Raging Rajahs (Man of Conflict Series, Book 2)

by Andrew Wareham

  The two loaded companies on the engaged side fired almost together at thirty paces, holding low and hitting hard. A chorus of screams greeted their effort and the attackers broke up into small groups, some running forward, others hanging back in sensible caution.

  C Company on the disengaged wall turned half of its platoons round, ready to fire if the wall was breached.

  Maxwell stood silent, not knowing what to do next. His senior sergeant had already given the call for bayonets and now stood at Maxwell’s shoulder, incidentally preventing him from stepping back. Piper’s section trotted back to the cook tent.

  “Where are they going? Why are you not stopping them, Grundy?”

  “My order, sir. One section to reload under cover and provide us with a back-up, sir.”

  The rattle of ramrods could be heard faintly over the rain and Sergeant Grundy eased a couple of paces to the side, then lifted a hand to his eyes and made a show of peering across to the wall, taking a few quick paces away from Maxwell.

  A great roaring shout came from behind the wall as spears and pike heads stabbed at the defenders and almost covered the sound of the volley from seven muskets. The redcoats, disadvantaged by their short bayonets swayed back and the first heads appeared from outside.

  “D Company fall back on me. Form company square!”

  The lieutenants each assumed the other had given the order while the ensign lay dead with a spear through his neck. The company obeyed their sergeant, having far more trust in him than in their officers.

  The small square formed around the cook fire and section by section the men passed empty muskets behind them and were given a loaded Brown Bess in exchange. Three minutes and all were loaded, though swearing unhappily at having given their own piece in and received one that was much inferior in exchange, it being a fact that no other soldier could be trusted to look after a musket properly.

  Septimus roared to C Company to leave the back wall and form square between D and the gate. That done he ordered B and E back to the strongpoint.

  The wall was just high enough to form an obstacle to foot soldiers – difficult to climb in the rain and delaying them a few minutes while they worked their way round to the gate.

  “B and E to reload under cover, Mr Carter. C and D will hold them at the gate for a few minutes. Send a boy to order Maxwell and Robbins to leapfrog each other back here at my shout. Maxwell is doing better than I expected.”

  “Midway from their cook fire to the wall, sir…”

  Septimus followed Carter’s pointing hand, spotted the sprawled body in the mud.

  “Oh dear, poor fellow! One of the first killed, by musketry, no doubt. A pity the Indians have yet to shoot at us, but no doubt it was a sniper from outside the walls. No doubt at all, in fact, Captain Carter. I am quite sure I saw it to happen, in fact.”

  “So it did, sir. No question of it!”

  Carter called to an ensign, one of several whose face Septimus could not put a name to – pink schoolboys of little virtue and less use. When they grew up he would take notice of them.

  “Boy runs well, Mr Carter.”

  “That is why I chose him, sir.”

  B and E Companies doubled into the stronghold, leaping the breastwork and trench with dismaying ease. They pushed their way under the tarpaulins covering the ox carts and began the reload.

  “I wish we had a cartload of spares, Mr Carter. Two muskets a man would be useful in these conditions.”

  “It would cost money, sir, and golden guineas are more valuable than soldiers’ lives.”

  The gate fell and a mass of enthusiasts burst through, almost none carrying flintlocks.

  “Swords and spears mostly, sir. A sword dripping with blood is far better proof of valour than a discharged musket. A warrior is a man of pride, sir, walking tall in his town and rewarded by his lord.”

  The muskets of each square crashed in three successive volleys and the slow reloading took place. Too slowly, the spears reaching the front ranks before they could fire again. Twenty, at least, of redcoats were down before there was another set of thinner volleys.

  D Company used the slight pause after the musket balls hit home to shuffle back behind C and set themselves. The rain eased for a few minutes, one bank of clouds passing over, the next close behind. The men reloaded in pairs, one holding his greatcoat out while the other frantically worked underneath.

  “A piece of luck, Captain Carter. We would have lost both companies but for that.”

