Windrush (Jack Windrush Book 1)

by Malcolm Archibald

  'Sir!' Thorpe pointed to the edge of the forest. 'Big bloody elephants, sir! With men riding them.'

  Before Jack could focus in that direction Stephenson had snatched back the binoculars. 'You're right private; those look like their chiefs on the elephants so no doubt they are planning something nasty for us.' He put one foot on top of the parapet wall and peered down. 'I wish I knew who these fellows were.'

  'Our translator might know, sir,' Jack volunteered. 'I could send for her if you wish.'

  Stephenson kept his attention on the Burmese officers. 'Do that,' he said briefly.

  When Myat arrived, Stephenson handed her the binoculars. 'Ensign Windrush tells me you know the Burmese commanders; see if you can identify any of the men on the elephants.'

  'I know two of them,' Myat confirmed after a few moments. 'The one on the right with the faded red coat is Bo Ailgaliutlo. He is the dacoit chief who attacked General Godwin in Rangoon.'

  Jack felt a shiver run through him.

  That makes sense. Bo Ailgaliutlo must have left his stockade to join in this attack on Pegu. That is why we escaped so easily.

  Stephenson frowned. 'I know that name. I've heard that he is a renegade, an ex-British soldier who joined the Burmese. Is that correct?'

  Jack nodded. 'I believe it is, sir. He is also the one who murdered Commander Marshall and many of our men.'

  Stephenson focussed the binoculars on Bo Ailgaliutlo. 'Too far for our cannon to reach: I would like to get rid of that one. And the others?'

  Myat pointed to a shorter, more elaborately dressed man who rode a larger elephant. 'The one in the centre is Muong-Kyouk-Loung, one of their most senior commanders. He's no dacoit chief but a regular soldier.'

  'Muong-Kyouk-Loung: his name is known,' Stephenson murmured. 'According to our intelligence, he is an officer of general rank with some 11,000 men under his command. If he is here, then they are taking the siege of Pegu very seriously indeed.' He lowered his binoculars and looked at Myat. 'Your people are redoubtable warriors,' he said.

  'The Burmese are not my people,' although Myat spoke softly, there was steel in her voice. 'I am Peguese. These are invaders from Ava in the north.'

  Stephenson nodded in apology. 'Do you know who that third officer is?'

  'That is Muong Gyee,' Myat said at once. 'He is Muong- Luong's brother in law.'

  'Ah,' Stephenson nodded again. 'I know of him as well.' He did not flinch when there was a puff of smoke and the sharp report of a jingal from the edge of the forest. 'They've noticed us here. Best tell the major.'

  Major Hill looked worried when he arrived at the wall. 'Bo Loung himself? That is bad news. He would not come merely for a raid.' He pursed his lips. 'The King of Ava has lost two of his prize possessions, the Shoe-Dagoon pagoda in Rangoon and this one;' he jerked his thumb at the pagoda, 'what they call the Shoemadoo Praw. It must hurt his pride to be bearded at his own backdoor.'

  He grunted. 'All right: I want Brown's picket withdrawn from the riverbank and taken inside the defences; it is too vulnerable there with the Burmese in such force. And bring Lieutenant Mason to me. I will send him to Rangoon with notice of our situation.' He glanced at Windrush, 'how are your men, Ensign?'

  'Well enough, sir.'

  'Good. I have forty sick already and rising. If things go on as they are we'll have more men in hospital than on the defences.' He scanned the perimeter with his binoculars. 'We are surrounded by hostile Burmese I see.'

  The next day the local people began to filter into Pegu for protection. At first, they came in singly and then in family groups. Soon the whole population of villages arrived with men driving the huge Burmese bullock carts with the family sitting on top. Hill watched them for a day and ordered a stockade built just outside the pagoda. 'There's too many for us to accommodate and defend; let them do what they are best at.'

  'Even old granny's coming, all looking for British bayonets to protect them from the Lord of the Golden Foot,' O'Neill said.

  'That's why we are here,' Jack told him. 'That is what the British Army does; we protect the weak from the bully-boys.' He watched the Peguese arrive in squealing carts and with hope in their eyes.

  'Sir!' A young Fusilier lieutenant panted up the stairs and saluted Stephenson. 'There are a couple of British soldiers out there being chased by the Burmese.' There was the sound of scattered shots, the brassy clamour of gongs and distant voices shouting.

