Cry Havelock

by Malcolm Archibald

  'They can have eighty thousand men and a hundred pieces of artillery,' Jack said more than he had intended. 'We have Havelock.'

  'There was a message from the Lucknow Residency as well,' Elliot said. 'They're running short of food, and the pandies are pressing them hard.'

  'They'll hold,' Jack said. 'They know we're coming.'

  Havelock waited until his whole force was across the Ganges, sent out mounted reconnaissance patrols and at five in the morning of the 21st began the advance.

  'Here we come, you pandy bastards,' Logan shouted. 'We're going to get you!' The men of the 113th gave a grim growl and marched on, boots firm on the wet surface of the Grand Trunk Road, faces fixed on the objective. They had not far to march before they met the Mutineers.

  'There they are already.' Elliot pointed ahead. 'They entrench well, the pandies.'

  Jack surveyed the rebels' latest defences as he had done so often before in this campaign. They had formed a powerful position on either side of the road. The Mutineers had anchored their right on Mangalwar village and in a walled enclosure at the side. Jack could see their heads, matchlocks and swords as they waited for Havelock's inevitable attack.

  'They don't give up, do they?' Elliot pointed to the breastworks at the centre and left of the Mutineer's line. The muzzles of half a dozen pieces of artillery menaced the British should they choose to advance along the road.

  'They're stubborn men; I'll grant you.' After witnessing the massacre at Gondabad and the aftermath of Cawnpore, Jack was reluctant to allow the Mutineers any respect, but there was no denying their resilience. After eight straight defeats by Havelock, here they were again, ready to face the general a ninth time.

  'They'll be dead men soon,' Elliot said grimly.

  The deep boom of the British heavy artillery started this next contest between Havelock and the Mutineers.

  'Cry Havelock!' Elliot shouted, and the officers and men of the 113th finished their slogan. 'And let loose the dogs of war.'

  In this case, the dogs of war were the skirmishers of the 5th Fusiliers who dashed forward in open formation, heads down against the driving rain and boots raising muddy splashes with every step. The veterans of the previous campaigns watched, ready to criticise the performance of this fresh regiment.

  'There goes the cavalry!' Elliot said as General Outram led them in a slashing charge on the enemy flank. 'Outram should have had the command you know, but he allowed Havelock to take charge.'

  'He knows Havelock has the measure of the Mutineers,' Jack said.

  With the 5th Fusiliers in front and the cavalry on the flanks, the rebels retreated once more.

  'They're running,' Elliot said. 'They just can't stand against Holy Havelock.'

  With the 113th having never fired a shot the British advanced. The column passed the dead bodies of scores of Mutineers and moved remorselessly forward toward Lucknow. Leaving the artillerymen to deal with the brace of cannon they captured, they pushed the enemy before them as far as Unao where they halted to eat and reform before marching on again.

  'Up the old familiar road,' Elliot said.

  'For the last time,' Prentice said. 'We won't stop this time! On to Lucknow!'

  With any Mutineers melting away before them, the British reached Bashiratgunj, scene of three previous victories.

  'Will they fight or will they run?' Elliot removed his forage cap, poured off the collected rain-water and replaced it.

  'I hope they fight.' Jack glanced around. 'I'd like one proper battle rather than all these silly little skirmishes. I'd like the Mutineers to stand and fight so that we can batter them to pieces. Then we will relieve Lucknow and be a huge step closer to putting this mutiny down.'

  'There's nobody here,' Elliot said. 'Not even a token force.'

  As the rain continued to torment them, they camped on the old battlefield with all its memories.

  'Who told me India was always hot and dry?' Thorpe asked.

  'Somebody who has never been here.' Coleman gave the stock reply. 'Never mind Thorpey; here come the supply waggons; you can get out of the wet rain into a wet tent instead.'

  The rain continued on the 22nd, thundering down on Havelock's column as the British advanced unopposed.

  'Where are they?' Thorpe looked around. 'If I was a pandy trying to stop us I'd be setting ambushes all along this road.'

  'If you was a pandy, Thorpey, the rest would throw in their hand and give up,' Coleman said. 'Maybe that's what we should do then; let you join the Mutineers. They'd laugh so hard at the thought of you being a soldier they'd be helpless, and we'll win the war and get out of this bloody rain!' He faced upward and shouted the last two words; possibly hoping God would take heed and order the deluge to end.

