by Peter Watt
Suddenly the square of light from the opening was blocked, and Ian realised that one of the Indian mutineers was staring down at them from the rooftop. Without considering the pain, Ian lifted his rifle and fired upwards. He knew it was more luck than accuracy, but the heavy Minié bullet smashed the Indian’s face to pulp and he did not have time to scream in his death.
Owen had finally joined them in the room and Conan had turned to say something to him when the grenade fell through the hatch above. It hit the floor, and the round metal ball with the smoke trailing from the hand-lit fuse hung in the air. The three men stared in horror at the explosive device as it lay on the floor between them.
Owen did not hesitate. He threw himself on the object as it exploded, flinging his body in the air as he absorbed the full blast and metal shrapnel fragments.
Ian could hear a scream of ‘NO!’ and realised that it was coming from his own mouth. His ears were ringing from the concussion caused by the enemy grenade in the confined room.
Conan knelt beside the torn body of the man who would have been his brother-in-law, desperately trying to lift him in his arms.
Another face appeared in the hatch but disappeared quickly.
Enraged, Conan lowered Owen’s mutilated and smoking body to the floor and began ascending the ladder without any thought for the danger to himself. Ian was behind him as he poked his head out to survey the rooftop and ducked as a musket ball smashed into the edge of the opening. Without hesitating, Conan pulled himself onto the rooftop.
The rooftop defender did not have time to fire a second shot as Conan launched himself across the short distance, grappling at the soldier fumbling to reload his musket.
Roaring obscenities, Conan grabbed the smaller man by the throat, causing him to drop his musket and fling his hands up to release Conan’s grip. But Conan now gripped him in a bear hug, pushing him towards the edge of the roof. He headbutted the Indian soldier, stunning him enough to make him stagger. Conan broke away and shoved the Indian soldier with all his strength towards the edge of the roof, where the man toppled to the hard earth many feet below.
Ian had joined Conan on the rooftop and was sweeping the area for any other defenders, but they could see they had cleared the obstacle to the company’s advance below. Both men sat down, hands trembling with the pain of their wounds as the adrenaline surge abated. Below them the fighting continued, but for the moment they sat quietly.
‘Owen is gone,’ Conan said flatly.
‘I will recommend him for a medal,’ Ian replied. ‘His courageous sacrifice saved our lives.’
‘For a fleeting moment back there I could have sworn Owen shot at you deliberately,’ Conan said, staring at the pillars of smoke rising from many buildings in the distance. ‘There was no threat when he fired, and he was too good a soldier to accidentally shoot you. I heard rumours that he had it in for you and I, but what he did back there just proves that they were false. He died a hero.’
‘I will write to Molly and tell her so,’ Ian said. ‘How bad is your wound?’ He indicated the blood on Conan’s uniform.
‘It hurts a bit but nothing serious from what I can feel,’ Conan replied. ‘However, I think you should see the surgeon about your wound.’
‘In good time,’ Ian said. ‘I have a duty to show the lads that my luck still stands. We will come back for Owen’s body when we take the city.’ Ian reached for his water canteen and gulped it dry.
After a moment he reloaded his revolver and rifle then descended from the roof to the room where Owen’s mangled body lay. The explosion had ripped him open, and his intestines bulged from his body. Ian paused to salute Owen’s body, which was already covered by a swarm of flies.
On the street they re-joined the rearguard of the company and were met by Lieutenant Upton, one of Ian’s platoon commanders.
‘You are wounded, sir,’ Upton said, seeing the blood on Ian’s uniform.
‘Nothing of consequence, Mr Upton,’ Ian replied. ‘To your knowledge, what is the status of the company?’
‘I think we have lost a third of the men, sir,’ Upton replied. ‘I have arranged for our wounded to get treatment with the surgeons back at the baggage park. From what the sergeants have told me, we have cleared the enemy from this section of the city and it appears that they have retreated to other defensive positions.’
‘Good show, Mr Upton,’ Ian said in a tired voice.
‘What do we do now, sir?’ Upton asked. Ian could still hear the sounds of sporadic fighting from nearby streets and alleys.
‘I will send a runner to regimental HQ to wait for further orders,’ Ian said. ‘In the meantime, make sure those who are able take up defensive positions in the event of a counterattack. Block the alley here with anything you can, and see to the men. Make sure they have shade and water.’
‘Yes, sir,’ the junior officer replied, hurrying away to carry out Ian’s orders, gathering the survivors into a fortified position, using oxcarts and furniture to form barricades.
Ian was not sure of their situation until the runner returned. The orders from their regimental commander, Major Dawkins, were to pull back and re-join the remainder of the regiment a few streets away. Night was falling, and the battle to break the siege of Lucknow had not yet been won.
Ian was able to walk amongst his men who were cheered to see that their respected commander, although wounded, was still alive. This meant a lot to the men of Ian’s company. Already the word had gone through the ranks that the commander of their task force, Colonel Neill, had been killed by a musket ball in the narrow streets of the city that day.
Thirty-four
That evening, Ian reluctantly returned for medical attention to the walled garden being used as the base for the assaults on the city.
