‘Is there any more of this, Hambleton?’
The man scraped the ladle round the stew pot and slopped a mouthful or two onto Morgan’s plate.
‘Thank you, that’s grand. Please leave us now, Hambleton, you’ll need your sleep if you’re for guard later.’ The man knew that Morgan’s thoughtful words really meant that he was to get out of earshot; he wiped his hands on a grubby apron, settled his dusty cap, saluted and withdrew into the dark.
‘We carried out Hume’s orders, shot twenty-five and left ’em for their mates to collect and burn. That was bad enough, although the Pandies died with courage and as much dignity as they could muster – you’ve seen what they’re like – but at least they’d had some sort of trial before punishment was meted out—’
‘You’re right, but the colonel’s sticky about the whole business of summary justice,’ Bazalgette interrupted. ‘You can see it on his face, and he only ever condemns the least that he can.’
‘Aye, that’s my impression too, and I respect him for it, if I’m honest. No, the problem came when Fawcett and I rode back and we knocked into Commandant Kemp…’
Morgan related the whole story of Kemp, the hangings and the wild gang with whom he was scouring the countryside, bent on destruction.
‘Whilst I can understand his thirst for revenge, the needless murders sicken me, yet what could I do? You’re aware that he’s a friend of my father – I’ve known him since I was a boy in Skibbereen – that his record against the Sikhs was second to none and that, if the stories are to be believed, he kept the resistance going up in Jhansi pretty well single-handed. But, that doesn’t excuse his behaviour, does it?’
‘No, you’re right, it doesn’t,’ Bazalgette answered. ‘But the trouble is that Kemp’s too bloody senior and wise to the ways of this country to be gainsaid. And it doesn’t help that we treat the John Company officers as if they’re second-rate folk. That, of course, suits Kemp perfectly, for no one is prepared to dirty their hands on him and his band of cutthroats. Did you see what those archers of his did after Rowa fell?’
‘You mean the Pandies’ heads they brought back? I did; took me a while to realise that they weren’t coconuts they’d been harvesting,’ Morgan shuddered, ‘and he all but ignores Hume and the general. That bit in The Times ain’t helpful, either; all that tosh about the “light of just vengeance” in his eyes just gives him more bottom.’
‘You’re right, of course.’ Bazalgette, now puffing at his pipe, nodded thoughtfully. ‘No, I suspect that everyone will turn a Nelsonian eye to him until the whole business has burnt itself out.’
‘Possibly, but that may not be so easy for me.’ Morgan leant over to his friend and lit his pipe from Bazalgette’s. ‘You see, Kemp gave me a very fair exposition of how he saw the rest of the campaign up here unfolding. He says that Tantya Tope,’ Morgan looked to see whether the name of the mutineers’ commander in the field registered with Bazalgette, ‘will certainly defend Kotah, Chundaree and Gwalior, and expect us to try to take them by deliberate siege or storm.’
‘Just a minute…’ Bazalgette went to his kit and retrieved a map, spread it out, taking a lantern to let them both examine it. ‘Yes, we’ve got to if we’re to pacify the place.’ His finger traced the main centres of rebel resistance.
‘Not according to Kemp. He says that the moving spirit behind the whole rebellion in the Mahratta lands is the Rhani of Jhansi, and that if a fast-moving column could bypass the places where the enemy expect us to attack and go straight for her headquarters here…’ Morgan pointed to Jhansi some one hundred and fifty miles east of where they were, ‘…and take the bitch alive, then the spunk would go out of things and we could probably wrap the whole campaign up in weeks.’
‘Well, he may be right. He knows the place inside out – that’s why, as we’ve just said, no one dares to stop him – and we’ve now got three regiments of native cavalry as well as de Salis’s Eight Hussars who could push deep and fast.’
‘Yes, and, of course, he sees the general letting him have command of all that lot to go and destroy her.’ Morgan sipped at his drink. ‘And if Mary and Sam are to stand any chance of survival in the Hades that’s going to be unleashed, I’m going to have to be with the gentle commandant.’
‘What? I know you’re a friend, but why on earth should you want to—’ Bazalgette scoffed until he paused and thought. ‘Ah, of course: Mary and the boy…of course.’