  Thorpe looked confused. 'But Coley, I'm British. They'd see I wasn't a native right away!'

  'We'll paint you black first,' Parker joined in. 'Then you'd look like a real pandy.'

  'No,' Thorpe said. 'I'm not doing it. I'm not joining the pandy army. What would Captain Windrush say?'

  'You'd get another medal if you did,' Coleman said. 'And shot if you didn't. I heard the Priest say you was to go away tomorrow to join the pandies.'

  'That's right,' Williams agreed. 'I heard him say so.'

  'I heard him too,' Whitelam said slowly. 'Old Thorpey's to join the pandies, the Priest said and right quick too; else he'll be hanged at dawn.'

  Five paces in front, Jack wondered who the Priest might be. He looked ahead; they were nearing the bridge over the Sai, and intelligence had reported that the Mutineers had built earthworks on the further bank. He watched as a troop of cavalry galloped forward to investigate.

  'The pandies have left,' they reported. 'And the bridge is intact.'

  'Bloody amateurs,' Prentice said. 'They should have blown the bridge.'

  'Don't argue,' Elliot said. 'If the Lord offers his hand, we should just accept it.'

  Wary of ambush, Havelock's men marched over the high bridge and passed the two empty half-moon batteries on the far side. 'They could have held this bridge for some time,' Jack said. 'Havelock has them panicking now.'

  'Maybe they're saving their manpower to defend Lucknow,' Elliot said.

  'Maybe they are,' Jack wondered if he may yet see the final decisive battle: Nana Sahib's Waterloo.

  They camped on the road, with Havelock firing all his cannon as a signal to the besieged garrison at Lucknow that the relief column was on its way. The gunfire seemed strangely futile in this vast land, achieving nothing except the expenditure of powder and a temporary noise whose echoes soon faded away. Only the murmur of soldiers remained, and the steady patter of the rain.

  Elliot produced his silver flask. 'How much longer, Jack?' After the previous attempt to reach Lucknow when the Mutineers contested every village and river crossing, this march seemed more like a procession.

  'Only God knows, Arthur, and maybe Havelock, if God has let him into the secret.' Jack sighed. 'You're duty officer tonight, Elliot. Wake me if anything happens.' He knew he would hardly sleep, but had to appear like a man in total command of his nerves.

  India pressed down on them, swallowing the column in its immensity and dwarfing them with its size, scale and history. They marched on, boots tramping, men falling to the heat and disease, intent on relieving the garrison and not caring much about the bigger picture. It was their duty to obey orders and being soldiers, that is what they did.

  Elliot glanced at his watch. 'It's quarter to nine in the morning, and already I'm sweating like a pig. At least the rain has stopped.'

  'Listen,' Jack touched Elliot's shoulder. 'What can you hear?'

  'Three thousand men marching and the tide of history turning in our favour,' Elliot said glibly.

  'Nothing.' Jack said. 'For the last days, we've heard the Mutineer artillery pounding at the Residency at Lucknow. Now the guns are silent.'

  'What does that mean?' Elliot asked. 'Do you think the Residency has fallen? Have the pandies won? Or hav
e they given up and fled before we get to them?'

  Jack grunted. 'I don't know, Elliot, but it may mean the Mutineers are moving their guns to defend Lucknow against us.'

  'They'll need more than artillery to defeat Havelock,' Elliot said confidently. 'He's got their measure and no mistake.'

  'We're only sixteen miles to Lucknow, and there's not a Mutineer in sight,' Jack said. 'They should be harassing us with their cavalry, placing ambushes wherever they can, hitting the supply column. They're brave men, no doubt, but their leaders are inexperienced.'

  'Thank the Lord for small mercies,' Elliot said. 'With their numbers and training, they should wipe us out.'

  They marched on, tense, waiting for an attack, suspicious of every noise, every village and every copse of trees. Only their anger at the outrages committed on their womenfolk, their belief in their professional superiority and their faith in Havelock kept their morale high.

  'How many pandies are there now, do you think?' Elliot asked. 'Ten thousand, twenty thousand, thirty?'

  'We'll soon see,' Jack said. 'Here comes our cavalry.'

  The news spread through the column. The Mutineers were making a stand at Alambagh about four miles south of Lucknow.

