Escape from Hell

by Stuart, V. A.

  But the day passed without incident. A few footsore men fell out with nothing more serious than blisters and hopes rose when the surgeon reported that his most severely injured woman patient was still miraculously holding her own when the column halted at sunset. The following morning, the shadow had lifted and morale was again high, the men swinging along like veterans and making such good progress that Phillip decided to call an early halt to rest the baggage and gun-cattle and afford an opportunity for Colonel Cockayne and his cavalry to catch up with them. Despite the inevitable delay caused by the slow-moving dhoolies, by noon they had covered almost half the distance which separated them from Cawnpore and no fresh cases of illness or injury had been reported.

  In optimistic mood, Phillip rode ahead with Henry Grayson to select a camp site after the mid-day halt, finding the ideal spot beside a mango tope, with a small stream running through it and flat, cultivated fields on either side which gave an unobstructed view of the surrounding country. The column reached the site an hour later and there was a concerted rush to the stream, the men eager to wash the accumulated sweat and dust from their faces and to enjoy the luxury of a bathe in the cool, clear water. At Phillip’s suggestion, Devereux and two of the seamen rigged a canvas screen in order to provide the women and children with a private bathing place and the cries of delight with which this somewhat primitive arrangement was greeted amply rewarded the effort it had entailed.

  There was a walled village a mile or so to the east and Grayson despatched Benjamin Highgate with a small party to reconnoitre it. The ensign returned, beaming triumphantly, with the headman and some of the villagers, who brought chickens, milk and a few scrawny goats which, with every appearance of willingness, they offered to the British party.

  “They’ve brought them as gifts, sir,” Highgate explained, when Phillip insisted that payment must be made. “All they ask is that we don’t enter the village or molest them. They’re Hindus, sir, and they seem very well disposed to us—indeed, quite friendly, although they wouldn’t let us inside the walls. And I thought the milk would be capital for the children, sir.”

  “It will,” Phillip agreed. “Nevertheless everything we take is to be paid for, Benjy.”

  A bargain was struck, the ryots departed with smiles and salaams, and what amounted to a feast was prepared and eaten as the sun went down in a blaze of crimson glory behind the distant hills. The women, although able to eat very little after their months of starvation, were warm in their praise of the excellence of the repast and, in particular, of the tea which the naval cooks brewed up for them and served with milk and sugar.

  “To be clean and well fed, Commander Hazard,” Andrea Cockayne confided, when Phillip took leave of her after the meal. “That is happiness and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I cannot remember ever feeling happier! All I need for my cup to run over is to see and speak to my father again.”

  “I feel sure he will be back with us very soon, Miss Cockayne,” Phillip said, smiling to lend conviction to his words as he looked down into her shining, newly washed face from which, at last, the scar left by the whiplash was beginning to fade. He took her small, roughened hand in his and kissed it gently, hoping that she believed him. But he was by no means certain and he was conscious of a growing feeling of uneasiness as he made his nightly inspection of the piquets … Colonel Cockayne, if he had kept to his stated time limit, was now more than 24 hours overdue.

  But Arbor, to whom he voiced his uneasiness, retorted cynically, “For God’s sake, he’s got a squadron of first-rate cavalry at his back and the bit between his teeth—Cockayne’s not worrying about us! And there’s no word of him in this neighbourhood. I asked a few pertinent questions of those villagers this evening and they appear to have heard nothing, either of him or the Newab. They were very friendly, as no doubt you observed.”

  “Not too friendly?” Phillip asked, his earlier, half-formed doubts returning.

  John Arbor shrugged. “I don’t think so. It’s a Hindu village and—”

  “But they had heard about Betarwar, surely?”

  “Yes, they must have heard—it’s about ten miles from here and news of that kind travels fast. It probably scared them out of their wits and that’s what prompted the gifts.”

  “And their anxiety to keep us away from their village?” Phillip pursued, recalling Highgate’s explanation.

  “Yes, I imagine so.” Arbor repeated his shrug. “None of them mentioned Betarwar but, as I say, they’re Hindus. In normal times they would have no truck with the Newab or any of his people.”

