Escape from Hell

by Stuart, V. A.

  “Yes,” Phillip agreed, remembering. “Aboard every ship of the Fleet. But we’re under military command, Devereux and—”

  “Some command, sir, if you’ll pardon the liberty,” Devereux put in resentfully. He, too, lowered his voice as he went on, “Oates says as they raped some o’ the wimmin back there an’ then burnt ’em alive in the huts. Like animals, sir, not British sodgers. But they was egged on, Oates says.”

  Oates was a long-serving able-seaman, Phillip recalled, whom William Peel had disrated from petty officer for insubordination and drunkenness on the voyage up river from Calcutta. He was better educated than the majority and the men listened to him … “Oates wasn’t there, was he?” he asked.

  “Oh, no, sir,” Petty Officer Devereux denied. “But ’e’s bin talkin’ to some o’ the sodgers. ’E says they was allowed to break open chatties o’ that there arrack an’ drink as much as they could hold when they went into the village. An’ you know what Oates is about drinkin’ ever since Captain Peel took ’is rate off ’im, sir. Fanatical ’e is, why—”

  “Yes, I know, Chief. I’ll have a word with him before we make camp.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.” Devereux knocked out his pipe, and, after a searching glance at Phillip’s face, managed a grin. “No call ter let our lads get down ’earted, though, is there, sir? Will we gie ’em ‘Shenandoah’ an’ a chorus or two o’ ‘Way Down Rio’ to perk their spirits up?”

  “Yes, by all means,” Phillip assented with relief. “Carry on, Chief.”

  His own spirits remained low, however, despite the lustily rendered choruses, and they reached their lowest ebb when the column made camp at dusk and George Crawford sought him out. “Well?” he asked anxiously. “Did you tell Colonel Cockayne that his Ghorabad garrison may have surrendered to the Newab?”

  “Yes, I told him.” There was an edge to George Crawford’s voice and his dark eyes held an angry glint. “He pooh-poohed the mere suggestion—insists that his intelligence reports confirm that the fort is still in British hands.”

  “Intelligence reports? Where’s he getting them from?”

  “I don’t know—he doesn’t confide in me, simply says he’s getting them. I can only suppose the Punjab Horse collect them.”

  “They could be correct, I suppose,” Phillip said, without conviction. “But surely, as DAQ you—”

  “I am no longer serving in that capacity,” Crawford put in wearily. “My loyalty is in question, Hazard, so I’ve been relieved of my duties.”

  “Relieved of your duties?” Phillip stared at him in disbelief. “Your loyalty in question, for God’s sake! Did you tell him all that blasted talukdar said at his trial? Surely you didn’t mention the personal accusations he made, did you?”

  Crawford shook his head. “No, no—I took your advice. But I could not, in all conscience, endorse the Colonel’s proposed plan of action, Hazard … either as a soldier or as a man. And that, it seems, constitutes disloyalty. If I hadn’t left him when I did, I believe he would have had me placed under arrest.”

  “Dear heaven, has he taken leave of his senses? Or … dammit, was he drunk?”

  George Crawford shrugged despondently. “No, he was perfectly sober. As to his sanity, I honestly don’t know. But this I can tell you …” He hesitated and then burst out explosively, “he informed me that he intends to employ the same tactics as he used today—burning villages and putting their wretched inhabitants to death, laying waste to the countryside all the way to Ghorabad—in the belief that he can thereby induce the Newab to come out and fight him!”

  “I see.” Phillip was conscious of a sick sensation in the pit of his stomach. The implications were clear, he thought grimly but, in view of George Crawford’s personal involvement he, too, hesitated for a moment before putting his thoughts into words. Finally he said, at pains to keep his voice steady, “But if he does that and the garrison are being held as hostages, he’ll be placing their lives in even greater jeopardy, will he not? Another day of ruthless, indiscriminate slaughter such as we had today would be more likely to induce the Newab to order their execution than to spare them—whether or not he comes out to fight.”

