Raging Rajahs (Man of Conflict Series, Book 2)

by Andrew Wareham

  “Town has surrendered, Colonel Horncastle. We are to march through to take ceremonial possession of the place. You should leave a major and his companies to act as garrison, sir. In the fortress at the far side of the town from us, sir.”

  Colonel Horncastle offered his thanks for the honour done to his battalion. The alternative was to moan that it was a damnable imposition, and that would have changed nothing but would have been reported to the Brigadier.

  “Major Reynolds! You are to be town-major, sir. Remind your men that the town is open to us, there will be no sack nor any of its lesser manifestations!”

  “Sir!”

  “Rations for one month, Major Reynolds. Two hundred rounds per man, sir. Take all or such part of the fortress as you regard as defensible and be prepared for any act of treachery. Maintain law and order, sir. Show the Rajah all respect and obey any of his orders that make sense to you. The Company will no doubt make arrangements for the good governance of the town and will inform you of its intentions. Return to Bombay when, and only when, you are satisfied that the Company has all in hand and can replace you with its own people. Pay for all rations with Bills drawn upon the Governor-General’s office. Discipline to be rigid, sir!”

  Reynolds saluted and led his companies into the town – the orders had come very much from the book, were all that he had expected when once appointed town-major.

  They remained two days, presumably to allow the Brigadier to celebrate his success and write an appropriately self-flattering despatch to the Major-General.

  The peasants who had flocked into the town returned to their villages and all became instantly quiet, the townspeople docile, trotting about their business and most earnest in their salutes to their new masters.

  “Obedient bunch, are they not, Major Pearce? Believe it if you wish, but it is my opinion that they would put knives in our backs with the same alacrity that they now bow to us. They are obeying the orders of their own lords still. I trust they will remain content with our presence.”

  The Brigadier called them to an orders meeting on the third morning.

  “Colonel Horncastle, Major Pearce! I intend to modify our plan of campaign gentlemen. The bulk of the column will march north towards Surat in expectation of accepting the surrender of other minor towns, though not attempting the city itself. You are to march almost due east in company with a battery of field artillery to bring the fortified border villages under our influence. Some may in fact be the size of a town to our way of thinking, but the Rajah assures me that they will offer no resistance, except that possibly his brother’s people may be inclined towards disloyalty to him, but they have no great strength, having been kept down for some years.”

  They stood to attention and saluted the Brigadier and then turned to the Rajah, sat in silent approval across the room and saluted again.

  “If he is to be an ally then we must keep him sweet, Major Pearce. These native chappies set a lot of store on formalities and salutes and ceremonial, you know!”

  “I do not know that I much like the idea of killing his brother for him, sir.”

  “It may not come to that, Major Pearce, though I suspect he will not object if it does. Fire-eaters who object to surrendering their land to the British will tend to cling to the family if they can, so they will give allegiance to the brother. No matter, we will deal with that problem if it arises.”

  “I wonder how far away these villages really are, sir.”

  “In the absence of maps, one can but guess, Major Pearce.”

  They marched loaded, two companies up, then the baggage train and artillery with a company in close support and two to hold the rear and push forward or to the flank to deal with any situation as it evolved.

  The colonel spoke to the officers, giving the strictest of instructions that they must not straggle and must conform to the pace of the bullock carts. They dared not be separated from their rations and reserves of powder and ball.

  “If we see no more than ten miles a day, gentlemen, then so be it. We will not be left with empty bellies and muskets and miles from succour!”

  They marched five miles that morning and set up a camp for the hot hours and then made another four miles in the cool of the evening. They were following a well rutted and therefore major track, one with small villages almost in sight of each other and with a number of creeks and rivulets flowing clean and sweet.

  They ate late in the evening, the men better able to digest their food in the cool, or so the old hands assured Septimus. The officers clustered on their camp chairs around a large camp fire and were served up a slightly better quality plateful of curried something and rice.

