by Peter Watt
The four men stepped cautiously from the hut. There was no moon and the village was silent, with the exception of a baby wailing a short distance away and a mother softly crooning to her child. Ian prayed that nothing would go wrong as they filed down a narrow street, revolvers at their sides.
*
Alice sat by Peter’s bed, swabbing his brow with a damp, cool cloth. The fever racked his body and he glistened with sweat. Outside their tent before the walls of Delhi, she could hear the crash of cannon and the rattle of rifle and musket fire in the distance. Peter had come down with a fever earlier in the day, and was delirious before night had fallen. From all that she had learned, Alice suspected he did not have cholera but some other form of illness. Whatever it was, it caused him to alternately shake as if freezing and sweat and heat up as if on fire. Alice prayed that the fever would break and her beloved husband would recover.
The servant girl hovered at the edge of the bed, and Alice instructed her to fetch more clean water. The girl hurried away and when she returned Alice looked up to see a blood-stained Indian soldier of the Company with her.
‘What is it?’ Alice asked.
‘Missus Alice,’ the soldier said. ‘We need the doctor master. Many wounded.’
Alice glanced down at Peter, who was tossing and turning deliriously. ‘The doctor is not well,’ she said.
‘Please, missus doctor,’ the blood-soaked soldier said. ‘We need doctor. All doctors busy.’
Alice stood from her chair beside the bed and handed the wet cloth to the servant girl. ‘Keep washing down the master.’ The girl nodded her understanding. ‘I will go with you, soldier,’ Alice said and saw the expression of relief on the man’s bearded face.
They crossed a pathway between the tents until they came to Peter’s field surgery. Already Alice could see the red-coated soldiers lying on litters outside the tent, whilst other soldiers attempted to tend to them with water canteens and encouraging words. They were all Sikh and Gurkha soldiers who had manned the lines against the enemy pouring out from the city walls in another attempt to destroy the British camp.
Alice could hear a soldier crying out in his agony, and she pushed aside the tent flaps to find a young Sikh soldier laid out on the improvised operating table. She could see that the bottom half of his leg had been shattered, a bone protruding as blood welled from the wound. Two of his comrades were holding him down and they looked to Alice when she entered. From all she had witnessed working alongside Peter, she knew that the leg must be amputated. For a moment she stared at the young man, realising that he would die unless the injury was treated.
The pleading look from the men who were holding down their comrade was enough to convince Alice she had no other choice. She must do something. She looked to Peter’s tools of surgery. She remembered exactly how he went about amputations.
‘Hold him down hard,’ she commanded, then turned to the soldier who had fetched her. ‘You, hold his leg.’
Alice took a clamp and affixed it above the wound to stem the flow of blood. Then she picked up the razor-sharp crescent-shaped cutting blade and leaned over the soldier.
‘Hold him!’ she said loudly in an attempt to stem her own fear.
Alice began cutting and the wounded soldier arched in his pain. As if in a terrible dream she continued with the operation, hardly aware of the sound of the leg thumping onto the earthen floor after she had used the tenon saw to cut through the bone. Within minutes it was all over and the man was taken off the table to be placed on a litter outside the tent.
Alice reviewed each wounded man who was placed on the table. She knew there was nothing that could be done for the stomach or head wounds. She instructed the men who had remained after the first amputation to have these cases taken outside, to a separate tent, and asked for them to be tended until their agony was finally over. From some of the wounds she was able to retrieve musket balls and then quickly stitch the flesh and apply antiseptic solution. Before she finished, she carried out two more amputations. It felt to her that she almost always knew exactly what she was supposed to do, and that her hours of carefully observing Peter at work had paid off. She had been able to detach herself mentally from the awful work of cutting, sawing and stitching throughout the night. She had had no time to think about Peter’s condition, and she wondered now whether he had recovered or, God forbid, grown worse.
