Rogue Officer

by Kilworth, Garry Douglas

  ‘Well,’ he said, composing his thoughts into more acceptable images, ‘the chance will probably never come.’

  He lay that night staring up at a great expanse of stars, millions of them, which all seemed closer to the earth than they had in Britain. Jack wondered if Jane were staring up at the same skies, seeing the same heavenly bodies. It was possible. It was entirely possible. The moon was in her sphere of vision as much as it was in his. It was comforting to know they were both joined by its light, no matter how far apart they were.

  Then he remembered the time difference! It was deep evening to him, but late afternoon for his beloved wife. Perhaps what Jane was seeing was the setting of the sun, not the rising of a bright golden moon. How easily romance could be shattered by the laws of motion!

  He had the vague idea that someone might be responsible for this cold grey state of affairs and derived some satisfaction in cursing him.

  ‘Damn you, Newton!’

  The next morning the rebels killed Jack’s horse and ate what they could of its flesh, taking some of what was left for the next few days. It was pointless taking the whole carcass: it would be inedible within a week. Jack felt sorry for his nag: it had never known real affection and now it was dead. That was the life of a beast for you. They worked you until you were of no more use to them, then they ate part of you and threw the rest away!

  Where they were heading Jack had no idea. Indeed he wondered if the havildar himself knew what lay ahead of them. They seemed to be lost in an endless maze of rock chimneys, gorges and towering slopes. Finally the came to a verdant valley overshadowed by a monastery high up on a pinnacle of rock. There was a village at the far end of the valley. Men and women, poor peasants, Jack concluded from their appearance, were working in the fields as the group entered. These farm hands looked up in shock as the rebels dragged themselves along one of the paths which skirted the fields. The rebels were very wary at this point, though Jack could not see them being challenged by these simple Tibetans. It was doubtful there was any kind of military force in the area and it would take weeks to get word to any Chinese governor of this region. Rescue was not going to come running, that much was certain.

  They walked past the villagers, who had all paused to view this motley brigade of armed men. The rebels in their turn looked out of the corners of their eyes at the peasants. Jack knew what the sepoys were thinking: what were the chances of robbing this village of supplies without causing too much havoc? It was doubtful that the Buddhist priests up in their stronghold above – the masters of these field workers – were armed or prepared to use violence. Their religion forbade it. This was a remote region though and one had to be prepared not only for the unusual, but also for the extraordinary. Perhaps they had mercenaries or had armed the ordinary population? Any foreigners who had been in here in recent times had run the risk of execution, so little news of Tibet had sifted down to India. No one could be sure of anything in these troubled times and caution was the watchword.

  During the rest stop Jack and Hilversum had managed to free each other as they had planned. They had been awaiting their chance to bolt ever since. Now the rebels’ attention was wholly occupied by the situation. Jack saw a clear opportunity to make a run for it. As it happened an ox wagon was coming towards them. Jack waited for his chance. With heads turned in other directions he slipped away without a sound, ducking down on the far side of the wagon. He then rolled underneath it and swung himself up. He hooked his handless arm around the front axle and, slipping his fingers through the planks of the wagon’s base, he held himself off the ground, his boot heels on the back axle. Fortunately the axles of the wagon were turning quite slowly and he did not need to worry about skin burns or injuries.

  It was only once he was on his way that he remembered he and Hilversum had agreed on a signal. Jack had slipped away without giving his companion any notice. Still, what could Jack have done? The opportunity had presented itself and had to be taken in a split second. The pair of them could not have escaped in the same way at the same time. They would have been sure to have been seen. Jack acknowledged however that Hilversum’s problem was that now that he had gone the sepoys would be especially vigilant, and would probably check their remaining prisoner’s bonds. Of course, they might carry out their threat to shoot the other man if one of them escaped, but that threat had slipped Jack’s mind.