  Septimus noticed Melksham raising an eyebrow, wandered casually to his side.

  “Goat, probably, Mr Melksham, though it may be aged water-buffalo. Be that as it may, we eat it for lack of anything else!”

  The boy obeyed the unspoken command and cleared his plate.

  Septimus was satisfied – he must be used to far better but he was showing willing.

  They camped the next evening in sight of a large village beside a river, a furlong wide and still flowing strongly despite the Dry Season being nearly a month old.

  Melksham said that he had heard from his father’s people that the rivers here fed from the hills to the south and east where the land was wetter; often they did not wholly dry up at all.

  Septimus noted that the rivers might be obstacles if that was the case – difficult to ford despite the season. He licked his dry, sore lips. There was a permanent wind blowing, not strong but sufficient to carry dust into their faces. They were close to a water source and as was his habit he authorised the issue of extra water rations from the barrels in the carts; the men needed more than their own bottles could carry.

  “Captain Carter! Ensure that the men drink their fill tonight and refill their bottles immediately. Encourage them to boil up their tea, not simply to swig rum and water! They are not to wait to refill till we reach the river in the morning, just in case anything should happen overnight.”

  The night was quiet and they marched with the dawn, two miles down the track and into long musket-shot of the village.

  All was quiet, but the walls were high and gate was shut.

  The colonel sent patrols to either flank and they confirmed that the small boats were all drawn up on the bank and that none of the villagers were out fishing.

  “Now then! Do we send an officer forward to knock on the gate and demand entrance, or do we fire a round of six-pound shot to make the same request, Major Pearce?”

  “I am not certain, sir. If you would excuse me one moment, sir.”

  Septimus trotted across to D Company and begged Captain Taft to make use of his telescope.

  “Mr Taft is sure that there are men moving behind the gate, sir. He believes that he can see shadows flickering.”

  The colonel delayed a few seconds making up his mind, eventually called the gunner captain across.

  “A round of ball into the wall close to the gate, if you please, captain. Delay five minutes and if nothing happens then two rounds direct into the gate. The other guns to be loaded with canister shot, if you please.”

  The gunner ran back to his battery, pleased to have something to do. The colonel waved the men to one knee to wait on the response of the commander in the village.

  The field gun fired and the crew reloaded, quickly and efficiently, no wasted movement, the men not getting in each other’s way.

  The village showed no signs of life.

  “No damned movement on the wall – not that I would expect there to be, it ain’t big enough.”

  The wall was slightly taller than a man’s head, showed no crenellation, no loop-holes for sentries to peer through or fire from. Septimus could not see how thick it might be but it showed no more than a cloud of dust where the roundshot had hit; he could see no signs of cracking.

  “The wall is made of blocks of sun-dried brick, sir. Not like the vill
age we saw last year where it was created from layers of mud laid on a stone core.”

  “No stone at the river bank, but a lot of clay, Major Pearce.”

  It took a lot more of time and effort to shape and dry blocks and then move them into place. Mud said villagers doing what they could to help themselves; blocks suggested a much more military approach.

  The five minutes passed and the battery fired two more rounds, each hitting squarely on the wooden gate and shattering its panels. The wood splintered and the gates sagged open to show a pair of small brass guns and hundreds of men rushing to form lines. All of them carried muskets, many of them clearly shiny new.

  The colonel shouted to the guns to fire, observed the effect of three immediate rounds of canister, the gunners falling about their little cannon.

  “Companies B, C and D to form line and to advance at the double!”

  The colonel shouted the halt at about thirty yards from the wall and ordered a volley from each company, fully expecting the Indian soldiers to run.

  Many of the Indian infantry fell; the rest charged, shouted on by their officers waving their swords behind them.

  “Mr Carter! Your companies to form two lines, front kneeling and prepare to receive a charge.”

