by V. A. Stuart
Outram, it was true, learning of his dilemma, had written: “We can manage to screw on till near the end of November, on further reduced rations, since it is obviously to the advantage of the State that the Gwalior rebels should be first effectually destroyed . . . our relief must be a secondary consideration.” To Colin Campbell, however, the relief of the Residency’s heroic garrison was all important and he, who had often in the past been criticized for overcaution, decided to take a desperate gamble. During the six days he remained in Cawnpore, he provided for every contingency he could. General Windham was left in command of the entrenchment that Neill had constructed and held while Havelock was fighting in Oudh, and his orders were “to show the best front possible but not to move out to the attack unless compelled to do so by the threat of bombardment.” The commander-in-chief added that, should he be severely threatened, Windham was at once to inform him.
On November 10, having sent on Peel’s Shannon Brigade with its formidable siege guns and arranged for the dispatch of ordnance and engineer parks, commissariat and medical stores, Sir Colin Campbell left Cawnpore with a small escort of cavalry, prepared to take the greatest gamble of his long and distinguished career. In a letter to the Duke of Cambridge, he wrote: “I intend to trust to the valor of my small but devoted band, make a dash for Lucknow, rescue the garrison and return—swiftly enough, I hope—to save Windham from any danger that may threaten him.”
CHAPTER SIX
FOR ALEX SHERIDAN, the weeks he spent as a prisoner behind the rebel lines were among the most frustrating he had ever been called upon to endure.
He was well, even generously treated. With servants to wait on him, food, drink and tobacco freely provided, his life might have been envied by many poor souls in the Residency garrison, and his health benefited greatly from the more than adequate diet and the enforced rest.The slight wound he had sustained in his left leg was dressed daily by a native physician, a skillful old man, who took a great interest in him and insisted on treating his scarred face with herbs and lotions, which wrought a remarkable improvement in the puckered scar tissue on cheek and brow.
Rajah Man Singh, at their first interview, made it clear to him that there was an ulterior motive behind the decision to preserve his life, but the tone of their conversation suggested to Alex that he was required rather as a living proof of the Hindu chief’s continued loyalty to the British Raj than for any more sinister purpose.Initially he made no mention of Lettice Wheeler’s presence in his camp; instead he explained, at considerable length, the reason for his own presence in Lucknow.
“Understand, Sheridan Sahib,” he said earnestly, “that ever since the sepoy regiments broke out in mutiny, I have done all in my power to give aid and sanctuary to those British officers and their families who were driven as fugitives from the stations. I turned none away. Despite threats from those who, like the Nana of Bithur, have joined in the rebellion, I fed and clothed your countrymen and, when it was possible, I sent them under escort to Allahabad or Benares.” He gave names and dates, and Alex, who had met some of the refugees he mentioned and been told of others, had no reason to doubt his claim. “Also,” Man Singh went on, “I have sent reports concerning the movement of the Nana’s troops and, of late, those of the Begum, to Gubbins Sahib in the Residency, as well as to the General Sahib, Sir James Outram.”
“But you are here with your own troops, Rajah Sahib,” Alex reminded him. “Ranging them with the ranks of mutinous sepoys, who hold the Residency under siege.”
“My troops are here only for my protection,” Man Singh corrected. His round, golden brown face was innocent of guile and his tone indignant. “I came here for the sole purpose of effecting the rescue of my aunt, the widow of Rajah Buktwar Singh, whose person was unlawfully seized by the rebels.The brother of Gubbins Sahib, Commissioner in Benares, was aware of my desire to ensure the Rani’s safety, since I informed him of it before coming here. I demanded her release and my demands were complied with, but the Begum insists on keeping me here, seeking to persuade me to join her cause. If I attempt to withdraw my troops, as was my intention, twenty koss from Lucknow, the rebel sepoys will be incited to attack me . . . and my men are lightly armed, without guns.” He spread his hands in a gesture of resignation. “I wait only for the opportunity—perhaps when the British send more soldiers to relieve the garrison—and then I shall withdraw my troops. I have no connection with the rebels, Sheridan Sahib . . . save of necessity. And assuredly I have no quarrel with the British—I have not and will not take up arms against my friends, nor will I betray any of your people. Am I not protecting you? I recognized you the night you came to the Kaiser Bagh . . . if I were a traitor, would I not have delivered you to the Moulvi?”