  The Dutchman was just as bewildered by Jack’s disappearance as were the sepoys. It was as if the lieutenant had been spirited away. The rebels looked this way and that, staring back at the mountains from which they had descended, wondering at this spiritual landscape they had entered. One even ventured to suggest Jack had been lifted up by the gods, a suggestion which drew scorn from the havildar and others in the party. Yet there was no prisoner there. Indeed the man had vanished from their presence without leaving a trace. Jack’s importance at this point in their journey was negligible. The havildar was not going to waste time searching for him. The rebels were ordered on their way.

  The wagon went on its journey up into the village. Jack dropped down and lay there until the wagon had passed over him. Then he got to his feet and ran into a nearby hovel. Two women, one very old, one quite young, were sitting over an open fire. They stared at him with wide round eyes.

  ‘Can you help me?’ he asked in Hindi, then in Urdu. ‘Can you assist me in escaping my foes?’

  They continued to stare at him as if he were a madman.

  He tried Punjabi to no avail.

  In the end he beckoned the young one to the door of the hovel and pointed over her shoulder at the band of rebels moving across the valley. Jack then showed her his arms where the ropes had cut marks into his skin. With sign language he indicated that he had been bound. She was a bright young person and on witnessing the Indians with their remaining prisoner crossing below she understood him. She crooked her finger at him, spoke to the old woman, then led him out of the back of the hovel to a lean-to woodshed. There she covered him with sacking material and then left him to return to the hovel, where he heard what sounded like an argument between the girl and what was probably her grandmother. Finally the quarrel stopped and it was all quiet within. Jack fell asleep under the musty-smelling sacks and dreamed of being chased by a raging bull.

  Four

  Captain Deighnton had remained behind with Brigadier Walpole, to whom General Campbell had now given command of the forces in Rohilkand. Campbell himself had gone to set up a new headquarters elsewhere, leaving the final suppression of the region to Walpole and Coke. Further south General Rose was finishing off remnants before he marched on Kalpi.

  Deighnton was not happy that Lieutenant Crossman had absconded. He had been looking forward to the duel, but the fact remained that his enemy had flown the nest. Crossman’s men had gone out looking for him, apparently, and no word had come back from them either. Deighnton felt he had been robbed of satisfaction. It made him all the more determined to grind Crossman’s name into the dirt. His interview this morning was with Brigadier Walpole’s staff officer, Major O’Hay.

  ‘Sir,’ said Deighnton, ‘we must do something about the deserters. Would you give me leave to take a few of my troopers in order to track them down?’

  O’Hay’s eyebrows shot up. The portly major was sitting at a makeshift desk in what used to be a cobbler’s workshop. An awl was now being employed as a paperweight. A hammer, likewise. In the corner of the room was a pile of sandals, some of them only half-finished. A box of nails lay by the pile, tipped over and spilled on to the clay floor.

  The major regarded the captain with some astonishment for a few moments.

  ‘Deserters? I wasn’t aware we had any.’ A light came to the major’s eyes. ‘You mean native infantry?’

  ‘No, sir, I mean British soldiers, Queen’s Army.’

  The major leaned back in his bamboo chair, making it creak ominously.

  ‘No one has reported any deserters to me.’

  ‘I am doing so now,
sir, if you see what I mean.’

  The major was distressed. ‘I can’t believe it. In these times, when the whole of the fabric of India is being stretched. Men deserting when their wives and children are being slaughtered? I really have difficulty here, Captain, in comprehending the baseness to which men can stoop. Are you sure?’ He leaned forward again. ‘Perhaps they were drunk, is that it? Drunk and got lost or something? Irishmen, probably. Or Scots? My own regiment . . .’

  ‘No, sir, the man I am speaking of is an officer, a lieutenant. I use the word officer, but in fact the man is a damned rogue.’

  A gasp of horror came from the major.

  ‘A lieutenant? In what regiment?’

  ‘He’s in the 88th Foot.’ Deighnton waved a hand through the air, disturbing some spiders on the ceiling. ‘Oh, he’s always been a troublemaker, sir. Not what you’d call a gentleman. His father’s something or other, up in Scotland, but the father’s disowned him. Cuts him dead, I understand. You know some of these fellows are born rogues, good family or not.’

