The Lone Warrior

by Paul Fraser Collard

  ‘Wilson,’ Jack interjected quickly, trying to hurry the story along.

  She flashed a smile. ‘Thank you. General Wilson and his men left Meerut and were marching here when they were attacked by a force of mutineers. There was a battle.’

  Jack was all ears. ‘Who won?’

  ‘Wilson. But the man who told me the story had heard that the British force was nearly taken by surprise. He said something about the enemy not being spotted until they opened fire. That doesn’t sound very good, does it?’

  Jack shook his head. He’d known the second British column was close. Hodson had told him that Wilson was bringing two squadrons of cavalry, one battery of horse artillery and one of foot, a single wing of the 60th Rifles and a smattering of native sappers and miners. In the last few days he had been joined by a six-hundred-strong battalion of Sirmur Gurkhas, formidable fighters and one of the few native regiments still trusted by the British commanders. Wilson’s brigade was not huge, but it was one that Barnard desperately needed if he were to have any hope of being able to attack Delhi. To hear that the column had nearly been caught out by a strong force of mutineers did not bode well.

  ‘No. It is not good. But Barnard is fortunate. He now has one of the best leaders of light cavalry in his column. He will not have to worry about being surprised by the enemy.’

  ‘Who is that? Hodson?’ Aamira asked the question innocently enough, but her smile told Jack she knew where the conversation was headed.

  ‘It’s me, you daft ninny.’ He reached forward and poked her in the belly, laughing at her squeal of indignation. His finger jabbed forward again, and she dropped his foot and tried to escape. Jack simply slid his arm around her narrow waist and pulled her on to his lap. It was time to forget all the talk of armies and supplies. There were plenty of hours left before he would have to report to Hodson, hours that could be better spent with the woman he knew he would soon have to leave behind when the column restarted its march on Delhi.

  Jack was waiting as Hodson rode in at the head of his men. Aamira’s efforts had been successful, and he was dressed in the full uniform that Hodson had designed and mounted on a horse taken from the dwindling supply of remounts. He wore his own boots, but everything else was new. Aamira’s cousin knew enough of the right people to ensure that he had access to whatever stores were being brought into Alipore. He might not have the correctly filled-out receipts, but he had what he needed and so was happy to turn a blind eye to just how his equipment had been obtained.

  A willing tailor had refitted the khaki jacket so that it sat well across his shoulders, and the Kashmiri scarf he wore around his waist in place of the scarlet sash – which even Aamira’s enterprising cousin could not mange to find – sat snug against his belly. Aamira had wrapped a matching pagdi around his sola topee, leaving a long tail to add a dash of panache to the uniform whilst protecting the back of his neck from the sun. The uniform’s collar bore a single crown embroidered in golden thread, denoting the rank of lieutenant. It had filled him with pride when he had seen it. It had been a long time since he had worn a British officer’s rank.

  The cavalrymen were covered in dust, the long hours spent in the saddle taking their toll even on the hardened Sikh warriors Hodson had recruited. Yet the reconnaissance had been vital. With Barnard’s force complete, he had to discover what waited ahead. Hodson had ridden to scout out the road leading to Delhi, gathering the information that would be vital to the column’s commander.

  Hodson spied his new subaltern waiting and spurred his tired horse to increase its pace. His pale face lit up as he came close. Any ill will seemed to be forgotten and Jack breathed a sigh of relief. He had chosen to ride out to greet his new commander, risking the meeting that he had been partly dreading.

  ‘I must say you look quite the part, Lieutenant Lark.’ Hodson pulled his tinted eyeglasses from his face and placed them in his breast pocket before raising his helmet and wiping the sweat from his face with a handkerchief. ‘I am sorry you could not ride with us, but I can see you have used the time well.’

  Jack nodded. ‘I am ready now, sir.’

  Hodson beamed. ‘Good fellow. I have need of a second and you should fit the role well. We have busy days ahead!’

  Jack could see that Hodson was having difficulty keeping up a dignified facade. He was clearly delighted with himself, and Jack knew that could only mean that something important had been discovered on the reconnaissance.