“True, Rajah Sahib,” Alex conceded. “And I am grateful.You gave me my life and I am in your debt.” He hesitated, searching the inscrutable face opposite him and then, unable to learn anything from it, asked bluntly, “How may I repay you?”
“I ask no repayment or reward,” Man Singh answered, smiling. “If, when the opportunity occurs, I am able to deliver you to Cawnpore or even to aid you to return to the Residency, all I shall ask is that you will inform General Outram and Mr. Gubbins of my continued friendship and loyalty.”
“That, of course I shall do,” Alex promised.
“Then it is enough,” Man Singh assured him. He rose to signify that the interview was at an end, and added, “You have the freedom of my encampment, Sheridan Sahib—go where you will within its confines but, for your own safety, do not go beyond and keep always with you the escort I shall provide. Do not attempt to return to the Residency without my help for, if you do, the rebels will kill you.”
The escort, obviously, would be under orders to prevent any attempt at escape, Alex thought and, after a momentary pause, he inclined his head in assent. There was more, a great deal more that he wanted to know, but he sensed that this was not the time to question his rescuer concerning Kaur Singh or the other talukdars ...first he must persuade Man Singh to trust him. Letty Wheeler was, however, a different and more urgent matter, and he said, his tone deliberately casual, “Rajah Sahib, it has been brought to my knowledge that you have also the daughter of General Wheeler under your protection.”
“That is so,” the Rajah admitted. “I had much admiration for General Wheeler. When his daughter sought my help, I gave it.”
“Do you intend to release her, when I am released?”
“You speak as if I imprison you! That is not the case, Colonel Sheridan—did I not make it clear that you are not a prisoner?”
“My words were ill chosen,” Alex apologized, swiftly on his guard.
“Then, in reply to your question . . . the general’s daughter is free to go with you, when I restore you to your own people, or to remain, as she herself chooses. But here in my encampment, it would be better if you did not associate with her, save when others are present. I am aware,” Man Singh raised a hand, as Alex started to speak, “I am aware that the mem sought you out, contrary to my instructions, which, like my advice to you, Sheridan Sahib, I gave only to ensure both your safety and hers.”
“She will come to no harm in my company, Rajah Sahib,” Alex began. “Her father was also my friend and my commander, I—”
“You are man of honor, Sheridan Sahib,” Man Singh put in smoothly. “Of that I have no doubt but—”
“Then trust in my honor, if you please. The mem is young, scarcely more than a child, and she has suffered much. She was in the entrenchment at Cawnpore, she witnessed her father’s murder, and it is natural that she should seek the company of one of her own countrymen.”
There was a flicker of uneasiness in Man Singh’s dark, intelligent eyes. “You may see and converse with her, Colonel Sahib,” he agreed. “But not alone—that would be misunderstood by my people. And by her husband, who is of the Moslem faith. He—”
“Her marriage, like her conversion to the Moslem faith, was forced upon her,” Alex protested
indignantly.
“True,” the Rajah conceded. “Nevertheless, both marriage and conversion took place and must be recognized here. I myself have to tread warily, for I am among many enemies. I cannot afford to offend the followers of the Prophet. But,” he shrugged, “matters can be arranged.A woman of my household shall be appointed to accompany General Wheeler’s daughter, one who has no knowledge of your language, so that you may speak freely in her presence. Will that suffice?”
“It will suffice, Rajah Sahib,” Alex answered, controlling his impatience. “And I thank you.” He accepted his dismissal and returned to his own tent under the respectful but nonetheless vigilant escort of Subedar Kedar Nath and the Rajah’s vakeel, Ananta Ram.
