The Lone Warrior

by Paul Fraser Collard

  When she had gone, he straightened up, pulling on the hem of his dust-coloured coat. ‘What a charming lady. She is your …’ He paused, clearly wanting Jack to clarify his relationship with the beautiful girl who had slipped quietly away.

  ‘Companion.’ There was the hint of a growl in Jack’s reply.

  ‘Ah, I see.’ He seemed disappointed and stared after Aamira with a look of longing. It gave Jack a chance to study him.

  The two men were of a similar height, both standing just shy of six foot. Jack was lean, but Hodson was even slighter, his frame appearing almost fragile and the helmet he wore too large for the head on which it was perched. Yet he exuded a confidence that belied his build, and his pale blue eyes were disconcerting. He was not an imposing man, but Jack sensed he was dealing with no ordinary officer.

  ‘I have not seen your uniform before.’ He spoke to regain Hodson’s attention.

  Hodson appeared distracted, but after a moment’s pause he turned back to face Jack. ‘I will tell you all about it in due course, but first I simply must hear your tale. I have a dispatch to write for General Barnard that cannot wait, but I should be very grateful if you could come and find me in, shall we say, a quarter-hour?’

  He did not wait for a reply but turned away and walked back to his men, removing his helmet as he went. He began issuing a rapid series of commands that had them dismount and disperse.

  Jack watched them closely as they fell out. There were no other white officers present, but the native officers had their men well ordered. Again Jack wondered about this troop that formed the vanguard of the British column. He had so many questions. Question that he planned to pose to Hodson.

  ‘So. You first. I am sure there are many things you would like to know.’

  Hodson walked at Jack’s side as they made their way through the town. His men were making the most of the few hours they had been given to prepare an evening meal and see to their horses. Hodson had already told Jack that they would not be left to rest for long. The column of irregular cavalry were forced to use the hours of darkness to move from place to place before hunkering down during the hottest hours of daylight. With the night still ahead, they would not stay in Alipore for long.

  Jack had been escorted to Hodson by a one-eyed Pathan who looked as tough as teak. He had found the officer scribbling a hasty letter at a small camp table that his men had set up for him on the shady veranda of a requisitioned building. Hodson had appeared pleased to see him, and had suggested they take a turn around the town so that he could stretch his legs before another long ride through the hours of darkness.

  Jack thought about where to begin. After so long listening to nothing more substantial than tittle-tattle, he had a hundred questions.

  ‘I know some of the native infantry regiments have mutinied against us.’ He began hesitantly, not sure how ready Hodson would be to tell him the truth. In his experience, many officers were barely able to see what was directly in front of them. He half expected a crass response full of typical British bluster. He did not need to hear the official opinion. He wanted the truth. ‘I don’t know much more than that.’

  Hodson nodded. He lifted his hand and stroked his large moustache before he began to answer. ‘We know these terrible events started at Meerut, not very far from where we now stand. The 3rd Bengal Light Cavalry, the same men you saw in Delhi, mutinied first. Some of their skirmishers were ordered to demonstrate the new cartridge. Have you heard of the fuss about those?’

  Jack nodded. He was pleased at Hodson’s response. The man might only be a junior officer but it was clear he understood what had happened and, more importantly, seemed happy to share it with him.

  ‘Well, Carmichael-Smyth, the commander of the 3rd Bengal Lights, ordered a parade of his skirmishers so that his best men could show the rest that the whole thing was nonsense. It was a sound plan and it should have put a stop to the malcontents and rabble-rousers, but of course he hadn’t appreciated the strength of the men’s feeling. You know these natives: once they get it into their heads that we are trying to mess with their religion, they can be a damned touchy lot. Anyway, Carmichael-Smyth was wrong, and even his most trusted men refused to use the cartridges. So he ordered them all to be stripped of their uniforms and sentenced to ten years’ imprisonment with hard labour.’

  Jack couldn’t help but grimace. He had witnessed British officers being heavy-handed with their men, but sentencing nearly an entire troop to such a harsh punishment was a recipe for disaster, and he could already half guess what Hodson was about to tell him.