  ‘Certainly, but . . . desertion. While on campaign? Even a gentleman gone astray knows what the penalty is for that. What’s the man’s name?’

  ‘Lieutenant Crossman.’

  ‘Never heard of any Crossman. Doesn’t sound like the name of a gentleman to me.’

  ‘It’s an assumed name, so I’ve been told.’ Deighnton leaned on the chubby major’s desk and looked directly into his eyes. ‘Hiding some dark secret, I imagine. As I say, a rogue officer.’

  ‘In the 88th, you say? Surely they’re somewhere much further south?’

  ‘Ah, this fellow doesn’t fight with his own regiment. No, this fellow sneaks about picking up gossip and pretending it’s valuable information. The fact is the man’s a coward. I witnessed an attack on him in the battle the other day. A Ghazi pulled him from his horse. I think the episode unnerved him.’

  The major nodded. ‘Pretty terrifying fellows, those Ghazis – saw ’em myself. Frightened the life out of me, too.’

  ‘But you didn’t run away.’

  ‘And this Crossman fellow did?’

  ‘Hasn’t been seen since. There was some talk he’d gone out after Khan, but does that sound feasible? One man and his sergeant sent out after a whole retreating army?’

  The major blinked. ‘A sergeant too? Is he missing also?’

  ‘The sergeant returned, saying the lieutenant had sent him back with the news that Khan was in Pilibhit. Well, we knew that, I’m sure. It was hardly startling information. Lieutenant Crossman never returned. It’s my belief he kept on riding, his nerve completely shattered by the attack on him by the Ghazi, which I have to say was quite ferocious. It was touch and go who would come out on top.’ Deighnton stood up straight. ‘At that point I admired the lieutenant. I thought he had regained some of the honour he had lost over the years. I’m told he first joined as a private under this pseudonym of Crossman, in order to escape justice, but redeemed himself somewhat in various battles in the Crimea. However, sir, bad character will out. He’s reverted to his old ways, it seems, and has flown the coop. Permission, sir, to chase him down and bring him in for court martial.’

  ‘Well, let’s not judge the man too hastily, Captain. He may have some good explanation. But he does sound a frightful fellow, I must admit. Yes, off you go then. Get permission from your colonel, if you please, and then bring this absconder back here.’ The major suddenly became very stern. ‘We know how to deal with deserters.’

  Deighnton left the major with some of his satisfaction restored. He had no intention of bringing Crossman back for trial. They would settle their affairs out there in the wilderness, where there were no interfering authorities. He would take about twenty troopers with him and track the bastard down, then let things take their course. Naturally if Crossman refused to surrender to him, then he would have no choice but to kill him. One could not bring in alive a dog who was determined to remain wild.

  Jack now felt very bad about leaving Hilversum. Having himself escaped his conscience was now bothering him. Yes, he had given Hilversum the impression that they would escape together. Yet he, Jack, had taken his chance when it came, without considering his companion. He knew himself and he was now totally aware that he could not make good his own escape. It was necessary to go back and assist Hilversum.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said in English to the young woman who had helped him. It seemed as good a language as any to be grateful in, since he could not make himself understood in any other tongue. ‘I appreciate your help.’

  He was now refreshed and feeling better. The elephant slime had been washed from his body and hair, he had been fed and watered, and he had slept the sleep of a babe. The women could not be sorry to see him go, though the young one looked sad. While he remained in their house they were in danger from their own authorities as well as the rebels.

  He had no weapon, of course. The havildar had taken his revolver and a Bavarian hunting knife he always carried. All he had were the rags he stood up in, a pair of sandals given him by the young Tibetan girl, and a strong determination to take his revenge on his captors. He went down from the place on the hill to valley floor below, to find that the rebels had moved on to the far end of the long green river-fed vale between two mountain ranges.

  Even before he had begun his walk he heard horns sounding from a monastery which clung precariously to the upper crags like a large black beetle. Cymbals began to clash and a call went up, for what or whom Jack had no idea. He caught a glimpse of figures on a wooden balcony, high above his head, but they did not seem interested in him. Perhaps it was morning prayers? Or the breakfast gong? Or the call to work?

