by CL Skelton
In the grey light of dawn, it was an amazing sight as, without further thought of cover and armed only with spears, swords, and ancient muskets, they rose from the ground like a field of grey corn and charged towards the encampment. The Pathans were attacking on a front of about one hundred yards. They had failed in what was obviously their original intention, to encircle the camp inside the picket lines before making their move.
C Company, having provided guards and pickets throughout the night, was at readiness. The drill, discipline, and training which Willie Bruce had drummed into them made their reaction to the alarm almost instinctive. Within seconds, they were in position and lying prone, opening up a withering fire on the attackers with their breech-loading Snider-Enfields.
Meanwhile, Lieutenant Farquhar brought his Gatling gun into action. The moment the machine gun opened up, the attack wavered and broke. It was as well for the defenders that the Pathans did not press on, for within thirty seconds in the still morning air, the Gatling had produced so much smoke that no one could see friend or foe and the firing stopped.
Willie had barely reached the perimeter when the action was over. There was smoke everywhere, and Lieutenant Farquhar was standing by his gun in his shirt tails and bootless, trying to disperse the smoke with a large piece of board. Willie fell in C Company and had the roll called. Their only casualties were three slightly wounded. Then they had a weapon check. This was more serious. Three rifles, including that of Private Patterson, had vanished.
The Pathans had suffered heavily, and somewhere between twenty and thirty dead lay outside the perimeter. It was the custom on the frontier that, after an engagement such as this, wounded enemy could walk into the British camp unarmed. There they would receive whatever medical attention was available and then be allowed to return to their village. There were always some who would take advantage of this circumstance. The British custom was not altogether humanitarian. Actions like this were usually followed by a punitive expedition to the village from whence the attack had originated, and it was more often than not possible to find the location of the village from the wounded who came into camp.
Lieutenant Grant had, under orders from his commanding officer, and with extreme reluctance, learned to speak Pashtu. He was ordered to attend the surgeon’s tent so that he could interrogate the wounded as they reported for treatment. It was doubly important on this occasion to find out where this particular attack had originated, as the Pathans’ armoury would have been reinforced by the three missing Snider-Enfields.
Willie was aware that the prime purpose of the expedition that would necessarily follow would be to get these weapons back. Failure would cost several British lives over a long period to come. He was also aware that the decision would have to be made by the commanding officer, and the commanding officer was lying in his bivouac asleep in a drunken stupor, totally unaware that anything had happened.
The procedure was standard and comparatively simple. Either they established the location through interrogation of the wounded, though no Pathan would deliberately give this information; or, when the wounded were released, a small, select section would track them and get the answer that way. After that, the trackers would return and the punitive force, usually about two companies, would set out. All of this would have to be dealt with by the C.O. It was essential that Willie should get Andrew into a state of reasonable consciousness before the wounded were released.
Willie had a word with Grant and the surgeon, explaining to them that they must on no account hurry, and that the Pathans should not be released without a specific order from either himself or the C.O. Then Willie went over to Andrew’s bivouac to apply himself to the formidable task of sobering Andrew up.
Two buckets of water and three cups of strong black coffee later, Andrew was able to understand what had happened with reasonable coherence, and set his mind to the all-important task of getting the rifles back.
Andrew’s decision was not a very difficult one. When it was reported to him that the Pathans had not talked, he had little choice in deciding who it should be who should try and trail them to their village. It was unusual to ask an officer of field rank to do this sort of job, but there was no question but that Willie Bruce was the finest stalker in the regiment.
So accompanied by Lieutenant Grant, chosen because of his knowledge of the language, Willie, dressed in a dirty loincloth and tattered tunic, set out to follow the departing Pathans. Neither of them carried any weapons other than a knife; side-arms or a rifle would certainly have attracted either suspicion or brigandry. They had no identification other than a goolie chit contained in a small leather purse around their necks. This goolie chit was a note from the regimental authorities which guaranteed that the holder would receive twenty sovereigns if the soldier bearing it was returned to his unit in good health and with his genitals intact. It was a form of insurance against being handed over to the women in the event of capture.
Andrew watched them as they went through the picket lines. He knew that they would be away anything from one to seven days. They would have to live off the land and sleep rough in hostile country until, with their mission accomplished, they returned to the regiment. Until then, there was nothing that Andrew could do except wait and brood over what had happened to his personal life.
At first Andrew had been tempted to go straight back to Lahore, but what was the point? Emma would have been ‘disposed of’ ‒ he did not like to think of her body being buried ‒ within twenty-four hours of her death. The child, for whom he could do nothing and who did not really exist for him, would be well cared for by the British Resident until such time as arrangements could be made to have him accompanied back to England. And then, of course, Maud would be there and he wasn’t sure that he could face her.
It was just over four days after they set out that Lieutenant Grant returned to camp, alone. He reported to Andrew as soon as he arrived.
‘Sir,’ he said, ‘they’ve got Major Bruce.’
‘Oh, God! When? How?’
‘Sometime after midnight. We found the village, all right. It’s in the hills to the northwest, not more than half a day’s march from here. Of course, the chaps we were following went the long way round. They knew that they would be followed. But after a day they turned back; must have thought they’d lost us.’