  ‘The rest of them got it into their heads to mount a rescue, and the following day they freed the men Carmichael-Smyth had imprisoned. Of course, every low-life and felon then decides to join in the fun and release every last bugger from the jails. From then on, it’s murder, plain and simple. Over fifty men, women and children slaughtered.’ Hodson’s face was flushed as his anger rose, even though the news he was delivering was weeks old. ‘It makes my blood run cold, and I have yet to tell you about the atrocities committed against our womenfolk.’

  Jack could see the passion running through the British officer. Hodson paused as he struggled to contain his emotions.

  ‘Meerut was just the start,’ he continued, his hand pressed to his forehead, his eyes closed against the pain of his words. ‘Once the entire garrison had mutinied, they marched on Delhi.’

  ‘I saw them. I saw the 3rd Lights ride in, and then later I saw the 11th and 20th Native Infantry.’ Jack examined his lack of a reaction as he replied. He truly felt nothing at hearing Hodson’s tale of atrocities. Against what he had seen, any tale of events, no matter how terrible, simply could not touch him.

  ‘Where?’ Hodson’s question was sharp.

  ‘At the magazine.’

  ‘You were there when it was attacked?’

  Jack nodded. ‘With Willoughby and the others. It was a hard fight.’

  ‘We have heard. Lieutenant Forrest escaped.’ Hodson appeared impressed at Jack’s revelation. ‘He mentioned that they had received help. But he was cagey when pressed as to who it was.’

  Jack smiled, touched by the old lieutenant’s loyalty to an impostor he barely knew. He was pleased to learn that someone else had survived the terrible explosion. ‘We were both there.’

  ‘Why would he not tell us your name?’

  ‘Perhaps he forgot. It was not the time for polite introductions.’

  ‘I see.’ Hodson gnawed on the tips of his wide moustache.

  ‘So the Meerut garrison mutinied.’ Jack sought to distract the intelligence officer. ‘Why has it taken so long to gather enough men to put them down?’

  Hodson snorted. ‘Because I am afraid to say it is not just the Meerut garrison, old fellow. It’s the whole damn lot of them. The entire army of Bengal has mutinied.’ He fixed Jack with an odd stare, a mixture of amusement and deadly seriousness. ‘We cannot trust any of the native regiments. That’s why it has taken us so long. The whole of the north-west provinces have turned their coats against us. We aren’t just putting down a few mutinous sepoys. We are fighting for the survival of the entire country.’

  Jack was shocked into silence. It was worse, much worse than he imagined.

  Hodson nodded as he saw Jack’s burgeoning understanding. ‘You see now, don’t you, old fellow? This is not some local affair. The whole damn empire is at stake. It would be simple enough if we could make the buggers fight. If we could get all the native regiments into one group, then we could manage them well enough, for they will never stand after we get our guns to work. As it is, we are forced to chase them here and there and fight them when and where we can find them. That’s why we are marching on Delhi. That old fool Bahadur Shah has proclaimed himself emperor and set up his capital in the Red Fort. The mutineers are gathering in the city, with men from all over the north-west provinces killing their officers and heading there.’

  Hodson smiled ruefully as he saw Jack’s face. ‘Perhaps I a
m being a little melodramatic. Not all the news is so bleak. The three great Sikh chiefs of the Cis-Sutlej states are staying true to their salt, and the Maharajah of Patiala, the Rajah of Jhind and the Rajah of Nabha have all pledged to supply men to assist our efforts. Thus far, the Punjab has been quiet. Nicholson and Edwardes have formed a movable column of European regiments and reliable Punjabi irregulars, and they managed to disarm most of the native regiments before they had a chance to mutiny. Only the 55th resisted, but Nicholson brought them to battle pretty damn quick and put them to the sword. He blew forty prisoners from the mouths of his cannon to make the damn pandies understand the fate that awaits them. Sir Henry would be proud.’

  ‘Sir Henry?’

  ‘Sir Henry Lawrence.’ Hodson frowned at the question.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Nicholson was quite his protégé. But then all Sir Henry’s young men fancy themselves cast in his mould.’

