Windrush- Jayanti's Pawns

by Malcolm Archibald

  'That's part of the soldier's bargain,' Jack said.

  'It's a poor bargain,' Mary responded. She waved her hand to fend off a circling fly. 'I'll be thinking of you.'

  Jack nodded. He tried to think of something reassuring to say. 'I'll be thinking of you, too.'

  'You know where liars go,' Mary said with her mouth full of half-masticated chapatti. 'You won't think of me at all, only of your beloved regiment.'

  'I will think of you,' Jack said quietly. He wanted to touch her.

  Mary held his gaze for a long minute before she replied. 'I know you will.' Her voice was equally quiet. 'I do.'

  Jack knew that she was still watching as he left the chamber. He wished he could have said more as he stalked away with his temper growing fouler by the minute. What am I going to do about that woman?

  'We are joining Walpole's column with orders to remove any rebels from the left bank of the Ganges and bring British rule and justice into the districts through which we pass.' Jack addressed his junior officers. 'Our goal is Bareilly, one hundred and fifty or so miles away.'

  'Another long march.' Elliot glanced upwards. 'And the hot season is reaching its zenith.'

  'Check the boys fill their water bottles,' Jack said, 'and ensure the bullock waggons have extra water. I don't trust these bullock-wallahs any more than I would trust a pandy.'

  'Sergeant Greaves has already checked,' Elliot said.

  'Well, do it again,' Jack ordered. 'I'm not going to depend on the word of a sergeant to look after my men.' He knew he was bad-tempered this morning and Elliot was doing his best. However, junior officers were there to assuage the wrath of their superiors. Jack looked at his men, some marching, others riding six-a-piece on bullock-daks. They were relaxed, jesting and fit. He had no real worries with them. He glanced back toward Lucknow, hoping to see Mary.

  Damn the woman. She could at least spare a few moments to wave goodbye. So much for her protestations of thinking about me. Bloody woman.

  'We have a decent little army here,' Jack forced his mind onto other things. 'A Highland Brigade, two battalions of the Rifle Brigade, the Company's 1st Bengal Europeans, two sepoy regiments, two regiments of Queen's cavalry, three Punjab cavalry regiments, seamen from HMS Shannon and a gaggle of engineers and artillery.'

  'And us,' Elliot said, 'two companies of the 113th Foot. The pandies won't stand against this lot so it will be a wasted expedition.'

  'They might not have to stand,' Jack said. 'All they have to do is keep mobile and let us chase them across India. They can live on rice, water and burned corn and they ignore the sun while we'll lose men by the score with heat exhaustion.'

  'It's better being on the move than waiting in Lucknow,' Elliot said. 'The quicker we beat the rebels, the sooner this war will be over. Anyway,' he shrugged, 'I've had more than enough of Lucknow with its dead bodies putrefying in the streets, mines waiting to explode and murderers hiding in the alleys.'

  'The men are still keen,' Jack said.

  'They want to kill pandies,' Elliot agreed. 'They won't forget Cawnpore.'

  Jack took a last look at Lucknow, the city of palaces where he had met Mary and lost his mother. There was no familiar, friendly face waiting to wave him off.

  'Come on Arthur, let's find this Jayanti woman and finish this blasted war.'

  * * *

  The searing wind raised a mist of dust that hid the sun, coated every surface and scoured every face. The column marched through waist-high dust, spat out dust-filled phlegm and narrowed their eyes to protect sensitive pupils. When the men drank, they swallowed dust-tasting water, and they tried not to scratch at the dust that seeped inside their clothes and made walking a chafing nightmare. India had indirect methods of fending off invaders.

  'Tell me again, Coley, why do we want India?' Thorpe took off his hat, shook off the dust and replaced it, as dusty as before.

  'India,' Coleman said, 'is the jewel in the Empire's crown, the glory of the nation and a money-spinning gem for the Honourable East India Company.'

  'Oh.' Thorpe thought about Coleman's words for a few moments. 'That might be right, Coley, but why do we want it. It's a cesspit.'

  Coleman sighed. 'It brings money to the East India Company,' he said. 'It's all about money for the nobs.'

  'So how come we're fighting here and the nobs aren't?' Thorpe asked. 'We don't want the bloody place.'

  'I don't want it either,' Parker said.