  He continued on, following a stream down to a river whose banks separated many fields of rice. The sun was on his face, not hot, but pleasantly warming. A mammal of some kind, perhaps a Tibetan shrew, jumped out from under his foot and leapt into some tall grasses. Here, life was a dreamlike process, which did not seem quite real. The light was intensely bright and the air clear and clean. It was a sharp world, faceted, throwing off blinding glints from white quartz and surface water. Surely he was dead and this was some kind of heaven? Only a breeze to stir things all along the valley, chasing shadows through the tall rice plants.

  Then he heard his name. Almost a whisper. He looked around him, seeing no one, yet still hearing the faint cry as if it came from the crevices of the mountains themselves. Was that one of the gods, one of the gods of the mountains? He had been assured by the Indians that they were there, in the gullies and up on the high pinnacles, overseeing strangers.

  ‘Lieutenant Crossman!’

  Not only did this god know his name, it knew his army rank as well, which hardly seemed likely.

  ‘Lieutenant! Over here!’

  Now he saw them and his heart leapt. Sergeant King, Raktambar, that pest Wynter, and Corporal Gwilliams, making their way by foot down a path on the far side of the valley. Even young Sajan was with them. They kept waving and hailing him. He simply stood there, glad beyond anything to see them, even Wynter. Tears came to his eyes, which he managed to wipe away before they approached.

  ‘You took your time,’ he managed to say without a catch in his voice. ‘Where the hell have you been?’

  Sergeant King grinned at him.

  ‘We’ve been about a day behind you for a while. Damn, those people with you kept up a pace. You’d think the devil was after them. We could see you climbing up the high paths, like ants, while we were crossing the lower ones. Did you throw them off, then? I take it you were their captive, sir, for you looked to be struggling to keep up with them.’

  ‘Sit down, sir,’ said Gwilliams. ‘You look a bit shaky.’

  Jack did sit down. He realized he was trembling at the knees, but he knew he would be all right in a short while.

  ‘Where are they?’ asked Wynter. ‘Leave you, did they?’

  ‘No, I escaped,’ said Jack. ‘They’ve got another man with them, a Dutchman. We need
to free him too.’

  Wynter pursed his lips. ‘Dutchy, eh? He ain’t English then? Do we need to get him? I ain’t overfriendly with Dutchies.’

  ‘You’re not overfriendly with anyone,’ said Jack, ‘and yes we do have to get him. Otherwise they’ll probably kill him.’

  King said, ‘Raktambar did most of the tracking. If you owe anyone for the fact that we found you, it’s him.’

  Jack nodded gravely at his Rajput protector. ‘I thank you.’

  ‘You must not get lost again,’ replied Raktambar, just as gravely. ‘It is a very inconvenient thing.’

  Jack looked suspiciously at the Rajput. ‘Where did you learn that word, inconvenient?’

  Raktambar grinned. ‘It came from Sergeant King.’

  King was blushing furiously.

  ‘Of course it did. Well, I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you, Sergeant King; perhaps in future I’ll bear in mind that your time is too precious to be wasting it looking for lost lieutenants.’

  ‘Oh, sir.’

  Sajan had so far not spoken. Now he blurted out his one question on being reunited with Lieutenant Crossman.

  ‘Sahib,’ he asked excitedly, ‘was that your elephant?’

  ‘Which ele—?’ He suddenly realized what the boy meant. ‘Oh, don’t talk to me about that beast. No, it was not my elephant and if I ever catch the man who left it jammed in the pass I will not be responsible for my actions. Those damn rebels made me claw out the innards with my own two – well, with my one remaining hand. It was a ghastly business, one I hope never to have to repeat.’

  Now that he was back in the company of his men, Jack felt the earlier depression lifting from him. It was imperative now, to catch up with the band of rebels and free Hilversum. They had no horses, of course. It would have been impossible to cross that range of mountains with mounts. But at least the rebels were also on foot. Jack gave orders that they force-march the length of the valley and apprehend the rebels before they got away.