Exhausted physically and emotionally, and soaked in blood, Alice stepped out of the tent to see the first rays of the sun on the horizon. Her hands were trembling now but they had been steady and certain during those terrible hours of surgery. Around her were the litters waiting to be carried to the recovery tent. A wounded soldier who had only required her to stitch his bayonet wound stood nearby and went to her, falling to his knees and taking her hands in his own. He said something Alice could not understand, but his gesture said it all. He was thanking her for helping him, for helping them all. She smiled weakly down at him in her own appreciation for what she had done that night under the light of a single lantern.
‘Good God!’ a voice boomed, and Alice recognised it as one of Peter’s fellow army surgeons. ‘Your husband has done a fine job with the amputations,’ he said as he strode towards her. ‘I have just seen them come into the hospital tent. Where is Dr Campbell?’
‘I am afraid that my husband is not here,’ Alice said, pushing back her hair with a bloody hand. ‘He is in our tent with a fever.’
‘But, but . . . who operated on the Sikhs who were brought to his surgical tent?’ asked the surgeon, confused, looking around as if expecting to see another doctor step forward.
‘I did,’ Alice answered defiantly. ‘It was either that or let them die.’
For a moment the British army surgeon simply gaped at her as if she was something from an alien world. ‘Damn it, Mrs Campbell, please do not jest. Who really carried out the surgery?’
‘As I said, Doctor, I did,’ Alice answered.
‘But you are not a qualified surgeon,’ the man said. ‘You are a woman.’
‘Pure necessity, Doctor,’ Alice said, standing her ground. ‘Now, I need to wash and change my clothes.’ She walked away and the surgeon stared after her in utter disbelief.
When Alice returned to her tent she saw with joy that Peter was sitting up on the edge of the bed. He still looked pale and weak, but he smiled at her – until he saw the blood.
‘God almighty!’ he exclaimed in shock. ‘Are you hurt?’ He rose shakily to his feet to take his wife in his arms.
‘It is not my blood, my love,’ Alice said. ‘It is the blood of the men whose limbs I amputated during the last few hours.’
Peter sat back down hard on the bed, almost faint at her statement so casually delivered.
Twenty
The four men moved cautiously through the village, ever aware of how important it was to reach the coast before first light.
‘How far?’ Ian whispered to Nikolai, who was leading their party.
‘Just around the corner of this street,’ he answered.
They turned the corner, and Ian felt his heart skip a beat. He could see two armed men standing by the house Nikolai identified as the Khan’s residence. He thought from the arms they carried and the uniforms they wore that they were probably mutineers from the nearby camp.
‘What do we do?’ Harry whispered.
‘We get rid of them,’ Ian replied.
‘But if we shoot them, it will alert the camp nearby,’ Harry said.
‘We don’t shoot them,’ Ian replied, drawing his razor-sharp Bowie knife from under his clothing. ‘We cut their throats.’ He could see the young officer recoil at the idea.
Conan slid out his knife, waiting for Ian’s instructions.
‘I will distract the men,’ Nikolai said, ‘then you can dispatch them.’
Nikolai stepped out and walked towards the two
men, who were engaged in conversation. As he emerged from the shadows the two former sepoys raised their rifled muskets to challenge him. Nikolai said something in their language and there was a small burst of laughter from the two armed men. It was obvious that they knew him, and he was able to position himself so that they turned their backs to the waiting assassins. Ian and Conan moved forward stealthily in the dark and were on the two guards before they could react. Ian placed his hand over his man’s mouth and nose and brought his knife blade across his throat. The blade bit, and the man hardly had time to struggle before Ian could feel the hot blood splashing his arm. Conan had carried out a similar manoeuvre on his selected target. When the bodies ceased twitching, they let go of the dead men, who crumpled at their feet.
‘What do we do with them?’ Nikolai asked.
‘We drag them inside the Khan’s house so they are out of sight. Hopefully they won’t be missed for a while, which will give us a chance to put distance between us and the mutineers.’
Nikolai knocked loudly on the door to attract the attention of those inside.
