Raging Rajahs (Man of Conflict Series, Book 2)

by Andrew Wareham

  It became a contest.

  The men marched their five hours and then got to their feet after the ten minutes break and made ready to start out again. Captain Archer took Septimus to one side.

  “They are playing, sir. They have seen you marching up and down the columns, sometimes travelling three miles to their two – they want to see what you will be doing after twenty miles instead of fifteen.”

  “Falling down, I suspect, Mr Archer. I have been sat too many weeks in idleness in the palace.”

  Two more miles and they came to a river, perhaps fifty yards wide and of unknown depth. The track led into the water, presumably at a ford.

  Septimus called the halt.

  “Bivouac here till dawn, Mr Archer. I am not about to cross an unknown river in the darkness. They say that splashing at night attracts the crocodiles – I don’t know, and I do not wish to find out!”

  A few of the men might have believed him; most simply accepted that it was a good way out and quietly chuckled. They sat down, packs off, and lit a pair of fires. A man from each platoon was carrying a few dry sticks, enough to give some light so that they could collect more firewood from under the nearby trees. The pots were boiling within half an hour and each man had a mug of black tea in hand. Septimus carefully did not notice as half a dozen bottles were passed round to fortify the brew. He took a sip from his own mug and shuddered – he had no great love for navy rum, and Cooper had been generous with his tot.

  They marched another three nights, circling through a wholly peaceful countryside, passing through perhaps twenty villages where night watchmen called a greeting and the great bulk of the peasants slept unperturbed.

  Returned to his rooms in the palace Septimus called Molly Grant to him, told him what he had observed, asked him to discover why.

  “They have no loyalty, sir, not to the Maratha princes. They are owned by them. Like they used to be in England, sir, the serfs. If the Marathas and their horsemen are gone then they can get on with their lives quietly for a while, until the next conqueror comes to grab taxes from them. They say that Jan Company – that’s their name, sir – is known to be less cruel than the Marathas. The sahibs levy smaller taxes and do not take their girls away without paying, so they say. They hope the Marathas lose, sir, but they dare not say so, for fear they might win and treat them as traitors. All they really want is to be left alone.”

  It was no way to live, Septimus thought; he knew as well that they would never achieve their wish – they were too weak.

  He had a vague memory of his schooldays, of a reverend of some sort coming in and giving them lessons; the Sermon on the Mount, that was it. These meek souls were not blessed in any way that he could see.

  “Bad luck, you poor sods!”

  “Sorry, sir?”

  “My mistake, Grant – I was thinking aloud.”

  A courier came into the fortress and Colonel Vaughan sent a runner to Septimus to come to him.

  “The Marathas are broken, Major Pearce. Wellesley got among them at a place called Assaye. He has killed or taken all of their French and German officers and destroyed their infantry and scattered their horse, killing many of them as well. He has captured damned near every gun they had, more than a hundred modern cannon!”

  “Then he has truly broken their strength, sir. Their artillery was the basis of their power.”

  “A heavy butcher’s bill, the Scots battalions especially hurt. But he still has men enough to carry on.”

  “I will have the news passed on in town, sir. The merchants probably know already, of course. Are there orders for us?”

  “Only to hold our positions and to keep a weather eye out for broken men trying to run. There may be officers making their way back to their homes, hoping to be unrecognised in the mass of the population. Any such to be apprehended and brought to you and be given the opportunity to swear allegiance, with a warning that they will certainly be hanged if they ever take up arms against us again.”

  “Then to be released without punishment, sir?”

  “They are under the rule and protection of the Company now, Major Pearce. The past is to be forgotten.”

  “That, sir, is either very wise or monumentally foolish – and I do not think we will know which for another twenty or more years.”

  A Company garrison marched in a month later, with no prior warning other than a courier on the previous evening.

  Septimus smiled quietly and made his way to the colonel’s quarters.

  “Bastards! They want us to look foolish, needing days to make ready to hand over. What do we do, Major Pearce?”

  “Order up the baggage train, sir. Our bullocks are out to graze, some of them two or three miles distant. The mules are pastured down by the river. The carts are all in the compound at the fortress here, sir. Quartermaster has all of his stores packed to travel, sir, having told me that we could be ordered into the field on no notice at all; he has campaigned many times before. It will take four or five hours to load up the carts, sir. The men will get little sleep tonight, but we shall be ready to march as the Company battalion enters. I would send out a horseman, sir, to give us warning of their arrival so that we can form a parade to welcome them.”

  “Very good, Major Pearce! We shall hand over and march the men out onto the road to Bombay. No further than the river, I think, tents up on the far bank and march in the evening?”

  “I think that will do very well, sir. You and Major Reynolds to escort them to the palace while I stay with the battalion. I may not be a tactful man, sir, but I think it better that I play least in sight. No red rags to the Company bull, sir.”

  “Very right, Major Pearce!”