  “But these are not normal times, my dear fellow,” Phillip reminded him. “Moslem and Hindu are united in rebellion against us … and I haven’t forgotten their last attempt to take us by surprise when we were bivouacking.” He sighed. “Perhaps I’m taking the responsibilities of command too seriously, John, but I shan’t sleep until I’ve had a look at that village. Will you come with me?”

  Arbor hesitated and finally nodded. “Yes, of course, if you think it’s necessary. How many of us—just you and me?”

  “And a couple of horse-holders,” Phillip decided. “I’m not proposing to go into the place—simply to make sure those villagers are as well disposed towards us as they seemed.”

  He was, he knew, probably being over-cautious; Arbor’s expression told him that but … damn it, with the safety of women and children at stake, it was better to be sure than sorry. Accompanied by Benjamin Highgate and an ensign of the 82nd named Miller, they rode the two miles which separated them from the village, halting under cover of a clump of trees to dismount and leave their horses in the care of the two young ensigns. With Arbor, Phillip made a stealthy approach on foot and, as they neared its loop-holed mud walls, they saw that the village was in darkness.

  “Not a sign of life, Commander,” Arbor said, when they had been watching for several minutes without seeing anything remotely calculated to arouse their suspicions. “They’re all sleeping the sleep of the just. Shall we”—there was a hint of reproach in his deep, pleasant voice—“shall we go back and do the same? As I told you, these people are Hindus and—”

  “Wait!” Phillip cautioned. “Listen—I can hear something. Over to the left.” They both listened tensely. Clearly across the intervening distance came the thud of galloping hooves and, moments later, a body of about thirty horsemen could be seen, the moonlight glinting on their lance-tips as they thundered towards the sleeping village. Lights sprang up at their approach and, after a brief conference, the heavy iron-bound door between the twin watch-towers creaked open to admit them.

  Arbor gripped Phillip’s arm and pointed. “I apologise for my scepticism, Commander Hazard. D’you see that big, bearded fellow on the grey Arab? Look, the torchlight’s shining on his face now!”

  Phillip followed the direction of his pointing finger. Light from a blazing torch held aloft by one of the villagers revealed a dark, arrogant face beneath a green pugree and Arbor said, as the gate swung shut once more, “That’s the Newab … come in person, it would seem, to enlist the aid of my peaceful Hindu ryots! My God, if only we had your rocket-tube here!” He sighed heavily. “What now? Do we move the column out or wait for them to attack us?”

  Phillip had been turning over the various possibilities in his mind, his brain racing as he considered what courses of action were open to him. With the safety and well-being of the women and children his foremost concern, they were few, and he echoed Arbor’s sigh. The campsite—so well chosen for the rest and relaxation he had planned—could, he thought, be made defensible, but that would take time and the women would be in constant danger should an attack be launched against it. And, even if they were to move out at once, hampered by the dhoolies and the baggage train, they could not hope to move far or fast enough to outdistance the Newab’s cavalry. A safe refuge would have to be found for the women and the sick and wounded and then perhaps … His eyes narrowed, as he started across at the walled village. Clearly, the Newa
b would not stay there; he must have ridden ahead of his main body, to which he would return once the purpose of his clandestine visit had been achieved … whatever that purpose might be.

  Phillip made up his mind. “John,” he bade Arbor urgently, “go back, if you please, and send Benjy Highgate to rouse the column. They’re to prepare to move out, but not until I send word to Grayson, you understand? Tell Benjy to rejoin me here with the rocket-launcher and thirty riflemen as fast as he can make it. Miller’s to wait with our horses.”

  “Right, sir.” John Arbor was on his feet. “You’re staying here?”

  “Yes, until I can work out what’s going on. Come back yourself, as soon as you’ve given Benjy his instructions.”

  Arbor slipped silently away. He returned, ten minutes later. “The devil take Colonel Cockayne!” He exclaimed angrily, as he slid into a crouching position at Phillip’s side. “If we had his Sikh cavalry now, we could take the Newab without any trouble. But as it is, even if Benjy breaks his neck to get here, it’ll be at least an hour before he does.” He swore under his breath. “Have they made any move down there?”