  Jack detected a hint of resentment and jealousy in Hodson’s tone. He had heard enough of the fabled Sir Henry Lawrence to place him now that Hodson had given his surname. Sir Henry was a famous figure, his role as resident at Lahore and agent to the Governor General for the North West Frontier earning him a reputation as the man who had brought many of the petty chiefs and princes of the frontier to heel. He had been helped by a number of keen young officers, and Jack could only presume that the Nicholson Hodson had referred to was one of them.

  ‘So we have had some success.’ He tried to bring Hodson back to the matter at hand.

  ‘Indeed.’ Hodson scowled as he shook off thoughts of Nicholson and Sir Henry. ‘If we can settle Delhi quickly enough, then the campaign may not last long.’

  ‘How many men are in the city?’

  ‘Thousands. But have no fear. I was there this morning. The damn pandies have no sense of organisation. I rode right up to the parade ground in the old cantonment. The few sawars I saw galloped away as soon as they spied us.’

  Jack heard the pride as Hodson bragged of his bold reconnaissance. ‘You call them pandies. Why?’

  ‘It’s a nickname the men gave them, after that damned fool Mangal Pandey from the 34th who attacked that poor adjutant up at Barrackpore. The name stuck and we call all the blackguards pandies now. And when we find them, we string them up. My men have seen to hundreds of the buggers.’

  ‘Your men?’

  ‘Hodson’s Horse!’ Hodson clapped his thigh in glee at the bold title. ‘Anson tasked me with forming a regiment of irregulars before the cholera got him. I can raise up to two thousand, if I can find the men, but alas, in this part of the country it is deuced difficult finding reliable fellows who can be trusted.’ He looked at Jack, his eyes narrowing. ‘Have you served?’

  Jack was immediately on his guard. He had a notion that Hodson would not take kindly to the truth. ‘I have. I sent in my papers after the Crimea.’ He gave the lie easily. He had thought at length about how to respond when he attracted the attention of the British authorities, as he knew he surely would now that every able-bodied Englishman would be needed as the government and Company officials tried to restore order. He carried papers that proved he had been discharged, but he did not think he would be required to produce them. Men tended to be taken at face value, something he had relied upon in all his previous impostures. With half the country in flames, he did not think anyone would be inclined to question the past of an Englishman who claimed to have resigned his officer’s commission after the dreadful campaign against the Russians on the Crimean peninsula. It was a common, if sad, tale.

  Hodson was clearly contemplating Jack’s background. ‘This may be rude of me, but what is your current state of employment?’

  Jack shrugged. ‘I have none, save for keeping Aamira safe.’

  Hodson chuckled. ‘You know what I am about to ask, don’t you, you damned rogue. I like to think I am a good judge of character. I could use you, Jack. What say you to that? Will you join me?’

  ‘I will.’ Jack replied before the decision to agree had fully formed in his head. The image of the dead girl in Delhi flashed into his mind. It was enough to force away any doubt. The fight at the magazine had reminded him what it was like to be a soldier once again. He would take his place in Hodson’s Horse and he would do his best to make sure no other children suffered at the hands of the mutineers.

  ‘Good fellow.’ Hodson reached forward and shook his hand. ‘We can get you kitted out straight away.’

  ‘I’ll need weapons. I lost mine at the magazine.’ Jack felt a flicker of pain at the thought of the lost talwar.

  Hodson did not notice. ‘We have plenty of guns. We secured all the arsenals as soon as we could. A good sword may be harder to source, though. I have had this one with me for as long as I can remember.’ Hodson slapped the handle of his sabre, causing Jack to wince with jealousy. He noticed that the officer wore his sword in a leather scabbard, just as he did himself. The native swordsmen mocked the British officers for the metal scabbards most chose to wear. The steel soon blunted the swords’ edges, something that the leather scabbards never did. The wiser British officers soon copied the local style, and Jack had to give Hodson credit for doing so. It marked him out as an experienced officer who had the sense to learn from others.

  ‘I am sure we will be able to find you one somewhere,’ Hodson continued. ‘Then we can soon have you looking the part and ready to fight.’