  It seemed to Septimus to be a wholly wrong-headed order, given in the expectation that the three forward companies would be overwhelmed and making no attempt to bolster them. He stood with the colonel behind the two companies and watched as the three in front formed a triple rank, the first two with bayonets presented, the third frantically loading. The charge arrived piecemeal, fastest runners first, more cautious several seconds behind.

  The front rank simply held while the men in the second stepped a pace forward to thrust with their bayonets and give the third line the twenty seconds needed to reload.

  A volley from each company, almost simultaneous and carving into the leading men of the charge, cutting down forty or fifty of the fiercest and best of the attackers.

  There was a pause, the charge recoiling and the sergeants calling the reload.

  The colonel shouted A and E to advance, pointing them across to the right flank, still in their double lines. He ordered them to fire by the half company, giving them the time so that the first was reloaded as the last fired. B, C and D joined in, the volleys crashing out in sequence, the Indians returning fire as they could before falling back helplessly to the gates.

  The Hampshires followed up, were ordered to the flank just as they reached the gates, finally allowing the six-pounders their chance. Five rounds, canister over ball, through the gate and the colonel shouted the advance.

  There was a small market-place immediately inside the gate, a fort to the right and a pair of larger houses left and a mass of small one and two storied timber and clay-block houses filling the rest of the walled enclave.

  The fort’s gate was open, a mass of Indian soldiers running inside for cover. Captain Taft led his company in a wild charge directly into their backs and carved a passage through them and inside.

  The colonel held back with his runners, calling the artillery into the village and organising A Company to hold the gate with them. Septimus ran inside to create order.

  “Mr Robbins! Two platoons and Ensign Melksham to me and take the rest of your company into the fort, sir, clear up with Mr Taft! Mr Carter, take B and E into the village and kill or capture every armed man. Secure the wharf and prevent escape by boat!”

  The men ran, still under discipline, Septimus was pleased to see.

  “Mr Melksham, with one platoon, into the big house on the right! You, corporal, follow me.”

  Septimus ran towards the left-hand house, noticed a scattering of wild shots and heard the corporal calling his men to reply; half a dozen rounds and the house was silent.

  There was a single high door in a loopholed wall; it opened to disclose a large man with a hand up, palm forward as if commanding them to halt. Septimus shot him, ran past the body and inside, Cooper at his heels. Two men appeared carrying swords.

  Septimus shouted to them to surrender, in English. They did not respond and he fired at one as Cooper shot the other. There was no further resistance and Septimus ran out and into the other large place to find Melksham; he ignored the screams he heard behind him.

  The second house had a small courtyard behind its door and Septimus found Melksham there, backing out of the interior in near shock.

  “Sir, Mr Pearce, the men, sir… they’ve killed all of the men and they have started to pull the clothes off the young women, sir… they are…”

  “It happens always when the men take a place by storm, Mr Melksham. It is impossible to prevent it. Many of them will have died – a storm is always bloody – and the ones who survive believe this is their right as a recompense for the risk, and as a revenge for their dead squad-mates.”

  “But, sir… it is wrong, sir!”

  Septimus was sorry for the boy, fresh from a more than normally sheltered background of tutors and servants and never a sniff of the real, nasty world.

  “It is. But at the moment we can do nothing about it. Come with me and we shall see what is happening in the fort. Are your pistols loaded?”

  “No, sir. I forgot to reload, sir.”

  “Do so now. I must reload three of mine. Always reload as soon as you can. My man normally will see to mine, but he is busy at the moment.”

  Fortunately Melksham did not ask what he was doing.

  They trotted into the fort, found Taft in command and organising both companies.

  “Mr Robbins was killed, sir, pushing his way into the quarters at the top, sir. The fort has three floors, sir, and had its own small garrison who had remained with some sort of general, or a civilian leader, sir, a rajah or one of those. They shot Mr Robbins as he went in first, sir, and his people did them all in – shot ‘em or bayoneted ‘em and threw the bodies, dead or alive, over the wall, sir.”

  Septimus surmised that the Rajah no longer had a brother.

