‘There are no more men, sir.’ Nicholson spoke softly now, his voice full of reason and understanding. ‘We must attack now, before the sickness that plagues the army reduces us still further. We must attack whilst we still can.’
‘I can make the breach.’ Baird-Smith spoke on Nicholson’s side. ‘Why bring the siege train all this way and not use it to full effect? That could only be seen as a criminal waste.’
Wilson stared at his hands, clasped together on the table in front of him.
‘There is something else, sir.’ Baird-Smith sounded weary. ‘The enemy are building a new battery of their own. They are preparing to enfilade the position our batteries would take if we were to attempt to produce a breach. If we allow them the time, then any assault from the north will no longer be practical. We will have to look elsewhere.’
‘So I have no choice.’ Wilson sounded fragile.
‘You must order the attack.’ Nicholson snapped at the words like a trout going for a juicy fly. ‘You must.’
The room fell silent. Wilson still stared at his hands. Finally he lifted his head and looked at Nicholson. ‘So be it. General Nicholson, I would task you with planning the assault. Gentlemen, please give him your fullest assistance.’
‘Sir,’ Nicolson struck a dramatic pose as he absorbed the news he had pushed for with such iron determination, ‘I would suggest Campbell of the 52nd take—’
‘No.’ Wilson interrupted Nicolson with surprising force. ‘The command is yours and yours alone.’
Nicholson said nothing. He turned on his heel and swept out of the tent. Jack leapt to his feet and followed him.
They were barely outside before Nicholson turned to face Jack, his face betraying his elation. ‘I have seen lots of useless generals in my day, but such an ignorant, croaking obstructive as he, I have hitherto never met with.’
‘You got what you wanted, sir.’ Jack felt something stir in his own heart. He did not recognise what it was.
‘What I wanted? No, Jack, it was never that. It is what has to be done, nothing more. It is over to the engineers now. Let them make the breach. Then we shall finish what we came all this way to do.’
Delhi Ridge, 8 September 1857
The siege guns were supposed to open fire with the dawn. The first battery had been started as soon as the council of war had been concluded. It was to be constructed in two parts. The right half would face the Mori Bastion, which was no more than seven hundred yards distant. In it, Baird-Smith planned to site five eighteen-pounder cannon and one eight-inch howitzer, giving them the order to destroy the bastion and unseat the guns that were mounted behind its walls. In the left half of the battery would be four twenty-four-pounders, which would fire on the Kashmir Bastion. As the sun rose, the ten heavy guns should have begun the long barrage that would see the proud walls of Delhi reduced to so much dust.
But the gunners were not ready, their batteries only half dug and the heavy guns yet to be manoeuvred into position. The orders to begin the bombardment had simply come too late for the enormous task to be completed during the night.
As the sun crept into the sky, the enemy gunners in the Mori Bastion opened fire. Their cannon fired without pause, using both roundshot and grape to spread death and destruction through the ranks of native coolies ordered to site the British guns. Dozens died, their smashed and broken bodies dragged out of the works and fresh men sent forward to take their place. The bodies were brought back to the far side of the ridge to be laid out in great long rows, the silent ranks a testament to the passive bravery of the men who had laid down their lives so that the gunners could go about their destructive work.
By the afternoon the first British guns were finally ready to return fire.
The gunners opened the barrage using roundshot, the iron balls smashing into the walls of the Mori Bastion. Huge rolling clouds of dust were thrown high into the air as the artillery fired in great rolling salvos, the pattern of shot dictated by the engineers’ scheme, which had been calculated with meticulous care. Baird-Smith and his officers had planned the destruction of the ancient walls with the attention to detail that other men had once used in their construction.
The enemy fire slackened as the heavier British guns found their range. By nightfall, nothing remained of the Mori Bastion but a heap of smouldering rubble. With its first target destroyed, the battery turned its fire on the Kashmir Bastion.
