Mary shook rainwater from her hair and smiled. 'It's only rain.'

  'There's rather a lot of it though,' Jack said.

  'Are you afraid of a little water, Captain Jack?'

  'Lead on if you know the way,' Jack said.

  'At least the pandies won't attack us in this,' O'Neill shouted. 'Not unless they've got ships.'

  'It's like the Flood,' Coleman said.

  'It's like the Flood,' Thorpe repeated and elaborated for those who lacked his knowledge. 'The Flood's in the Bible. It rained and rained, and everybody drowned except some fellow who built a big boat and saved all the animals.'

  'God, I wish he was here now,' Armstrong said. 'He could build his big boat and save us.'

  'It must have been Parker's granddad,' Logan said. 'Parker would build a boat and save all the animals.' He jerked a thumb toward Parker, who was stuffing something furry and living inside his tunic.

  Jack led them on, no longer trying to follow the paths, only trudging in the direction he hoped higher ground lay. The water deepened as they progressed, from shin-deep to knee deep and then thigh deep.

  'Sir: if this gets any worse we'll lose Logie. He's up to his chest already.' Williams, only a couple of inches taller, indicated Logan who was stretching his head to see above the muddy water.

  'Riley; if the rain does get worse, you can hoist Logan on your back.' Jack looked over his shoulder. Mary was the same height as Williams. 'I'll carry you, Mary.'

  'There is no need for that,' Mary said. 'I've seen monsoon rains before.'

  'Sir, it's getting deeper,' Thorpe said.

  'It's only bloody rain,' Armstrong splashed on.

  'Keep your rifles and ammunition dry!' Jack cursed as he sunk deep into the soft ground. 'Push on.'

  At last, the ground began to rise, and they stepped upward onto a terraced slope.

  'This way,' Mary was as animated as Jack had ever seen her. Ignoring the rain, she forged ahead, nearly laughing. 'It's all right; I know what's on the top.'

  Turning, Jack encouraged his men onward, counting them to ensure nobody was left behind.

  'We can stop here,' Jack called.

  'It's better further up the hill,' Mary promised. 'Trust me.'

  For a moment Jack remembered the faith the officers of the Native Infantry Regiments had put in their men. They had trusted them and paid the ultimate price; was Mary leading him and his men into a trap? Were there scores of murderous rebels at the top of this hill waiting with muskets and sharp tulwars to massacre them, as they had butchered other unsuspecting British recently?

  Jack loosened the revolver in its holster. Mary looked over her shoulder at him. 'It's all right, Jack,' she said. 'Trust me.' There was pain in her eyes. 'Please trust me.'

  'I'll come with you,' Jack decided. 'Sergeant O'Neill!'

  'Sir!' Only O'Neill would crash to attention and salute even when climbing a muddy hill in the middle of a monsoon.

  'I'm going ahead with Mary. You look after the men.' Jack handed over his map and binoculars. 'If I'm not back in two hours, you take charge. Don't go looking for me and beware of Mutineers.'

  'Yes, sir. Where will you be, sir?'

  'Heaven or Hell,' Jack said, 'whichever will have me.' Turning around, he followed Mary, who looked hurt.

  'Your men are safe too,' Mary said. 'Do you not trust me?'

  'If I did not trust you with my life,' Jack said, 'I would not be here.'

  'And your men?'

  'Their lives are more valuable to me than my own.' Jack said, truthfully.

  Mary flicked rainwater from her hair. 'Beyond the line of trees,' she said. 'Keep up with me.'

  She led them along a rain-flooded path that followed the contours of the hill. As Jack approached the trees, he rested his hand on the butt of his revolver, reassured by the solidity of the weapon. He watched her walk in front, hating himself for doubting her even as he admired her swaying walk and the way her dress slithered across her hips. He looked away, remembering Helen and wondering if she had poisoned his belief in all women. Damn Helen Maxwell.

  The trees formed an irregular line with their tops brushing against the heavy cloud. There was no depth to them and on the far side was a village of stone houses that sat atop the crest of the hill. Low roofs wept rainwater onto narrow streets while bedraggled poultry and animals sheltered behind stone-walled fields.

  'Do you like it?' Mary was smiling as she flicked water from her hair. 'What do you think?'

  Still wary of a trap, Jack looked around. There was no sign of any men, yet alone the ranks of Mutineers he had feared. 'It's a lovely village.'

  'It's Bilari; my home,' Mary said. 'This was where I was born.'

  'Oh.' Jack released the butt of his revolver and fastened the catch. 'I didn't know that.'

  'You're safe now,' Mary said. 'Nobody will bother you, and nobody will inform the Mutineers of your presence.'

  'I'll bring the men up,' Jack made his decision.

  'No need,' Mary sa
id. 'They're right behind you.'

  O'Neill stepped out from behind the trees, followed by all the others.

  'I ordered you to stay back until I said it was safe,' Jack snapped.

  'Did you, sir?' O'Neill sounded astonished. 'I thought you said to follow you and make sure you were safe.'

  'The sergeant's right, sir,' Thorpe said. 'We was to follow you and make sure you were safe.'

  Mary looked away, smiling. 'Your life seems as valuable to your men as theirs does to you.'

  'Disobedient blackguards,' Jack grunted.

  Mary's laugh rose above the thunder of the rain. 'We'll find somewhere dry for your boys as well.'

  'Where does your family live?' Jack looked around with some interest. Bilari looked clean and well organised, with neat houses and walled enclosures.

  'Up there,' Mary pointed upwards, where a large house overlooked the rest. 'My uncle is the headman.'

  Narendra proved to be a plump, worried- looking man with a plumper and cheerful wife.

  'Jai ram,' Jack said.

  'Jai ram.' Narendra replied although he reserved his smile for Mary as Aaryah took her into an encompassing hug and spoke for three minutes non-stop.

  'Your men will be comfortable here,' Mary translated Aaryah's words. 'Nobody comes here in the monsoon; it is too much trouble wading through the floods and then climbing the hill.' Aaryah's laughter wrinkled her forehead, nearly obscuring the red mark above her eyes.

  'I'll have a couple of sentries on duty just in case.' Jack said.

  'The chowkidars- the watchmen - will join them,' Mary said at once. 'They know better what to look for.'

  When the men were under shelter and Coleman and Thorpe on the first watch, Jack joined Aaryah and Narendra in the airy largest room of their house, with Mary translating what was said.

  'We are looking for a party of British women and children,' Jack said. 'They left Gondabad a few weeks ago and have not been seen since.'

  Narendra nodded. Mary translated his reply. 'There are British women in Haverpore,' he said at once. 'Everybody knows about them.'

  'We don't,' Jack said.

  Both Mary and Narendra smiled, with Aaryah listening to the translation and laughing a minute later. She said something that caused Mary to laugh as well.