  'Finally,' Jack said. 'Let's hope they don't run this time.'

  'Oh, you bloodthirsty thing,' Elliot began, saw the expression on Jack's face and altered what he was going to say. 'The Alambagh is a palace and garden called the Garden of the World,' he said quietly. 'It was the pleasure garden of the rulers of Oudh. What a place for a battle.'

  Remembering the Windrush pride in their family estate of Wychwood Manor, Jack surveyed the high walls and angle-turrets of the Alambagh, recognising the wealth and pride of the owner. His family would be envious of the size and scale of this place, which gunfire and the shattered bodies of brave men would soon disfigure.

  The Mutineers had anchored the left of their line on the Alambagh and manned another two miles of fortified positions in the shelter of a range of small hills. 'They have ten thousand infantry there,' Elliot always knew what was happening. 'Three times our number and they have fifteen hundred of the most skilled cavalry in the world, as well as parks of artillery.'

  Jack felt for his cheroot, cursed quietly and nodded. 'So far we've had some pointless skirmishes when the rebels have not stood. Perhaps this time we'll give them a proper towelling.'

  'Do you want to kill them, Jack?'

  'I want to end this war,' Jack said. 'And the quickest way is to defeat the enemy. Please, God, it's over soon.'

  'This is our duty, Jack,' Elliot said. 'We chose it.'

  'I know,' Jack said softly.

  Once again, Havelock attacked the enemy flank, pounding the Mutineers' positions with his heavy artillery as he sent Colonel Hamilton with a brigade around the enemy's right.

  'Where are we going?' Thorpe asked as the 113th marched nearly parallel with the Mutineers' positions.

  'The pandies have put a swamp in front of their flank,' Coleman explained with surprising patience. 'So we either wade through it and get slowed down and drown, or we march round.'

  'Oh,' Thorpe said. 'That's smart of them making a swamp.' He ducked as a Mutineer cannonball screamed a few feet overhead. 'They're firing at us now.'

  'So they are, Thorpey-boy.' Parker said. 'You would almost think we are enemies.'

  'We are enemies,' Thorpe said. 'Aren't we?'

  'Not at all,' Parker said. 'This is just a field day.'

  'You're joking,' Thorpe said. 'Eh, we're enemies, Sergeant?'

  O'Neill nodded. 'I'll be your bloody enemy unless you stop talking and get marching, Thorpe. The noise you're making it's a wonder the general can hear himself think.'

  'It's they cannon making all the noise, not me,' Thorpe grumbled.

  In the centre of the rebel position, the rebel artillery smashed their shots into the marching British.

  'They're good shots, them pandy boys.' Williams gave grudging praise.

  'Not for much longer.' Riley winced as a roundshot ploughed into the 90th Foot, killing three men. 'Our guns are at them now.'

  With a heavy battery in the British centre and lighter guns supporting the flank march on the right, the Mutineers were soon under sustained fire. As they marched, the 113th watched the artillery duel between British and rebel gunners with professional interest. One by one the Mutineers' guns fell silent, with their crews dead or dying all around.

  'Thank God,' Elliot said. 'I don't like marching under fire.'

  'If I was the Mutineer commander,' Jack looked behind him at the long column of British infantry threading around the swamp. 'I'd send out my cavalry now. What a target: thousands of men out of formation. They could roll us up and end this campaign in half an hour.'

  Either the gunners or Havelock must have had the same idea for once the Mutineers' artillery was silenced the British guns concentrated on the opposing cavalry.

  'Good shooting,' O'Neill enthused as the Mutineers' cavalry shredded and fled. 'Shabash the gunners!'

  'Shabash!' Parker said. 'Now there's a good name for my dog. Shabash. Thanks, Sergeant!'

  With the enemy cavalry running, the British artillery altered their target to the infantry, pounding the centre and left of the rebel line. Not used to being hammered by heavy guns, the Mutineer infantry broke. A stream of running men covered the ground.

  'They're beaten,' Elliot said. 'And we did not have to fire a single shot.'

  'They're not all running,' Jack said. 'The Alambagh is holding out.'

  Despite losing much of their army, those Mutineers who were behind the walls of the Alambagh proved their defiance by opening fire. A cannon ball screamed into the British right, followed by another, with dirty white smoke drifting across the walls.