Over the course of the following days, three more batteries were dug. All took punishment from counter-fire coming from the walls. The enemy were not blind, and they saw the huge scars on the ridge as the sweating coolies dug out the ground ready for the siege guns. Muskets, rockets and roundshot ploughed into the newly constructed firing platforms, smashing the carefully aligned gabions before plunging into the teams of gunners working tirelessly to bring their precious cannon into action. Enemy cavalry made countless sorties, forcing the engineers to pack the newly dug trenches with infantry to defend the guns. Men who needed to be rested and fresh for the long-awaited assault spent their days and nights fighting off wave after wave of rebel attacks before enduring the pitiless artillery fire that was directed against them in the hours between raids.
The siege guns were firing as fast as they could. All day and all night, the gunners worked in teams to keep up a constant barrage on the city. The coordinated firing was taking effect, and occasionally a great cheer would erupt from the battalions in the trenches as they heard the telltale roar of falling masonry.
The enemy guns on the Kashmir Bastion were silenced at last, the shattered embrasures graphic evidence of the effect of the British salvos. With the rebels’ counter-fire defeated, the gunners turned their attention to the walls themselves. Baird-Smith and his engineers had the artillerymen working on creating two huge breaches, one near the Kashmir Bastion, the other near the Jumna river close to the Water Bastion. Day by day they ground away at the walls, shot after shot slamming into the stonework, the heavy guns picking at the face of the wall. They would continue to fire until the wall had fallen. With luck, or what the engineers would claim was careful planning, the rubble would fall outwards, creating a rocky pathway for the assault troops to clamber up.
It would be down to Baird-Smith to declare when the pair of breaches was practical. When, in his judgement, the infantry would be able to swarm up the fallen masonry and take their rifles and bayonets against the enemy on the other side of the wall.
For Jack, the days blurred into one. He trailed in Nicholson’s wake, attending meeting after meeting with the engineers and the commanders of the various battalions that would make up the attack. Occasionally they would meet with Hodson, the awkward conversations only lasting long enough for the intelligence officer to impart his latest reports on the enemy’s numbers. On other matters, Hodson held his tongue, Jack’s presence at the meetings left unremarked, his official place in Hodson’s Horse, at least temporarily, forgotten.
Every few hours Nicholson would make the long, tiresome walk to the ridge’s summit and scrutinise the city, always planning, always assessing the damage that had been inflicted and wondering how long it would take to create the massive breaches in the walls that he would need if he were to get his infantry inside.
Standing at Nicholson’s side as the general plotted the city’s demise, Jack forced himself to be patient. The agony of waiting was now nearly unbearable, but as the stones fell and the masonry crumbled, he felt his hopes begin to rise. In a matter of days, the British would finally be in a position to assault the Mughal emperor’s capital and put an end to the rebellion that had torn the country apart.
Jack watched the British batteries as they fired. He was far enough away to be able to observe them in relative peace. Great jets of flame rippled down the lines, the flashes searing through the darkness as the cannon fired in ordered salvos. The hollow boom was followed quickly by the dull thump as the shot hit the walls of the city. It made for a mesmerising display, and Jack was quite captivated.
/> ‘Mr Lark. This way.’
Jack started. He had been staring at the guns for too long. The harsh whisper interrupted his thoughts and he forced his mind back to the task at hand.
The shadowy forms of the two lieutenants of engineers were moving away from him with surprising speed. With them went the ensign and his small detachment from the 60th Rifles. The last man in the small column had turned and called to the officer from the staff that Nicholson had insisted accompany the party.
‘You’ll be left behind if you ain’t careful, sir.’ The darkened face of the rearmost rifleman creased into a smile as he seized the opportunity to berate an officer.
It was close to midnight on the fifth day of the bombardment. This was the third time Jack had crept close to the walls of Delhi. The first had been with Hodson, on a reconnaissance not dissimilar to this one. The second had ended in the vicious fight that had led to the loss of the woman he had come to love.