  Three timed volleys from each square and then they fell back to the strongpoint itself, ninety or so strong, placed around the wall to get a breather.

  “Good work, gentlemen! Be sure that every man is reloaded.”

  There was a great screaming hullabaloo at the other end of the village as the camp-followers were butchered, very many of the attackers choosing the easier target.

  “They will have killed a few themselves, sir, and maybe wounded a lot more. Most of them have bamboo spears or knives. Many of Dhoondiah’s people will occupy themselves with the women and children for an hour or two as well, rather than come back to the fight. It all cuts the numbers, sir.”

  “How many of them are there, would you estimate, Captain Carter?”

  “Two thousands at most, sir. Fewer than I would have expected carrying muskets. No artillery of any sort, not even the one or two pounder gingals. I much suspect that the man Dhoondiah will be nowhere near, sir. He can smell a trap far better than most, so they say. He will in all likelihood have sent off one of his less reliable followers with his men, and have given us the privilege of killing him. If he wins, then Dhoondiah may claim the virtue; failing, he was a renegade who disobeyed orders and died for his pains.”

  “I had begun to wonder – this is a very disorganised affair, you know. Ah, that’s more like it!”

  A horseman had come through the gate, surrounded by a retinue, and was giving orders, pulling the attackers together for a charge.

  “A and E Company to the breastwork. B Company to man the walls, watching for an assault from outside. C and D Companies to reserve!”

  Septimus waited a minute while the men sorted themselves out.

  “A and E Companies, platoon volleys, if you please. Wait my command.”

  The charge commenced, the whole space from wall to wall full of screaming, spear and sword waving warriors.

  “Half of them are peasants, sir. They don’t know what they’re doing, look. Could be the priests have encouraged them, or more likely they have been whipped from their villages and forced to fight.”

  “A and E Company! By platoons! Fire!”

  Sixteen separate crashes of fire, aimed at between thirty and twenty yards, probably every ball hitting home. The charge halted, the attackers unwilling to run into the mincing machine.

  “C and D Companies, dress forward to the breastwork!”

  Septimus waited till the line was fully manned with muskets at the aim.

  “A and E fall back to reload.”

  “Light is failing, Mr Carter. Damned nuisance, I had hoped to get it over with more quickly than this. Let us have a look.”

  Septimus took position on the firing step, found he could not see enough and hopped up on top of the breastwork, peering through the rain.

  “Looks like they are coming again lads. Ready? At my command. Platoon fire. Mr Robbins? You to take the lead, if you please… Fire!”

  The discharges ran down the line and stopped the attack again. The officer on horseback galloped forward, shouting at his men, trying to rally them to an assault while the redcoats were unloaded.

  Septimus saw the opportunity to hearten his own men, jumped down and ran forward a few yards and then drew his pistols and fired all six, carefully aimed. The horse fell first and he put two rounds into its rider as he struggled to rise, then the remaining three into the personal guard. He vaulted back over the breastwork before the bodyguards had made their minds up to react.

  “A and E Compa
nies, dress forward as soon as loaded.”

  “C and D back, Mr Robbins!”

  A last leisurely look around and Septimus clambered down, brushing the dirt off his trousers. He unbuckled the pistol belt.

  “Cooper, do the honours, please.”

  Cooper ran to cover and began the reloading process, shaking his head and muttering. Septimus could not hear what was said, thought that was all to the good.

  “They seem to be running, sir. Definitely movement out of the gate.”

  “Thank you, Mr Taft. Your first time in action, sir?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, you kept a cool head, young man. I watched you lead your men and do the job well. I understand you are in process of purchasing as a captain?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Carry on as you have started here and I shall be very pleased that you have one of my companies.”

  “Thank you, sir!”

  “Carry on.”

  Septimus turned to Carter, shrugged.

  “One half, captain. Right about one, wrong about the other.”

  “I am sorry, sir?” Carter's face showed his incomprehension.