  'They won't hold for long if the Fusiliers have anything to do with it,' Elliot said, 'and the Sawnies are there as well.' He gave a mirthless chuckle. 'Now there's a combination the pandies won't like to meet!'

  In a long line of bayonets, the 5th Fusiliers stormed the walls as the 78th smashed through the main gate into the pleasure garden to attack the guns from the rear.

  'Shall we join them, sir?' Coleman asked hopefully.

  'Stand fast and wait for orders,' Jack snarled. 'This isn't a Burmese donnybrook.'

  The 113th could only watch as the Madras Fusiliers followed the 78th into the Alambagh. Attacked front and rear, the rebel survivors left the walls and retreated into the garden with the British chasing.

  'That was a smart piece of work,' Elliot snapped shut the lid of his watch. 'Ten minutes flat to clear the Alambagh walls; so much for Nana Sahib's defence of Lucknow. At this rate, we'll be in the Residency before you can say, Jack Robinson.'

  Outside the Alambagh, the British cavalry pursued the fleeing Mutineers into the outskirts of Lucknow, where the confusion of buildings slowed them down. Within half an hour General Outram galloped past and spoke urgently to Havelock.

  'Aye, aye,' Elliot said. 'Something's happening.'

  'Gather round,' the words circulated. 'The general wants to talk to us.'

  General Outram sat on his horse, viewing his men with a broad smile on his face and nothing protecting his head from the now-fierce sun. 'Delhi has fallen; spread the good news. We've taken Delhi from the rebels.'

  The cheer started slowly and increased to a volume Jack had not heard since the campaign started. Elliot grabbed his hand and shook it enthusiastically. 'We've beaten them here, and we've taken Delhi! Can you believe it? That's where the pandies hoped to rebuild the old Moghul Empire; the nerve centre of the rebellion.'

  Jack nodded. 'We'll see,' he said. He thought of the massacre at Gondabad and the horror of the well at Cawnpore. He cared less about Bahadur Shah Zafar and his attempt at becoming Emperor, and much more about Sarvur Khan. Why? Was one murderer worse than another? Was it because Khan had helped massacre a company of the 113th? Or because of the child that Sarvur Khan threw into the burning building?

  Jack
shook his head. No; it was because of the dream where Sarvur Khan's face tormented him. He knew he would meet the Pathan again and must kill him before something even more terrible happened. He did not understand what, or why; he only knew the two of them were somehow bound together.

  'We should relieve the Residency tomorrow.' Elliot said.

  'Aye,' Jack said. 'We should. God and the devil willing.'

  After chasing the rebels into the suburbs of Lucknow, the British cavalry faced stiff opposition at the Charbagh Bridge and had to withdraw with some casualties.

  'It's not finished yet,' Jack said. 'If the Mutineers decided to defend the city, street by street, there will be bloody fighting before we reach the Residency.' He took a deep breath. 'This battle, yet alone the war, is not won yet.'

  Chapter Fifteen

  As the British army waited on the outskirts of Lucknow, the rain had eased off for the first time in days, allowing a window of sunshine and a chance to view the city. With his men secure and already fed, Jack checked the chambers of his revolver, felt for a cheroot and again cursed as he remembered he had none left.

  'It's a city of palaces,' Jack stood behind the wall of the Alambagh and traced Lucknow through binoculars he had found abandoned beside the rebel artillery. 'It must have been wonderful before this idiot war started.'

  'It was the capital of the state,' Mary was at his side, holding her hat to prevent the slight breeze from tipping it onto the garden below. 'And it is full of palaces, mosques, temples and other public buildings.'

  'I've never seen anywhere quite like it,' Jack said, 'except perhaps Valetta in Malta.'

  'You'll have to tell me about Valetta some time,' Mary said. 'And all the other places you've visited.'

  Some time? That was rather vague but also exciting.

  'See the building there, near the river?' Mary pointed. 'That's the Chuttur Munzil, the old palace. And there,' she pointed further away across the rooftops. 'That's the Kaisarbagh, the new palace.'

  'Jack nodded. 'Two palaces eh? These princes knew how to take care of themselves while their subjects lived in squalor.'

  'I know.' Mary said quietly. 'Unlike back home, where the queen shares her palaces with the poor.'