  Phillip shook his head. He was tense and worried, wondering whether he had read the Newab’s intentions aright. If he had not, they were losing precious time, and failure to use what little time they had at their disposal could cost lives— the lives of the Newab’s erstwhile prisoners, Andrea’s life. He found himself thinking suddenly and quite illogically of Mademoiselle Sophie, remembering incidents he had believed long forgotten, reliving memories that were fraught with pain. The heartbreak of their farewell in distant Odessa, his escape to the clifftop with Mademoiselle Sophie’s Cossack footman, and Ambrose Quinn’s attempts to abandon him there. The floggings Quinn had ordered at the Huntress’s gratings, which his Russian captors had compelled him to witness. And … Mademoiselle Sophie’s courageous intervention, which had brought about his release; the church bells of Odessa ringing out, as he had stepped into the Wrangler’s gig, their joyous peals announcing the birth of an heir to the House of Narishkin —the birth of a son to Mademoiselle Sophie, the Princess Narashkin.

  Phillip drew in his breath sharply. Dear God, he was like a drowning man, he told himself, seeing a vision of his past life floating before him as the waters closed over his head and it was all a long time ago. It was three years since he had taken his last and final leave of Mademoiselle Sophie and now … He closed his eyes, seeking to conjure up the image of her face. It came but the outline was blurred, the image indistinct. “The heart does not forget,” she had told him and he had not forgotten, he would never forget. But now … John Arbor’s fingers closed warningly about his arm and the memories vanished, as swiftly as if they had never been. He was back in the present, sick with the consciousness of danger, his fears—as they had been for the past three days and nights— for Colonel Cockayne’s daughter and those who had shared her tortured captivity.

  “They’re coming out,” Arbor whispered.

  The wooden gate opened on its creaking hinges and a team of oxen appeared, drawing a heavy brass gun behind them. It was followed by a second, with a long-barrelled nine-pounder lurching in the wake of the straining beasts and then the Newab and his horsemen emerged, to form up protectively about the two guns as the gate closed behind them.

  “Dammit, we’ve lost him!” Arbor said bitterly. “And he’s got what he came for.” He gestured to the guns. “Which puts him in the deuce of a strong position, doesn’t it?”

  Phillip watched as the plodding gun-cattle were whipped and goaded into a shambling trot. They were heading due north, his mind registered, away from the camp. He waited to make sure but Arbor dashed his brief hopes. “They’ll have come from the river—probably made camp a few miles behind us, which means they must have eluded the Colonel. He’s no doubt half way to Lucknow by this time, on a false scent, perdition take him! And those confounded villagers will have given the Newab all the information he needs about our strength and position.” He hesitated, eyeing Phillip speculatively from beneath frowning brows, and then offered, a harsh note in his voice, “At a rough guess, Commander Hazard, I’d say that the Newab will start after us at first light and aim to catch us on the road. What exactly do you intend to do?”

  “That gives us …” Phillip glanced up at the moonlit sky. He was quite calm now, his mind firmly made up, his plan of action—for better or worse—decided upon. They had eaten at sunset and—he took out his watch—he and Arbor had been here, watching the village, for almost two hours … He made a swift mental calculation. “That gives us seven hours at the very least, John—nine or ten, if the Newab doesn’t hurry himself. His main body must be ten miles or so behind us or we’d have seen them before we made camp. He must have moved pretty fast to get as close to us as he has and—”

  “Most of his force will be mounted and his light guns horsed,” Arbor pointed out. “He can move fast if he wants to.”

  “He’ll have to rest his horses and his gun-cattle at some stage,” Phillip reminded him. “My guess is that he’ll aim to attack us at the noon halt and that would give us considerably longer.”

  Arbor looked dismayed. “Are you proposing to make a run for it, then? Because in my view we shouldn’t have a dog’s chance. Without the women and children perhaps but with them, even if we dig in, we—”

  Phillip cut him short. “No,” he returned crisply. “I’m not proposing to run, it would be taking too great a risk. I’m going to occupy the village, John, as soon as Benjy joins us with his party.”

