Windrush: Cry Havelock (Jack Windrush Book 4)

by Malcolm Archibald

  'What did Aaryah say?' Jack asked.

  'Nothing you should know.' Mary said, still smiling.

  'Tell me anyway.' Jack insisted.

  'It is as well that the British don't know what is going on all around them.' Mary translated and looked at Aaryah, who chuckled and shook her head.

  'There was more,' Jack said.

  'There was,' Mary agreed.

  'Was it about the Mutineers and the rebellion?' Jack asked. 'Are these people hiding things from us?'

  'India does not all revolve around Britain and the British,' Mary said softly. 'Remember what I said about farmers? The seasons and the weather matter more than anything else.' She smiled again, softly. 'And real life continues.' She tossed back her long hair when Aaryah spoke again. 'Aaryah said that some British officers don't see the obvious even when it's right under their nose.'

  Both women exchanged glances and laughed again, leaving Jack feeling slightly uncomfortable. 'I don't understand,' he said, which brought more secretive looks and further laughter.

  'You might later,' Mary translated Aaryah's next words.

  'These British women,' Jack changed the subject, 'could you take me to them?'

  'I could,' Mary said quickly. 'If you can wait until the waters drain away.' Again she exchanged glances with Aaryah. 'We are on a bit of an island here.'

  Only Riley seemed perturbed to learn the flood had trapped them in Bilari. Reassuring him they would leave as soon as it was practicable, Jack set about making friends with the villagers and creating defensive positions in case the Mutineers came.

  'There is no need for concern,' Mary assured him. 'We can see anybody approaching for miles.' She stood at his side, tall, straight, elegant and more Indian than she had ever appeared before. 'Do you see these hills over there?' She indicated a range of low, wooded heights shrouded in drifting mist or rain; Jack was not sure which.

  'I do,' Jack said.

  'Those are the Vindhya hills,' she said. 'They are only twenty miles away but inaccessible in the floods. We can't get there, and the people there can't leave either.'

  Jack noticed Riley watching and listening as Mary pointed to the hills. It must be terrible for him, wondering if Charlotte was there, worrying about her safety every minute of the day and night and not being able to reach her.

  'Do you feel she is alive?' Mary asked. She touched Riley's arm.

  'Yes,' Riley said at once.

  'Then she will be.' Mary said. 'Love is a strange thing. It knows when reason and rationality and logic cannot tell. Trust your feelings.'

  Riley did not smile. 'Thank you, Mary.'

  'See?' Logan had been sitting on a log, saying nothing as he cleaned his rifle. 'I told you Charlotte was in the pink. Now stop fretting, Riley.'

  Jack heard the noise through the croaking of frogs in the dark. He slid his hand to the holster at the side of the bed and grasped the butt of his revolver. He said nothing, lying still as his eyes adjusted to the dark and he listened for the source of the sound. Something was moving in the room, the shape indistinct. He raised the revolver.

  'That's far enough! One more step and I'll blow your head off!'

  'Jack!' Mary sounded indignant. 'It's me!' There was the flare of a Lucifer and Mary was peering at him behind the flickering flame of a candle.

  'What the devil are you doing here?' Jack lowered the revolver.

  'Now that is a very foolish question,' Mary kept her voice quiet and swept a hand over her body from neck to knees. 'Move over, please.'

  'Oh, dear God,' Jack stared as she dropped her simple dress and stood stark naked at his side. 'Oh, dear God in heaven.'

  'Well, Captain Jack,' Mary said softly. 'Are you the British officer tonight, too respectable to even think of a woman who was not of a high caste, or are you Jack Windrush, whose eyes follow me whenever I walk away?'

  Jack reached out and stroked the outside of her thigh. 'Come in and find out.'

  The rains stopped during the night. Jack heard the quick patter on the roof ease and then cease. He sat up and out of instinct reached for his revolver. Instead, Mary's hand slipped inside his.

  'No, Captain Jack. Some things are more urgent even than your duty as an officer of the queen.' She was not smiling. 'You need a woman, Captain Jack; if you think only of your duty, your nerves will stretch and snap.'

  Jack let her guide him back down, and for a while, he forgot the weather outside.

