That sounded political, and Septimus had no intention of becoming involved. Political soldiers were well advised to be both rich and well-connected by birth and Septimus was neither; if he became politically involved he might well find himself used and then discarded, his career gone.
“I believe India needs our government, sir. We should drive out the French and then bring the whole of the sub-continent into our control. That may only be done by a series of campaigns, sir. If, for example, the Marathas will not be brought into our ranks, then they must be destroyed.”
“Very true. How do we ensure that we play our part, Major Pearce?”
“We must beg more men from the Depot, sir. We must have another draft.”
“A request by the Overland Bag to Horse Guards, with a copy to the Colonel, begging him to exert pressure.”
The Colonel of a Regiment was sometimes its proprietor in the old-fashioned sense, was increasingly now an honorary figure, dug out of his normal occupation to attend a dinner or two each year and occasionally to whisper in the ear of Royalty or of senior politicians. The position was salaried well at more than five hundred pounds a year and offered the opportunity for the unscrupulous to profit from the supply of uniforms, but most Colonels appointed a clerk to do the business of the post and paid out more than they earned in equipping the regiment to a standard above that covered by Horse Guards. The Colonel could be used on occasion, provided the demands were not excessive or made too frequently.
“Provided the men come quickly, sir, I am none too concerned at the methods used.”
Colonel Horncastle made no comment – he suspected that Major Pearce was one to cut inconvenient corners and was not sure that he approved.
“The Bag might arrive in London in time to send a draft out on the next convoy. One hundred men would be very useful, Major Pearce.”
If the battalion fell too much short of its establishment then it would not be taken out on campaign, would be condemned to permanent garrison duty, which was bad for the morale of the officers, though few of the private soldiers objected to the quiet life, sleeping always under their barracks roof.
“How is young Melksham, Major Pearce? He was much upset by his first experience in the field.”
“He was thrown into the most unpleasant aspects of soldiering all unaware that they existed, sir. He had had no time to chat in the mess, to listen to older men’s reminiscences. I doubt he had ever so much as heard of the word ‘sack’. He knows now, however, and he has settled down well. I know that his new captain is pleased with his work, sir.”
Captain Fletcher, promoted without purchase, was a happy young gentleman and had needed only the briefest of whispers to take Mr Melksham under his wing and teach him his job. Another quiet suggestion from Septimus had caused Captain Taft to invite Mr Melksham to join him at a small jollification in the native town.
“The Great Elephant dancing house is known for the quality of its entertainments, Mr Melksham. Do come with us!”
Melksham had been warned by his father and his tutors against frequenting bawdy-houses and drinking to excess in the company of low women. Captain Fletcher seconded the invitation, however, and he could think of no way of refusing that would not make him seem childish, a frightened little boy.
A glass or two and a pair of girls dancing specifically for him it seemed, only partly clothed and no more than a yard away, removed most of his fears. They took him upstairs and rapidly dispelled the remainder of his qualms.
He returned to his quarters feeling much more grown-up, and able to distance himself from his horror at the taking of the fortified village – ‘they had chosen to fight, it was their fault’. It was the normal justification and was sufficient to quieten the consciences of the other officers; it would do for him.
“Good,” the colonel said, “I have written to his father to tell him that I am more than satisfied with his boy’s conduct on his first coming under fire. I am glad that it is true.”
They fell into the routine of the cantonment – a necessary minimum of drill; regular marches and musketry practice, but more time free than busy.
Septimus escorted Marianne to the entertainments of the small European community – dinner parties with the same few people; balls in the company of every British man and woman of an age – the constraints much relaxed to permit even the least of Company clerks to attend, irrespective of birth. The bulk of the Company’s employees were Scots and Northern Irish Protestants, so there was less of a problem of conformity to the genteel accent of society, the two communities permitted their regional barbarities. He discovered that he was a known figure, very big, young for his rank and promoted for valour in the field, and he did not dislike the awe in the eyes of the misses, though never straying in look or word – the scandalmongers would have loved nothing better than a new target for their tongues.
Marianne discovered herself to be pregnant again as the Dry Season ended. She was not at all displeased by the occurrence – there was much to be said for the larger family and she would not object to a daughter, or a second son, depending on luck. The worst of the Monsoon would be past before she grew too large and uncomfortable in the heat and humidity – the timing was fortuitous indeed. Septimus agreed - he enjoyed having a son, would rather like a second, and a daughter would be a blessing in her own right.
The Monsoon was wet and nasty, to the surprise of none, but the city seemed stickier than normal, the crowds busier, the noise greater.
The old hands were unhappy – the place felt ‘wrong’, they worried. They advised the officers to be on their toes, ready for anything. This was India, they said – no man could tell what tomorrow might bring, but they should be prepared.
The Major-General told the Brigadier that the ‘politicals’ felt that there was unrest in the air. The Brigadier informed Colonel Horncastle that there was a lot of nonsense being talked by the civilians but that he should have his battalion ready to assist the civil power if the need should arise.