  “Occupy the village?” Arbor echoed. “In heaven’s name, Hazard, why?”

  “Because it’s the best defensive position we’re likely to find for miles and because the women will be safe there, which is my main concern. Also, my dear John”—Phillip turned, smiling, to meet the older man’s anxious gaze—“if your assessment of your peaceful Hindu ryots is correct, because they won’t offer much opposition. We’ll evacuate the men but we won’t lay a finger on their women and children. We can move in before first light, leave a guard and one of my guns to defend the place and, with a modicum of luck my friend, we might even contrive to catch the Newab on the road! I noticed a spot about three miles back which would make an admirable site for an ambush.”

  Arbor stared at him in astonishment for a moment and then an answering smile spread slowly across his face. “My God, Commander Hazard!” he exclaimed. “For a sailor, you make a damned fine soldier! I have to admit I had my doubts concerning your ability to command a mixed land force but— you’re right, of course. That village is the best possible place to defend. I … permit me to take it for you, when Benjy Highgate brings up his riflemen?”

  “With the greatest of pleasure, Mr Arbor.” Phillip rose, flexing his cramped muscles. “I fancy it’s a job for a soldier. Let’s get our horses, shall we?”

  By sunrise the following morning, the British column was in position, awaiting the appearance of the rebel force and all, to Phillip’s heartfelt relief, had gone according to plan. The villagers had surrendered without firing a shot and the headmen, volubly protesting his continued loyalty to the Company’s raj—once satisfied that his womenfolk would be unmolested—had suffered himself to be evacuated with the rest of the male inhabitants. Within three hours, the transfer of the British women and children and the wounded had been successfully completed. Leaving a strong guard and one naval gun, under Alan Williams’s command, to hold it, Phillip had led the remainder of the column back along the road to the site he had chosen for the ambush.

  It was not an ideal spot—the ground was too flat—but trees and underbrush on one side and a dried-up stream-bed on the other afforded adequate cover for his small force of infantry, and he sited Lightfoot’s gun just behind the screening trees to the left, where it could be brought to bear on the road. The rocket-tube, with its light carriage, he advanced as far as he dared to the right and himself took command of it, intending to open with it as soon as the rebels were sighted, in the
hope of dispersing their cavalry and preventing a charge. With Grayson commanding the troops on the left and Arbor those in the nullah, there was little he could do now save wait, with ever increasing impatience, for the Newab to make his appearance. It was nearly two hours before he did so. Highgate and Miller, who had volunteered to ride forward and reconnoitre, came galloping back on sweating horses, to report the approach of a large body of horse and foot.

  “They’re coming from the north, sir,” Highgate said, gesturing excitedly behind him. “You’ll see them for yourself when they clear the trees, because they’re following the direction of the road. I should say …” He glanced at Miller for confirmation and he sounded more than a little awed as he added, “I should say there are over a thousand of them, mostly cavalry, sir. And we counted four guns, didn’t we, Charlie?”

  Young Miller nodded. “The two from last night, sir, bullock-drawn, and the other two are horsed guns. They’re moving quite fast, with the cavalry well in advance and the infantry really only a baggage-guard, sir, trailing along about a mile to the rear.”

  What would he not give for Colonel Cockayne’s Sikh cavalry now, Phillip thought wryly, to cut off the baggage-train and the rebels’ reserves of ammunition, but … He forced a smile. “Well done, both of you. How about scouts or skirmishers? Have they thrown out any?”

  Both young men shook their heads. “None, sir,” Highgate, stated positively. “They’re riding in a compact body, with the horsed guns in their centre, almost … well, arrogantly, sir, as if they’d nothing to fear. And I don’t suppose they have, really, with such a large force. Can we …” He looked round at the small detachment of scarlet-jacketed British riflemen in the nullah below them, and then at Petty Officer Devereux, placidly chewing tobacco and the only man of the rocket-crew on his feet. The others on Phillip’s orders, were sprawled on the ground beside their weapon, snatching what rest they could, and Highgate took heart from their seeming unconcern. “We can lick them, can’t we, sir? Even if we are rather … well, outnumbered.”