Windrush (Jack Windrush Book 1)

by Malcolm Archibald

  'Halt and listen,' Bertram ordered, and the men stopped at once, eyes swivelling to the dark surroundings.

  'Drums,' Jack confirmed. He did not have to say more. All the men knew what that meant.

  'It could be just some local festival,' Coleman said, 'it's nearly Christmas…'

  'Peguese don't celebrate Christmas,' Myat told him. 'We are Buddhists, not Christians.'

  'Maybe a wedding then, or something,' Coleman continued.

  Jack shook his head. 'It's the dacoits,' he said. 'Keep your eyes wide open, boys.'

  'March on,' Bertram ordered, 'quick march or at the double or whatever the order is.'

  The mood had entirely altered as the small column moved on. Elation had changed to tension, joy to fear and relief to doubt.

  'They're getting louder,' Thorpe's voice was high pitched. He began to move faster toward Pegu, 'Jesus look! The place is alive with them!'

  He's right, damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it!

  Jack looked around. The Burmese had emerged from the jungle behind them, moving with the same confident, wary vitality as they had in every previous encounter. Two distinct bodies of Burmese soldiers emerged from the forest. The stocky, muscular soldiers carried their long muskets and vicious dhas with skill and they moved together in formation.

  'These are no dacoits,' Jack said shortly, 'these are regular Burmese soldiers.'

  Wells nodded. 'Could be,' he said, and asked Myat her opinion.

  Myat glanced over her shoulder and pushed forward a little faster.

  She is scared. I have never seen Myat looking scared. For an instant, Jack fought the urge to hold her in reassurance.

  'They're not dacoits,' her voice lacked its habitual calm. 'They are the king's favourite two regiments, the Invincibles and the Invulnerables.'

  'Are they good?' Jack did not need to ask the question. He knew by the way the men moved that they were trained soldiers. He raised his voice, 'at the double, boys. They are right behind us.'

  The Burmese were moving fast, trotting up to Pegu as the light faded behind the temple.

  There is no movement in Pegu. We have to warn the garrison.

  'Wells, O'Neill; fire at the Burmese!'

  'They have not seen us yet, sir,' Wells warned.

  'Nor have the garrison seen them,' Jack told him. 'We have to wake them up.'

  The Burmese were advancing in ordered ranks, keeping their positions as if they were on parade. If the Invincibles and Invulnerables came to Pegu in such order, any unwary sentries would be overwhelmed. The Burmese would flood the defences and massacre the British in their barracks.

  Wells nodded and nudged O'Neill. 'You take the Invincibles and I'll take the Invulnerables,' he said.

  'All of them?' O'Neill murmured but knelt and faced the oncoming Burmese. Jack waited with them. The Burmese were almost invisible; dim shapes in the rushing gloom. The bamboo jungle behind them seemed like a solid black wall.

  'Don't aim, just fire,' Jack said, 'we are warning the garrison more than trying to halt the Burmese.'

  'Aye, sir,' O'Neill made the words sound like an insult.

  Hurry along for God's sake. Jack looked over his shoulder as Bertram led the column toward Pegu. We are isolated here. He touched his leg; the wound was aching damnably.

  'Ready Corporal?' Wells sounded casual.

  'Ready Sergeant.' O'Neill gave a small grin, his teeth white in the dark. 'You give the word.'

  'Fire,' Wells was laconic.

  Both muskets barked; there was the orange flare of the muzzles, and the smoke jetted acrid and clinging white. The Burmese line faltered slightly. Jack heard voices through the dark and the sharp tones of commands. A dog barked in Pegu, joined by a dozen more,

  'Give them another,' he ordered, although all his instincts told him to flee for the sheltering muskets of the garrison of Pegu. They must have heard that, surely?

  'Yes, sir,' Wells was already reloading, ignoring the now rapidly advancing Burmese as he balanced the percussion cap on its perch.

  'Fire when ready,' Jack said, 'and then retire as fast as you like.'

  O'Neill fired first and was on his feet and running even as Wells' continued to aim. Jack waited until Wells musket flared and then began to move. He heard the noise from the Burmese increase and a ragged volley followed, but he knew that in the dark it would be a lucky musket-man indeed who could hit a single moving man. Jesus; Jack staggered as he came down hard on his injured leg. Ignore the pain: pain is temporary, honour lasts forever.