  Chapter Thirteen

  They moved slowly through the receding flood waters with Mary leading them and the men alert for Mutineers. Testing each step for the depth of water and mud, hopeful not to meet snakes, the men swatted biting insects, sweltered in the heat and plodded on, swearing.

  'Bloody India,' Logan said. 'Somebody told me it never rained in India.'

  'They lied,' Parker said.

  'What do you think Riley?' When Riley remained stubbornly silent, Logan continued. 'We'll find her, son, dinnae fret.' He swayed closer, so his shoulder nudged Riley's arm. 'We'll find your Charlotte.'

  Riley slogged on, thigh deep in water, eyes mobile and jaw set. Watching them both, Jack knew he could never express the pain he felt. These were his men, suffering, and he could not help them.

  They rested at an isolated village on a ridge of high ground, searched the place for evidence of Mutineers and ate what they could from the villagers' meagre stock. 'We'll pay,' Jack passed over a few rupees, hoping that these poor people used such currency. They looked at the coins and salaamed silently.

  'There are no Mutineers here,' O'Neill reported. 'Only local people and goats. The folk don't understand anything I say to them.'

  'Let me try,' Mary said and gave a long speech to the bemused village headman, who shook his head and glanced at Jack in fear.

  'They have never seen a white man before,' Mary reported. 'And now a dozen descend on them at one time. They must think we come from the moon. They don't know what a sepoy is, yet alone a Mutineer.'

  Jack nodded. 'They can think what they like,' he said. 'Have they any news of the white women?'

  'Not a word,' Mary said. 'These villagers are poor people; they know nothing.'

  Jack grunted. 'You told me that everybody knew about these British women.'

  'I was wrong,' Mary admitted frankly.

  They left at dusk, wading through the water and asking the same question at other villages in the area, always with the same result until they reached the lower slopes of the Vindhya Hills. Low and wooded, the hills were drier than the plains, but progress was equally slow as they negotiated a seemingly endless series of ridges.

  By now Jack's men knew the system. They would move at night and halt during the day, and when they neared a village, Mary and Jack would scout ahead and approach the women. If it seemed safe, she would ask about white people, and then they would move on again. The red-turbaned chowkidar in the third village in these misty hills grasped an antique sword as he listened. He spoke in a high voice to Mary, pointed behind him and placed himself at the entrance to his village, denying them entry.

  'Sound man, that,' Jack approved. 'He's doing his duty and guarding his charges. What did he say?'

  'Most of the chowkidar's are steady men.' Mary said. 'You really will have to learn more of the language if you stay here, Captain Jack.'

  'Yes, ma'am,' Jack said. 'And if I did I would be deprived of your company. What did he say?'

  Mary gave one of her secretive smiles. 'He said he heard stories of bhoots or ghosts deeper in the hills. The ghosts may mean white people, or it may not.' Mary shook her head.

  They moved on, still cautious, trusting nobody.

  'You hear that, Riley?' Logan nudged him. 'There might be white folks up the hills. Cheer up, man. It could be your missus.'

  Riley forced a smile. 'Yes.' He stared forward as if he could penetrate distance and mist. His mouth worked as if he was talking to his wife, or possibly praying.

  'Right lads,' Jack said. 'We're marching by day and n
ight now.'

  They moved faster, dropped some of their caution and entered villages by daylight, with Mary questioning the headman while the men of the 113th ensured there were no rebels around.

  'Riley, you and Logan act as close escort to Mary. Make sure nobody harasses her.' By placing Riley near Mary, Jack had ensured he would be first to hear any news of Charlotte.

  The village was small and poor, huddled between two ridges. Jack sent O'Neill and Coleman ahead to scout and waited as insects sought his blood, and a herd of cheetal deer broke cover and vanished before any of the men could react.

  'Sir.' Coleman's face was damp with sweat. 'Sergeant O'Neill sends his compliments and could you come at once, sir.' He grinned. 'There are British women, sir!'

  'Riley! Come with me. Parker; take over from Riley!'

  'You're British?' The voice was thin, with a distinct West Country accent.

  'We're the 113th Foot!' Riley shouted. 'Is Charlotte Riley with you?'