  Jack stared across the maidan. Is there no peace? The men wore the scarlet tunics of British soldiers. 'Madras Native Infantry,' Stephenson said at once. 'They're in a bad way. Bring them in Windrush, would you?'

  The sepoys staggered as they ran, with the leading man waving his hands as soon as he saw Jack's 113th. There were a score of Burmese bounding in pursuit, dhas raised, and as Jack watched, a unit of the Cassey Horse trotted from the jungle fringe. The rearmost sepoy looked over his shoulder, shouted something and ran faster.

  'Give the cavalry a volley,' Jack ordered. He suddenly felt very exposed out here on the maidan. The cavalry increased their speed to a canter.

  'Form a line, boys,' Jack kept his voice calm, 'aim at the horsemen.' Five muskets levelled. O'Neill thumbed back the hammer of his musket with a calloused thumb. He was chewing tobacco with a steady rhythm. 'Fire,' Jack ordered, and the men fired as one.

  My 113th are veterans now

  The jets of white smoke gushed out. One of the horsemen fell.

  'Reload,' Jack ordered.

  The remaining Cassey Horse came on undaunted; lances held low. The sepoys were running in something like panic, blundering through the grass, looking over their shoulders.

  'March forward,' Jack said.

  It was madness for a handful of infantry to oppose a larger number of cavalry in open country, but after the last few weeks, he trusted these men and the sepoys needed help. He would be failing in his duty if he left them to be cut down by the Cassey Horse.

  The sepoys staggered to them, dishevelled, bare footed, one with blood seeping from a cut on his scalp.

  'These lads look done in, sir,' O'Neill ejected a mouthful of tobacco juice.

  'They do,' Jack agreed. 'Take another dozen steps and give the cavalry a second volley. That should allow the sepoys time to escape.'

  With both forces closing on each other Jack could now make out details of the Cassey Horse; with the high supports behind their saddles and the long spike on the butt of their spears they looked too formidable to allow near.

  'Right lads, kneel and give them another volley.'

  The Cassey horsemen were uncomfortably close. Have I waited too long? Have I miscalculated?

  'Fire!' Jack tried to sound calm.

  The muskets became more effective as the range shortened. Two horsemen fell, one to rise immediately and kick his horse as if blaming it for being shot. The body of the other man disappeared among the long grass. The remaining horsemen pulled up short and hesitated.

  'Give them another, sir?' Wells was already reloading. He seemed eager to continue the fight.

  Drive it home or get these men out safe? The time taken in firing might tip the balance between safety and disaster.

  Jack calculated the distance between the cavalry and his men and decided not to risk it. 'No: reload and withdraw. If we fire now and they charge, they could reach us before we reload.'

  'Yes, sir,' Wells accepted his order without hesitation.

  Jack glanced over his shoulder. The sepoys were already fifty yards to the rear.

  'Withdraw slowly,' he ordered, 'keep facing the enemy and if they approach too closely, present but don't fire unless I give the word.'

  The Cassey Horse followed at a distance, never closing the gap but never falling back until Jack's men were within easy range of the garrison of Pegu. 'Right boys, in we go.'

  'Nicely done,' Stephenson said briefly. 'Now let's hear how these two scallywags came to be wandering through the Burmese forest.' He gave a bleak grin. 'First, it was you and half the Company
navy and now a brace of sepoys. I don't know what we'll have next: the brigade of Guards perhaps, or Dalhousie himself and his retinue.'

  That was perfect; my boys acted like veterans, they are as good as any infantry in the army.

  Once the sepoys had been fed and greeted by the officers of their own regiment, they gave their story. It seems they were from a party of twenty- two native infantry led by a Jemadar. They had been coming by river from Rangoon to Pegu, but the Burmese had ambushed the boat and captured it after a fierce battle. The sepoys had lost one man killed and two wounded, but these two had escaped and run to Pegu for help.

  'My lads would give a good account of themselves,' a captain of the Native Infantry said.

  'They have a good name,' Stephenson agreed at once.

  'What about the rest of the men on board?' Major Hill asked, and one of the regimental officers translated the question.

  The sepoys looked away as they replied.