“Go out loaded ball, Colonel Horncastle, and take no nonsense from any of ‘em! If you meet a mob then give ‘em one chance to go home – the civilian chappie will do that, he’ll spout the lingo at ‘em. If they come forward then a volley or two will turn ‘em round again and send ‘em back to their kennels quick time!”
Horncastle passed the message on, telling his officers that they were to take no nonsense from the mob.
“Do we know what they may be rioting about, sir?”
Inevitably, it was Captain Taft who asked the question and had to be told that it did not matter, it was none of their business what caused the trouble, their sole function was to put an end to the affair.
Septimus and Reynolds conferred with the colonel, needing to sort out a rota for the companies to assume readiness to go out and deal with any mob.
“How many, sir? One company at a time or more?”
Horncastle did not know, the Brigadier had not told him.
“The companies are still thin, sir. Better to send them out in pairs, sir. Remainder to be on immediate call, sir?”
“How big could a mob be, Major Pearce?”
“I do not know, sir, but they talk of a million people in Bombay, sir. It is a guess, as there has never been a count, of course, but if even one in a hundred took to the streets then there would be a huge mob to deal with.”
Quick scribbling with pencil and paper said ten thousand rioters was a possibility.
“That is a lot, sir!”
“The whole battalion might be hard pressed to deal with so many, particularly if they take to throwing stones.”
Colonel Horncastle was sufficiently perturbed to make his way to the Governor’s offices and beg for information from the paper-pushers there. He was eventually put into contact with a senior aide who had some knowledge of India and its conditions. Mr Burtonshawe was a permanent official, it seemed, a clerk who had been in the office since first it was created.
“The problem, Colon
el Horncastle? The normal, sir – religion. Bombay has a mix of bodies from all over the place, and they have all brought their own nonsenses with them. The most of them are Hindu, but of every caste and sub-caste, of course; next there are Muslims, mostly of the Shia sort but with some Sunni and a few of the lesser breeds; then there are a number of Parsees – but they are mostly rich and keep clear of riots. That covers the great bulk of the people, but there are Jews and a handful of Coptic Christians and even some converts to our missionaries, though few indeed of them. I suspect there will be Buddhists as well, but they make little public show of their faith. That apart, there will be one or two of every religion known on Earth - this is a great seaport, and people from all over the world trickle into and through these wharves, sir.”
“And they normally live at peace with each other, you say, Mr Burtonshawe?”
“Well… ‘peace’ might be a rather large word for the way they live, sir, but outright war is uncommon.”
“What has changed?”
“Well… every so often, sometimes once in a century, occasionally it seems every second year, the Muslims throw up a Mahdi or a would-be Caliph or some sort of Mullah or some such, and then they go wild and demand that the world must bow down to him. Then the Hindus attempt to solve the problem by burning out the Muslims and butchering all they can lay their hands on. As soon as the word gets out then the Muslims retaliate, where they form a majority, of course. A few years and the heat goes out of the matter and they start to live together again, until the next time. Just occasionally the Hindus have a religious revival and massacre the Muslims because of that.”
“What of the others you mentioned, the Parsees and such?”
“Oh, both sides kill them, in passing as it were.”
Colonel Horncastle thought Burtonshawe to be unfeelingly flippant.
“There are so many of them, sir, that a few thousand one way or the other hardly matters. Our sole concern is that they do not interfere with the Company’s business. Burn and kill each other, by all means, but keep their arsonist hands off our warehouses!”
It seemed a not unreasonable request. If the natives must regard religion as important then that was their privilege, but they should encouraged to keep their little games to themselves and not cause bother to more reasonable human beings. Horncastle thanked Burtonshawe and came away, aware that the gentleman had a deep knowledge of the Indians and their ways, but was still a good Englishman, not one of these Johnnies who went native.
“Damned Muslims, Major Pearce - they treat every day as if it were Sunday! No sense of proportion, sir!”
Septimus habitually treated Sunday as a damned nuisance that interfered with everyday life and could not imagine what was wrong with the Muslims – seven Sundays a week! How would they ever get business done?
“Anyway, religion be damned, Major Pearce. The problem we have is that the Hindus may take to burning the Muslims out, and that will put our warehouses and places of business at risk, so it cannot be permitted. If we get the word of trouble starting, then I have it in mind to send Reynolds out with his companies – as many as he feels he may need – while you take all of your people to the waterfront and the warehouse area and keep the peace there.”
It made sense, Septimus’ companies being thinner than Reynolds’.
He gathered his officers together of an afternoon later in the week and took them for an inspection of the area they were to protect. It was too hot to walk, too crowded for horses to make sense, so they travelled by gharry, waving and occasionally calling to each other, schoolboys off on a treat.
They had had no occasion to enter the commercial area – it was none of their business what the merchants got up to in their everyday lives. They were amazed to see huge warehouses, timber-built and often backing onto the sea at a small creek or section of deeper water. There were barges drawn up on the beach or on the low-tide mud of the creeks.
Except where the few creeks intervened, the warehouses were cheek by jowl, butting onto each other. A fire in one might destroy half of the district. The roads inland of the waterfront were built up with offices and a very few of houses; perhaps as many as two hundred large, wooden two or three storey buildings. Again, a fire would sweep through almost the whole area.
