Windrush- Jayanti's Pawns

by Malcolm Archibald

  'They think they're in the middle ages.' Elliot fired two rounds from his revolver, and the tallest of the enemy spun and fell, gasping and holding his shoulder. Armstrong stepped forward and casually bayoneted the wounded man.

  'Don't kill them!' Jack shouted. 'I want them for questioning!'

  He was almost too late as Logan ducked the swing of a tulwar and thrust his bayonet into the stomach of the next man. 'There's a Cawnpore breakfast, you pandy bastard!'

  The third man stood alone, clashing his sword against his shield and shouting what Jack took to be a challenge.

  'Come on!' Ensign Peake drew his sabre and dashed forward. 'Single combat, old man!'

  'Get back, you stupid boy!' Jack shouted. 'He'll chop you to pieces!'

  The rebel parried Peake's slash with his shield and sliced sideways. Peake leapt back, so the tulwar missed him, and then O'Neill arrived with a clubbed musket and battered the rebel to the ground.

  'I was winning, sergeant,' Peake said. 'It was a fair fight!'

  'This is war, not the school playing fields.' Jack looked at the rebel. 'Well done, O'Neill.'

  'Aye. That was too easy, sir.' O'Neill kicked away the tulwar and shield. 'Look at this bugger; look at his scars.'

  Dressed in a loincloth that revealed numerous scars on his upper body, the rebel was about thirty-five, with a small beard.

  'He's a warrior, that one,' O'Neill said. 'He would have easily killed Ensign Peake, sir.'

  'Maybe he wanted to be a martyr,' Jack said. 'More importantly, sergeant, form a defensive perimeter around the village. Keep this man for now; we'll question him later. Greaves, check the well is sweet.'

  'It's as sweet as Irish honey, sir!' Greaves reported.

  'Thank God for small mercies; get the camels and men watered.'

  'That was too easy, sir,' O'Neill said. 'They outnumbered us, and they were in a strong position.'

  'I know.' Jack retrieved his pistol and slowly reloaded. 'Make sure the pickets stay alert, sergeant.'

  They heard the first scream an hour later, as the men were trying to sleep in the shade of the deserted houses.

  'What's that?' Mary asked.

  'It could be anything.' Jack tried to concentrate. Ever since the blow to his head, he'd been dizzy, and his thoughts were unclear.

  'That's Packer,' Jackson said. 'I know his voice. That's Packer, I tell you.'

  Another scream sounded, longer than before, ending in a long, drawn-out howl that raised the small hairs on the back of Jack's neck.

  'They're torturing him!' Jackson said. 'We have to do something, sir!'

  Jack considered. He could send out a patrol, but the rebels would expect that and would have an ambush waiting. By now, they knew his numbers and disposition; they held all the cards. On the other hand, if he sat and did nothing, the morale of his men would drop, and they would think he had no care for their lives.

  'Elliot! Take charge of the camp. O'Neill, I want you, Coleman, Thorpe, Logan and Riley.' He had chosen his veterans, men who had threaded through the Burmese jungles and out-foxed the Plastun Cossacks in their homeland. 'We're looking for Packer. Hutton, you and Smith, guard the translator.' He felt Mary's gaze on him and didn't look around.

  The dark closed around them, hot and humid. Jack took a deep breath. A few years ago, he had revelled in these night expeditions as he sought opportunities to make his name, while the excitement had driven him to deeds that now made him shudder. Now, these patrols were routine, something he had to do, although he could not deny the flutter of nervousness in the pit of his stomach and the dryness of his mouth. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, trying to control his bouts of dizziness.

  Am I turning into a coward? Or have I already stretched my nerves past their limit?

  The ground was hard under his feet. In six weeks or so, the rain would come, and this area would be a morass. That was India, his second home – perhaps his first home.

  The screaming subsided into agonised sobbing that lasted for minutes. Jack sensed the anger of the men. They had witnessed more suffering in three years than most men would see in their lifetimes. Experience had added callouses to their skins and taught them to value friendship and loyalty above all. Now a friend was being tortured within their hearing, and they were powerless to help.

  'Spread out,' Jack whispered. 'Not too far. Keep within two yards.' He didn't want the enemy to capture any more of his men.

  They moved slowly, not putting their boots down until they had checked for dry twigs or loose stones that could rattle and give their position away, controlling their breathing, listening for any sound that did not belong.

  O'Neill raised his hand, and they all halted, listening, peering into the dark. Jack felt the sweat slide down his back and loosened his grip on his revolver. He could hear nothing except the expected night sounds. They moved on, step by slow step.

  The attack came suddenly, a rush of men from the dark straight for the centre of their line. Logan fired first, with O'Neill and Thorpe half a second later. The muzzle-flares erupted, and then there were a few furious moments of bayonets, rifle butts and boots hammering against semi-visible opponents. Jack felt hands grab him and fired, with the revolver bucking in his hand. One man fell, a second took his place, and somebody dragged him forward, struggling desperately.

  Coleman and Riley came in from the flanks, swearing, bayonets plunging.

  Something hard and heavy crashed on Jack's right wrist. He gasped and dropped his pistol, kicked out with his right foot, felt a surge of satisfaction as he contacted something soft, and tried to draw his sword. He swore as his numbed fingers failed to grip the hilt.

  'Sir!' Coleman fired as he approached with the bullet taking one of Jack's attackers in the chest. The force threw the man back and then Riley was there, dapper and dangerous. The mutineers melted into the dark, leaving Jack gasping and holding his injured wrist.