‘Keep your voice down, for God’s sake,’ Morgan cautioned him.
‘But are you sure that they’re both – I’m sorry to have to say it – still alive?’ asked Bazalgette awkwardly.
‘I believe so. According to Kemp, Mary and the Rhani were pals long before all this horror – and now Mary’s acting as her physician, but how willing she is to do that and how much is against her will is far from clear. The commandant’s people in Jhansi report that Sam is being kept close-hauled with the Rhani’s lad, Damodar; so I suppose that if they’ve got the boy, the mother will do her damnedest to stay with him. Leastways, I hope that’s the case; I can’t believe that she’d throw in her lot with the enemy – but she’s so bloody headstrong I’d put nothing past her. But I just can’t believe that. She knows that the Pandies murdered her husband, James Keenan, and now there’s no one to shift for either her or the lad. It’s clear where my duty lies.’
‘Clear to you, perhaps; I wouldn’t put money on our lords and masters having the same clarity,’ Bazalgette responded. ‘And, seeing what I’ve seen, I’d put a year’s pay on Kemp and all his loons being wiped out before they got anywhere near their objective. The man’s mad with grief and vengeance, and it clouds his judgement; he’ll want to move at speed so he won’t be able to take any decent guns with him, and infantry would just slow him down. He won’t be given more than a handful of regular cavalry, so he’ll be fighting the sepoys on pretty well even terms except that there’s a plague more of them than there are of his crew. No, my friend, I can see what you think you should do, but being close to Kemp is the surest way to an early grave that I can imagine. He’s looking for eternity; I should steer as clear of him as the Pope does of the pox.’
But before they could discuss it further, the mess door banged open, accompanied by a cloud of swearing.
‘Dutton, Dutton, where are you, blast you?’ Richard Carmichael, in tearing bad humour, came bursting in. ‘My goddamn storm light’s gone out and I’ve fallen in every bloody ditch. Dutton…Have you seen the wretched man, Bazalgette?’
‘So, your fellow’s made himself as scarce as mine has,’ said Morgan, ‘and in view of his master’s mood, it’s probably a wise move.’
‘Oh, hello, Morgan, didn’t see you there,’ Carmichael said gruffly. ‘Your lazy bugger absent too? No matter, where’s the duty cook? Any food left?’
‘No, Hambleton was called for guard and all the stew’s long gone,’ Morgan glanced at Bazalgette, his mood rising at Carmichael’s frustration, ‘but there’s a bottle or two of porter over yonder.’
‘Porter? I’d sooner drink camel piss. I’ve some brandy in my kit, though. Where’s Dutton put it?’ This set Carmichael off on another furious, fruitless search until Bazalgette took pity on him and poured him a generous measure of his own precious spirits.
‘And what have you two been plotting?’ Carmichael pushed at the fire with his boot, then settled down next to the others.
‘We was just discussing Commandant Kemp and his views on how the rest of the campaign should be conducted,’ Bazalgette replied.
‘Kemp; man’s no better than the bloody sepoys he commands – or did, that is, until they saw the error of their judgement and threw him over,’ Carmichael sneered. ‘Leadership in war should be left to gentlemen, not damned tradesmen and Paddies who come out to this shoddy country because they can’t cut it back at home.’
‘Kemp’s a friend of my father, Carmichael…’ Why, Morgan wondered, did he always let himself rise to the bloody man’s bait? ‘…and he may be
a common fellow from the bogs of Cork, but he was besting the Sikhs when you were still at that damn school of yours.’
‘Envy’s such an ugly emotion, Morgan. Quite twists your features, y’know,’ Carmichael retorted quickly.
Bazalgette put a restraining hand on Morgan’s arm just as a clever counter that was guaranteed to throw Carmichael into confusion utterly failed to roll off his tongue. Instead, he rose and walked as calmly as he could from the room, making sure that he closed the door soundlessly behind him.
Outside his anger subsided with each puff that he took of his pipe. The sky was alight with stars, the Pleiades bright above him. He opened his shell jacket and thought of Mary’s fingers pulling at those same hooks and eyes in the camp before Sevastopol on the afternoon three years ago when their son, Samuel, had been conceived. Now he wondered if she was gazing into the same firmament.