  'Can we not just tell the East India Company that we don't want their country and give it back to the Indians?' Thorpe said.

  'That's what we'll do!' Hutton said. 'We'll all go to the East India Company and tell them that. You go first Thorpey, as it's your idea.'

  'Will you come with me?' Thorpe asked.

  'We'll all come with you,' Hutton said. 'You lead us Thorpey, and we'll follow.'

  'Thanks lads,' Thorpe said. 'Where is this East India Company?'

  'In London,' Coleman said. 'We can go after the war.'

  Thorpe grinned and straightened up. 'All of us?'

  'All of us, Thorpey. The whole regiment, band, Colours, colonel and all.'

  'Thanks, lads,' Thorpe said. 'You're real mates, you are.'

  Jack watched them as they marched on into the dust, weary men with no future except fighting, disease and poverty, living on false hopes and the prospect of a few hours oblivion through alcohol and cheap prostitutes. 'It's strange, Arthur, that ultimately the Empire depends on these men. Without them, there would be nothing.'

  'Aye,' Elliot nodded. 'They're the base of the pyramid and the directors of John Company are at the top.'

  'Surely the Queen is at the top,' Jack said.

  'Is she?' Elliot looked away. 'I wonder if money is not more important than monarchy now.'

  After Havelock's lightning marches of the previous year, Walpole's advance seemed interminably slow. There were few roads in this part of India, so they had to move in the full heat of the day, sheltering in topes of trees at night. With the cavalry scouting ahead, there was little for the infantry to do except march and curse or sit in the dusty wagons and curse.

  'I hope the pandies stand and fight,' Logan muttered. 'If they fight, we can smash them.'

  Jack peered through the curtain of dust that screened the surrounding countryside. 'When I lived in England, I thought India was a land of romance and jungles, with tigers and princes and fabled cities. Now I see it as a land where anybody can be an enemy.' He preferred being in charge of his own destiny, rather than obeying the orders of a superior officer he didn't know.

  The British moved slowly, dragging the guns through the dust, frequently stopping to allow the column to keep together, tormented by flies and heat. The bullocks proved more trouble than expected, lying down at their leisure and refusing to move until their drivers taught the soldiers a simple trick. While one man held the tail out straight, another placed a stick on each side and rubbed vigorously up and down.

  'That makes the bugger jump,' Thorpe said.

  'It's cruel sore on the animals,' Parker said in his broad Liverpool accent.

  'I'll be cruel sore on you, unless you shut up and march on,' Sergeant Greaves snarled.

  Soldiers and syces, horses and camels, elephants that smelled of pigs, servants of every variety, doolie bearers and warriors marched, cursed, swore, and laughed as they crawled across the vast Indian countryside. Some villages were deserted, others were full of huge-eyed, scared people. There were empty fields and the occasional temple or mosque. Cavalry cantered to check every copse of mango or peepul trees, infantry scouted every village for a sight of the enemy, and Walpole's column advanced to reclaim India for the Honourable Company and its shareholders in London's Leadenhall.

  On the 14th April, only fifty miles from Lucknow, Walpole ordered a halt, and the long, straggling column stopped.

  'What's happening?' Jack asked. Elliot seemed to have some hidden power, which enabled him to garner intelligence from unknown sources.


  Elliot didn't let him down. 'There's a fort in that patch of jungle.'

  'How the deuce do you know that?' The heat was making Jack irritable.

  Elliot shrugged. 'You'll know more than me, soon, the general's runner is coming for you.'

  'I'm sure you're psychic,' Jack said.

  'Captain Windrush.' The cornet of the 7th Hussars had a peeling red face and the enthusiasm of youth. 'General Walpole sends his regards and requests—'

  'I'm coming.' Jack pulled his reins aside and kicked in his heels.

  As the most junior officer in the group which formed around Walpole, Jack stood at the back and listened without giving any comment. Dust had rendered the kilts of the Highlanders as khaki as most of the uniforms, while there was a grim determination among the whiskered, bearded faces that listened to the general.

  'We cannot yet see it, gentlemen,' Walpole said, 'but inside that patch of jungle is Fort Ruhya. We have to take it before we continue.'

  The circle of officers nodded. Most had seen action before and knew what to expect. A naval officer caught a fly and flicked the dead body onto the ground.