The thought of Aamira made Jack’s head turn to the walls only a few hundred yards away. He was close to her now and the notion scratched at his mind. There was enough moonlight for him to see by, and he scanned the walls, the false hope that he would somehow spot a secret way in refusing to die away.
‘Careful, sir.’
A warning hand to his chest brought him up short. He saw the scowl on the face of the rifleman as the man wondered at the inept staff officer who had been forced upon them.
‘Fucking officers.’
Jack chose to ignore the whispered verdict and shook his head, trying to clear his mind and concentrate on the task at hand. ‘Where are the engineers?’ He asked the question aware that he should have known the answer himself.
‘Just up front, sir.’ The tone of the rifleman’s voice told Jack just how he was regarded. With an effort of will he forced all thoughts of Aamira from his mind.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Smithers.’ The rifleman spat as he gave his name.
Jack nodded, then pushed his way through the crouching column of men, keeping low so as not to alert the sentries on the wall. It did not take long to reach the officers who waited at the head of the column, the three anxious faces turning as one as he approached.
‘What are we waiting for?’ Jack did not know if he was the most senior officer, but he did not care. He had endured enough sneaking around.
‘We are assessing the breach.’ The blonde lieutenant from the 60th Rifles sounded as bored as Jack. The two shared a look of understanding. It was clear it was not the infantryman who was delaying proceedings.
‘Well?’ Jack asked the question of the two engineer officers, who were studying the breach through field glasses new enough for Jack to be able to smell the sheen of protective oil.
‘I cannot tell.’ Lang, the taller of the two, put down his glasses. ‘We are too far away.’
Jack did not care for the look of distaste that flickered across Lang’s proud features. ‘Well then, Lieutenant, we had better get you closer.’ He turned to face the rifle officer. ‘I will take six of your men. Make sure that Rifleman Smithers is among them.’ He gave his orders clearly.
The rifle lieutenant nodded his head in agreement, then turned away and began issuing his own commands in a harsh whisper.
‘What do you need to know?’ Jack snapped the question at Lang.
‘We need to measure the breach to ensure it is practical. And we must tell the general whether the men will need ladders to climb out of the ditch or to scale the breach.’ Lang swallowed hard as he answered.
‘And how do you propose to do that?’
‘We have this, sir.’ The younger of the two engineer officers, Lieutenant Medley, held up a thin rod marked out in feet and inches. It must have been close to the height of two men, and Medley’s face was flushed from having to carry it forward. ‘And we brought a ladder too. Just to be sure.’
Jack shook his head. Both officers had only arrived with the siege train. Neither had been sullied by the long siege.
‘Well then, gentlemen, we had better go take a look-see. Are your men ready?’ He addressed the question to the hard-faced rifle officer, who was failing to hide his amusement.
‘Sergeant Osmond. Are you ready?’
‘Sir.’ A squat man with the bright white chevrons of a sergeant answered. Jack looked the squad over, pleased to see the scowling face of Rifleman Smithers in its midst. Two of the men carried the engineers’ ladder.
‘Right. Let’s go.’ Jack did not wait. He moved forward into the darkness. The job of measuring the breaches had to be done. It was one of the last obstacles to be cleared before the final assault could be planned. He glanced once at the huge walls before focusing his attention on not losing his footing. He would see the job done properly. He would not allow the assault to be delayed.
‘Down you go, Lang, quietly now. Sergeant Osmond, give me Smithers and one other man and keep the rest here.’ Jack gave his orders, speaking softly now that they were barely two hundred yards from the breach the gunners had gouged in the wall. He had led the men up the glacis, the huge mound of earth that screened the lowest reaches of the wall, and to the very brink of the deep ditch that protected the Kashmir Bastion and would form a dreadful obstacle to the men who would be attacking the breach.
Lang slipped down into the ditch whilst Medley waited at the top.
‘Pass down the rod.’ The ditch was so deep, they could barely hear Lang. Medley set the long rod on the ground and slid it down into the darkness.