  “I was right about Maxwell, wrong about that young man. A pity that I was not wrong about both. Rotate the duties so that there is one company at the breastwork all night. Relieve at two-hourly intervals. One to the wall. Two to sleep, one awake in reserve at all times.”

  “Yes, sir. The camp-followers, sir?”

  “Must see to themselves tonight. We cannot leave our lines in the darkness, I am afraid, Captain Carter.”

  They had lost a few of the oxen and the contents of some of the carts, but the rations and powder and ball were safe, and that was all that mattered to Septimus. First light showed that none of the camp-followers remained; probably some of the younger had been carried off and a few would have escaped over the wall, but the bulk were dead.

  They shrugged and formed up and marched out of the village – there were too many of the dead and dying for it to be safe to remain.

  They halted a furlong from the gate and took a roll call and then ate a quick breakfast, the men brewing up around their fires. Each platoon had brought firewood out with them, the men knowing to look after their own comfort.

  “Dead, sir, three officers and forty-two men. Wounded, sir, only eighteen men, but the surgeon has no hope for eleven of them.”

  “Hand-to-hand rather than musketry – the men will have been run through a dozen times rather than shot by one musket ball. High figures, Captain Carter!”

  “Normal enough in India, sir. Fighting against high odds and the butcher’s bill reflecting the fact. A quick count says about two hundred of the enemy left behind dead and mortal, sir, which makes it likely that as many more, at least, are carrying wounds but could still walk on their own feet. Not many would have been carried out in the dark and the rain.”

  “Again, high figures. One might have expected them to break before taking so many.”

  “Loyalty, sir – the most would not run while their chieftain remained in the field. As soon as he was killed it became a different matter, sir – they no longer had a person to fight for. It is a way of life that has both advantages and drawbacks, sir. They do not fight for a country, or like the Frogs do for so-called ‘Liberty’, and so there is nothing to hold them when their leader falls; but until he falls they cannot flee the field.”

  It occurred to Septimus to wonder what he fought for. Mad King George? Hardly! The regiment? To an extent, they were his own people. For England? He cared as much for England as England cared for him! Then why?

  In the end he concluded that he fought mostly because he enjoyed it, and could do it well.

  What next?

  He looked at the forested valley beyond the village and decided he did not fancy it at all. To lead his little column in pursuit, two hundred and fifty strong, into wooded territory where he knew a thousand and more of enemy had fled just hours before, was not the course of wisdom. He knew the tropical rain forest of the Sugar Islands, and they said that the ‘jungle’ of India was thicker, even more impenetrable; not for him, the wound scar across his chest itched at the thought.

  Better not to withdraw, or he might be said to be surrendering the field, conceding victory. He must be seen to be holding the ground after the battle.

  Wait for the mounted force that was due to come to their relief, assuming that they had actually put their scouts out and did know what had happened. Cavalry normally knew nothing, and did not understand the little that they ever perceived. What was the time? Just after eight o’clock.

  “Let the men take it easy for another hour, Mr Carter. If no force has reached us by ten we shall commence a march back to the fort.”

  “Five hours, sir, with the carts. Better to start out earlier rather than march in the afternoon sun.”

  Septimus scratched his head, then conceded the point.

  “You are right, Mr Carter. Pass the word to form up in march order, if you would be so good.”

  Company cavalry appeared just a few minutes later, trotting in column, two regiments strong under a lieutenant-colonel.

  Promotion was by seniority exclusively in the Company and the colonel was past fifty years of age and disinclined to adventure. He listened to Septimus’ report and congratulated him gravely and then stared in his turn across the valley.

  “No damned country for horse, Major Pearce!”

  “Agreed, sir. Nor for a small column of foot.”

  “Quite, sir! I am forced to agree with you. We shall ascertain that the field is clear of the enemy in the immediate area and then provide escort to the fort. I believe that our task can be described as completed, sir, the enemy in flight and the commander killed. Better that you should march your men at proper pace, sir, rather than be kept out with the carts in the noonday sun. My troopers are far better able to withstand such conditions, sir.”