Beyond the commercial district, lapping up against it, were the houses, huts and hovels of the native community, crazy ramshackle places leaning against each other juxtaposed with bungalows as grand as any to be found in the European quarter. Thousands, probably tens of thousands lived here in a seething mass, wholly uncontrollable.
A merchant vaguely known to Septimus came out of his premises, told by his people of the redcoats in the street.
“Mr Aynscow, I am pleased to meet you, sir. We are casting our eyes over the ground, sir, having had word of possible trouble on the streets.”
“Ain’t ‘possible’, Major. It’s a bloody certainty from what my boys tell me. Thing to do is to hold ‘em off at the High Road, sir. Wide enough to keep the flames to one side, if they start burning. Get a torch into that bloody lot behind us and we’re all gone.”
Septimus nodded, asked if Aynscow could show them exactly where this High Road was.
“Ain’t its bloody name, not for real, Major, but it does for us. I can lend you one of my office wallahs for as long as you want, sir.”
Aynscow took his leave, roaring for ‘bloody Gupta’ to shift ‘is bloody self outside and not waste any bloody time doing it.
“What a nasty man, sir!”
“Yes, Captain Taft, but not quite so loudly, if you please!”
Gupta took them to the High Road, so-called, which was wide and not particularly straight but separated the waterfront area from the rest of the city. A fire set on the eastern side would not spread across the road unless driven by a very high wind, which there was no reason to expect. It ran from the sea to the edge of the city, petering out and then going nowhere in particular; it was a boundary more than a highway, created for some good reason in a distant past now forgotten.
“Half a mile long, damn near, gentlemen, and with access from either end and through at least twenty narrow lanes and alleys. We cannot see from one end to the other, due to the bend on the road.”
“A company at either side, sir, and the remainder at three points as near equidistant as we can make them. We can set them so that each company is in visual contact with two others.”
Captain Carter offered what was probably the only possible solution, other than splitting each company up into its constituent platoons and placing them at closer intervals opposite to each alleyway.
Captain Taft peered at the ground and at the shacks nearby, avoiding Septimus’ eye as he chose the right words for an unpleasant suggestion.
“If they come, sir, then we could set a torch to these places by the road and burn them backwards, sir. Like a firebreak, you might say, and the rioters having to run back for the burning houses to their front.”
“It would work, Captain Taft, but only as the last possible resort. We are here to protect our interests, not to burn the whole city down!”
Septimus had a sudden memory of setting fires in the cane and brush to drive back the French who had ambushed him – the sound of his own wounded men screaming faintly in the distance as the fire overtook them and the explosions of the cartridges in the pouches on their belts. He had almost forgotten that episode, was not pleased to be reminded now.
“No, Captain Taft! Only in the last resort of saving your men’s lives will that be permissible – and be sure that I will investigate thoroughly to ensure that it was necessary, sir!”
Taft nodded; he had not expected the Major to welcome his suggestion, but he knew that the idea was planted now in all of their minds.
“A squadron of cavalry could be useful, sir,” Melksham ventured.
“Agreed, Mr Melksham, but we have no King’s men to hand. Could we be certain that sepoy cavalry would charge home against their own people?”
‘Probably’ was not quite good enough as a response.
“What of artillery, sir?”
“Useful, Captain Carter, very much so. I shall ask the colonel whether it will be available to us. A battery of six-pounders firing canister from each end would keep the road clear, that’s for sure… it might not be too popular among the folk living along the side of the road, mark you!”
“With respect, sir – sod them! It’s our men I am concerned for.”
“Another good point, Captain Carter, and one I shall make most strongly when we return to barracks.”
Septimus made his normal mental note of who had spoken up – men with ideas and the courage to express them made the best officers in his opinion. It mattered little what the ideas were – they had brains of a sort and were prepared to use them and that must make them better soldiers.
“So then, gentlemen. As a first probability, we shall hold this area known as the High Road, placing A Company to the northernmost end and E to the south and B, C and D within sight of each other and B and D to see north and south respectively. If it is possible, and I do not know yet, then I shall beg the services of two batteries of field artillery, to be placed with A and E Companies, and to be under their protection. Companies B and D will, in such case, take some care to position themselves other than in the direct line of fire, of course. A trench or barricade or stone wall if such is to be found, gentlemen!”
They agreed that they understood the orders.
“Decisions to fire ball, sir?”
“Must be made by the captains, Mr Taft. I may be the half of a mile away from you when the crisis arises. The safety of your men must be first consideration; the protection of the waterfront area the second. I cannot make the judgement for you, but if you tell me that you believed your men’s lives to be in immediate danger, then I shall support you. I shall give you all written orders to that specific effect, gentlemen, and you will be able to stand before any Enquiry and say, ‘Major Pearce told me to fire if my men’s lives were endangered’. Your statement as an officer and a gentleman will be sufficient for me, and it had better be for any other who asks!”
Raging Rajahs (Man of Conflict Series, Book 2) Page 18