Despite the Rajah’s promise, however, he did not see Letty Wheeler for over a week and, when he was finally permitted to do so, she was heavily veiled and accompanied by a pock-marked old crone, whose presence inhibited conversation. Her voice muffled and her face hidden by the all-enveloping boorkha, Letty assured him that she was in good health and being well treated and then the crone hurried her back to the women’s tents, clucking over her charge like an agitated mother hen.Alex sensed that all was not well. But, unable to question her, he could only guess at the cause until, that evening, when he left his tent to take such exercise as he was permitted, he found his escort augmented by a daffadar of the 2nd Light Cavalry—a tall, light-skinned man, who subjected him to a lengthy scrutiny and then fell in behind him without a word. He walked to the eastern side of the camp, as he always did, and stood there staring into the gathering darkness, in an attempt to deduce—from the direction of the distant firing—what progress the Residency defenders had made and, a trifle to his surprise, the daffadar volunteered the information that Phillips’ House had been taken after a desperate battle and the gun battery put out of action.
Questioned, he gave details of the attack, his tone openly contemptuous as he described how the covering infantry had fled when the battle seemed to be going against them, leaving the golandazes to be cut to pieces beside their guns and the whole battery to fall into the hands of a vastly inferior force of British soldiers. Rebuked by the old subedar, the tall cavalryman was unrepentant.
“I tell only of what I saw with my own eyes, Subedar Sahib,” he returned sullenly. “My troop was called upon to aid in taking away the ammunition tumbrils, but they called upon us too late. Yet there were but a handful of feringhis and our sepoys were behind a stockade, with a strong building to their rear, loopholed for musket fire, which they could have held easily against so few. They did not even attempt to hold it—as soon as they saw the lal-kotes fix bayonets and prepare to charge them, the dogs took to their heels, abandoning the golandazes to their fate. Now all the buildings overlooking the Cawnpore road are blown up and the guns likewise.”
“Your brave sowars did nothing to prevent it,” the subedar accused.
“How could we, when our horses were harnessed to tumbrils?” the daffadar defended hotly. “As I said, they called upon us when it was too late. We saved the ammunition but, alas, to no purpose, since the guns from which it should have been fired were destroyed by the feringhis ...thanks to your dogs of sepoys!”
They continued to argue, forgetful of his presence as the argument grew more heated and Alex remained silent, listening and inwardly rejoicing as the scraps of information they let drop revealed that the defenders of the Residency were more than holding their own. Later, when he returned to his tent, he made an opportunity to talk in private to the daffadar and found him unexpectedly communicative and, at times, savagely critical of the manner in which the siege was being conducted. He gave his name as Mohammed Khan Aziz but did not, at first, mention his marriage to Letty Wheeler, and Alex, taking his cue from this omission, made no mention of it either, content to bide his time until the man should see fit to confide in him.
Mohammed Khan was an intelligent and experienced soldier, and, on his own admission, he had been one of the leaders of the mutiny in his regiment, believing the Moulvi’s impassioned claim that all Muslim India was about to rise in order to restore the Mogul emperor to his throne . . . and the deposed Wajid Ali to the throne of Oudh. Now, while not admitting that he regretted having joined the revolt, he made no secret of his disillusionment at the turn events had taken or of his dissatisfaction with his present circumstances, which he attributed mainly to the rebels’ divided and inept command, and to the religious differences and jealousies by which they were beset.
“I had thought to march to Delhi, with my paltan, to pledge my sword and my life to the service of the Shah Bahadur,” he confessed.” But instead, Teeka Singh—our Rissaldar Major—gave ear to the false promises of the Nana of Bithur. He allowed himself to be bribed, to be named as general of Cavalry and throughout the siege of General Wheeler Sahib’s entrenchment, he thought of nothing save how to enrich himself with plunder. I had wished the General Sahib no harm—he was a good man and a valiant soldier—yet we were all compelled to take up arms against him and, in the end, to betray him and his garrison.You were there, Sheridan Sahib, you know what befell them.”
“Yes,” Alex confirmed, his voice without expression. “I was there and I know, Mohammed Khan.”
The daffadar talked on, seeming almost glad to relieve his conscience as he spoke of the massacre of the Cawnpore garrison. “I rode down to the Suttee Chowra Ghat with Vibart Sahib and his Memsahib. I had one of the Sahib’s children on my saddlebow . . . a golden-haired little girl, and we were laughing and making jokes with the Sahib, as if we, too, were children. We—”
“Knew you not what was planned?” Alex interrupted harshly, unable to contain himself as memory stirred.