  ‘Ride with me, Jack, let me tell you what I have seen.’

  Hodson reined his horse around, inclining his head as he gestured for Jack to join him. His men had halted at a respectful distance, but they lurched back into motion as Jack and Hodson rode to the head of the column.

  ‘You are not the only one who has been busy!’ Hodson could contain himself no longer. He looked across at Jack to make sure his second-in-command was close enough to hear him. ‘We are the eyes and the ears of General Barnard, and I am proud to say I have news of the greatest significance.’ He fairly preened with his own self-importance. ‘The enemy are ahead, Jack. The path to Delhi is blocked.’

  ‘Where are they?’ Jack felt the first stirrings of unease deep in his belly. If Hodson was correct, General Barnard would have a fight on his hands, and with so few men at his disposal, any battle would be a close-run affair. Hodson and his men would be sure to be at the forefront of the fighting, and Jack would once again have to take his place on the field of battle.

  ‘Six miles ahead there is an old caravanserai at a place called Badli-Ki-Serai.’ Hodson’s eyes narrowed as he saw his new officer’s jaw clench at the news. ‘Even as we speak, the enemy are making it into a defensive position. The trunk road passes directly through there, so we shall have no choice but to attack.’

  ‘What of their numbers?’

  ‘I would put them at ten thousand, although more are joining all the time. They have two dozen guns that I saw, but I suspect more are on their way.’ Hodson seemed delighted at the odds, even though the Delhi Field Force would be outnumbered by at least two to one, and any attack would be against heavily dug-in troops backed up by a large number of cannon. Jack could not understand his delight. It would certainly be a bloody affair, and he shivered, the memory of storming the Russian redoubt at the Alma sending a rush of ice sliding down his spine.

  ‘You look like you have seen a ghost, Lieutenant.’ Hodson chortled at Jack’s expression. ‘Do not fear. You know those damn pandies will not stand.’

  Jack heard the conceit in the other man’s tone. He knew no such thing. He had fought with the native soldiers. He could not picture them running the moment the British column hove into view. He could not be certain, but he thought he detected another emotion in Hodson’s bombastic voice. He thought he could sense fear.

  ‘I will take the news to the general immediately. I expect he will listen to what I have to say. I have heard it said that he has always trusted my intelligence and that he has the greatest confidence in my judgement. I may be junior to many on the staff, but I shall be heard first, and listened to!’

  Jack did his best not to grimace at such brash talk. He did not yet have the measure of his new commander, but he was finding Hodson a hard man to like. He forced his doubts away. After all, he barely knew the man. With a sizeable force of mutineers blocking the way to Delhi, he was sure he would get every chance to discover more of Hodson’s true character in the coming days. The whole of the column would be forced to show its mettle. It would take guts and determination to reach the city.

  Jack peered through the early-morning gloom and studied the enemy. The defensive position was as strong as Hodson had predicted, and he felt the familiar squirm of tension in his gut as he assessed the path the attacking army must take if it were to break through the enemy line. He twisted in the saddle and waved his kot-daffadar forward. The non-commissioned officer obeyed his new lieutenant without hesitation.

  ‘Send two men back to the column.’ Jack was scribbling a n
ote on a thin wad of paper he had balanced on his knee. ‘They are to give this to Brigadier Grant.’

  He finished writing and handed the note to the kot-daffadar, who nodded and rode away, already barking the orders that would send two of his men galloping back to the commander of Barnard’s cavalry. Jack had yet to meet Brigadier Hope Grant, but Hodson had been effusive in his praise of the experienced officer. He hoped the brigadier would be able to read the hastily written note. Jack was not the best with his letters, and writing whilst in the saddle hardly helped improve his scrawl.

  With the enemy in plain sight, there was little more for Jack to do. He had been pleased to be trusted with the command. Hodson had ordered him to take twenty-five of his men, just over half of the fledgling Hodson’s Horse, and form the vanguard of the column’s march.