  “Precisely,” Crawford was making a valiant effort to keep his feelings under control. “And I tried to tell Colonel Cockayne so—I begged him to make certain that the garrison are still holding out before committing himself. I even volunteered to lead a small party of cavalry to the outskirts of Ghorabad— now, tonight, so as to resolve all doubts, but he wouldn’t listen. It was then that he relieved me of my duties. He … in God’s name, Hazard, you’ll have to do something! In the name of humanity you must—I’ve done all I can. Those poor, unfortunate people must be saved if it’s humanly possible—we cannot have another Cawnpore!”

  His face was a white, stricken mask in the dim light and Phillip studied it with deep concern before replying to his appeal, aware of the mental torment the older man was enduring but striving, in spite of this, to assess the situation dispassionately. All his earlier doubts regarding Colonel Cockayne’s motives had returned full force to plague him but … Cockayne was in command. It was not for any subordinate officer to question his orders, as the Colonel himself had made abundantly clear. He did not act without careful thought; that, too, he had made clear, and his information as to the present state of affairs in Ghorabad—however it had been obtained—was probably more reliable than the claims of a dead talukdar who, watching his village burn, might well have lied in bitterness and malice.

  “Hazard, you are next in seniority to Cockayne,” Crawford pointed out. “He’s a Lieutenant-Colonel, so your rank is equivalent to his, is it not?”

  “Yes,” Phillip conceded unwillingly. “But what of it? Mine is a naval rank—I’m not permitted to interfere with the military command in a mixed force and in this I—”

  “But your Captain Peel assumed command of a mixed force at Kudjwa, surely?”

  “Only because the military commander was killed and the greater portion of the force consisted of the Shannon’s seamen and Marines. There’s no precedent for it.” They were treading on dangerous ground, Phillip thought uneasily. George Crawford was over-wrought, carried away by the force of his own emotions … understandably so, since the girl he loved was in Ghorabad and he was beside himself with anxiety on her account. He laid a sympathetic hand on the other’s arm. “My dear fellow, you know I’ll do anything that lies within my power—” he began and then, sensing that his companion expected more than platitudes and vague promises, added quickly, “I doubt whether Colonel Cockayne will listen to me either but, if you wish, I’ll try to talk to him. I might at least be able to ascertain the source of his intelligence reports, assess their reliability and—”

  “I fear you’ll have to do more than talk,” Crawford warned. “But if you could even prevail on him to hold his hand until we are quite certain that the Ghorabad garrison have not surrendered, it would be an immense weight off my mind. I’m still more than willing to take a reconnaissance party there so as to make certain—tell him that, will you please? And go to him now, Hazard, I beg you. He can hardly relieve you of your duties.”

  “Now—before he’s eaten? Would it not be wiser to wait until he’s had time to cool down?” Phillip sighed ruefully. “If he’s still in a towering rage when I try to tackle him, it won’t exactly help our cause, will it? Besides, I need to know a few facts, arguments I can put to him, so that he’ll have to listen.”

  George Crawford gestured to the darkening sky. “There is very little time, my friend. God knows what is happening now in Ghorabad but … I don’t suppose half an hour will make much difference. What is it you want to know?”

  “Well …” Phillip hesitated, considering. “As a naval officer, Crawford, I’m woefully ignorant of military strategy and Indian Government policy. But let’s suppose the garrison are still holding out and Colonel Cockayne contrives to draw the Newab into the open … could he justify the tactics he proposes to employ? The
burning of native villages, the wholesale slaughter of peasants and their families?”

  “If he had to face a court of enquiry, you mean?”

  “Yes. In similar circumstances, a naval officer would have to explain his actions to the satisfaction of Their Lordships. Could Cockayne explain his?”

  “If they were successful, I suppose he could—yes.” Crawford shrugged. “Sir Colin Campbell would not approve but there’s quite a considerable body of opinion out here which maintains that all the Oudh landlords and peasants are rebels in arms against us and that, so far as they are concerned, retribution should be harsh and bloody. The Newab is a proscribed rebel with a price on his head—therefore any punitive action taken against him or his people would, in the present climate of opinion, probably meet with official approval … always provided that it was successful. But—”

  “Do you think the tactics Cockayne intends to employ can possibly be successful?” Phillip put in. “I’m asking for your professional opinion, Crawford—personal feelings apart, you understand?”