  Walpole continued, his voice more hesitant than Jack had expected from a general. 'Nirpat Singh holds the fort, with some fifteen hundred men. He is an adherent of Nana Sahib, so we can expect a resolute defence.'

  'How are the approaches, sir?' a major of the 42nd asked.

  'There is a belt of jungle around the fort,' Walpole replied.

  'On all four sides, sir?' Brigadier Adrian Hope of the 93rd Highlanders asked. 'That is unusual. The garrison must have some method of entry – I suggest we send in a party to have a look. It will certainly be hard to drag the guns through the jungle.'

  Jack decided to keep silent. It must have been difficult for Walpole to command men with so much more experience, for Hope had fought in the Kaffir Wars in Africa, as well as the Crimea.

  'Then we go without artillery,' Walpole decided. 'It's only a small fort. It won't present any difficulties.'

  Hope looked at the officers of the 42nd, raised his eyebrows and tried again. 'I believe that a trooper of Hodson's Horse was a prisoner in the fort, sir and escaped. He said that Nirpat Singh would put up token resistance and then surrender.'

  'That's the story, sir,' a deeply tanned Company major agreed. 'If we roll up to the gate with artillery and infantry, Nirpat Singh will fire a few shots for honour's sake and run. We'll take the fort without any casualties.'

  'Nonsense,' Walpole dismissed the idea. 'The infantry go in on the north.'

  'Sir Colin's instructions are clear, sir,' one of the Highland officers said. 'We are to bombard any fort with artillery and then send in the infantry to storm the breach. The commander-in-chief has ordered that we should not attack any fort without at least two heavy pieces of artillery.'

  Jack nodded. Although some of the more fire-eating officers of the army termed Sir Colin Campbell “Old Khabardar” or “Old Be-Careful” for his caution and lack of speed, he had far fewer casualties than most commanders in this war. Havelock's final advance to Lucknow had been prolific in British lives compared to Sir Colin's approach.

  'We don't need to do that,' Walpole said. 'We will advance immediately. Brigadier Hope, take four companies of the 42nd, with the 4th Punjab Infantry. Windrush, your company of the 113th will be in support. Once the 42nd and the Sikhs are in, you follow up.'

  'Yes, sir,' Jack said as the Highlanders glanced at each other.

  Brigadier Hope was a Scottish peer and a typical leader of Highlanders. Once Walpole had issued the orders, he did his best to follow them to a conclusion. 'Follow me Windrush,' he was laughing, 'and we'll have the British flag flying over this fort within the hour, with or without the artillery.'

  'We're going in,' Jack said on his return to the 113th. 'Extended order, boys, fixed bayonets and keep your heads down.'

  'Where are the guns, sir?' Greaves asked.

  'No guns this time, Sergeant. We're doing this the old-fashioned way, straight through the jungle and over the walls.'

  'Hugh Gough style, eh?' Greaves had been in the army longer than Jack had and remembered the battle of Chillianwala, where the 113th had first seen action. To the shame of the regiment, they had turned and run before the Sikh artillery.

  'We're a better regiment now than we were under General Gough,' Jack said.

  Greaves nodded. 'Yes, sir.'

  Jack raised his voice. 'Make sure you have ammunition in your pouches, boys, and water in your canteens. 'Thorpe, you stay close to Coleman. You Johnny Raws, do as the sergeants and officers tell you and don't mind the shine. It will be noisier than anything you've ever heard before, and you will see things that will make you sick. That's all part of the soldier's bargain. Don't linger and if you're hit, lie quiet and wait for the doolie bearers to pick you up.'

  The veterans had heard it all before. The replacements, pale under their tan, listened. Some tried bravado in an attempt to impress their new comrades, who said nothing.

  'Do your duty, boys,' Elliot said quietly, 'that's all that the regiment expects.'

  They moved forward in extended order, Highlanders and Sikhs and a company of the 113th, walking toward an unknown number of rebels in a fort they could not yet see. Jack's 113th was in the second line, with the kilts of the Black Watch rustling in front.

  'The scouts say it's only a small fort, with a high mud wall and bastions at each angle,' Jack instructed as they began the advance. 'There are two gates; we'll go for the one on the left unless the 42nd or the Sikhs force an entrance elsewhere.'

