Phillip found his guns and waggons held up and, in an attempt to curb his party’s impatience, told Devereux to initiate some singing. The seamen, who were in the habit of thus enlivening the tedium of long marches, joined in with enthusiasm, roaring the chorus of their favourite Rifle Brigade March, “I’m Ninety-Five,” with unrestrained gusto, which brought up the lolling heads of the detachments to their front and rear. Some of the older soldiers joined in and, to the accompaniment of a drummer and two fifers of the 88th, other regimental tunes and even a Christmas carol were added to the bluejackets’ repertoire. Morale had improved noticably when an ensign of the 34th, acting as aide-de-camp, cantered back with an order from Colonel Cockayne that the singing was to cease.
“We are about to leave the road,” he announced self-importantly. “And the Colonel does not consider it desirable that hostile villagers should receive warning of our approach.”
From the ranks of the 88th immediately to his rear, Phillip heard a defiant Irish voice raised in protest. The protest was blasphemous but good humoured, and a more experienced officer would either have ignored it or replied in kind. The plump faced young ensign, however, rounded on the culprit furiously. “Place that man under arrest!” he commanded. “I’m charging him with insubordination!”
He put spurs to his horse and trotted off before the detachment commander could remonstrate with him, a few derisive cheers speeding him on his way. “Sir”—Midshipman Lightfoot kneed his bony countrybred to Phillip’s side—“I know that fellow … he was at school with me. His name’s Highgate, Benjamin Highgate. We used to call him ‘Bulgy Benjy,’ sir.”
“Did you now?” Phillip eyed him gravely, controlling an impulse to smile at the appropriateness of the schoolboy nickname. “It’s a pity they didn’t teach him better manners at your seat of learning, Mr Lightfoot.”
“Oh, he was kicked out, sir,” Lightfoot returned, with conscious smugness. He grinned. “For bullying. He doesn’t seem to have changed much—but I’m surprised he’s only an ensign. His father’s in trade, sir, and disgustingly rich. I’m sure he could have afforded to buy Benjy a Captain’s commission if he’d wanted to.”
“Perhaps it is just as well he didn’t,” Phillip said. He was reminded briefly of Captain Lord Henry Durbanville and felt his throat tighten at the memory. It was a long time since he had thought of that strange young man but undoubtedly the resemblance was there, and he found himself hoping that someone would have the opportunity to cut Ensign Highgate down to size before he did any serious harm.
The sun went down and, as the march continued over rough, open country and no halt was called, more and more young soldiers fell by the wayside. Even some of the veterans were grumbling now and not a few of them were limping; the laden waggons could take no more of the stragglers and those who had collapsed had to be assisted by their comrades. Discarded equipment littered the ground and Phillip ordered his seamen to pick up as much as they could but, with his limbers piled high and the weary gun-cattle swaying in their traces, the rear of the convoy came virtually to a standstill. Petty Officer Devereux reported two of the bullocks down in front of the leading gun and Phillip, left with no choice but to delay the column, told him to replace both teams with the only slightly less jaded reserve animals. Predictably, while this was being done, Ensign Highgate came cantering back to ascertain the cause of the delay.
“I am to inform all commanding officers of detachments,” he stated, pulling up midway between the naval party and that of the 88th, and shouting to make himself heard, “that any man who abandons his rifle in enemy territory is to be put on a charge and will receive 25 lashes before the march is resumed tomorrow morning!”
Phillip, his temper already strained, felt a choking anger rise in his throat as the significance of this announcement slowly sank in. Native troops could not be flogged for any misdemeanour, he was aware, but British soldiers—and seamen— were still subject to such punishment although, in practice, floggings were seldom ordered for any but major military crimes. To threaten young soldiers with it, when they had been compelled to make a forced march without adequate training, smacked of sadism or worse. Ensign Highgate, as a mere messenger, could scarcely be blamed for issuing the threat but … his tone curt, he called the boy to him.
“What did you say?” he demanded.
The plump young ensign eyed him insolently. He repeated his announcement word for word and was about to add to it when Phillip cut him short.