Flames that were licking up beyond a building in the distance suddenly belched more fiercely upward, throwing a bouquet of orange and silver sparks into the night sky and making the breeze fragrant with the scent of burning wood. Then, quite clearly, came the tenor of Corporal Patrick Brick from Sion Mills as the troops entertained each other around their cooking fires. Morgan had heard him make wonderful music with a fiddle, but he’d never listened carefully enough to appreciate how beautifully the man sang.
A-thirsting to avenge, my boys,
The bloodshed that was done.
On poor defenceless women,
Ere Delhi had been won.
We made the Pandies for to know,
And caused them for to feel,
That British wrongs should be avenged,
By sterling British steel.
When a-hunting we did go, my boys
A-hunting we did go.
To chase the Pandies night and day
And levelled Delhi low.
SIX
The Relief of Kotah
‘What time are you wanted by the brigade commander, sir?’ Colour-Sergeant McGucken asked Morgan.
‘Noon, Colour-Sar’nt. He wants to give all the assaulting company commanders their orders whilst there’s still some daylight, so we can get a good look at Kotah before tomorrow’s attack.’
Morgan and McGucken were crouching low behind a tussocky bank and staring hard at the great fortress that lay five hundred yards away across the greasy, sluggish Chumbal river. The pair had come forward for their own reconnaissance, rather than waiting to be told.
‘It’s going to be a real pig’s bastard if we have to storm them walls, sir. They must be sixty foot high in places and the Pandies’ guns can rake the river from downstream when we try to cross it. Has the general had a good look at this, sir? Does he know what he’s asking us to do?’ asked McGucken, a note of real concern in his voice.
‘Well, I hope so, Colour-Sar’nt. I’ll know the precise details later on, but I gather that we’re to be ferried across the river at dead of night into the main citadel where the forces that have remained loyal to the Rajah of Kotah are holding out against the rest of the natives, who have mutinied. The general slipped a few hundred of our men into the place three days ago to support the Rajah’s lads and, well, you’ve heard the firing that’s been going on ever since as well as I have,’ Morgan replied quietly, continuing to scour the ground opposite with his binoculars.
‘Aye, sir, that all sounds grand, but if one of them Pandy guns catches wind of the fact that we’re crossing in boats, night-time or not, there’ll be the devil to pay,’ muttered McGucken, studying the opposite shore just as carefully as his officer.
‘You’re right, Colour-Sar’nt, but it’ll be as well not to let on too much of this to the men. They seem to have recovered well after the march from Awah, don’t they?’
‘They have, sir, but I had me doubts about some of the younger lads. Twenty-four fuckin’ awful night marches and no shaggin’ sleep to speak of during the day soon takes it out of you, but I was pleased by how few fever cases we had, especially when the rest of the Regiment joined us: they was full of it, wasn’t they?’
Morgan nodded his agreement. The journey up to Kotah had tested them all, but they had been cheered when the other wing of the 95th, who had sailed on another transport and followed a separate route up-country, had formed up with them soon after the march had started.
‘Well, they’ve had a chance to rest now, haven’t they? Someone must have thought this attack through pretty carefully, for this is the first time that I’ve seen the infantry being given the time to draw breath whilst the guns and engineers do all their preliminary work,’ said Morgan.
‘I hope you’re right, sir. The boys have done well so far and they deserve a chance to get at Pandy and have a bit of loot and a drop o’ drink, but I still don’t like the look of the guns that can cover the river. Anyway, sir, I dare say the general will have some devilish clever plan. Seen enough?’ McGucken wormed his way down below the cover of the bank.
‘I have, Colour-Sar’nt,’ Morgan followed suit, moving carefully so as not to attract the attention of an enemy marksman. ‘I have every confidence in the tactical ability of our lords and masters, just as I know you do.’
‘You’re right, sir, my cup of confidence overfloweth. Come on, sir, you don’t want to be late for your orders, do you?’ McGucken grinned sardonically as the pair moved carefully into the cover of some bushes.