The surgeon examined his wound and muttered that another couple of inches and the ball would have shattered Ian’s upper arm, which would have resulted in amputation. However, all that was required was that he wash out the wound, stitch it and apply a thick bandage.
Ian thanked him and returned to his company, who were settling in for the night in the outskirts of the city taken by force of arms that day.
‘The lads are a bit quiet tonight,’ Ian observed to Conan.
‘Most lost good friends today,’ Conan said as they observed the men sitting in small groups, smoking their pipes or lying on the ground, attempting to sleep in the flickering light cast by small campfires.
‘I heard that we were able to break the siege,’ Conan continued, packing his pipe and lighting it.
‘I also heard that our people being besieged have discovered a fresh stock of supplies so can continue to hold out for a while longer if the rebels counterattack. But it appears they have suffered too many casualties to mount another attack at this stage. Now it appears that we are the besieged. We will be moving out at first light to reinforce the compound and enlarge the defences. The general hopes that our appearance in the city will discourage the mutineers and they will leave.’
But the general was wrong.
*
A world away across the Indian Ocean, Samuel and James arrived at Wallaroo homestead. It was springtime in the southern hemisphere and wildflowers bloomed across the uncultivated open fields around the property.
Sir George Forbes greeted their arrival with joy and tears.
‘Welcome home, son,’ he said, embracing Samuel on the veranda of the house as servants carried the luggage from the carriage. ‘We have been too long apart and have much to speak about.’
Sir George turned to James and shook his hand. ‘You must have a lot to tell of your adventures in the Americas.’
Samuel and James glanced at each other with knowing looks. There would be a lot more to tell of than their time in New York.
*
The war went on in Lucknow. The defence of the compound by the original
besieged force was expanded, and its control remained under that of Colonel John Inglis, whilst General Outram took over the larger perimeter. Messages were able to go in and out of the newly established fortifications, but day and night the enemy continued its musket and artillery fire on Outram’s freshly dug-in troops.
Tunnelling became a way of life on both sides as the Indian rebels attempted to place explosive mines beneath the British defences. In turn the British defenders sank twenty-one shafts to counter the Indian mine tunnels. It became an underground war, each side attempting to intercept the other’s tunnels, but the British were able to keep one step ahead of their Indian foe, whose numbers were calculated at between thirty and sixty thousand troops, opposing their small force of a few thousand.
Ian’s depleted company had been left out of the tunnelling duties but manned the outer defences. The continuous skirmishing had taken a toll on Ian, who spent sleepless nights thinking of Ella and listening to the constant artillery barrages and crackle of musket fire. As the company sergeant major, Conan carried out his duties like an immoveable rock and gained the utter respect of the men.
Ian’s wound was healing, but it still pained him to use his left arm. News occasionally arrived of battles being fought across northern India, and all were optimistic that the Queen’s Indian Empire was slowly being won back, but at a heavy cost. The East India Company was already being called to account in the hallowed halls of Britain’s parliament, and it appeared that the Company would lose its monopoly and the British government would step in to rule the vast country with its own appointed civil servants.
For Ian and his men, this news held little interest as they simply fought each day to stay alive against an enemy determined to retake the city. Manning the defensive barriers was both tedious and terrifying as the monotony of sentry duty was often broken by near suicidal frontal attacks on the British forces, who found themselves in a position similar to the small force they had come to relieve in Lucknow. Ian knew from the briefings that they desperately needed a relief force to arrive and break the stalemate. Courage and fortitude alone would not win the day as the rebel forces continued to muster troops outside the city walls.
Occasionally Ian led small parties of his men on night raids to neutralise enemy artillery gun positions. The results were good and the guns were taken out of action, but Ian’s men were being worn down by exhaustion and the nervous condition caused by constant fear. Rations were at a stretching point and hunger was starting to become evident in the thinning faces of the British soldiers.
Relief eventually arrived, with Sir Colin Campbell’s force of five thousand seven hundred infantry, six hundred cavalry and thirty guns. The tough and dependable Scots soldiers were greeted with cheers by the weary British defenders.
The Scots had eventually broken through the ranks of the rebels outside the city, but the battle was far from over.
Ian was called to meet with General Havelock at his HQ in the compound, a heavily shelled building with fallen masonry lying all about.
He was greeted warmly by the general, who offered him a tumbler of rum.
‘I was informed earlier of your wound, Captain Forbes,’ he said, ‘I commend your sense of duty to your men in remaining by their side.’
‘The wound is healing, sir,’ Ian said, gratefully feeling the soothing effect of the rum in his stomach. Alcohol was a rare thing as supplies ran short.
‘I have asked you here because it has been decided that we must evacuate the women and children from the city. We all agree that whilst the mutineers remain entrenched, our women and children are in great danger, and Colonel Inglis has been tasked with organising their evacuation. I am assigning your company to escort the civilians out of the city. We want to get them back to Cawnpore, and I know I can rely on you to ensure they arrive safely. There will be other officers with you for this mission, good men who have proven themselves during the siege. The journey is fraught with danger from the enemy forces roaming the countryside, but I am confident your riflemen can deal with that. We have lancers on the road who will also assist you. Here are your written orders.’