“Nahin, Sahib, I knew not.” Mohammed Khan’s denial was unhappy and it had the ring of truth. “Some knew, it is true . . . our Rissaldar among them. But not I. That I swear to you. When the bugle sounded and the guns were unmasked, I was taken by surprise.The Rissaldar was not. He rode into the water, striking at the mems in the water with his tulwar and urging us to do likewise. Then one of the sahibs shot him down and—”
“I was that sahib,” Alex told him. “I killed your Rissaldar, Mohammed Khan.”
The daffadar eyed him somberly. “You were fighting for your own life, Sheridan Sahib, and for the mems and the baba-log.” He shrugged and, after a momentary hesitation, continued his narrative. “I rode back toward the bridge. I wanted no part in what was being done. I am a soldier and I have seen many men die . . . but not like that.The garrison had fought well, they had accepted honorable surrender, and the Nana Sahib had promised them safe conduct.Yet he ordered them to be massacred—all of them, the mems and the baba-log. He is a Mahratta, an accursed Hindu. I am of the Faith and I do not break my word or make war on women.” Again he hesitated and Alex asked, without anger, “Is that why you took the General Sahib’s daughter?”
Mohammed Khan inclined his turbaned head. “Ji-han, Sahib. I had not reached the bridge when I saw the old general. He had been wounded, he could scarcely walk, but they put his doolie down and bade him rise to his feet. He tried and they let him stagger a few paces, mocking him, and then they set upon him and hacked him to pieces. One of them, a dog of a Hindu, cut his head from the body and held it up. His mem was watching, with his two daughters. I could not stand by and do nothing. I took the girl, lifted her onto my horse and rode with her back to the city. I did not harm her, I thought only to save her, to protect her. She is young, hardly more than a child. I took her honorably, Sheridan Sahib—I arranged for her to receive instruction in the Faith and then I took her as my wife, after her conversion. In the eyes of Allah, she is my woman.”
He spoke with such evident sincerity that Alex did not doubt that he was telling the truth. Letty, he thought, had been more fortunate than her elder sister on the face of it, but . . . “Have you other women in your zenana?” he questioned sternly. “Other wives to the number permitted by your Faith?”
Mohammed Khan shook his hea
d. “Nahin, Sahib ...and I shall take no others.The General Sahib’s daughter now bears my name and the name she was given on her conversion to the Faith —Auliah. She is my woman—I shall not yield her to any man. If you would take her, you must first kill me, Sheridan Sahib. Be that understood.”
“I seek only to restore her to her own people, Mohammed Khan,” Alex told him. “If that were her wish, if she were to plead with you to allow her to go, would you still refuse?”
“Even then,” the daffadar answered, stone-faced. He added defiantly, “She does not wish to go . . . nor will she. She is my wife, she will bear my child. It is said that you are a man of honor, Sheridan Sahib. Do not seek to take Auliah from me. But for me, she would be dead. She is in the camp of Man Singh— as you are—for her own safety.” He launched into a harrowing account of the perils they had both faced from other rebel soldiers, who had doubted the truth of Letty’s conversion. “The men of my paltan do not forget how her elder sister served the sowar who, as I did, saved her from the massacre at the Suttee Chowra Ghat. They taunt me constantly and threaten Auliah’s life. It was for this reason that I brought her here, that she might escape from her enemies. I had not thought to find you—a feringhi—among them, Sheridan Sahib.”
He saluted and took his leave abruptly, as if afraid that he might have said too much, but he came to the camp whenever he was off duty and frequently relieved the old subedar of his escort, so that Alex, by dint of judicious questioning, was able to build up a fairly accurate picture of the state of affairs among the rebel host in Lucknow. As before, Mohammed Khan was critical of their leadership and of the fighting qualities of the Hindu sepoys and, assured of a sympathetic hearing, he talked freely of both. His allegiance had been given, he explained, to the young Birjis Quadr—recently enthroned as Nawab of Oudh and, through him, to his mother, the Begum Hazrat Mahal, but, to Alex’s surprise, he confessed to mistrust of the Moulvi.