  'They're coming fast,' Myat sounded scared.

  'Not long to go now,' Wells came beside her. 'Keep close to me. The garrison will be alert.'

  They were. British voices sounded in the night. 'What's to do? Who goes there?' Light pooled from a swaying lantern.

  'Friend!' Bertram shouted out, 'followed by thousands of un-friendly Burmese. Let us in please.'

  'Advance friend,' the voice sounded quite relaxed, 'until I can see you.' The light moved slightly, stretching out in an elliptical illusion of security surrounded by hostile darkness.

  'Come on man; the Burmese are behind us…' one of the seamen started, but Bertram hissed him to silence.

  'Keep quiet and do as the man says.'

  'But the bloody Burmese…'

  'Who's there?' A new voice of authority cut through the dark.

  'Lieutenant Bertram of Serangipatam,' Bertram replied at once, with 'Ensign Windrush of the 113th Foot and the survivors of both.'

  'Good God!' There was a second's silence broken only by the sound of the Burmese swishing through the grass behind them, and then that same voice barked again. 'Let these men in right away.'

  'There are thousands of Burmese right behind us,' Jack warned.

  'Stand to!' the officer's voice rose to a shout. 'Get these men inside for God's sake!'

  'Right lads, follow me,' Bertram said.

  The first shot sounded from behind them, followed by another. Thorpe flinched.

  'They're shooting at the lights,' Jack said.

  'Come on!' A British soldier stepped into the pool of light and waved them on. 'Hurry it along!'

  'Sahib!' Ranveer shouted the warning, spun round and fired so close to Jack's ear that he flinched.

  A Burmese soldier fell with his dha flying from his hand.

  'Thank you,' Jack said.

  'There's more,' Wells said briefly. He snapped his bayonet in place. 'They're all around us.'

  'Time to go, boys,' Bertram shouted, 'run for it!'

  Exhausted, battered, feverish and weak, the survivors limped toward the light. It felt like the race for Bo Ailgaliutlo's stockade, without the elation and hopefully without the ditch. Jack felt the pain in his wounded leg increase and the breath burn in his lungs.

  'In you come, boys,' the Dublin accent of the burly soldier was welcome. 'And close the door behind you; keep the draught out.'

  'You say sir when you talk to an officer,' Wells spoke automatically.

  'Beg pardon sir, I didn't know you was an officer,' the private sounded genuinely shocked.

  As more lanterns appeared, the light flickered on a line of red coats and grim faces, with levelled muskets and heavy black boots.

  'Which regiment?' It was too dark for Jack to recognise the facings.

  'Madras Fusiliers,' Wells said at once, 'Company infantry.' He glanced further along the perimeter of Pegu where another unit was forming up, 'and that's the Madras Native Infantry' he said. 'I'm not sure which regiment.'

  'Present!' An officer of the Madras Fusiliers yelled the words. 'Fire!'

  The volley ripped through the night, followed by a few roars and a more ragged return volley from the Burmese. As the Burmese fired, Jack saw a succession of images of flat Burmese faces and yelling Burmese mouths, of muzzle-flares glinting from the wicked blades of dhas and of an advancing press of determined men. The Invincibles and Invulnerables were obviously not deterred by a single British volley. Temporarily blinded by the musket-
flares, Jack waited until his night vision returned and stared into the dark.

  'Fire!' the Fusilier officer yelled again, and his men loosed another volley.

  'Fire!' that came from further along as the Madras Native Infantry added their fire to the defence.

  Musketry came in return, an irregular spatter, and then there was silence. The acrid stench of powder smoke drifted across Pegu to slowly dissipate in the sultry air.

  'They'll be back,' somebody said and stepped into the circle of lamplight. 'Major Hill of the First Madras Fusiliers,' he said, 'I'm in charge of the garrison of Pegu.' He studied Jack for a second. 'Well Ensign Windrush, we heard that all on board Serangipatam were dead. I am glad you survived.' He looked up as firing broke out from the direction of the river. 'They are attacking the river picket.'