The attack had been set for dawn the next day, 30 March. Thirty or so officers now sat, smoked and studied a looted easel on which was set a hand-drawn map of the target. Against the wooden trestle lay a pointer-stick with which Brigadier-General Smith would, doubtless, draw their attention to the features of the defences themselves that lay no more than five pistol shots away across the river.
‘Right, gentlemen, relax; smoke if you wish.’ Smith started well, for most of the audience were concealing pipes or cigars that were already well alight. ‘We were lucky not to encounter the enemy on the march up here…’
Shame, thought Morgan, might have given me the chance to save my reputation.
‘…but now we’ve got some real opposition. You all know how the Rajah’s men turned on him under the leadership of a rogue called Hira Singh, then they burnt the British residency. You’re also aware that the Rajah holds the citadel and a portion of the town next to the river yonder…’ Smith pointed to a vast keep surrounded by high ramparts; it was faced on all except the side next to the Chumbul by houses and other buildings which sprawled within an outer curtain of lower walls, ‘…and that he’s besieged by about seven thousand rebels in the greater part of the town: the newspapers have been calling for us to relieve the poor man for weeks and now, with the guns in place and a good reserve helping to stiffen the Rajah’s resolve, we’re ready to cross the river, enter the citadel, break out into the town and let Pandy catch a Tartar.’
Morgan couldn’t like the man and his irascible, charmless style, but he had to admit the general’s plan seemed well thought through, although, like McGucken, he was still uneasy about a river crossing under the enemy’s nose.
‘Every gun we and the Rajah have got will fire as rapidly as possible from dawn tomorrow until the assault is ready to start…’ Smith illustrated the positions of their own batteries using the map, ‘…then the three columns, which will have crossed the river in the dark, will attack from out of the citadel into the town. The sappers will be on hand to blow breaches here and here…’ Smith used the map again, ‘…for the first two columns, whilst the third column will start from the Kettonpore Gate – you may need a bit of powder to clear that as well.’ Smith looked directly at Colonel Hume, who was to command the third column. ‘The first column will take the Pattadar and Zorawan bastions, and the second will secure the Surajpole Gate, drawing off the enemy and allowing the third to go for the centre of Hira Singh’s reserves.’
Smith paused and looked at his column commanders. ‘I trust that it’s now obvious that your column, Hume, will get the lion’s share of the fight
ing. Once you’ve blown your way through the Kettonpore, you’re to hook left and go straight for the heart of the enemy just here.’ Smith pointed to a tight group of buildings on the map. ‘I know you’re aware of how crucial your part of the operation is, so please dispose your troops carefully.’
‘Sir, we’re very honoured,’ said Hume; only those who knew him well would have detected any sarcasm, thought Morgan.
Each column consisted of a mixture of British and native troops, the third one being made up of four companies of the 95th and four of their comrades from the 10th Bombay. There were a strong troop of engineers to support them, both in getting out of the citadel and in clearing the barricades that the mutineers were said to have erected amongst the streets and alleys, whilst two howitzers were to bring up the rear for close-quarter work.
The plan may be sound, thought Morgan, but I wonder how far forward our precious general will place himself. Pound to a pinch of shit we see nothing of him once the Sappers blow those breaches. Anyway, it don’t signify; all that matters is what’s in store for me and the boys, but it’s about time that bloody Carmichael was given a bit of work to do. We’ve had more than our share of ‘honour’.
There were more details from the general about where and when the boats and rafts were to be picked up, which enemy batteries were thought to be the most lively, and how their foes would be cut down by the cavalry once the defeat became a rout. But Morgan had ceased to listen once the parts of the plan that involved Hume’s column had been covered. Eventually, Smith had finished, called for questions – which none dared to ask – and stamped off with his staff, leaving the column commanders to speak to their officers. As if to signal the end of the general’s diatribe, the British batteries fired a salvo at those of the enemy – ranging, Morgan thought, for the morning’s onslaught.
‘Right, gather round, gentlemen.’ Hume had been given plenty of warning of his column’s tasks by Smith and now there were just the formalities of tying up which company was to do what, some timings, details of feeding, extra ammunition and assistance to the Sappers and Gunners. The group of a dozen captains and subalterns stood by expectantly with their notebooks ready.
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