  'You are British!' The woman emerged from a copse of trees, holding a small child in her arms. 'Oh thank God!' She was about thirty with her dark blonde hair a tangle on her head, and her clothes ripped past the point of decency. 'Oh thank God! We've been living with these savages for too long!'

  Jack felt a mixture of sympathy and anger. 'These savages presumably saved your lives,' he said. 'How many of you are there?'

  'Seven.' The woman's tears were genuine. 'A mob of our sepoys burned our bungalow and killed my husband, and I grabbed the children and ran.'

  'We're searching for women from the 113th.' Riley could not hold back any further. 'Charlotte Riley? Have you news of my wife? She's about five feet four and…'

  The woman shook her head. 'No; no. We're Company infantry, not Queen's.'

  'Are there more women here? Have you heard of any other British women and children?' Riley was increasingly anxious.

  The woman shook her head. 'There are only us here.'

  Riley shook his head. 'There must be more.' He grabbed her shoulders. 'My wife!'

  'Come on Riley, son.' Logan put a wiry arm around Riley's shoulders. 'She's not here so she must be somewhere else. We'll find her; don't you fret; we'll find her.'

  There were seven civilians, none from the 113th, and although Mary enquired and Jack led patrols around the area, there were no more British survivors in the area.

  'They might be somewhere else nearby, sir' Riley said. 'We can't leave.'

  'The local people would know.' Jack watched Logan, concerned that he might take Riley's side. One always had to be careful with the 113th. 'Come on Riley; she's not here.' He turned away. 'We'll find her.'

  It was almost a relief to get back to Cawnpore and hand the women to the care of General Neill. Almost a relief, but not quite for the town was less a secure cantonment and more a thinly guarded hospital for the cases of dysentery, fever and cholera.

  'Look.' O'Neill leant against the gallows overlooking the courtyard where the women and children of the garrison had been butchered and nodded forward. Two sepoys crawled on hands and knees, surrounded by a group of laughing British soldiers.

  'What the devil's happening?' Jack asked.

  'It's General Neill's new way of teaching the murdering bastards a lesson.' O'Neill said casually. 'They have to lick up some of the women's blood before we hang them. It spoils their caste you see, and they don't like it one bit. Not one bit, sir.'

  'I see.' Jack felt nauseated.

  'They raped our women,' O'Neill said, 'and tortured them too, so it serves them right.'

  One of the watching infantrymen put his boot on the neck of a naik and pushed his face right down into the blood. 'Lick it, you raping, murdering bastard!' He twisted his boot, grinding the naik's face into the bloody dirt.

  Jack felt Mary shiver at his side. 'It's all right,' he whispered. 'They won't touch you. They don't even know you're part native. Why I am as dark as you are and I'm pure English.'

  'I did not know they hated the natives so much,' Mary said. 'I thought we were friends in India.'

  'So did I,' Jack said. 'The Mutineers have broken the faith, I think.'

  'The British are doing their best to make sure it stays broken,' Mary said quietly. 'When I see this sort of thing I feel more Indian than British.'

  Jack felt the tension rise between them. 'The Mutineers raped and murdered British women and children. Naturally, the men want revenge.'

  Mary took a symbolic but significant step further away. 'Hindi men would defile their caste if they raped a Christian woman,' she said quietly. 'The women were murdered but not raped; unless there were Muslims involved.'

  Jack watched as the soldiers continued to torment the sepoys. 'One's as bad as the other,' he said. The cheering rose to new heights when the hangman placed nooses around the Mutineers' necks. 'This is a terrible place.' Even as he spoke, he knew India was as much his home as England was.

  He walked away and looked in surprise as Mary stepped beside him. 'I thought we had fallen out.'

  'Do you want us to fall out?' Her eyes were large and innocent.

  Jack remembered Helen's quick temper and sudden mood swings. 'No,' he said. 'Not at all.'

  'Then we shan't.' Mary said. 'But I'm not watching these men get hanged for public entertainment.'

  'Nor am I,' Jack said and for some reason he did not understand added, 'thank you.' As they walked side by side, they heard the crowd cheer.

  Nodding to Mary, Elliot looked drawn and tired as he gave a half-hearted salute. 'Have you heard the news, sir?'

  'Not until you tell me,' Jack asked.