“Presumably Colonel Cockayne gave you that order, Mr Highgate?”
“Of course he did. I am his aide-de-camp and the Colonel sent me to—”
“To deliver it to each detachment commander in person, not to shout it aloud?”
“Well, I …” the boy reddened. “The Colonel said that the men should know that they would be punished if they continued to behave in such an unsoldierly fashion, and I thought … that is, I supposed—”
“Clearly you have not carried out the duties of an aide-de-camp before,” Phillip said coldly. He outlined these in brusque detail, conscious of Midshipman Lightfoot’s delighted grin as he did so. “You have no authority of your own to issue orders. When conveying an order from the Column Commander, you should state from whom it has come, giving to the officer for whom it is intended the respect to which his rank entitles him.”
“I don’t understand,” Highgate blustered, still very pink of face. “I have shown no disrespect, sir, I—”
“Have you not?” Phillip snapped. “I am a Commander in the Royal Navy, Mr Highgate, and that is the first time you have seen fit to address me—correctly—as ‘sir’.”
“I beg your pardon, sir,” the ensign said, with some show of contrition. He, too, had now seen Lightfoot’s amusement and had evidently recognised his one-time schoolfellow. “I— er—that is, Commander Hazard, sir, I have an order for you from—er—from Colonel Cockayne.”
“Anticipating that order, Mr Highgate,” Phillip put in, “perhaps you will be so good as to return to Colonel Cockayne at once. Inform him, if you please, that my gun-cattle are exhausted. When I have yoked up fresh teams, I will endeavour to close the column but I fear it will be dark before I can do so. Where does the Colonel intend to make camp, do you know?”
“He—er—two miles on, sir, I believe.”
“Very well. Deliver my message to the Colonel, if you please.”
Young Highgate rode off obediently, pausing to salute before putting his horse to a canter. The short respite enabled the men of the rearguard to recover and, although it was, as Phillip had anticipated, quite dark before the guns and the rear of the column reached the camp site, they came in in good order, each man marching with shouldered rifle. Colonel Cockayne was not in evidence and Phillip, having parked his guns and ammunition waggons and posted guards, decided against approaching him. He ate a belated evening meal and wrapped himself in his cloak against the night chill, preparatory to getting what sleep he could on the iron-hard ground but scarcely had he lain down than Petty Officer Devereux was shaking him apologetically back to wakefulness.
“It’s the Colonel, sir—he wants to have a word wiv’ you, sir.”
“Very good.” Controlling his annoyance, Phillip got to his feet and strode over to where Colonel Cockayne was standing, warming himself beside the glowing embers of the naval party’s cooking fire. His face was in shadow but it was evident, from the curtness of his greeting that he, too, was annoyed.
“You wish to see me, sir?” Phillip said, refusing to be provoked. He moved away from the fire, out of earshot of his men. The Colonel followed him, bristling.
“Yes … I’m given to understand that you expressed disapproval of an order I issued to detachment commanders, concerning punishment for men who abandoned their rifles on the march?”
Phillip shook his head. “I expressed no disapproval of the order, Colonel—only of the manner in which it was conveyed by your aide-de-camp. Ensign Highgate chose to shout it within hearing of
my bluejackets, instead of delivering it to me, as he should have done. Taking it that he was inexperienced in his duties, I pointed out to him how an order should be delivered.”
“Damme, Commander Hazard, you sent the boy back with a deuced insubordinate answer!” Cockayne accused.
Phillip repeated his headshake. “My message was simply a statement of fact, sir. Possibly due to his inexperience, Ensign Highgate may have delivered it to you in an insubordinate manner. All I intended him to do was to inform you of the state of my gun-cattle and the fact that, until I had yoked reserve teams, I could not continue the march. I—”
“You implied criticism of the length of the march, Commander.”
“I implied only that I could not haul guns with worn-out beasts, sir. That is a regrettable fact, which it was my duty to report to you, since the rear of the column was delayed in consequence.” Somehow, Phillip managed to contain his rising anger. Catching the strong smell of alcohol on Cockayne’s breath, he added quickly, “If that’s all, Colonel, I’d like to get some sleep. I presume that we shall march out at first light and that your decision not to hold Divine Service still stands?”
