Raging Rajahs (Man of Conflict Series, Book 2)

by Andrew Wareham

  They required no more, had feared far less.

  “I hardly think it necessary, Major Pearce. Artillery, forsooth! Are we to say that a battalion of British infantry cannot see off a mob of rioting peasants?”

  Colonel Horncastle was dismissive – he did not want it known that he had asked for help.

  “The need is to protect our own men, sir. We are not to lose soldiers to religion-crazed rioters, sir. If a battery of field guns will save my men’s lives, then I am very happy to accept their aid. And I would remind you, sir, that the battalion has fewer than five hundred soldiers remaining. We cannot afford to lose more men foolishly, sir!”

  Colonel Horncastle took umbrage at the word ‘foolishly’; it might be thought that the major was questioning his leadership in that last little fight.

  “With proper leadership, Major Pearce, there is no need to lose any men!”

  “I fully agree, sir!”

  That response did little to pacify the colonel.

  “I consider that the Hampshires have no need to ask for aid, Major Pearce.”

  “We have agreed, sir, that there may be more than ten thousand rioters on the streets. My force of a little more than two hundred may have to face them unsupported, sir. The threat of field guns may be sufficient in itself to persuade the mob to stop and to go elsewhere for its pleasures, sir. I would remind you that if we lose the waterfront and all of the commercial enterprises of Bombay then we will go a long way to destroying British power in India. The courts-martial that would follow would be unpleasant in the extreme, sir.”

  “We do not even know that there will be riots, Major Pearce. It will be time to ask for help if we know that it is needed.”

  Septimus exploded, banged his fist on the desk.

  “It will be too bloody late then! My men will be killed because you wish to parade in front of the Brigadier and Major-General as a great soldier, sir. I do not wish to see my men dead, sacrificed to the vanity of an incompetent!”

  Colonel Horncastle started to his feet, about to call in the provost party to arrest the insulting and insubordinate major. There were grounds and to spare to call a court-martial that would break the offensive beast. Second thoughts closed his mouth – was there to be a court-martial then he must testify before it, stating the exact words that had been said to him…

  “I think we have taken this discussion far enough, Major Pearce.”

  “I shall make a written report to you, sir, copied to the Brigadier, stating that the Hampshires cannot be certain to protect the commercial district without assistance, sir. Even if rejected, that report will remain upon record, sir.”

  Septimus knew that he would win. If the colonel had not been brave enough to arrest him, then he must collapse now. He was a weakling, and as such he could be bullied.

  “I will give your opinion to the Brigadier, Major Pearce, and we will discuss the proper course to take.”

  “Excellent, sir. I will assist you make an initial written request for a meeting, outlining the points to be considered.”

  The colonel sat and sullenly grabbed pen, ink and paper, scribbled a quick note, tossed it across the table.

  “I trust that will suffice, sir!”

  Septimus read the request to consider the deployment of artillery to protect the vulnerable commercial district, it being the opinion of the commanders of the battalion that they could not be certain of success in all circumstances without support.

  “It will indeed, sir.”

  Septimus folded the sheet, inscribed the Brigadier’s name and placed it in his pocket.

  “I shall deliver this for you, sir, being that the Brigadier’s offices are on my way, sir.”

  He put on his hat, saluted and left the colonel’s presence, taking a diversion to the Brigadier’s office on the way to his own. The colonel would be his enemy henceforth, but he was a weakling; he could survive.

  On his way to his quarters he reflected that he seemed to be unlucky in the way of colonels; he wondered if he might be a fraction tactless and overbearing in his dealings with the breed. Not to worry; he knew he had been in the right.

  Information came to the cantonments of meetings in the city, of marketplaces taken over by roaring, chanting masses of men, of the women and children disappearing from the streets, those who could.

  The message came from the Governor’s office; the word was that the good Hindus would march in the morning, to take their city back from the alien Muslims who were stealing their jobs and taking the food from their mouths, as well as frequently molesting their womenfolk.

  The officers of the Hampshires were called to the Mess and the presence of the Major-General in person.

  “You have been tasked, gentlemen, to protect the commercial district and to patrol the streets of the western half of the city. The Devons have the east and the Governor’s residence and offices. We have only a very few reliable men, I fear, and the city is vast. I have ordered two batteries of field artillery to come under the command of Major Pearce and his companies at the waterfront. The sepoy battalions are to hold the cantonment, particularly including the quarters. Two regiments of Company Horse – all that are posted here at the moment – are to hold themselves in readiness. You are to move out at midnight.”

  The colonel said nothing other than to order the General Salute.

  Septimus led his companies to the High Road and began to post them. He ran into the immediate difficulty that the street was not, as he had expected it to be at this time of night, empty. Every corner, every nook and cranny was full of sleeping people, whole families quite commonly; wherever there was protection from the rain there was a recumbent body.

  Melksham was amazed that he did not know.