  Jack nodded at Hodson’s dust-coloured jacket. ‘It’s an interesting uniform.’

  Hodson preened. ‘It is my own creation. I modelled it on the Corps of Guides. I served with them a while back. This is just the colour for here. The men call it khaki, which I am told means dust-coloured. Quite apt, I would say. I added the scarlet – sashes for us officers and turbans for the men – so that no one can confuse us with the Guides. Recruiting has been slow going, but I have a good number already, mainly Sikhs from Amritsar, Jhind and Lahore. They are hard fighters and I am lucky to have them. I just need officers. With so many killed, it is a struggle to find good men. I rather think I am fortunate to have come across you.’

  Jack nodded, accepting the compliment. ‘So when do we ride?’

  Hodson beamed with approval at the forthright question. ‘Just as soon as the men have had enough time to rest the horses. There is a village not far from here where two of our women who had escaped from Delhi were abused in the foulest way possible before they were murdered. I am riding there tonight to apprehend the depraved monsters who did it.’

  ‘What happens when you find them?’

  ‘They will be dealt with.’ Hodson’s eyes half closed, as if this were a final test of Jack’s suitability.

  ‘They are to be tried?’

  ‘They are to be killed. After what the blackguards did at Meerut and Delhi, I shall not stay my hand. I have vowed not to rest until every one of the murderous swine has been brought to justice. We know the name of every man in the regiments who has mutinied. We shall hunt them down, just as we hunted down the damn thugs.’

  Jack heard the coldness in the reply and he understood. The time for the niceties of peace was long gone. The country had gone to the devil, and now that men like Hodson were in charge, their will was the only law that mattered. He thought of the little girl and her mother. He nodded, recognising Hodson’s authority and acknowledging his place as his subordinate.

  ‘It will be a hard struggle.’ Hodson’s eyes glimmered with what Jack could only think of as an almost religious fervour. ‘But I am certain that the star of old England will shine the brighter in the end and we shall hold a prouder position than ever!’

  Jack turned away to hide his doubts. He felt the future take him in its grip. Aamira had spoken of fate. Now he surrendered himself to it, accepting Hodson’s offer and a place in his new regiment. For better or for worse, he was back in the fold.

  Hodson’s Horse rode within the hour. Jack was mounted on one of the spare horses the column had with them. He left Aamira with her cous
in, knowing that they would return with the dawn. General Barnard’s column would arrive the next day and Hodson would need to be ready to rejoin his commander and report the result of his reconnaissance. Aamira would be safe enough; Hodson had assured Jack that no force of pandies was anywhere close to Alipore.

  The khaki coat felt heavy on his back. Hodson had been true to his word, and Jack rode wearing the uniform jacket of an officer. He wore his own trousers and boots and he still had to find a sword. Yet a borrowed revolver hung at his hip and he felt the stirring of a familiar pride as he rode at the head of men dressed in the same uniform as he now wore.

  The moon was up, lighting their way, so Hodson set a fast pace. Jack rode at his side, ignoring the discomfort. It had been a long time since he had ridden with a column of men at his back. His body was no longer accustomed to being in the saddle, but the petty aches could easily be ignored, the thrill of being back where he belonged more than sufficient to allow him to ride on, no matter how far they had to go.

  The village Hodson was targeting was no more than half a dozen miles from Alipore. They arrived in darkness, the village unguarded, the inhabitants slumbering, unaware that the British had arrived to enact a terrible revenge. Hodson brought his men in fast. They galloped through the silent village until they reached a tiny open space at its heart. Hodson reined in and ordered the halt, his arm lifting to enforce the command as he brought his men to order.

  ‘Find them! Look lively now, my good fellows.’ He shouted the order, turning his horse in a tight circle as he gave it.

  His men needed no further instructions. They slipped from the saddle, one man holding the reins of several horses whilst his fellows went to obey their commander’s order.

  They moved quickly. There was no time for niceties. They stormed into the closest houses, their forced entry greeted with shrieks of terror and the panicked shouts of men, women and children awaking to the chaos of retribution.