A candle flared and the door opened cautiously. Then it was opened wide and the three men tumbled through with Harry hurrying across to the house to join them. In the candlelight Ian could see that this house was relatively comfortable and clean, with ornate rugs on the floor. He could see the horrified expression on the face of a pretty young woman clutching a boy to her, and Ian realised that both he and Conan were soaked in blood.
‘This is the Khan,’ Nikolai said, introducing a tall and handsome young man with a regal bearing. ‘This is Captain Forbes of the British army. He is here to get us to the coast and onto a British warship.’
‘Then we must go quickly,’ the prince said. ‘We already have our few possessions packed.’
The Khan threw two bags on his shoulders and said something to his wife, who picked up a couple of smaller bags. With the small family outside, Harry and Conan dragged the bodies of the mutineers into the house and shut the front door on them.
‘Let’s go,’ Ian said, withdrawing his two Colts in case they had to shoot their way out of the village. He was pleased to note that the residents appeared to be asleep and undisturbed by their activities.
They hurried through the streets and alleyways in the pitch dark until they came to the grassy plain on the edge of town. They would be walking towards the rising sun. Ian took the lead, navigating with his compass. By sunrise they were on the outskirts of the fishing village and Ian supervised positions in a ditch for them to hide. All they had to do now was wait till evening when the warship would stream into the coast and retrieve them.
*
‘I have just come from a meeting with my commanding officer,’ Major Scott Campbell said, pacing the small space of the tent his brother shared with his wife. Alice was currently absent from their quarters, tending to sick and wounded soldiers at the hospital tent. ‘Alice has caused somewhat of a furore.’
‘I half expected that,’ Peter sighed as he filled his pipe with a plug of tobacco. ‘I have returned from examining the men she operated on and, without exception, they are all recovering well.’
‘But Alice acted as a surgeon without any qualification to do so,’ Scott exploded. ‘She is a woman. What if she had botched the amputations?’
‘I have been a surgeon for many years past and cannot even remember how many limbs I have removed. What I saw of her work was as good as any qualified surgeon I know, maybe better. God knows how she was able to do what she did. Call it a miracle or, God forbid, admit that women are able to carry out the tasks of a surgeon. In a sense, Alice has been learning the art of amputation from assisting me. I do not say that qualifies her to be a surgeon, but with me bedridden with fever that night, I feel she had no other choice. Those men she operated on are still alive today thanks to her intervention – qualified or not.’
Scott ceased pacing and rubbed his brow in frustration. ‘I accept what you are saying is true, brother. Alice is truly a remarkable woman, but the instruction from my commanding officer is that what she did will never happen again. I need your word Alice will never pick up an operating saw again. Give me your word and I will relay that to my commanding officer so that the matter is taken no further.’
‘I will promise that Alice will not carry out any further surgical duties – other than assisting me during operations as a nurse would,’ Peter said reluctantly.
Scott nodded, then bid his brother a good morning and left the tent. He was startled to see Alice standing outside and he muttered a hasty greeting and strode off.
Alice stepped into the tent.
‘I have the feeling from your annoyed expression you heard the conversation with my brother,’ Peter said wearily.
‘I did,’ Alice replied angrily. ‘How stupid you men are!’ she exploded. ‘Would it have been preferable to have let one of the Sikh soldiers chop off limbs simply because he was a man? Or perhaps I should have left those men to die even though I had the skills to save them?’
‘I am very proud of the work you did,’ Peter said, walking to Alice and embracing her. Any doubts he had had that women were capable of being surgeons had long been dispelled. ‘But we live in an age that cannot accept that a woman such as yourself is as capable as any one of us men. So for the moment I have had to promise the army hierarchy that you will not indulge in surgical procedures again.’
‘Is stitching wounds a surgical procedure?’ Alice asked sweetly.
‘Well, technically, yes,’ he replied. ‘But if you do it out of my sight, I cannot chastise you for it, can I?’ Peter grinned, knowing that the woman in his arms was incapable of following the rules of Queen Victoria’s England.
