Windrush: Cry Havelock (Jack Windrush Book 4)

by Malcolm Archibald

  'Your Lieutenants Elliot and Prentice are looking after them,' Jane said. 'Now you rest. You're not fit yet.'

  Jack shook his head, gasping at the pain that even the smallest movement caused him. 'I have rested long enough,' he said. 'I must go to my men. Why have we not left the Residency?'

  'Oh, dear,' Jane said. 'That is not a question for a mere woman to answer. You'll have to ask one of the senior officers.'

  Jack knew she was mocking him although he was not sure why, or how. 'I must get up.' Sliding sideways, he placed one foot on the floor, held on to the head of the bed and stood, only to shudder as waves of dizziness came over him. He closed his eyes and sat down abruptly with Jane at one side and somebody else at the other.

  'Mary?' Jack said. 'What in the world…?'

  'What am I doing here? Caring for you,' Mary looked as tired as Jane. 'Now lie down and rest. You're wounded in the head and arm, and you're not strong enough to do anything.'

  Jack became aware of the steady rumble of gunfire. 'Are we still under siege?'

  'Yes,' Mary said. 'Lie down. Anyway, you can hardly go out as you are. You'd scare the horses.'

  Jack looked down at himself. 'Where are my clothes?' His attempt to cover up made both women smile.

  'It's far too late for modesty, Jack Baird. Who do you think has been looking after you these past weeks?' Jane eased him back down.

  'These past weeks?' Jack winced as the pain in his head increased with each word he spoke. 'I've been out for weeks?'

  'You have,' Jane said quietly.

  'Bring me my uniform and my revolver,' Jack said. 'I must get back to duty.'

  Mary and Jane glanced at each other. 'You see?' Jane said. 'Just like I said; he's as stubborn as always. All right Jack; if you're sure. We'll help you dress.'

  'I've been dressing myself since I was three years old,' Jack ignored Jane's smile. He sat up again. Badly wounded men lay on cots, waiting patiently for death to release them from torment while others muttered in the delirium of fever. 'This is a terrible place,' he said. 'It is not a place for ladies.'

  'War is not a place for humans,' Jane said, the words quiet and sincere. 'There is enough suffering in the world without adding more.'

  Jack swayed, to find Mary's arms supporting him. 'I'm all right,' he said.

  'You're anything but all right,' Mary told him.

  'You were always stubborn, even as a baby, Jack Baird.' Jane was smiling, her eyes gentle.

  'How the devil…' Jack sat down on the bed. 'How do you know my full name? I never tell anybody.'

  'This is neither the time nor the place,' Jane said. 'Wait until you're strong enough.'

  'I'm strong enough now, damn it,' Jack threw off Mary's supporting arms. 'I'm not a blasted invalid.'

  'You see? Stubborn.' Jane smiled at Mary and sat on the bed at Jack's side. 'As you wish, Jack. I helped name you, you see. Jack Baird was my father.'

  Mary's arm tightened around Jack's shoulders. Jack's head felt as if it would explode. 'Why?' He asked at last. 'Why did you name me? Why not my father or my mother?'

  'I am your mother, Jack.'

  'Oh dear God.' Jack stared at her. He had known that he was illegitimate and was born in India. 'But you're Eurasian.' He spoke the words without thought and without any intent to insult or offend.

  'Is that so bad?' Jane knelt at his side, her face on a level with his.

  The other people in this makeshift hospital dissolved into the distance as Jack stared at her. 'I did not know.' Jack shook his head and ignored the screaming pain the simple act caused. 'How?'

  'Now that is a silly question, isn't it?' Jane was smiling through her concern. 'The usual way.'

  Jack tried to stand as Mary rubbed his back. 'I have to think,' he said. 'I have to think about this.'

  'Take your time, Jack,' Jane said. 'Finding your mother and knowing from where you come is a lot to take in.'

  'I don't know what to say.' Jack looked away.

  'Go and do your duty,' Jane said, still quietly. 'It is what a Windrush should do. Or a Baird.'

  'Yes.' Jack found himself instinctively dressing although a hundred images crowded his mind. He was Eurasian; he was part Indian; he did not belong in any respectable society. No wonder his step-mother had disowned him. He staggered away, leaving Jane squatting by the bed and Mary with a hurt expression on her face that cut him more deeply than anything Helen had ever said or done. Ignoring the sick and wounded, Jack lurched out of that hellish place of suffering and sickness and into the harsh sunlight of the siege.