  His small command had left Alipore shortly after midnight, galloping ahead of the column and riding hard and fast down the Grand Trunk Road that would lead directly to Delhi. The kot-daffadar under his command had ridden with Hodson the previous day on their reconnaissance and knew the way well.

  Together they had led the men off the road and set up a chain of vedettes facing the enemy. Jack had learnt his trade as a cavalry officer first as a lancer in the Maharajah of Sawadh’s army, then as a squadron commander in the 3rd Bombay Light Cavalry during the Persian campaign. He was keen to show that he knew what he was about.

  The light was improving fast and the enemy would surely have spotted the screen of light cavalry. But the rebels did not seem concerned at their appearance, even though it must surely herald the arrival of the main British column, and they did not bother to send forward any light cavalry of their own to scatter the British scouts.

  With his men spread into a thin line of mounted vedettes, and with the enemy lazing behind their defences, Jack had time to study the position Barnard’s men would have to take if they were to be able to march on Delhi. He had lost his field glasses with the rest of his kit at the magazine, so he had borrowed a scuffed and splintered telescope from Hodson, and now he pulled the instrument from its tube and tried to bring the enemy line into sharper focus.

  The rebels’ commander had chosen wisely, establishing a strong position across the Grand Trunk Road as it headed south towards Delhi, passing the ancient caravanserai at Badli-Ki-Serai. There were similar resting places the length of the road, offering sanctuary for the hundreds of travellers journeying along it. The serai offered accommodation, food, stables and dozens of willing servants anxious to tend to the travellers exhausted by the journey that could take weeks or even months. Now the mutineers had found another use for its walls and buildings, using it to form a strongpoint at the centre of their position.

  Jack panned his borrowed telescope along the length of the line, balancing his weight against the slight movements of his new horse as it twitched and flicked its ears. The telescope was old and its casing was scarred, but it still did the job for which it had been made. He could see a battery of guns formed up between the walls of the serai and a small hillock just to its west, the cannon standing wheel to wheel and straddling both sides of the road. Still more artillery pieces were sheltered in a small fortification made from bags filled with sand and sited on top of a hillock, the enemy commander strengthening his position with the man-made redoubt. To the right of the serai there was a small village. The walls and buildings were now home to hundreds of rebel infantry, the collection of homes a solid foundation for the mutineers’ right flank. In all, Jack counted at least thirty guns, enough artillery to bring down a dreadful barrage on the British infantry that he expected to be ordered to attack directly down the road and against the centre of the mutineers’ line.

  He could not see any other course of action. He moved his telescope to both extremities of the enemy line, searching for a route around the flank, knowing that it would be the best course of action open to the attacking British. He might not have a high opinion of the ability of the generals who commanded the British regiments, but he knew that even the most crass amongst them would be able to spot an opportunity to turn the flank of an established defensive position. Yet he could see little opportunity for such a strategy. Both flanks looked to be anchored on wide fields of marshland. It was horrible, swampy terrain, intersected by numerous water cuts. To make matters worse, a canal, crossable via just a single, narrow bridge, ran from north to south on the rebels’ left, adding yet another obstacle for any attempt at a flanking march. There was no room for deft manoeuvre. Any force hoping to march from Alipore to Delhi would have no choice but to charge down the narrow road directly into the face of the massed rebel guns.

  He turned his attention back to the main line. He tried to count the enemy numbers, but there were so many that he quickly lost interest. Hodson had claimed ten thousand, and he saw nothing that would lead him to gainsay his commander’s judgement. Not all the men he could see wore the red coat of the rebel sepoys. The ranks appeared to have been swollen by fugitives who must have come from either Meerut or Umballa, and the more bloodthirsty of the local villagers had clearly needed little prompting to take a stand against the hated firangi. He could also see several bands of Gujar tribesmen scattered amidst the ranks of the defenders. The disparate groups were united by a single purpose: to stop the British column reaching Delhi.

  He caught a flicker of movement away to the west. He panned the borrowed telescope across and saw a thin column of mutineers marching towards the enemy position. They were crossing the ground Jack had supposed to be nothing more than bog, and appeared to be having little difficulty with the poor terrain; indeed, they were making good time.