  'Either dead or prisoners,' the officer said.

  Major Hill nodded. 'Well, we can't have more of our men held by the Burmese. We all know the treatment Windrush, and his men had, and the death of Commander Marshall shall forever be a stain on the Burmese Army.'

  'That was Bo Ailgaliutlo,' Jack reminded, 'a dacoit chief and probably a British renegade. I don't think the Burmese Army has committed any atrocities against us during this campaign.'

  'Obviously, you have more information than we have, Ensign,' Major Hill's voice was acidic.

  I should have kept my mouth shut.

  'I want a patrol sent out to try and locate our people,' Hill glanced at Jack. 'That means you Windrush. I know you have had a bad time and are pretty knocked up, but you know the country better than anybody else. I want you to take out a picket, try to locate where these poor fellows are being held and report back so I can organise a rescue expedition.'

  'Yes, sir,' Jack said. 'Shall I try and rescue them?'

  'Use your best judgement, Windrush. You have a reputation for impetuosity, which I hope your recent experiences have tempered. Do not attempt anything unless you are sure of success.' He raised a sympathetic eye. 'Are you game?'

  'Of course, sir.' Jack saluted. Thank God; that will erase any memory of my previous comment.

  Hill nodded to the topmost level of the pagoda. 'Go up there, liaise with the captains and get the lay of the land. If you can't locate these sepoy fellows, then find out how many of the Burmese are regulars and how many just dacoits that will scamper when things get serious. You may take as many men as you think fit; your own, the Fusiliers or the Native Infantry.'

  'Yes, sir.' There is no decision to make. I will take my own men.

  Jack checked his equipment: he had a Burmese dha, a borrowed pocket compass, water bottle and revolver, and a roughly drawn map of the area showing where the sepoys had been ambushed and in which to insert anything he discovered. He peered out into the dark: he had two hours before the rising moon painted a silver sheen over the surrounding countryside. Two hours of true dark to get past the Burmese sentries around the small pagodas, across the maidan and scout the belt of bamboo jungle. After that, the trees should hide him.

  'Ready, Windrush?' Hill asked.

  'Yes, sir.' Jack had chosen a small party of only two other ranks, plus Myat and Ranveer. If he ran into trouble, even fifty men would not be enough against Muong- Kyouk-Loung's thousands, while they would undoubtedly make more noise. He had swithered about Myat, but in the end, he had asked if she would come.

  'I don't like putting women in danger,' he told her, 'but your translation skills are invaluable to us, and you know the country far better than anybody else.' He hesitated for a moment. 'I won't force you to come if you don't want to.'

  She looked at him, unflinching, unemotional and patted Wells' arm. 'I will go with Edmund.'

  Wells frowned. 'Don't call me that,' he whispered.

  Myat had smiled and squeezed his arm. 'It is your name,' she said.

  Wells opened his mouth, but whether to protest at this blatant proclamation of a name he apparently disliked or to try and persuade Jack to leave Myat behind, Jack never knew for he closed it again without saying a word.

  Ranveer had proved himself as a loyal man. Jack trusted him.

  'Last check, men,' Jack kept his voice quiet as he fought his nerves. He hated these last few moments before things happened.

  It's not fear or not all fear. It is a mixture of apprehension and nerves. I am more afraid of doing things wrong than I am of being killed. It would be worse to be severely injured and left a blind cripple, or hideously malformed. A slight wound would be all right; a scar to let others see that I have been in action might help my promotion prospects.

  'Are you all right, sir?'

  Wells words brought Jack back to the present. 'I was working out our route.'

  The Fusilier sentries stepped aside to let them through, then closed ranks again, wordless but with expressions that suggested they were glad to be staying behind. Only the dark remained, and the long grass, the bamboo jungle and the enemy. There were no gongs sounding, no commands ringing from the unseen Burmese ranks. Instead, there was the soft, sinister rustle of the grass, the sudden roar of a distant tiger, the call of a deer and the constant underlying whine of insects.

  'No heroics, boys,' Jack reminded. 'We are here to scout the Burmese positions and look for these sepoys, nothing else. We will be back before dawn.' He glanced over them. Despite the frowns of senior officers, he had ordered that they take off their scarlet jackets and wear clothes of darker colours to merge with the jungle.