  Jack looked at his men; ragged, exhausted, thin, they had not waited for orders before reloading their muskets while the men of the Fusiliers watched these refugees from the jungle. 'Do you wish us to march across sir? If you could supply us with a few muskets rather than these Burmese things I know we could give a good account of ourselves.'

  Major Hill shook his head. 'No, Windrush. Lieutenant Brown will have to manage for himself tonight.' He nodded to the scarecrows of the 113th. 'Get your men inside the pagoda, Ensign, feed them and find some rest. It looks like it will be busy here. That goes for you too, Lieutenant Bertram.'

  It was a relief to be in the midst of British soldiers again and to hear British voices giving commands and the regulated crunch of British and sepoy boots on the ground while the multi-crossed Union flag hung serene and proud from the pagoda above.

  'Well Windrush,' the major's face was lined with fatigue, 'it seems that you have stepped from the frying pan into the fire. It would have been better if you had kept on downstream to Rangoon but too late now.' He paused for a moment, 'the Burmese have closed the ring around us. Pegu is under siege.'

  Chapter Seventeen

  Pegu: November – December 1852

  Pegu was not as Jack remembered it. British and sepoy infantry patrolled between the huts where laughing Peguese had entertained him and his men with their impromptu pwe. Garrison troops and commissariat stores filled the upper storey of the three- storey pagoda and cannon poked black snouts from behind hastily built walls.

  Jack stood back and studied the defences. Years of neglect had reduced parts of the pagoda to disrepair with silvery reedy grass growing through the crumbling brickwork nearly everywhere he looked. It was not an impressive barrier behind which the garrison rested.

  'We are in a bad position here,' Major Hill spoke to his officers as they stood on the walls. 'We are cut off from the main British army and outnumbered by a considerable Burmese force. We must make our stance at the pagoda.'

  'This place is even larger than I remembered,' Jack said.

  'The upper platform has four sides each of about 220 yards.' Hill was a man who liked figures. 'We use the brick wall for defence where we can, but the west wall, as you see, is virtually non-existent, God knows what will happen if the Burmese make a determined rush there. The north east is nearly as bad.'

  They toured the town, taking notes. The garrison had partially repaired the low buildings around the pagoda and occupied them as barracks. European and Native infantry exchanged banter and repartee as if they were not in a besieged town deep in enemy territory.

  'Are these the officer's quarters?' Jack pointed to larger houses that stood slightly detached from the troop's huts.

  'Yes indeed. These buildings were the ponghee- priests'- houses but the priests have all gone elsewhere. They're not perfect but better than being outside with the mosquitoes. 'Hill killed his smile and pointed to a hut that stood slightly apart from the others. 'That one is the magazine. God knows it's not full enough to withstand a long siege, but it's all we have.'

  'What's on top?' Jack indicated the highest level of the pagoda to which over thirty flights of steps ascended.

  'Nothing.' Hay said quietly. 'Except the temple.'

  'There are other temples,' Jack indicated a group of small pagodas near the east face. 'These will give the enemy cover. Can we not raze them to the ground?'

  Hay gave a distinct shiver. 'Good God, no! That would be interfering with the religious susceptibilities of the people, and one just cannot do such a thing.'

  'Yes, sir. Even when it means our men are in more danger?' Jack thought of the hardships his men had already endured. It seemed unfair to put them through more.

  Hay's eyes widened. 'Our men joined the army by choice, Windrush. Nobody forced them to take the Queen's Shilling. They knew it meant danger.'

  Jack nodded; arguing his point with a senior, and more experienced officer would do him no good at all. 'Yes, sir.'

  'That is much worse,' Hay pointed to the jungly hills that overlooked Pegu to the north and east. 'The Burmese will be up there now, watching every move that we make. We cannot prepare for a counter attack or a sally without them seeing us. They have the advantage of surprise and numbers; we have nothing.' He stopped, possibly because he realised he was mouthing defeatist talk. 'Except a brave garrison of course.'

  Jack looked around the pagoda and the surrounding town. There seemed very few scarlet jackets to patrol a settlement the size of Pegu 'How many men do we have, sir?'

  'Including both native and European troops, we have 435 bayonets to defend a perimeter that requires at least three times that number.'

  'We brought you a few more,' Jack reminded cautiously.