“Your presumption is correct,” the Colonel confirmed. “Although so many officers have requested it, that I’ve agreed to say a general prayer before we move out. But that,” he added vehemently, “will be after we have made an example of four of those miserable specimens who lost their rifles in spite of my warning. I’ve been given scum, not fighting men, Hazard— boys who have never heard a shot fired by the enemy. But I’ll make them fight, never fear.”
Phillip recoiled. “By flogging them—on Christmas Day, sir? Surely that will only serve to—”
Cockayne did not allow him to finish. “Yes, by flogging them, if I have to, to serve as an example to the rest. Damme, sir, do you question my right to punish them—on Christmas or any other day?”
“No, not your right, sir. Rather the wisdom of adopting such measures with unseasoned troops.”
Phillip had been at pains to speak reasonably but the Colonel brushed his arguments aside as if he had not heard them. “By noon tomorrow we shall be in striking distance of the village of Betarwar. It’s walled and loopholed, as they all are, with watch-towers and a wet ditch running round it. I’ll want you to bombard the place with your rockets, to soften it up and, if possible, set it on fire before we go in with the infantry. Your guns will have to move faster than they did today, Hazard, and—”
“But, Colonel …” Phillip was shocked out of his self-imposed caution. “I understood that we were to regard the relief of the Ghorabad garrison as a matter of extreme urgency. If we waste time attacking rebel villages along the route, will that not increase the danger to the Ghorabad people? We shall lose half a day, at least, and risk losing men, when we can illafford to lose either.” He would have said more, thinking bitterly of the fate of General Wheeler’s garrison at Cawnpore, but Cockayne waved him impatiently to silence.
“The safety of the Ghorabad garrison is of as much concern to me as to any man in this column,” he pointed out coldly, “since my wife and daughter are among them.”
“I know that, sir. It was simply that I—”
“I am in command, Hazard, and I am not bound to explain my orders or my decisions to you. But”—the Colonel shrugged and again Phillip caught the whiff of spirits on his breath—“I shall do so on this occasion, since you appear to doubt their wisdom. These unseasoned troops of ours will have to be bloodied and taught to fight … well, they shall learn their first lesson tomorrow and victory will give them heart. At Ghorabad, they will have to face five or six thousand rebels, including Company mutineers—but at Betarwar only a few hundred zamindari warriors with flintlocks will oppose them, so that victory is assured. Oh”—as Phillip bit back an exclamation—“do not let that trouble your conscience, Commander. Betarwar is a hot-bed of treason, as I have very good cause to know … and the chief of this area is a brother of Abdul Ruza. A blow struck against him is also a blow against the Newab who, when he hears of it, may well be tempted to lead a force to avenge his brother. If he does, we shall meet him in open country instead of behind fortified walls, which will be to our advantage. Even if he fails to do so, his brother’s fate will undoubtedly give him pause and—”
“His brother’s fate, sir?” Phillip put in. “What exactly do you mean to do to the Newab’s brother?”
“I shall hang him,” the Colonel answered, without hesitation. “Together with the other budmashes of his village, all of whom are known to me and all of whom richly deserve to die for their treachery. Well …” he was smiling now, his temper completely restored. “I’ve given you my reasons, Commander Hazard, and I shall count on your co-operation. We will move off at first light and I shall require your guns in position for the attack on Betarwar by noon. That’s all, I think … goodnight.”
Phillip returned to his out-spread cloak. He was tired but for some considerable time, sleep eluded him. There was, he was forced to concede, a certain logic in Colonel Cockayne’s decision to attack the rebel village before proceeding to Ghorabad. An easy victory for the young soldiers would undoubtedly improve their morale, give them the confidence in their fighting abilities which they lacked but … He sighed. There was something more behind the decision, he was convinced, although as yet he could not have said precisely what it was. A personal element, perhaps, on Cockayne’s part—the thinly concealed desire for personal vengeance? There had been an odd note in his voice when he had spoken of Betarwar as “a hot-bed of treason” and … what else had he said? “As I have very good cause to know …” Surely that suggested a personal motive for launching a punitive raid on the village, rather than an altruistic one?