‘What’s the village like?’
‘Usual sort of thing, sir,’ Grant replied. ‘In a valley on the far side of a ridge. About thirty wooden huts and damned little else. They keep pickets out, though. But, God, it stinks. Major Bruce thought he might be able to get in after dark and maybe get hold of the rifles. He actually got one of them. I brought it back. And then he went in again. This time he didn’t come back. I was not far away and I could tell by the noise and the shouting that they must have taken him.’
‘I see,’ said Andrew.
‘Do you think they’ll bring him back, sir? He’s got his chit.’
‘What do you think, Mr Grant?’
‘I don’t think it looks very good. You see, they would not know that he was not alone.’
The implication of this was not lost on Andrew. Twenty sovereigns was a lot of money, but it did not compare to the value to them of the two Snider-Enfields that they still had, and which they would surely lose if the location of the offending village became known to the British.
‘What are you going to do, sir?’ asked Grant.
‘You go and get cleaned up,’ replied Andrew. ‘I’ll deal with this now. If they let him go, he’ll be back inside the next couple of hours.’
Grant went off and left Andrew gazing into space. His mind was in a turmoil. He knew damned well that they would not release Willie. They might have brought him back had they not caught him within the village with one rifle already gone. He knew that if he left it for forty-eight hours, maybe less, a lot less, Willie Bruce would be a dead man. They would give him to the women, and it would take a long time for him to die. But when Willie Bruce was de
ad, Maud would be free, just as he, Andrew Maclaren, was free. There would be nothing to stand between them ever again. Nothing but the shame of what he was contemplating. All he had to do was nothing.
It had been noon when the tired and filthy Lieutenant Grant had reported to him, and for an hour after Grant left, Andrew sat and wrestled with his conscience. He would have to attack the village, he knew that. He had to get those rifles back. If he stormed it, he would take it; there was no question of that. But Willie Bruce would be dead before they got to him. True, it would be a quick death, infinitely preferable to what he would suffer if Andrew waited too long. If he did that, no one would fault him. Many commanders would agree that he had no other option open to him. And yet he knew that he could not go through with it. Illogical really; had it been anyone but Willie, he would quite likely have marched within the hour and stormed the damned place. But he knew that whatever the cost, he had to try and get Willie out alive or he would never be able to live with himself for the rest of his life.
His mind made up, he sent for Lieutenant Grant.
‘Grant,’ he said, ‘do you think you could go straight back?’
‘To the village, sir?’
‘Yes.’
‘I think I could make it, sir. I’m tired, but if there is any chance of getting Major Bruce out ‒’
‘Quite,’ said Andrew interrupting. ‘Did you sleep at all last night?’
‘No, sir, but I’m all right, honestly.’
‘Well, listen,’ said Andrew, ‘I’ve got a plan. It’ll take a couple of hours to organize, so you go and get some sleep and we’ll call you when we’re ready to move out.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I want you to take us as close to the village as you can with cover. That is all you will have to do.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘On your way out, tell my orderly I want the company commanders and colour sergeants here now.’
Grant saluted and left Andrew.
His mind made up, Andrew felt at peace with himself for the first time in many a day. He did not try to call what he had in mind reparation, but what he had determined to do would bring Willie back, or they would die together, brothers-in-arms.
Chapter Twenty-two
In some ways it reminded Andrew of Taku. They were lying not more than a mile away from the village with blackened faces and every polished piece of brass or steel dulled. In some ways, it reminded him of Cawnpore, the feeling in the pit of his stomach the same as it had been when Havelock had told him that he was going into battle for the first time. But in reality, it was like neither of those.
They had called for volunteers for the special part of the mission, and C Company had stepped forward to a man. With the aid of Lieutenant Grant, Andrew had selected two corporals and three men. They all had to be seasoned campaigners; their job would be dangerous and difficult. The five chosen included Corporals MacMilan and Murdoe Campbell. Frankie Gibson was another obvious choice; the finest poacher in the Highlands would be invaluable in this sort of situation. The others were Donald Munroe and Private Iain Maclean, the latter a man of fifteen years’ service who had an utter contempt for danger matched only by his contempt for those placed in authority over him, that being the reason that he was still a private. All of them were experienced soldiers and among the best shots in the whole battalion.
They had located the village on the map. It was, as Grant had said, in a hollow about a mile long by about half a mile wide. This was good, for it meant that they could probably approach the ridge which overlooked it, providing they went by night, unobserved. C and A Companies were stood to and marched out at dusk. It would be tough going, scrambling over rocks and climbing miniature mountains; naturally, it would be suicide to attempt to approach the village along the one trail which entered the valley.
They got to within a mile and a half of the village long before dawn and lay there shivering in the cold mountain night. About an hour before dawn could be expected, Andrew and his five volunteers were to leave the main body. Then they would try and get into the village unobserved. Once there, their only job was to locate Willie and guard him until the main force attacked the village.