  Carter nodded behind the colonel’s shoulder and Septimus instantly agreed, leading the column out at march pace.

  “Company pride, sir – worthwhile pandering to in this instance. Their Indian troopers are often seen as inferior to King’s soldiers and they like to prove that they are better suited to some tasks.”

  “Thank you. I did not know that. Better far to keep the peace if it be possible at so small a price.”

  They spent two days at the fort, resting from the exertions of the battle and organising themselves to account for the losses. Septimus made no promotions, thinking it far better to be seen to consult with Colonel Horncastle. They marched out to the sound of the band of the company battalions, a mark of respect they all appreciated.

  "So, sir, we lost Captain Maxwell, Lieutenant Pryce of A Company and Ensign Clowther of D. It seems to me, sir, that Lieutenant Taft should be made in Maxwell's place. He is in process of purchase, and, to my amaze, showed very well in our little action. He is, as they say, 'a chinless wonder', but he is not the weakling he appears."

  "A surprise, Major Pearce, but I have been mistaken in a man before; no doubt I shall be again. Let us call the young gentleman to us now."

  Taft was amazed - he said that he had thought he had been in bad odour with the colonel, was so pleased to discover he had been wrong. He was delighted to take Mr Maxwell's company.

  "I am to make an ensign in the place of Mr Clowther. It must be one of the sergeants, sir. Mr Pearce believes it should be Grundy, who in effect took command on Mr Maxwell's death. He is a strong man and well-liked - will he be a source of difficulty to you, Mr Taft?"

  "No, sir. I am sure that we will come to an early accommodation."

  They wondered just what that was supposed to mean.

  "A Company is also to have an ensign made from the ranks, Mr Taft. It would be easy to take the man from A and give him to you, Mr Grundy going across in exchange."

  "With your permission, sir, I would wish to keep Mr Grundy. I suspect that D Company will require more than normally
careful handling, sir, to bring them into the order that I am sure Major Pearce will demand of me. I must not be a flogging fool, such as they have experienced, yet there will be a need for rigorous discipline on occasions. Mr Grundy is known to them and will be able to bring them into line, as it were, sir."

  "Your choice, Mr Taft. You are a captain, sir, and must be trusted to make such decisions. Put up the marks of rank, if you please, brevet until you hear of your purchase."

  They watched the young man as he attempted to march smartly out of the office; he did not make a very good showing.

  "I wonder, Major Pearce... He may well be one of those whose sole virtue is to be discovered on the field of battle. But, he is a soldier. What more can one ask?"

  "A lot, sir. I shall take pains to tell him!"

  "Two new ensigns from the ranks, Major Pearce. You may need to assist them to find their feet."

  "Both will be useful men, sir. I will speak to them about alcohol and especially about their Mess bills. They will make good lieutenants and I will in time encourage them to go to the Company's service rather than return to England. Both will know why."

  "Good. That deals with our most obvious business, Major Pearce. I have written up our report to the authorities, sir. We are sure that the man Dhoondiah was not present and know that the leader of the renegades was killed and his men dispersed. All highly satisfactory. Neither General nor Governor can complain. I have heard some very interesting stories about the death of their acting leader, Major Pearce!"

  "The men will exaggerate, sir! There were no loaded flintlocks among the Indians, sir - the rain meaning that neither side could keep its powder dry with any ease - so it made sense to look at what was happening from a convenient height."

  "I shall say no more, Major Pearce!"

  "Cooper, I would prefer that Mrs Pearce was not made to worry in her present condition. No stories and wild tales of the battlefield, for instance."

  "Not me, sir. But, if you'll pardon me, sir, it's too late now. The stories are all round the cantonment already - she will be bound to hear. I don't know if maybe you noticed, sir, but that bandit what you shot, was wearing one or two bits and pieces of stuff. I got out to 'im early-like, before the lads did. Got a fair few of them mohur things in a purse, sir, and a couple of rings and a brooch sort of thing and a pin or two as well."