Phillip was tempted to seek out George Crawford, in the hope of setting his mind at rest but then decided against it. There was little enough of the night left now for sleep—his questions would have to wait until morning.
The bugles sounded reveille only a few minutes, it seemed, after he had fallen asleep. He rose, shaved, and washed after a fashion and then heard the call for assembly, which was followed by the twitter of Devereux’s boatswain’s pipe. “Hands to witness punishment!” the petty officer bawled. “All hands lay—” Phillip interrupted him.
“Who gave that order?” he demanded.
“Frenchie” Devereux met his gaze blankly. “The Colonel’s aidey-camp, sir,” he answered, his voice as expressionless as his weatherbeaten face. “I thought as ’ow you knew about it, sir, seein’ as the Colonel was talkin’ to you las’ night. There’s four poor sodger-boys gettin’ the cat for lettin’ their bandooks— their rifles, I mean, sir—go adrift. The aidey-camp said as we was to muster wi’ the sodgers and, you bein’ still asleep, sir, I sounded the call.”
So Cockayne’s threat had been no idle one, Phillip thought savagely, and very little time had been wasted on any drumhead courts martial—whatever trial the men had been subjected to must have taken place before the reveille or, perhaps, the previous evening. “Very well,” he acknowledged, realising that Devereux was still waiting for his answer. “Carry on, Chief.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Petty Officer Devereux repeated the pipe. The bluejackets mustered and were marched off by Midshipman Lightfoot to form up on the left side of a hollow square facing a four-wheeled baggage-waggon, beside which Colonel Cockayne stood waiting, arms folded across his broad, white-clad chest. In the half-light of early morning, his face was impassive and he displayed no emotion when, the surgeon’s cursory examination completed, the four prisoners, clad only in shirts and trousers, were marched forward under escort to hear their sentences read.
All four were young, Phillip saw, their backs—when the shirts were removed—white and unmarked. Although clearly apprehensive, they stood stiffly to attention and each, in turn, took his 25 lashes in stoical silence. Cut free from the waggon wheel by one of the drummers who had administered the flogging, the last of the four slid unconscious to the ground, b
ut the other three were able to resume their shirts and their scarlet jackets without assistance and march back to the ranks of their own regiments, apparently without having suffered any serious ill-effects.
The Colonel, true, at least, to his promise, read a short prayer. Then the bugles sounded and immediately afterwards, formed up in line of march, the column set off across flat, cultivated country, with a cavalry screen spread out in front of the leading infantry detachment. They proceeded in an easterly direction, their plodding feet raising a thick cloud of choking dust from the narrow, rutted cart-track they were following.
A short halt was called at sunrise, sufficient only for the hasty consumption of uncooked rations, but word of the impending attack had leaked out and there was little grumbling on this account, the young soldiers seemingly eager to face their baptism of fire. The advance continued and although from time to time a Sikh cavalry sowar rode back to report, the countryside appeared to be deserted and entirely devoid of menace.
The village of Betarwar was sighted a little before noon and George Crawford rode forward with a cavalry escort to reconnoitre. While the rest of the column enjoyed a welcome respite Phillip, in response to an order from Colonel Cockayne, brought his guns and the rocket-tube into position under the cover of a tope of mango trees. The village was very much as the Colonel had described it and, subjecting its loopholed walls to a careful inspection with his Dollond, Phillip saw that they were manned by, perhaps, a hundred armed villagers, the muzzles of their long-barrelled flintlock muskets clearly visible through the loopholes. The fields in the immediate vicinity—under stubble and offering no cover—were empty, even of domestic animals. The inhabitants of Betarwar had evidently seen the cavalry skirmishers a considerable time ago and taken refuge behind their defensive walls, with their beasts and … there would be women and children among them. Phillip lowered his Dollond and glanced enquiringly at Colonel Cockayne.
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