  His heart fluttered. His reading of the terrain had been wrong. There might be a chance to flank the line after all. If the British could send a force over the canal that ran in a perpendicular course to the west of the road, there was every chance they could get into the enemy’s left rear.

  ‘Kot-daffadar!’ He summoned the experienced soldier to his side.

  ‘Sahib.’

  Jack twisted in the saddle and stared into the implacable face of the non-commissioned officer. The man said nothing, and Jack could read little from his features, which were nearly completely covered by a full beard. He looked past the kot-daffadar’s shoulder and saw that three formed squadrons of the 9th Lancers were making their way towards his men. The regular British cavalry regiment would be at the head of the column. The time for reconnaissance was nearly over.

  ‘Wait.’ He grabbed at his supply of paper, licking the tip of his pencil before he began to scribble a final note. ‘Quickly now. Take this to Brigadier Grant yourself.’ He thrust the paper at the imposing man. ‘Now!’

  The man’s face creased into a smile of approval. He flashed Jack a salute before turning his horse round and kicking hard to force it into a quick trot.

  Jack hoped the note would not arrive too late to make a difference. The opportunity for strategy would soon be past. Barnard would have to choose how to launch his attack, and then it would be down to the men under his command to carry out his orders, whatever they might be. Strategy would give way to violence, the generals’ great power taken away the moment their men started to advance.

  Jack sat at Hodson’s side as the cavalry formed up on the right of the British advance. He could not help feeling pride as he watched them deploy. His note had reached Grant in time, and now the British horsemen would attempt to turn the enemy’s flank. Hodson’s Horse had followed the 9th Lancers to the west before Barnard had ordered his cavalry to hold their advance until he had brought his infantry and artillery forward. The position they had taken gave the two officers a grandstand view, and they sat in silence and watched the advance of the main column as it marched straight up the Grand Trunk Road.

  From his vantage point, Jack could see along the length of the column. For an army that was tasked with relieving an entire city, the Delhi Field Force looked pitifully small. There were just three and a half battalions of European infant
ry and one of Gurkhas. Barnard had organised the five units into two brigades. The first was commanded by Brigadier General Showers and contained the one regular army battalion in the column, the 75th Foot. Alongside them was one battalion from the army of the East India Company, the 1st Bengal Fusiliers, a regiment formed from Irish, Scottish, Welsh and English recruits. The second infantry brigade, commanded by Brigadier General Graves, was formed from the wing of the 60th Rifles that had come up with Wilson’s brigade along with two Company regiments: the 2nd Bengal Fusiliers and the Sirmur Gurkhas. To support his two infantry brigades, Barnard had just two regiments of European cavalry, the 9th Lancers and two squadrons of the 6th Dragoon Guards, three troops of horse artillery and two companies of foot artillery. The whole numbered just over three thousand men, less than one third of the enemy infantry force that now blocked the road.

  The siege train dispatched from Phillaur had arrived in Alipore the previous evening and now trailed the main column. The heavy siege guns, twenty-four in total, would be used to batter a breach in the walls of the city, if the column ever got that far. But such a breach would take days, or even weeks, to create, and many in the column hoped the guns would not be needed. If Barnard could sweep the mutineers’ blocking force aside, there was every chance the column could press on and drive into the city itself.

  The rebels finally stirred into action. The long lines of infantry hauled themselves to their feet and formed into the two-man-deep line that their British officers had trained them to use. It was the same formation that had won Wellington his victories in Portugal, Spain, France and Belgium. The East India Company’s infantry had been well schooled in the drills they would need in battle, and now they had the opportunity to show their former masters how well they had learnt their lessons.

  ‘Oh, a fine show.’ Hodson rose in his stirrups and shouted in encouragement as the British column started to deploy. Every head turned in his direction, but he gave no sign of being embarrassed. Indeed, he thrived on the attention and preened, relishing the scrutiny. ‘That’s the way, my brave fellows. Death to the damn pandies!’