  'You brought us a handful of starving skeletons that will be lucky to stand straight yet alone withstand a siege by a Burmese army.' Hill caught himself again and raised his voice to include the small group of officers that had gathered around him.

  'We will base our defence on the pagoda,' he announced. 'We cannot defend the entire town with the men we have.' Suddenly Hill straightened up and became very decisive. 'I want the upper platform of the pagoda barricaded and three of the entrances blocked. That will leave only one for us to defend.' He swept his hand over the approaches to the town. 'All that tall grass affords cover to the enemy so they can creep up and murder our sentries and the innocent Peguese. I want it cut down. Our Peguese all carry dhas and are expert at that sort of work.'

  'Yes, sir,' a young lieutenant began to move away.

  'Stay!' Hill ordered. 'I have not finished yet. We captured three cannon when we stormed the town: I want one mounted at each blocked gateway, so they control the entrance, and I want our company gunners there permanently.' He looked around. 'I want a captain to command each face of the pagoda. If your neighbour needs assistance, I expect you to support him.'

  The officers nodded. Jack listened, taking in each new idea as Hill continued with his defensive strategy.

  'I want patrols out to see what the Burmese are doing. I am aware that they are watching us; I want them to see that we are active and hope to bring the fight to them. We will not tamely sit here and allow the enemy to take the initiative. We need to find out all about these people, so we know how to defeat them.'

  'Sir,' Jack said, 'may I say something here?'

  'Please do, Ensign. We are a small body of officers and every opinion is valued.'

  Jack blinked. After the stifling command of Marshall, Hill's openness was refreshing. 'Thank you sir; the Burmese soldiers who attacked last night were regulars from the Tatmadaw.'

  'The what?' One of the captains asked, 'speak English, damn it, man!'

  'The Tatmadaw,' Hill said, 'is the Burmese regular army. Are you sure, Ensign?'

  'Yes, sir. They were not local levies.' He hesitated, 'they fought as a disciplined force.' For a moment Jack wondered exactly how much he should say; he had no desire to appear as a know-it-all in front of these professional fighting men. 'Local levies fight under their chiefs, in a mob. They are brave enough but hardly eager, while these men had order and training. I believe they were the Invincibles and the Invulnerables regiments.'
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br />   Hill hid any surprise he may have felt. 'I thought they might have been. They attacked like professionals and not merely dacoits.' His eyes narrowed slightly. 'How do you know that, Ensign? You seem rather young to have such knowledge of our enemy.'

  'The native woman who was with us is from Pegu,' Jack said. 'She was our translator on Serangipatam.'

  'Can we trust her?'

  Jack fought his resentment at what was a natural question. 'Implicitly sir. Her people have no love at all for the Burmese.'

  'Good: she may be useful as a go-between with the Peguese.' Hill frowned. 'All right; you all know what to do. We must hold out here until relief arrives.'

  The 113th looked a little better after a night's sleep and some British rations. Still ragged, still skeleton-thin, they were gaunt, hollow-eyed and wore uniforms little better than rags, but stood at attention when ordered and their weapons were clean, oiled and well maintained. They were soldiers.

  'I thought we were going to be safe here,' Coleman gave the inevitable grouse.

  'You're a soldier Coleman; you took the Queen's shilling. Now bloody earn it.' Wells gave the equally inevitable reply.

  'We are stationed on the north wall of the pagoda.' Jack told them, 'we'll join the Fusiliers there.' He touched the Buddha in his pocket. 'We've improved our position a great deal; we are no longer prisoners, and we are no longer alone. There are hundreds of Company troops fighting alongside us now.'

  'And thousands of bloody Burmese just waiting to spit us on their knives,' Thorpe said sullenly. 'Look at them out there!'

  Thorpe was correct. The open maidan to the north of Pegu was busy with men. There were parties of soldiers moving purposefully from one side to the other, and an occasional squadron of cavalry.

  'Cassey horsemen,' Captain Stephenson handed his binoculars to Jack, 'I've heard they are efficient in their own terrain.'

  Jack studied the cavalrymen. 'We met them briefly,' he said, 'but had no real opportunity to see what they were like.' The cavalry moved in small groups, well-disciplined on their stocky ponies. 'They look a handy crew.' Wearing red tops, blue trousers and a neat turban, they handled their long spears with the casual familiarity of long experience.