  'Havelock has withdrawn all the way to Cawnpore,' Elliot said. 'The attempt to relieve Lucknow has failed. The garrison in the Residency is on its own.'

  Chapter Fourteen

  With Havelock's return to Cawnpore, India burst into further revolt as a host of minor chieftains and landowners in Oudh were encouraged to rebel. Rather than face a few thousand mutinous sepoys, British India now faced the prospect of rebellion within one of the largest and most important provinces of the country.

  'So, you returned safely.' General Havelock looked as lugubrious as ever if more haggard.

  'Yes, sir,' Jack saluted and stood at attention.

  'I heard you rescued seven women and children,' Havelock said. 'Good work, Windrush. Now you're back with us you'll wish to resume duty as soon as possible.'

  'Yes, sir. My men are keen to relieve Lucknow.'

  Havelock gave a stern nod. 'Then they'll be pleased to know that our setback is only temporary. The Lord did not see fit to grant us victory on our first attempt, but we'll try again, and I'll need every experienced fighting man.'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'You may have heard that Major-General Sir James Outram is taking command here. I fought under him in Persia, and he is a good man.'

  'Yes, sir. Will he be leading the force to Lucknow, sir?'

  'I will be in charge of military matters,' Havelock said. 'General Outram will come along in a civilian capacity.'

  Jack hid his satisfaction. After Havelock's run of victories over odds, he had no desire for an unknown general to take command.

  For the next few weeks the British force gradually built up, while the rains continued and cholera burned itself out.

  'Last time we tried we had about twelve hundred British and a few hundred Sikhs that nobody completely trusted,' Elliot said. 'Now look at us. We have over three thousand men; we knew the Sikhs are loyal to a fault, and we have three batteries of artillery and a hundred and sixty cavalry rather than eighteen horsemen.'

  'There is some good quality infantry too,' Jack added. 'As well as the regiments we already know there is the 90th Foot; we fought beside them in the Crimea. I don't know the 5th Fusiliers though.'

  'I know nothing about them,' Elliot said.

  Jack grunted. 'We'll soon find out how good they are.'

  In addition to reinforcements, Havelock had been busy gathering boats to cross the rivers Gumti and
Sai that barred their road to Lucknow and having artisans make carriages to drag the boats along. In the meantime, engineers constructed a bridge of boats across the Ganges.

  'This time we'll get through,' Elliot said. 'This time.'

  Jack remembered the well at Cawnpore. 'Oh, God I hope so.'

  On the 18th September Captain Maude took his battery of three guns across the Ganges. The boats swayed under the weight but held and in a hot three- hour duel Maude flattened the Mutineers' artillery that attempted to stop him. The sound and smoke reached the 113th as they prepared themselves in Cawnpore.

  'It looks like we're going to have to fight all the way to Lucknow,' Elliot said.

  Jack saw Mary watching from the banks of the Ganges; her eyes shaded with worry. He waved and mouthed: 'cheer up: take care.'

  It was an impulse Jack did not fully understand. Aware of Mary was watching him, he removed Helen's letter from his breast pocket and without reading it, tore it into small fragments and threw it into the air. The pieces of paper fell to the ground like inverted confetti.

  'Goodbye, Helen Maxwell,' Jack felt as if he had said farewell to a huge part of his past. It hardly hurt at all.

  Mary lifted a hand to wave. Jack did not know if she appreciated the significance of his action; he was unsure if he understood himself. He did know that Mary's eyes were brown and her gaze intense as she put her fingers to her lips.

  On the next day, the 19th September Havelock again led an army across the Ganges, bound for Lucknow. Jack had augmented his survivors from the previous attempt with men from the garrison and looked over his 113th as they marched over the swaying bridge. Their mood had altered from the grimness of their first attempt to a savage optimism that boded ill for the enemy. He glanced behind him; twenty bullocks hauled each huge carriage bearing the boats for the Gumti and Sai rivers while the battery of three heavy guns could match anything of the enemy. This time they would get through, despite the pelting rain and anything the rebels could throw at them.

  'I heard there are eight thousand Mutineers at Mangalwar,' Elliot said. 'And they have eighteen pieces of artillery. They still outnumber us nearly three to one.'