The general passed Ian an envelope which contained his authority and the details of the evacuation plan drawn up by Colonel Inglis.
Ian accepted the envelope, saluted the soldier he very much admired, and left the crumbling building. He barely flinched when an explosive shell landed a mere fifty paces away, scattering the courtyard with shrapnel.
Ian then went to brief his company.
‘Lads, we are finally getting out of here,’ he said simply, and saw the look of happiness in the expressions of the men left in the company. He had only thirty-three soldiers left who were fit to march and fight. Their faces were grimy from days of being covered in spent gunpowder, their uniforms in tatters, but their morale was still high under his leadership.
‘Your parade, Sarn’t Major,’ Ian said, turning to Conan who was standing to attention nearby. Conan called for the salute, and Ian returned it before walking away.
In the early hours of the morning, he gathered his kit for the march and found the letter Ella had sent him informing him of her love for the Russian aristocrat. How long had it been since he had seen her in person? Ten months – a year. Time had lost much of its meaning when some days seemed to stretch forever, and at other times during an action, seconds became hours.
Always he could picture her warm smile and remember the scent of her body from that one night they spent together. The memory of their lovemaking had eased the discomfort of the long nights he’d spent shivering in the torrential rains on the Indian plains or marching under a blazing sun. Thoughts of Ella had crept to him as he retreated into a rare quiet place in his mind, away from the battlefields drenched in blood. But that was all gone now.
Ian sighed. Why did he carry the written reminder of love lost?
‘Sir, the lads are ready to march.’
‘Thank you, Sarn’t Major,’ Ian replied, tucking the letter inside his jacket. ‘I will join you.’
Conan saluted and Ian let all thoughts of Ella pass from his mind as he followed Conan to join what was left of his battered company.
His men assembled either side of the column of carriages and oxcarts drawn by loyal Indians in lieu of horses and carrying women, children and servants as they prepared to leave the city. In the early dawn light Ian was met by the acting commanding officer of his regiment.
‘We will be joining you at Cawnpore,’ Dawkins said. ‘I wish you Godspeed, Captain Forbes. I know our refugees are in good hands.’ The major extended his hand. If only Major Dawkins was able to retain command, Ian thought as he shook hands.
‘Thank you, sir,’ Ian said. ‘I have total faith that my men would lay down their lives to protect the women and children.’
He saluted and Dawkins strode away.
Then the mounted lancers joined the line of refugees departing the city and Ian marched forwards, his Enfield at the ready. He was acutely aware that amongst those he was designated to protect was the young wife of Lucknow’s legendary defender, Colonel John Inglis.
They had hardly passed through the outer gate of the city when a sporadic fire opened up on the column from positions off the road.
‘Move quickly!’ Ian roared to the Indians drawing the vehicles, although they hardly needed urging. Musket balls spattered dirt, slamming into the sides of the oxcarts and carriages. Already Conan had deployed his sharpshooters to locate and fire on the enemy snipers. The enemy fire tapered away as one by one the Enfield bullets reached out to tear into soft flesh.
After the first ambush they were fired at on two more occasions. However, between Ian’s men and the mounted lancers they were able to clear the road, and eventually in the late afternoon they reached a house standing in a large garden. Immediately Ian and his men were assailed by the stench of rotting flesh. Glancing around, Ian could see nume
rous partially buried bodies. He remembered the report he had read before leaving Lucknow of a battle at this place a few days earlier, where around two thousand one hundred rebels had been cut to pieces.
Conan joined Ian. ‘Is this where we bivouac tonight?’ he asked.
‘No, we continue the march as soon as extra troops join us for the rest of the journey,’ Ian replied.
At 10 pm the weary column of refugees continued the march to a place called Dil Khoosha Park. In the dark only the creak of oxcarts, the occasional whimpering of children, and the muffled sound of men marching broke the silence of the night. It was important that the train not draw undue attention from the bands of armed rebels roaming the area. Once during the trip, a halt was called, lanterns extinguished and all waited, holding their breaths as the sound of many horses could be heard in the distance. Ian’s men gripped their rifles, bayonets fixed, ready for any close fighting in the darkness. But it was their reinforcements arriving, and all were able to breathe again.
Around midnight they came to the camp set up to accommodate them on the route to Cawnpore. Ian had his company settled in for the night with sentries posted and was surprised to see tea, bread and butter distributed to his men. It was a luxury they had not seen in months and Conan was even able to scrounge a couple of bottles of beer.
‘Not enough to share with the lads,’ he said, holding up the bottles, ‘but a reward for senior NCOs and officers of the company – at least the sarn’t major and the company commander.’
Ian gestured for Conan to enter his tent and in the dark they removed the tops from the bottles.
Ian raised his bottle. ‘To dear friends lost and comrades forever to remain in the earth of India.’
‘Hear, hear,’ Conan said, and drank down every last drop of the precious amber liquid.
As he did so, he thought of all those people he had loved who had died since he had left the colony of New South Wales. First it had been his brother murdered on the ship that had brought them to London; then Edwin, Molly’s brother, killed in the Crimean War, and now Owen, killed in India. He did not want to think of who else might be lost before he could return to England and the woman he loved.