  “I understand.” Crawford was calmer now, although he was still sweating profusely and he muttered an apology as he mopped his face with a sodden handkerchief. “I’m bound to admit that such tactics could succeed, since there’s no certainty in this kind of campaign. But in my view, they could easily lead us into the devil of a mess and frankly, Hazard, I fear they will. The Newab only has his levies in Ghorabad—the Pandy regiments are reported to be in Lucknow—and, in normal circumstances, he’d probably defend himself but no more. A series of savage attacks on his villages would, as Cockayne claims, almost certainly bring him out, but they’d also bring out every zamindari force in the area, bent on retaliation—the Newab could double his effective force, treble it even, in a few days. If he decided he was strong enough to attack us, the chances are that he would choose the battleground or set an ambush for us. And with raw troops like these …” He spread his hands in a despairing gesture. “Caught in an ambush or in the open, without much warning—good Lord, Cockayne could find himself in very serious trouble! He could lose more than half of them before he had even got them deployed and into position. Your guns and rockets and our Miniés and Enfields would probably gain us eventual victory but our casualties would be appalling. These zamindari levies are not to be despised, you know. They fight bravely—better than the Pandies, in many instances—and they have both cavalry and guns. And they know how to use them.”

  “Yes, I know that. I was at Kudjwa with Captain Peel,” Phillip confessed. “And they fought like tigers—it was the sepoys who gave ground. But carry on, please—I didn’t mean to interrupt you. What—again in your professional opinion— ought Colonel Cockayne to do in this situation, apart from despatching a reconnaissance party to Ghorabad? What would you have done, if you’d been in command of this force?”

  The Native Infantry Officer frowned. “That’s a hell of a question, isn’t it? I’d have left Betarwar severely alone, for a start, of course.” He sighed. “This is a small force, Hazard. But it’s highly mobile and perfectly adequate for the purpose for which it was intended … that is, for a rapid advance on Ghorabad to rescue the garrison and then an equally rapid return to Cawnpore. That’s what I should have done and what, in my opinion, Cockayne should endeavour to do now … whether the garrison surrendered months ago or are still holding out in the fort. No punitive forays—there are other ways of building up morale. Nothing calculated to stir up any hornets’ nests on the way, just a three-day slog to reach his objective. He could have done it, too. If it hadn’t been for the attack on Betarwar today, I believe that we could have reached Ghorabad unmolested.”

  “Could we? Do you honestly believe we could, Crawford?”

  “Yes, in all honesty I do,” Crawford asserted. “The Oudh peasantry have seen their Pandy allies defeated at Lucknow, at Bithur more than once and again, very recently, at Cawnpore. They’ve seen the writing on the wall and I fancy they would have let us alone—from expediency, if nothing else—if Cockayne hadn’t made up his mind to stir them up. But if he persists in his avowed intention, if what was done today at Betarwar is repeated elsewhere, then the consequences could be disastrous, in my view. Certainly to the poor unfortunates at Ghorabad and very possibly to ourselves …” He talked on, giving technical details, but Phillip scarcely heard him, his brain suddenly racing, drawing conclusions which—even half an hour before—he would have dismissed as outrageous.

  It had all started at Betarwar, he thought. It had begun with Colonel Cockayne’s decision to give his unseasoned troops a taste of action—a decision which, at the time, even George Crawford had believed he could justify—only the troops had been allowed to go too far. Allowed or … damn it, encouraged to commit excesses? There was a bitter taste in his mouth as he recalled the scenes he had witnessed—for all they had been at a distance—and the boastful utterances of some of the young soldiers. Seaman Oates had said that they had been permitted to break open the villagers’ supply of arrack and, if that had been so, who had given them permission? Cockayne had been there, he had led them into the blazing village in person. If he had not authorised the breaking open of the casks, he must have known who had done so, which—since he had apparently made no attempt to countermand the order—suggested that it must have been given with his tacit approval.