  Man of Conflict Series

  BOOK TWO

  Chapter Ten

  They were nine days on the road, intentionally taking short, easy marches to bring the men back into the routine and carefully timed their entry into the cantonment in Bombay, marching in just after dawn and indulging in a brief parade before dispersing to their barracks and quarters.

  Brigadier Cholmondely watched from his office, approvingly; more than a hundred miles on the road and yet well together and smart. That was what he looked for in a King’s Regiment. He called the field officers to him.

  “The Devons are gone, gentlemen, and you will be the sole King’s Regiment here for some months. It is planned that you will take ship for England after the Monsoon, early in the Year Four. The Royal Navy is intending to sail two of its squadron to Portsmouth at that time and will convoy you and as many saltpetre carriers as can be loaded. Production of saltpetre is to be increased, by the way, the need being so great; there are bat caves in the limestone hills that can be… mined, I imagine one might call it. Shovelled up and bagged, in any case.”

  “My word, sir, I do not envy the poor fellows doing that job. Truly the case that they are only fit to shovel…”

  “As you say, Major Pearce. Nine months from now, sir, and you will be on the high seas. A little earlier perhaps, if the Navy decides to send its ships sooner than planned.”

  “Garrison duty till then, sir?”

  “Unless an emergency supervenes, yes, Colonel Vaughan. I expect nothing to happen; the country’s quiet while the army is busy with the Marathas. If we suffer defeat, then the whole of India will go up in flames, I doubt not, but while we are winning there will be no uprisings against us. An envoy arrived from the Sikhs just three weeks after Assaye, bearing brotherly greetings and assurances of friendship.”

  They laughed, shaking their heads.

  “Had Wellesley lost it would have been a division of cavalry with fire and sword. Who is to blame them? We have seen the same in Europe so many times!”

  Septimus arrived at his quarters, settled into his empty rooms, called Mahesh, his major-domo to him.

  “I see the house to be in very good condition, sir. Have there been any problems in my absence?”

  “None, sir. I do not permit problems.”

 
“Well done, sir. As for money?”

  “I still possess a few rupees of the sum left with me, sir. All was as we planned.”

  “Excellent – I really need not have asked, I believe. The regiment is to sail after the Monsoon, sir. Not less than six months hence, not more than nine, I suspect. When our successors arrive I shall take rooms in the Mess, so that a family can move in here in comfort.”

  “That is very good of you, sir.”

  It meant that none of the servants would lose their positions due to the house being left empty for any length of time. Not all officers showed such consideration.

  “Cooper tells me that a son of yours may join my household to go to England with me?”

  “It may well be so, sir.”

  “He will, of course, be welcome – I could not ask for a better servant than a son of yours. Should life in England not be to his liking – too cold, perhaps, his chest giving him pains as may often be the case, I am told – then he will be sent back to Bombay, his passage paid for him.”

  “Thank you, sahib. You are very good.”

  “Men who work for me have rights, I believe, sir.”

  “Then may I dare to ask, sahib, what of your man, Grant?”

  “I do not know what you mean.”

  “It is my belief that he does not wish to return to England, sahib.”

  “He is a soldier and must go where orders take him. I cannot change that… Although, it might be better… It may be possible, I think. Say nothing to him, if you please. You are right to tell me of this matter. I should have known for myself. You know that there those in England who will try to punish him for what he is?”

  “So I am told, sahib.”

  “It is very strange to me, as well. But I cannot raise my voice against those who object, for I am a soldier too.”

  “You will wish to examine the gifts that have been sent to you by the Rani of Ahmednagar to say thank you for your kindnesses to her, sahib.”

  “I was not aware that was her intention. Where are they?”

  “I have kept them by the porter’s lodge at the door, sahib. It seemed well to me that a man with a gun should be there.”

  The porter kept an ancient flintlock of massive bore at his side. Septimus had examined the piece with horrified fascination, thought it might have been Portuguese, a sailor’s boarding blunderbuss. It was loaded with three ounces of black powder and a great handful of jagged-edged stones, would likely have killed anything within twenty feet in any direction. Septimus had put it down carefully, anxious not to jar the hammer.

  Three wooden boxes were produced, well carpentered from hardwoods, a cubit square by four fingers deep. They were roped and sealed and he was shown the evidence that they had not been touched. They were carried through to Septimus’ work room; it could hardly be called a study.

  One of the boxes was very heavy, contained gold chains and bangles; he could not estimate their value, but it was not small. The second and third were full of little leather bags – necklaces, rings and loose stones including literally dozens of small but perfect diamonds, valuable for being easy to sell.

  “A huge sum, it must be!”

  “More than a lakh of rupees, sahib, though less than two, I believe. The messenger who brought them stated that to be the case.”

  “Close the boxes again, if you please. They should go back to England with me, I think. Better in my direct care.”

  It would be possible to send the boxes to England as freight, but he could hardly insure them and was loath to send them without some sort of cover.

  He tucked the boxes under his bed, unable to think of a better place for them. He made no mention of them in his letters back to England – it was always possible that such correspondence could be intercepted, opened by the curious or hostile. Better make no mention of his stroke of luck. He merely wrote that he was counting down the days to his return, having come through the campaign quite unscathed.