  'Are you all right, Jack?' Mary had followed; her hand was on his arm.

  He drew a deep breath of the dusty, smoke-laden atmosphere and coughed. 'Well enough.' He saw a man with bandages swathing one arm and one leg standing behind a cannon, and an infantryman limping across to his post by the aid of a crutch. 'If these men can fight, then so can I.'

  'That is not what I meant.' Her voice was soft.

  He knew Mary was watching him, waiting for something. 'So I am Eurasian.' Jack said at last.

  'Yes, you are.' Mary said. 'You can't blame your mother for what she is.' A sudden sputter of musketry made her duck.

  Jack held her instinctively. 'It's all right; it's over to the left and can't hit us.' His hand fluttered to his top pocket, although he knew it had been empty for many weeks. The half dozen cheroots came as a welcome surprise. 'How did they get there?'

  Mary smiled through her weariness. 'Most of your men have visited you, and one pair was very interested in your uniform. I thought they were going to steal it, so I chased them away.'

  'Who was it?' Jack already guessed. He sniffed the cheroot, inhaling the rich tobacco scent with great pleasure.

  'The small ugly man…'

  'Donnie Logan,' Jack said. 'And Riley would be the second.'

  'Yes; Riley; he's been terribly anxious about his wife.'

  Jack sniffed the cheroot again. Despite his murderous headache and all the Mutineers in India, despite the revelation that he was Eurasian, he could face the world again. He had a smoke; he could think about his ancestry later. 'Time to get back to war, Mary.' He kissed her without thinking and limped across the courtyard, ignoring the constant rumble of artillery.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Blistering sunlight reflected from the interior of the defences as Jack staggered outside. He looked around; eyes narrowed in an attempt to combat the light as much as the pounding of his head. He lit the cheroot and inhaled for the first time in weeks, feeling the smoke relax him.

  'Ah, Windrush,' General Havelock greeted him. 'Glad to see you're back on your feet. Your men are in the Chuttur Munzil, beside the Gomti River. That's another of these huge palaces.'

  'Yes, sir. May I ask what's been happening?'

  'We are not strong enough to break out,' Havelock said. 'We lost over five hundred men in the final push through the bazaar, and so rather than relieve Lucknow, we are now under siege ourselves.'

  Jack nodded; so it had all been in vain. The struggles and the victorious battles, the losses by gunfire and disease, the effort and suffering to relieve the Residency had not worked. The siege continued except the defenders had received a reinforcement of a few hundred men. The Mutineers had let them in, then banged shut the door.

  'What we have done is increased the area we hold.' Havelock was tense. 'As well as the Residency we now occupy most of the buildings to the east including the Farhat Bakhsh and Chuttur Munzil palaces and grounds.'

  Jack nodded. 'Yes, sir; that's something.'

  'It's not enough.' Havelock said. 'It's a line of gardens, courts and dwelling houses without fortified enceinte, without defences, and closely connected to the buildings of the city.'

  'Is there a clear field of fire, sir?' Jack controlled the constant agony of his head. He refused to think of his origin. He must concentrate on military matters and ignore everything else.

  'As much for them as for us, Windrush. The rebels have men all around, wi
th musketeers in tall buildings and loopholed walls, plus artillery firing from as close as seventy yards.'

  'Yes, sir,' Jack said. 'How about the population of Lucknow? Are any of them loyal to us? Could we start a rebellion among them to rise against the rebels?'

  'No.' Havelock shook his head. 'The loyal people are cowed. The rebels rule them by fear.'

  'So we are trapped here then, sir?'

  Havelock gave a bleak smile. 'Sir Colin Campbell is nearing us with a sizeable force, so our duty is to hold out until he gets here. In the meantime, Windrush, take charge of the 113th.'

  'Yes, sir.' Jack hesitated. 'Have you any news of Major Snodgrass and the other men, sir? He was with the women when they left for Cawnpore.'

  Havelock shook his head. 'Not a word. The women, God bless them, told me that Major Snodgrass disappeared with their escort en-route. I can only surmise the rebels killed them.'