  Drinking by European troops, before or after any action, had always been severely discouraged by responsible commanders. It led to rapine and murder and was particularly likely to do so now, when the men were inflamed by tales of the atrocities committed by mutineers. Sir Colin Campbell, well aware of the danger and determined to prevent excesses, had imposed harsh penalties for the looting of captured alcohol and even William Peel, who disliked flogging, had ordered the lash on more than one occasion for seamen found guilty of stealing liquor of any kind while on active service. Why then, why the devil had Colonel Cockayne permitted it?

  Unless … Phillip drew a quick, uneven breath. Unless he had wanted the village of Betarwar reduced to a shambles—unless he wanted the Oudh peasantry to ignore the writing on the wall, so that … no, no, it was impossible! He said, in a shaken voice, “Crawford, if we had marched straight to Ghorabad and left Betarwar alone, do you think that the Newab might also have seen what you referred to as ‘the writing on the wall’?”

  George Crawford looked startled. “I don’t think I follow you. The Newab is a proscribed rebel, as I told you, with a price on his head. He knows he can expect no mercy from the Indian Government or the military authorities. He—”

  “But suppose he had been offered terms?”

  “Offered terms—by Colonel Cockayne, do you mean?”

  “Yes,” Phillip confirmed. “His life for the surrender of his hostages. Or, if the garrison are still holding out against him, in exchange for the raising of the siege—do you think he might have accepted? With our forces at his gates and only his own levies to defend the city, the writing on the wall would have been pretty clear, even to him, would it not?”

  “Good God!” Crawford was still visibly taken aback. “Such a possibility hadn’t occurred to me. I suppose he might have accepted, in those circumstances, if he had been offered terms. But he won’t now, not after what was done at Betarwar. Devil take it, Hazard—Cockayne hanged his brother!”

  “Yes,” Phillip echoed grimly. “Cockayne hanged his brother and let our troops run wild in the village. He went there for that specific purpose—he told me so himself—and now you say he intends to serve every village between here and Ghorabad in the same manner! Why, man … why? Tell me that, if you can!” It was as much an appeal as a question and he waited, willing his companion to offer an explanation that would dispel his doubts and feeling the sweat break out on face and brow as he waited.

  George Crawford continued to stare at him blankly; then comprehension dawned and he said, with evident reluctance, “To make it impossible for the Newab to accept terms, I can only surmise—to force him to stand and
fight. Because— dammit—because Cockayne wants to make a battle of it! He wants revenge and a glorious victory which will redound to his credit, no matter how many lives it costs. I … Hazard, I don’t want to believe ill of Colonel Cockayne or of any British officer; it goes against the grain. And we don’t know that he was empowered to offer terms for the Newab’s surrender, do we? But … my God, if Hassan Khan was telling the truth, if he did desert the garrison, then—”

  Then only a glorious victory could restore the Colonel’s reputation, Phillip thought. A glorious victory and … perhaps a dead garrison. He looked at George Crawford and saw his own unhappy fears mirrored in the older man’s eyes.

  “I don’t want to believe it, before heaven I don’t!” Crawford’s voice shook. “But it fits or it’s beginning to—except that his wife is there … his wife and Andrea. Surely no man worthy of the name would risk their lives—no, it’s unthinkable!”

  “Unless they are already dead,” Phillip said flatly. “And Cockayne is aware of it.”

  Every vestige of colour drained from George Crawford’s face. For a moment he could not speak. Then he bowed his head in bitter resignation. “That appears to be the only explanation, does it not? The only logical explanation for his failure to march straight to Ghorabad. Unless, of course, he is going out of his mind. That has to be a possibility, Hazard.”

  “Alas it does,” Phillip agreed. “Well”—he sighed, not relishing the prospect—“I suppose I had better find him and do what I can to persuade him to think again about tomorrow’s plan of action. You’ll wait for me?” He gestured towards the naval party’s hospitably glowing camp fire. “Our meal should be ready soon.”