It was necessary to do it this way, because if this were handled as a normal punitive expedition, Willie would have his throat slit before the Pathans took to the hills. Of course, it was quite possible that they would all have their throats slit, but this was the chance that Andrew had to take. In any case, anything was better than being handed over to the women.
Andrew reckoned that it would take them half an hour to get to the village; then he allowed up to twenty minutes to find Willie. After that, they would have to hold him until the rest of them arrived. The main force would make no attempt at concealment once the attack had started, but would march on to the village in open order with pipes playing. If things went according to plan, that would be the moment at which two, perhaps three, of the Pathans would be sent to dispatch Willie, while the others headed for the hills. They could only pray.
Lieutenant Grant had begged to be allowed to be a member of the advance party, but Andrew had vetoed this on the grounds that Grant must by now be extremely tired. However, he had compromised and told the young man that he would lead the main assault. Lieutenant Farquhar and his Gatling gun had been positioned on their extreme left flank, much closer to the village than where they lay. The Gatling gun was to provide covering fire in the event that it should be required. This decision had been left to Farquhar. The advance party were dressed in fatigue uniform, trews and khaki shirts and stocking caps. Their arms had been kept to a minimum. Each man carried a dirk, and Andrew had commandeered the Webley revolvers belonging to the officers of Headquarters Company and issued them to his five men. Rifles would have been too cumbersome and too conspicuous for the job that they had to do.
Andrew looked at his watch. It would be dawn in about an hour and then sunrise half an hour later. He found Lieutenant Grant taking a pull from a flask.
‘Have some, sir,’ said Grant. ‘You could do with it.’
‘Thanks,’ replied Andrew, taking a generous swig and returning it. ‘Mr Grant,’ he said, ‘we’re on our way. Wait for sunrise, then move in. If you hear firing before that, come in right away. So you had better be ready to move instantly in half an hour. Hopefully you won’t have to. You understand?’
‘Yes, sir, but can’t we get a bit closer?’
‘I don’t think that would be wise,’ replied Andrew. ‘They must know that we’ll come sometime. They probably don’t expect us so soon, but I should think that they’ll have pickets out. The less movement there is before we’re inside the village, the better.’
‘Do you think you’ll be able to hold them, sir?’
‘Mr Grant,’ said Andrew with a wry smile, ‘if we don’t hold them, we shall have to answer only to God for our follies and misdeeds.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Grant. ‘Good luck, sir.’
Andrew rejoined the little group of men who were to accompany him. ‘Right,’ he said, ‘let’s go.’
They got as far as the village with only one incident. Andrew had been right: the Pathans did have pickets out. It was not easy to deceive the Pathans in their own territory, but the men who went with Andrew were all Highlanders, ex-poachers and ghillies, skilled in the art of silent movement.
Frankie Gibson tugged at Andrew’s sleeve. ‘Bide a wee, Master Andrew,’ he whispered.
Andrew smiled in the darkness. He was ‘Master Andrew’ now; they were back on the hill at home stalking a fine stag ‒ at least that was how Frankie was seeing it.
‘What is it, Frankie?’
‘There’s something just a wee bitty aheed o’ us,’ whispered Frankie. ‘Wait here while I tend tae it.’
Andrew held up his hand, a prearranged signal that they would all stop and lie still. ‘Away you go, Frankie.’
Before the words were out of his mouth, Frankie Gibson had disappeared into the darkness. Just ah
ead of him, a tuft of grass stirred. There was no wind. He lay for a minute or two and saw the tuft move again. It was all right, the man or beast was off guard. He slipped his dirk between his teeth and started forward.
It was a man, and before he could cry out, Frankie had his hand over his nose and mouth and was drawing the dirk deep across his throat.
‘That’s for Jamie Patterson,’ he whispered into the dead ear.
After that delay, it was easy going down the hill and into the village. When they got there, the grey dawn was beginning to show through the peaks of the mountains. It had taken them rather longer than they had thought, and Andrew estimated that Grant would probably start his move in about ten minutes. A few people were already astir amid the mud huts and rickety wooden buildings. There were not many about, and there was not sufficient light for the Highlanders yet to be recognized. They passed quite close to one man squatting outside his hut, who said something in Pashtu to which Corporal Campbell replied with an unintelligible grunt.
They knew what they were looking for. Willie, if he was still alive, would probably be locked up in one of the more substantial buildings, and there would almost certainly be an armed guard on the door.
‘Hoo aboot that yin, sorr?’ whispered Private Munroe.
Andrew looked in the direction the man had indicated. There were two women standing outside a window laughing and shouting at whatever was within. Sure enough, there was the guard, squatting outside the door, with his long-barrelled, home-made flintlock resting across his knees.
‘Let me deal wi’ this one, sir,’ said Corporal MacMilan.
MacMilan had been chosen because of his great physical strength and the fact that he had spent more time on the frontier than any other man in the regiment.
‘Right, corporal, off you go,’ said Andrew.
The remainder of them clustered in the shadow of the adjoining building. After what seemed like an hour, but could not have been more than a minute, the two women tired of their sport and moved away. The guard seemed to be asleep and the women went past him and down the track within a couple of feet of the waiting Highlanders.