  'Yes, sir.'

  Havelock closed his eyes for a moment. 'He will be in the Lord's care, Windrush, as we all are. You will no doubt be anxious to rejoin your men?'

  'I am sir.'

  'You will find siege warfare different from the campaign so far. This war is about of mines and explosives as much as of attacks and snipers.' Havelock nodded. 'Your men are listening for mines. Go and do your duty, Windrush.'

  'Yes, sir.' Although Jack admired Havelock, he found any conversation with a senior officer a strain and was glad to be dismissed.

  Conditions in Lucknow proved to be every bit as grim as they had been on the march from Cawnpore. Men, women and children hung on desperately to their little section of the city while the rebels were constantly ready to snipe them, attack in mass or batter them with cannon. The defenders were thin, most with boils and suppurating sores as well as un-heeded wounds.

  Jack winced as he looked around. He had seen the hospital where women who were accustomed to an array of Indian servants and a life of balls and social events tended to men with hideous wounds and dysentery. Now he saw huge-eyed children ignoring the daily deaths, and their parents put on a mask of cheerfulness as shot and shell crashed around them.

  'This is no life for a Christian,' Elliot gasped as a cannonball smashed into the wall behind which he sheltered.

  'War is no life for a human.' Unconsciously Jack paraphrased Mary's previous words. He had never agreed with her more.

  He did not mention the constant hammering inside his head. Men in bandages and splints stood uncomplaining on guard all around him with Prentice looking efficient as he stalked the walls. 'I was told we are listening for mines.'

  'Most of our men are in the cellar,' Elliot said in some disgust. 'Follow me to the pits of the world.'

  The cellars were dark and stuffy, lit by small candles that bounced shadows off ancient walls and did little to alleviate the sinister atmosphere. Some of the 113th were busy with pick-axe, shovel and iron bar, widening a four-foot square hole.

  'Where's Williams and Logan?' Jack glanced around.

  'Down there, sir,' O'Neill jerked a thumb down the hole. 'It goes down deep.' He gave Jack a long look. 'Are you sure you're fit to return to duty?'

  'That's none of your damned business,' Jack proved the strain on his nerves before he recollected himself. 'Sorry, O'Neill. Yes, I am fit, thank you. What's been happening here?'

  A lifetime in the army had taught O'Neill to shrug off insults and abuse. 'The pandies are trying everything to get in, sir. As well as sniping and full-scale bombardments, they are using mines to place explosives under sections of the wall, so they can blow them up and charge in the breach. Our lads are sinking counter mines and fighting them underground.'

  Jack nodded. 'How do we know where the Mutineers' mines are?'

  O'Neill grinned. 'We use Williams like a pointer dog, sir. He listens for the pandies, and we dig where he directs.'

  'Oh, Riley,' Jack saw Riley leaning against a wall covered in dust. 'Thank you for the cheroots.'

  'I don't know what you mean sir,' Riley said.

  'Don't you? Well, thank you anyway.' Jack looked down the mine shaft and felt the slow slide of sweat down his back. Oh sweet Jesus in heaven, I don't want to go down there.

  'Are you fit to go down sir?' O'Neill asked. 'If you don't feel up to it…'

  'I'm going down,' Jack put aside his fears. He remembered the explosion outside Sebastopol when he was temporarily buried alive. He had survived that; he could survive this. 'Is there room for more than one man?'

  'There's room for two, sir,' O'Neill said. 'Williams and Logan are the best at this. Williams feels totally at home and Logan can nearly stand upright down there.'

  'Bring Logan up,' Jack knew he had no choice. An officer should never order a man to do what he would not do himself. He waited until Logan hauled himself out of the mine.

  'Hello there, sir,' Logan's grin was genuine. 'Are you going down?'

  'Yes, Logan.'

  Cursing the constant pain in his head, Jack grabbed hold of the top rung of the ladder and took a deep breath.

  'Sir,' Logan handed over the stub of a candle. 'You might need this.'

  'Thank you, Logan.' Jack felt for the next rung of the ladder and moved downward with the square of lesser dark above him growing smaller with each step. At the bottom of the shaft, a low tunnel plunged away at an acute angle. Taking a deep breath to control the hammering of his heart, Jack dropped into a crouch and edged down the tunnel, feeling as if the earth was closing in on him.