*
The sun blazed down on the ditch but Ian was satisfied his party was hidden from the sight of the people in the coastal fishing village. The last of the water in the canteens had been drunk, and neither Ian nor his men had had much sleep since they had stepped ashore for the rescue mission. They dozed intermittently, gazing up at the blue skies now filling with great billowing thunderhead clouds.
Ian found himself sitting beside the Indian prince, who was staring across the shimmer of heat just above the tops of the long dry grass.
‘I am curious as to why you would be fleeing your home,’ Ian said. ‘I imagine you had a palace like most of the local royalty.’
The Khan turned to look at Ian. ‘I have, and as soon as this mutiny is suppressed I will return to it.’
‘According to the count you were about to negotiate a contract to sell lead to the Russians. Why would you wish to seek sanctuary in England?’
‘I never considered trading with the Russians. The count approached me with the offer and I refused. It was then that he revealed himself to be an agent for the British. He explained that he had left Moscow under the guise of making a deal with me. He wanted to test my loyalty to the Queen, our Empress, and thanks to the wise hand of Allah, may His Name be blessed, I was able to prove my faith in the East India Company. At the same time the Sikhs in my realm wanted me dead. The count was able to put together a plan to smuggle myself and my family to a safehouse, which is where you found us. He has made contact with your General Outram to get us to England where I will sign my lead rights over to the East India Company. A small cost to save my firstborn son and the future heir to my kingdom.’
‘You must be worth your weight in lead,’ Ian grinned.
The Khan smiled at Ian’s joke. ‘You appear to be a very competent British officer,’ he said. ‘When I get my land back, I would like you to be a guest at my palace.’
Ian was touched by the offer and felt a great respect for the Indian prince. ‘I would be honoured,’ he said.
‘I have met many remarkable English people,’ the Khan continued. ‘I recently met an Englishwoman who shot one of our fierce Bengal tigers as it was about to attack her. She
has the spirit of the goddess Kali in her. Mrs Alice Campbell.’
Ian looked sharply at the Khan. ‘Her husband’s first name is Peter,’ he said, and now it was the Khan’s turn to look surprised.
‘Do you know Mrs Campbell?’ he asked.
‘She is my sister,’ Ian replied. ‘Do you know where Alice and her husband are now?’
‘They travelled to Meerut with the doctor’s brother, Major Campbell. That is all I know. I can see that Allah moves in mysterious ways and has guided my family under your protection.’
Ian knew that a bloody mutiny had occurred at Meerut and many Europeans had been slaughtered. He felt sick to the stomach.
The Khan saw Ian’s stricken expression. ‘My friend, I would not fear for the fate of your sister. She has the spirit of the tiger in her and no enemy can hurt her. You will meet with her again.’
Ian nodded his appreciation but still felt sick with apprehension.
‘Sir!’
Ian turned to Harry who was peering above the top of the long grass. ‘Yes, Mr Sinclair, what is it?’
‘Sir, I can see a large cloud of dust on the horizon, as if raised by a number of horses.’
Ian scrambled to his knees and saw the dust rising slowly in the hot, humid air. He calculated the distance to be about a mile from their present position, and from his long experience calculating numbers of troops he guessed a party of at least fifty men on horseback.
Conan was beside Ian in an instant. ‘Do you think it is the men from the village camp?’ he asked anxiously.
‘Could be,’ Ian said, his mind already racing to find a plan of action. ‘They will be on us within the next half-hour. I doubt this ditch will conceal us from them.’
‘We are outnumbered and outgunned,’ Nikolai said grimly.
Ian sighed and sat back down in the ditch. ‘Our options are limited,’ he said. ‘We either stand and fight, which will mean they eventually overwhelm us. Or we surrender and put our trust in being taken prisoner. I doubt that is really an option because of what will be a slow death at their hands. There is no sense retreating to the mudflats when we don’t expect to see our fellows until dusk.’