  “Very good, Mr Taft. You have secured the armoury or magazine, I trust?”

  “A big powder-room, sir, with a dozen barrels of gunpowder and a few spare muskets. I have put a pair of sentries on it. Same on the wet pantry, sir. Full of bottles of arrack and local beer, sir. Kept for the raja's family and people - they were all Hindu so were free to drink alcohol, sir.”

  “Well done, Mr Taft! Garrison the fortress and the two houses across the market-place, if you would be so good. C Company to me outside the fortress, please. Mr Grundy is not with you?”

  Septimus expected to hear that Grundy had fallen, was told that he was in fact commanding the men on the upper floors. He nodded, said no more until he was outside.

  “Any money you like, Mr Melksham, that the general here had his treasury up there. The better part of it will be in the men’s pouches by now! Sensible of Grundy, of course; as a ranker officer he must make his own way in the world and a thousand or two now will do him no end of good!”

  Melksham, a rich man’s son, believed looting to be a form of theft, but Septimus explained the difference very patiently. The boy had been subjected to a number of unpleasant experiences in a very short time; one must show him tolerance.

  By nightfall the village was subjugated, every armed man dead or run or captured and the soldiers returned to discipline. It was only a small place and it had been possible to keep the men in sight and set the sergeants to control them. Luckily the inhabitants were almost all Muslim and there was very little of alcohol in the village; sober soldiers were far more amenable to discipline.

  The colonel took up residence in the fort overnight and called Septimus and the four captains to conference over an evening meal.

  “I must consider whether to brevet Robbins’ senior lieutenant or simply to place him in command for the while and bring in a more senior man from one of the other companies.”

  That was always a tender question.

  Where there was a lieutenant of seve
ral years’ service in the company then it was expected that he would fill his dead captain’s shoes; but both of Robbins’ men had purchased new immediately before the battalion had sailed for India and had less than three years in.

  “Mr Fletcher of G has a number of years, has he not, sir?”

  “Eight, Major Pearce, and he is an able enough young man, and lacks the wherewithal to purchase until his godfather, of whom he has expectations, chooses to, ah, ‘put his spoon in the wall’, as they say.”

  Taft was immediately interested, wondering just how that expression had been coined, his undisciplined mind always ready to follow any side track.

  “One does not know, Mr Taft. Suffice it to say that the old gentleman is not dead yet and Mr Fletcher cannot purchase.”

  “Lieutenants Parrott and Molyneux of C are too inexperienced, sir,” Carter said. “Fletcher it must be, particularly while young Melksham needs his hand held. I saw the boy just now and he seemed not to have enjoyed his baptism of fire, I think.”

  Septimus spoke up immediately – that implication must be instantly crushed.

  “No, not that, Mr Carter. I reloaded in his company – he had stood well enough. He was with a platoon in one of the big houses when they got in among the women. That upset him more than a little, I know.”

  “So it should, Major Pearce! A damned disgrace!”

  Septimus agreed, but said he knew no way of preventing it; reluctantly, they concurred, the colonel hardly concerned.

  “It is quite vile, gentlemen, but we live in an unpleasant world. We are agreed then that Mr Fletcher must be given his brevet? If the Brigadier agrees then I shall request that it be made a promotion without purchase – a good example for some of the other young men, to give them hope.”

  They moved on – the half-battalion must be reorganised.

  “Butcher’s bill, gentlemen, is not small. Forty-one dead or wounded and unlikely to rise again. No fewer than seventy lightly wounded!”

  One man in three – far too high for a small fight; nothing was said, but the colonel had made a very poor job of the day. Septimus was not alone in thinking that he should have held the men at the battery and given the guns the opportunity to fire more canister into the mass of enemy infantry as they had attempted to pass through the gates in their charge. Their own advance could have followed after a few minutes of volley fire and further rounds of gunfire. It would have been almost certainly successful and far less expensive of men’s lives.