  'British soldiers wear scarlet,' Captain Stephenson had disapproved.

  'I want to keep my men alive,' Jack replied, 'and they have more chance of surviving if the Burmese don't see them.'

  Stephenson nodded reluctant understanding. 'I see; well good luck, Windrush.' He had held out his hand.

  Now they were once more outside Pegu but this time in the dark and without the knowledge of friendly eyes watching over them and a hundred British muskets waiting to keep back any possible Burmese enemy. Now they were alone with the dark, the Tatmadaw and the dacoits of Bo Ailgaliutlo.

  Jack had a last glance at his men; he was in command of an operation where there was no superior officer to ask for advice: there was no Commander Marshall, not even a Lieutenant Bertram: just himself and his own resources.

  The leather neck stocks were long gone and not regretted. The men carried percussion Brown Bess muskets with bayonets and forty rounds of ammunition, a water bottle and a pound of bread for emergencies. Ranveer also carried his tulwar, while Myat had refused any offers of carrying a weapon.

  'I am a Buddhist,' she told them. 'I don't kill.'

  'The enemy is Buddhist too,' Jack reminded her. 'At least carry a dha just in case.'

  'No,' Myat shook her head firmly. 'I am a Buddhist.'

  Jack sighed, patted his golden Buddhas and stepped into the dark.

  The Burmese sentries among the small pagodas were lying on their backs, smoking and talking as Jack led his party past them. He ignored Ranveer's hopeful touch on his tulwar and moved on, tense until they merged with the dark of the maidan. A soft wind swayed the grass around them, hiding their movements as they padded toward the jungle edge. Sometimes the Burmese had cavalry patrolling the maidan but not that night. Jack's picket threaded through the tall grass without incident, and the jungle greeted them like an old foe, clammy, dense and echoing with unknown noise.

  'This is the elephants' track,' Myat took over without any fuss.

  'Follow it,' Jack said, 'but be careful, there may be sentries.'

  Myat's expression did not alter. 'Yes, Ensign,' she said.

  Jack moved slowly, testing each step for hidden traps, stopping at every possibility of Burmese activity. Twice they stopped at a stealthy sound, to see a large animal pass in the dark.

  'Deer,' Myat mouthed the first time, and 'tiger' the second. Neither animal looked at them.

&
nbsp; They moved on, with their nerves taut and throats dry as they probed deeper into the bamboo forest. Once they heard the drift of conversation and Jack led them in a wide detour around a Burmese outpost, and once the tang of tobacco alerted them to a passing Burmese patrol.

  They heard the noise as they reached the encampment, the low murmuring of a thousand men, the muttering of conversation and the sound of somebody singing. Next was the flickering of torches reflecting through the trees and a sudden burst of cheering.

  Jack motioned them to halt.

  'Noisy buggers,' Wells spoke with the disdain of a professional soldier. 'We could march past with drums and flutes, and they wouldn't notice.'

  'We won't try that today,' Jack said. Let's have a look at them as we're here.'He glanced at the others. 'You stay here; Wells and I will go alone. If anything happens to us, O'Neill, you are in charge; take the rest back safely and report this camp to Major Hill.'

  Without waiting for a reply, Jack moved forward. As before the sentries were relaxed, smoking or talking with their muskets leaning against the boles of trees and their attention anywhere but on guarding the camp.

  'Sir?' O'Neill touched the hilt of his bayonet.

  Jack shook his head.

  The Burmese looked quite settled in their clearing, with a collection of makeshift huts and a score of torches flaring in the night. There was a boxing match taking place with the contestants punching and kicking to the delight of the spectators, while another group of men were sitting in a large circle smoking and laughing.

  'They certainly don't look like a defeated army,' Wells said. There was no need to whisper with the constant roar of noise.

  'No, more like an inexperienced rabble,' Jack said. 'How many are here do you think?' He tried to count them, but in the flickering torch light and with the movement of so many bodies, he had to resort to guesswork. 'About five hundred?'

  'Maybe more; maybe a thousand sir,' Wells said.

  'You could be correct,' Jack agreed. He withdrew again, leaving the Burmese to their pleasures and the sentries to their sloth.

  Myat favoured Wells with a brief nod, and then they were moving again, soft footed as any dacoit as they eased along the elephant track.