  The battalion settled down to its last months in Bombay. Barracks routine – drills and marches and the weekly parade; too much alcohol and the fevers and occasional bored stupidity lead to unnecessary deaths. Life in an alien and cheap country killed soldiers, for there was nothing for the ordinary men to do in their leisure hours and little enough in the working day; inevitably they congregated in the lowest brothels and drinking-houses and some became diseased and others suffered alcoholic poisoning and a few died in drunken brawls.

  Every month saw its court-martial and soldiers sentenced for the crimes committed when they were taken by drink.

  Colonel Vaughan had no alternative to the triangle and time after time was forced to watch with a show of impassivity as his men were flogged almost to death. On four separate occasions he presided at the gallows as a man hanged for the murder of a fellow-soldier. He fumed and he swore, but he could find no way out for himself or the men.

  “It is idleness that’s the problem, Major Pearce!”

  “It is indeed, sir. But we must keep a garrison in being in Bombay, sir. It would be better if we could lead the men out to a nice little war – that would keep them busy and amused both. It is a pity that we cannot bring wives and children out with them. The sepoys have far less of a problem, sir, their people able to busy themselves with their families. The sergeants almost all have Indian girls to keep them warm at night, and some will be transferring to the Company so as to stay with them, sir, but the rank and file have no one at all close to them.”

  “It is not possible to bring two thousand and more of families out as well as six or seven hundred soldiers, Major Pearce.”

  “True, sir. But the men are bored, and that makes them troublesome. If we had battalion funds, then we could set them up a canteen and recreation rooms, sir. They could play cards or compete at billiards tables perhaps. There could be a library so that they could improve their minds – many of them are literate and would value books, sir.”

  Colonel Vaughan agreed, suggesting that they could hire a schoolmaster as well for the willing illiterate.

  “But government will not find the extra thousand or two it would cost each year – they have better things to do with their money!”

  “We will have lost nearly one hundred men by the time we take ship, sir, and then they will be six months in complete idleness. They will be broken before we reach home, sir.”

  “It always happens. A battalion that has been in India needs a year before it is back to usefulness again.”

  Life for the officers was very different – there was entertainment and to spare for them.

  The unmarried captains were targets for the few unwed daughters of the Bombay merchant community – for they were to go to England and a lucky bride would escape from India with them. The lieutenants, who were not permitted to marry in ordinary circumstances, found more or less expensive female company instead. Those officers who intended to remain in India were employed in discovering the means to do so.

  The Company regiments were generally pleased enough to make up their numbers from King’s officers with a good enough recommendation from their colonel, but they would not take ensigns who had not yet been promoted to lieutenant. The junior men often sought instead to find employment away from the field of arms, some with the Company, more with the independent merchants.

  There were places for plantation managers out in the back country or for traders to buy in jute and copra and palm-oils and indigo from the go-ahead villagers who planted for the market. Sometimes a merchant needed to replace a man who had gone down with fever or had made enough to retire to England or set up for himself, but these vacancies were few. A sufficiently determined and active young man could normally find a means of remaining in the country, and this left vacancies to be filled in the battalion, normally by lieutenants doing the work of two, rarely in the last few months by promotion.

  Septimus, who was known to be returning to England and had no axe to grind, was several times approached by merchants for his opinion on
one or other of the officers who was seeking a post. It was difficult – he could be enthusiastically bland or acerbically honest, and there were arguments for both courses. In more than one case he was actively dishonest in his recommendation, for not wanting the officer in question to remain in the battalion.

  “Lieutenant Molyneux? A jolly good chap, you know. I had thought to see him in my shoes before too many seasons were past!”

  Molyneux in fact was not especially bright and tended to take good care of his own skin; Septimus could not remember seeing him on the ladders at Ahmednagar, but he had been quite visible afterwards when the prospect of fighting was over.

  Septimus comforted himself that life as a merchant would hardly require Molyneux to face the field of battle again.

  The sergeants found it easier to obtain a place in India. The Company had many uses for them, needing gun commanders for its artillery regiments as well as any number of overseers willing to get their hands dirty. Road-making, for example, needed men to watch the Indian labourers and put them to proper use; sergeants were ideal for the purpose, and there were public buildings by the score planned or actually in construction.

  Some few of the men planned to desert as well, expecting to be able to make a living by their wits; most of them were never heard of again, there being enough Indian criminals making a living that way and needing no competition.

  Molly Grant found himself under orders to remain in India, having been transferred to the household of the Governor’s military ADC, to provide him with a European follower to demonstrate his dignity to the Indian world. Mr Burtonshawe had been happy to make the arrangements, feeling himself to be under an obligation to Septimus, his own stock having risen due to his successful management of the riots.

  The Navy arrived off Bombay and the ships loaded with saltpetre for the gunpowder mills congregated over the space of a week and then the pair of troopers came to anchor.