  'I don't like this,' Elliot said. 'We've no skirmishers out in front, no flank guards and no artillery. This Walpole fellow is a bit casual, is he not?'

  Jack grunted. Although he agreed, it was unprofessional to croak about superior officers.

  'How many defenders are there, sir?' Young Ensign Wilden asked.

  'The general thinks there are fifteen hundred,' Jack said.

  'I heard there were only a couple of hundred.' Elliot's information was usually accurate.

  ''We'll gut the bastards, however many there are,' Logan said.

  With their feet trampling the dry grass and snapping stray twigs, the British and Sikhs moved into the thorny undergrowth of the jungle. A flight of birds exploded from above them and insects buzzed around their faces, probing into ears and eyes, biting the sweat-softened skin of necks and wrists, distracting them from the job at hand.

  'I hate bloody India,' Thorpe said. 'There are too many flies.'

  'Face your front,' Greaves snapped. 'Don't worry about the insects. You'll have enough to occupy you when we attack the fort.'

  'Which bloody fort?' Hutton complained. 'There's no bloody fort here.'

  'Shut your mouth.' Armstrong made a rare contribution to the conversation. 'You know nothing, you.'

  The jungle grew thicker, with thorns hindering their advance and tree branches cutting the view of the sky. The 113th advanced through a dense green dimness, silent now as they expected to see the fort, holding their Enfield rifles in brown, calloused hands and careful of every footfall. Jack gripped his revolver, called encouragement and watched the Black Watch, ten yards in front, vanish into an even denser patch of woodland.

  'Remember Burma?' Coleman grumbled. 'They dacoits would love this. They would have a hundred ambushes waiting for us here. These pandy bastards don't know how to fight.'

  'They know how to run though,' Logan said. 'Cry Havelock!' He raised the 113th battle cry, extending the final vowel of Havelock's name.

  'Let loose the dogs of war!' the 113th responded.

  'There it is!' Thorpe pointed ahead. 'There's the fort!'

  The first line pushed through the jungle fringe to a clearing, a maidan, in the centre of which stood the khaki-coloured walls of Fort Ruhya. Compared to the splendid palaces of Lucknow it wasn't impressive, a low walled, mundane-looking building with irregular bastions – the lair of a robber baron rather than the abode of a rajah.


  Although Jack had expected the rebels to defend the fort, the volume of musketry took him by surprise. Muzzle-flares lit up the loop-holed walls, the bastions, the tops of the gate and the bushes on either flank.

  'That's not a token defence,' Elliot said.

  'Steady, 113th!' Jack shouted. Firm leadership was required as men dropped from all three regiments. The first volley could test even the staunchest of troops.

  'With me, Highlanders!' Brigadier Hope pushed himself forward, tall, urbane, distinguished and as brave as any regiment would expect. 'Follow me, the Black Watch.' For one minute, he strode in front of the army, a smiling Scottish aristocrat and a veteran commander and then he staggered, threw up his hands and crumpled to the ground.

  'Jesus, they've shot the brigadier!'

  'They'll shoot you too, Hutton, if you don't get under cover!' Greaves said. 'Find a tree, boys and wait for orders!'

  The musketry continued, sweeping the open ground in front of the fort and felling everybody who tried to advance. Crumpled bodies littered the maidan, some lying still, others writhing and moaning in pain.

  'It's the Redan, all over again,' Elliot said.

  'We can take them, sir,' Logan said.

  'Get down!' Jack didn't see who gave the order. Officers and men slumped to the ground, to seek whatever cover they could find. One replacement hesitated, looking forward at the fort until Riley hauled him unceremoniously to the ground.

  'Get your bloody head down, you stupid bastard!'

  The rebel musketry continued, joined by artillery that swept iron grapeshot across the maidan.

  'That's a killing ground.' Greaves gave his professional opinion. 'Who's in charge of the fort, sir?'

  'Nirpat Singh,' Elliot said. 'He's one of Nana Sahib's merry men.'

  'Fire at them!' Ensign Wilden lifted his revolver and loosed three shots.

  'Hold your fire!' Jack countermanded. 'Men lying on the ground can't reload and if the enemy sally, I don't want our boys to face them with empty rifles.'

  As the British slid under whatever shelter they could find, the firing from the fort eased. Unable to find any targets, Nirpat Singh's musketeers waited behind the walls, ready for movement.