  “Street folk, sir. There are tens of thousands who have no roof, sir, and live – if you can call it that – on the roads. They have a claim, each to the corner they have appropriated, and return to the exact same spot every night. They beg and perhaps find a little of casual work, when there is any, and they hawk small goods on the street and they sell themselves if they can find a taker, or so I am told, and their children, those who live, go into the brothels at an early age. If they are lucky they can sell two or three children and have money enough to rent a shack of their own – for a while. They die, very frequently, and good Hindus will often gain merit by paying for the wood for their funeral pyres, or so I am told.”

  “What do I do about them, Mr Melksham?”

  “Oh, kick them out of the way, sir! They are nothing to worry about. They do not count, sir.”

  “Do not the missionaries go among them, Mr Melksham? Surely they would provide many a convert.”

  Melksham shrugged – if the missionaries converted them then they would have to feed them, a near impossibility. Better far for the reverend gentlemen to pay attention to the more prosperous class of folk, who tended to wash as well.

  The street people showed no inclination to move, at first. The sight of bayonets changed their minds and they ran quite quickly.

  The guns emplaced themselves at either end of the High Road, a company to each as close protection. They loaded canister and settled themselves to wait.

  Septimus changed his initial orders and placed B, C and D companies at the apex of the bend, almost at the mid-point of the road. There was a very convenient pair of mud-walled shacks just at that point, and he ordered the eviction of their owners and the tumbling of their walls, so as to provide a thicker barricade for the men to shelter behind. Canister would be almost spent at a range of a quarter of a mile, but could still cause injuries, even kill the unlucky; his men must be protected.

  “Tell them to go to the cantonment when all the fuss is over. We will find them a few rupees to rebuild.”

  They were only civilians, and foreign anyway. They deserved no greater consideration.

  The official from the Governor’s office, Burtonshawe, came to them in the small hours. Septimus had never met him but had been warned that he w
ould probably be sent as their adviser.

  “I see you are well-prepared, Major. The commercial area must not be harmed in any way, Major. No consideration may take precedence over the well-being of the warehouses. There may well be more than a million in value stored in those buildings even this early in the year. Losing those silks and ivories and dyestuffs and jute would be a disaster that the British in India might never recover from, sir.”

  Septimus pointed to the guns and to his own people; between them they should be able, he believed, to put down any mob.

  “Do you need to read a Riot Act, as in England, sir?”

  “No, Major. I shall stand to the front, with a platoon or two of your men to my side, if you please. I shall shout to them to go away and warn them that we shall shoot any man who crosses the road. How will you order your guns to fire?”

  “A red flag waved from the breastworks, sir, or the sound of musketry. A white flag and they will cease fire while my men go out to tidy up and encourage any stragglers to run away.”

  “Very good, Major!”

  They waited, the bulk of the men told to sleep – they would have a busy day, it was expected.

  “Will word spread that we are here, Mr Melksham?”

  “Probably not, sir. This area seems to be mostly Muslim, the bigger houses certainly are – you can see the windows have screens to keep their women hidden away. They will not pass the message along to Hindus that the soldiers are here. The street people know, of course, but the respectable will not talk to them.”

  That was a pity, Septimus thought. Much better if the rioters came nowhere near them, though the colonel would be a self-righteous pain if they did not, crowing loudly that there had been no need for artillery to be called out.

  He did not have cause to worry.

  Soon after dawn they saw smoke in the near distance, black and thick, far too much for cooking fires. A little later they heard a buzz in the distance, slowly growing in volume and quickly becoming discernible as roaring voices.

  “Is there no other settlement of Muslims, Mr Burtonshawe?”

  “Several, Major, but this is the greatest. Annoyingly placed, but there is no practical way of shifting them. If only the Hindus were not determined to burn them out I would be inclined to turn my back for a couple of hours, but we must not permit arson just here. If they would just indulge in a massacre, well, we could wring our hands in dismay and state our horror afterwards and be glad they were gone. Damned natives never know what’s best for them – they are forever dealing in extremes!”

  Septimus shook his head sympathetically, glad that he did not have to struggle with the complexities of the civilian existence.

  The noise grew and it was clear that the riot was coming towards them.

  “Green flag, if you would be so good, Mr Melksham.”

  The batteries responded with the same colour; they were loaded, portfires ready, could shoot instantly on receipt of the red flag.

  “Captains to your companies, if you please. Load ball, await my command, gentlemen.”

  The first Hindus appeared on the street to the south, coming out of a side alley about a hundred yards away, running, pointing at the redcoats and guns. None scurried back to carry a message to the organisers, the ringleaders of the riot, assuming that such existed. The noise reached a peak and a mob bustled out of a dozen different side streets.

  “Mr Taft! D Company to fire a volley in the air.”

  The shots crashed out and Burtonshawe, covered by a platoon, ran forward halfway to the nearest rioters and began to shout. What he said, Septimus did not know, but the rioters howled back at him and began to throw stones, some at Burtonshawe, more at the Muslim dwellings.

  Burtonshawe retired and more men appeared in the street, a few carrying lighted torches.

  “Up you go, Mr Melksham, onto the breastwork facing south. Red flag raised, now!”