‘Got it.’
‘Very good. Right, let’s go.’ Jack followed the rod, sliding down into the depths. It was deeper than he’d thought, the drop at least sixteen feet, and he hit the bottom with a thump that jarred his bones. Muffled grunts and a single groan told him the rest of the small party had found the descent similarly painful. The sound of wood thudding into the thick layer of mud in the bottom of the ditch told him the ladder had made it too.
The ditch was not very wide, but the far bank was at least as high as the one they had just dropped down. Jack shuddered as he imagined what it would be like when the assault was unleashed, the enemy on the wall able to fire down into the depths. It would be a slaughter yard, the mushy ground beneath his feet certain to be swamped in a river of blood. But there was no other way to reach the breach, and so the British soldiers would simply have to endure and get to the other side, no matter how many of them were shot down.
‘I rather think the question of ladders is now answered.’ The high-pitched voice of Lieutenant Medley made the announcement to the groans of the two riflemen, whose feelings on the final stage of the night’s expedition were clear.
‘Be quiet.’ Jack snapped at the two men, who immediately fell silent. ‘Mr Medley,’ his tone was curt and sarcastic, ‘I suggest you keep your voice down and go and measure the damn breach.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Medley looked as if he were more terrified of the grim-faced staff officer who had been assigned to the party by General Nicholson himself than he was of the thousands of mutineers who waited just a few yards away. He bobbed his head once before he scurried to Lang’s side, his knuckles showing white as he gripped the unwieldy measuring pole.
‘Bring the ladder over here.’ Lang gave the order with some authority; Jack was impressed by his calm demeanour.
The two riflemen shared a look before lifting the ladder from the mud and hauling it to the opposite side of the ditch.
‘Smithers. You go up first.’ Jack had followed them over and now gave an order of his own, one that he expected to be obeyed.
‘Sir?’ Smithers looked like Jack was ordering him to feast on a turd.
‘You heard me. Next time you offer an opinion on an officer, make sure he doesn’t hear you.’
Smithers looked back at him with a mix of surprise and disgust. But there was no point in delaying. He slung his rifle round his shoulder before spitting once then wiping his muddy hands on the flanks of the trousers. With a final angry glance at
Jack, he took hold of the ladder and started to climb.
‘You stay here.’ Jack jabbed a finger at the other rifleman, who could not help but grin as he realised he was the luckier of the two men assigned to the three officers. ‘Lang. You next.’
It did not take long for Lang and Medley to join Smithers on the top of the ditch. Jack followed them. The sight that greeted him took his breath away. He had stood with Nicholson and watched as the siege guns hammered away at the walls, yet nothing he had witnessed prepared him for the destruction that he now saw.
The breach was huge. Vast mountains of broken stone stretched out in front of him, littering the ground in front of the wall. The slope of the breach itself had been pounded into dust so that it looked more like gritty sand than solid stone. Obstacles placed there by the rebels lay broken and torn amidst the ruins, the relentless British gunners pounding the breach even though the wall had fallen, keeping it clear and ready for the infantry who would be thrown against it.
‘Off you go, gentlemen. And I would look lively if I were you. I doubt the damn pandies will take kindly to us poking around here for long.’
The two lieutenants needed no urging. They scrambled forward, hunching low as if that would somehow screen their progress from the eyes of any sentries on the walls that still stood either side of the breach.
The engineer officers reached the bottom of the slope of rubble. It was crucial they measure the height of the final barrier to the assault. If the threshold was too high, the attacking columns would need more ladders just to reach the breach. If the gunners had done their job right, it would be low enough for the men to scramble up unaided. It was the last piece of detailed information the commanders needed to be able to order the assault.
Jack watched the two officers at work. He was impressed by their calm manner. They were either brave young men, or they had no idea how much danger they were in.
As he watched, Lang dropped the measuring rod and used his hands to haul himself up on to the slope. It was the final confirmation. The breach was practical.
The Lone Warrior Page 28