  'Who's there?' Williams peered from behind the small flame of a candle.

  'Captain Windrush.' Jack said. 'What's happening? I can't see much digging going on.'

  'We've finished the digging at present, sir,' Williams seemed quite at home at the bottom of this constricting tunnel. 'I'm listening for the pandies, sir.'

  'Listening?'

  'Yes, sir. Sound travels easily through rock and earth. I was talking to some of the Cornish boys of the 32nd; they were tine miners back home, and they've been in Lucknow since the siege began. They said to dig down and listen, and you can hear the pandies hacking away.' Williams spoke in a low tone and tapped his rifle. 'Once I hear where they are we'll dig across their route and wait.' His grin was anything but pleasant.

  'Then what?'

  'We kill them, sir,' Williams said.

  Jack nodded. The thought of a battle so far underground was appalling. 'You're a brave man, Williams.' He spoke without thinking.

  Williams shrugged. 'Thank you, sir.'

  'Is there anything you need?' Jack asked.

  'Yes, sir, if you don't mind.' Williams tapped his rifle. 'I got one shot with this, sir, and then it's just the bayonet. If I could have a revolver sir, I'd be able to do for more of them.'

  'Of course.' Without thinking, Jack unbuckled his pistol and handed it over together with its holster and ammunition.

  Williams shook his head. 'I didn't mean yours, sir; you might need it.'

  'Better in your hands than mine,' Jack said. 'I can easily get another.' Many officers had died in the siege; he would buy one of their revolvers, and the money would eventually reach their dependents.

  Hoping the men would attribute his shaking to his wound rather than to fear, Jack shuffled his way back toward the surface. Gasping and holding his head, he held on to the lower rungs of the ladder before he ascended. The men above were talking, the words distorted until he neared the top of the shaft.

  'Treasure,' Riley was saying. 'The Nabob of Lucknow was a rich bugger, richer than Croesus and he was the richest man ever known.'

  'I never knew that,' Logan said.

  'Well, you wouldn't would you. Nobody ever told you.' Riley lowered his voice. 'Now this treasure must be somewhere in the city, and I'd wager it's inside the Residency.'

  'You mean we've got it?' Logan caught on.

  'Why do you think John Company is in this fly-infested country?' Riley said. 'To make money for the merchants, nothing else. That's why we're here, Logie; to make sure the wealthy merchant
s of the oh-so-very Honourable East India Company get even richer.'

  'I thought we were here to protect the Empire,' Logan said.

  'And what exactly is the Empire?' Riley asked and answered his question. 'It's a trading place where merchants and those with shares in the companies make money, and the rest work for them or protect them.'

  'Is that right? Can we not have shares then, Riley?'

  'You have to be rich to do that,' Riley said.

  'How do we get rich?' Logan sounded genuinely interested.

  'Steal from somebody else, as the nobs did,' Riley said. 'Or dig up gold in Australia or California.'

  'I'd like to dig up gold,' Logan said. 'When I leave the army I'll go to Australia and get rich.'

  'We could get rich here,' Riley said. 'The Nabob's treasure, remember?'

  'Riley!' Jack thought it best to interrupt them before Riley returned to his cracksman days and got himself and Logan hanged or transported. 'Bring me up!'

  Riley was straight-faced as Jack emerged from the tunnel. 'Here you are, sir, all safe and sound.'

  'Thank you, Riley. That's more than you'll be if I see you within a hundred paces of the Nabob's treasure if there is such a thing. Do you understand me?'

  'Yes, sir.' Riley came to attention.

  'Remember the instructions General Havelock gave about looting? Looters were to be hanged. As far as I am aware, those orders still stand. Think of the noose, Riley, and remember how well I know you and your little ways. If I hear of even one coin going missing, I will personally loop the rope around your neck.' Jack stared at Riley for thirty seconds to drive the message home before he marched away.

  Could Riley break into the treasury? More than likely he could. Although Jack knew he would do his duty if required, part of him half-hoped Riley would be successful. God knew that private soldiers had a hard life and it would be good to hear of at least some of them making a success of things. He felt the smile cross his face until he recalled his Eurasian blood and felt the sick slide of despair.