  “Acknowledged, sir. Green flag waved.”

  “Drop the red flag.”

  Melksham jumped down as the five cannon fired, one after another, the sharp crack of two pounds of black powder repeated and echoing down the road.

  The roar of the mob turned to individual wails and the first wave ran back to the west, out of sight, leaving as many as one hundred bodies, many dead, some crawling and calling for help. A shack was on fire on the eastern, Hindu side of the road where a torch had been tossed away; as they watched the fire spread on either side and the occupants began to scream and run.

  Burtonshawe stood motionless, watching; he turned to Septimus after a few minutes.

  “Driftwood from the beach; palm fronds plaited together; dried grass and reeds for the roofing; sacking or cotton for bedding – the places are fire traps at best, Major. Even in the height of the Monsoon they are at risk. Now, with the Dry Season beginning, there is not the least chance of putting the blaze out; it will burn until it reaches a firebreak.”

  Another batch of rioters appeared almost opposite to them, fifty or sixty yards distant and spreading out.

  “Company Fire! D first!”

  The men were in three ranks and fired in sequence, front ranks, D then C then B. Middle ranks taking a pace forward and then firing while the front reloaded, then the rears taking two paces. The original front rank had reloaded and stepped forward again and fired, the advance inexorable, the three-quarters of an inch balls hitting home as often as not at fifty yards.

  Three rounds per man, per minute, powder smoke puffing around them so that they could hardly see the results.

  “Cease fire!”

  The smoke dissipated to show a street empty of active rioters, two hundred and more bodies, most originally dressed in white cotton, showing crimson now.

  “Back to the breastwork!”

  The companies walked back, rested easily on their muskets, grinning to each other. That had shown the buggers!

  “The men may smoke, gentlemen.”

  Stand easy was called except for one platoon from each company to keep guard. The short clay pipes came out and were stuffed with tobacco in all of its forms together with a number of other vegetable substances sold in the barrack rooms.

  Septimus stepped away from the men, not wishing to smell anything untoward.

  There was a wind picking up off the sea, which was bad news for the shacks and houses near the fire. Septimus watched dispassionately as the flames were whipped up higher and spread both north and south as well.

  “Normal enough, I suppose, Mr Burtonshawe. The men riot, the women and children lose their houses. I suppose this means a few more thousand living on the streets.”

  “These people had roofs over their heads; they are a cut above the street folk. They will mostly have relatives here who will take them in, Major. Not all, of course. Some will return to their villages; others will try to rebuild on their patches of land here. A month at most and the bare ground will be covered with shanties.”

  “Will the rioters be back, sir?”

  “Possibly, Major. Unlikely, I would suggest. They will be looking for easier pickings; their leaders have promised them loot and blood and many will not go home without getting their dues. They will rampage through one of the undefended Muslim areas, I should imagine. This riot is not against us and they probably will not wish to attack us.”

  “Will they not harbour a grievance against us?”

  “They may, but they are only ryots, the lowest of castes, one step up from Untouchables. Their leaders will not care how many of them we have killed, they will not call war against us for so minor a matter.”

  It was a different country.

  “How long should we remain here, Mr Burtonshawe?”

  “Overnight, if you would be so good, Major. There is an outside chance that the mobs may rise again tomorrow.”

  Septimus committed them to remain, called to Captain Carter to send a half company back to the cantonment to bring back rations for the men. They must be fed.

  “What is to be done about
the wounded, Mr Burtonshawe?”

  “Nothing by us, Major. Their own families will come for them, eventually. Most will have been in the company of brothers and cousins and they will come back to look for them, sooner or later. They are not our problem, sir.”

  They stood and watched the fire, the men betting which shack would burst into flames next, mildly amused by the scurrying figures in the distance, trying to save the little they possessed.

  There was a minor alarm mid-way through the afternoon when a few hundred white-clad men appeared in the street, apparently having lost their way in the smoke-filled alleys. They milled about for a minute or two, seemed to move in the direction of the waterfront. Septimus called for the red flag and watched the crowd disintegrate under the gunfire. Burtonshawe was highly impressed.

  “Most effective, Major Pearce. I can only applaud you on your initiative in using the guns in town!”

  Septimus made his thanks.

  A runner arrived from the colonel just before dusk to say that Major Reynolds’ people were under considerable pressure and would appreciate assistance.

  “B and C Companies to follow the messenger, immediately, gentlemen. Captain Carter, please to send back to me if you feel that the presence of artillery would be of use to you. I will detach one battery at your request, unless of course we are under sustained assault ourselves.”

  No message came in the night and the sentries saw nothing. An hour after dawn another messenger arrived to say that the troubles were over – there were no mobs out on this morning.

  Mr Burtonshawe doffed his hat to Septimus and thanked him for his good work, assuring him that the Governor would hear chapter and verse of his efforts.

  The guns limbered up and the small column formed and marched back to the cantonment, to the quiet of the barracks.

  The Governor told the Major-General that Septimus was a jolly good fellow, and the Brigadier was told by both together that he was lucky to have such a man under his command.