  'Are you all right, sir?'

  'I think so. Nothing is broken anyway.' Jack flexed his wrist. 'What happened there?'

  'They tried to kidnap you, sir,' Riley said.

  'Why would they do that?' That was a stupid question. I'm not thinking straight.

  'Information maybe, sir,' Riley said. 'Or a ransom. It is quite common in parts of Europe, kidnapping people for ransom.' Trust Riley to know the criminal practices of other countries.

  'This isn't Europe, Riley, and they would get nothing by ransoming me.' Jack shook his head. 'I'm blessed if I know. Thank you for rescuing me, men.'

  Riley turned away. Coleman grinned in embarrassment.

  Having achieved nothing, Jack led the patrol back. There was no more screaming that night. He didn't try to sleep.

  'That's twice something strange has happened,' he said to Elliot. 'First, the naik stopped a man from killing me and then an attempt to capture me.'

  Elliot lit a cheroot. 'Your guardian angel is looking after you.' He smiled through the smoke. 'Seriously though, Jack, it's a rum do. I can't think what it is. This entire war has been strange, like a civil war against our friends and with the men running wild. Have you ever seen British soldiers behave in such a manner? Have you ever heard of them wanting to hang and execute like they are now?'

  'I haven't,' Jack said. 'And I want to know why that naik saved my life and these pandies tried to capture me.'

  'To question you, I guess,' Elliot said.

  'I'm only a captain.' Jack shook his head. 'I don't know what's to do at all.'

  'Well,' Elliot patted his shoulder. 'You're alive, your wrist is unbroken, and that's all that matters. Don't let the men hear that you're uncertain. They need a confident commander, not a worried one. Now if you'll excuse me, I have my rounds to make.'

  'Aye, off you go, Arthur. Thank you.' Jack lit a cheroot and stared at the sweltering countryside. He felt as if India was playing with him, patting his mind and body back and forward like a shuttlecock. He would be glad when this campaign was over, and peace returned to this tortured lan
d.

  Jack gasped at the sudden pain in his head. He didn't know what was happening; he only knew that something was wrong. He closed his eyes as another dizzy spell came to him. Grasping the bole of a tree, he held on. He couldn't let anybody see this new weakness. He was the commander, he must always appear strong and confident, or the men would lose faith in him. He must do his duty.

  Chapter Seven

  'There's something on the road ahead, sir.' Sergeant Greaves reported. 'Shall I go and see what it is?'

  'Yes, sergeant.'

  Greaves trotted ahead and returned at the double. 'It's a head, sir! A human head!'

  Jack sighed. With how many more horrors will India torture me?

  Somebody had severed the head at the neck and thrust it onto the end of a stake. They had gouged out the eyes and placed something in the mouth.

  'That's Packer!' Jackson hurried forward, only to stop as he reached the head. 'No, it's not.'

  'No,' Jack said. 'It's not Packer. It's a European, though.'

  'It's Keay, sir, of Number One Company,' Greaves said. 'How did he get here?'

  'He was with Major Snodgrass,' Jack struggled to remember. 'They were escorting the women to Cawnpore from Gondabad last year.' Colonel Hook asked me to keep an eye out for them.

  'I remember, sir,' Greaves said. They all vanished, if I recall.'

  'That's right. And now Keay has turned up here, or part of him has.' Jack carefully detached the head and removed the contents of the mouth. 'It's a note.' He read it out.

  British soldiers, why fight for a shilling a day when you can earn twenty times that amount fighting for a better cause? Why fight for the shareholders of the Honourable East India Company when you can fight for yourselves and have beautiful Indian women as your companions?

  All you have to do is walk away and join us. Welcome bhaiya! Welcome, brother!

  Realising that his men were listening to every word, Jack forced a laugh, screwed the paper into a ball and threw it away. 'Well, that's a lot of moonshine. Who would believe the word of a rebel?'

  'Somebody might,' Greaves said. 'Not all our men are blessed with strong minds. Some might believe the lies. Others might want the money and women.'

  Jack grunted and raised his voice so that everybody could hear. 'Not in this regiment. We are the 113th. Our lads have more sense than to believe that nonsense. Now, let's bury what's left of this poor fellow.'

  'Why would they do that?' Elliot asked. 'Why torture the poor soul?'

  Jack grunted. 'Why do we blow mutinous sepoys from the mouths of cannon, or make them lick up the blood of our women and children before we hang them?' He hardened his voice. 'Bring the prisoner to me. And fetch Mary.'

  Armstrong and Hutton dragged across the man they'd captured at the village. He stood there, erect and semi-naked, unemotional.

  'Ask him what's the meaning of this?' Jack demanded. 'Why did they torture and murder poor Private Keay?'

  When Mary translated, the prisoner looked at Keay's head, smiled and said nothing.

  'Ask him again,' Jack said to Mary. 'Tell him that we'll hang him in pigskin unless he tells us what it's all about.'

  Mary shook her head. 'He's a Hindu,' she said. 'Pigskin is no threat to him.'

  'Tell him we'll hang him with a cowhide rope then,' Jack said. 'Tell him any damned thing you like as long as it helps us find out why they tortured Private Keay.'

  Mary spoke to the prisoner for a few moments, with his answers coming calmly. 'He says that Jayanti ordered it,' Mary said at last. 'Jayanti ordered the foreigner to be put to death to frighten us.'

  'Frighten us?' Jack stared at the prisoner. 'Disgust us, maybe. Damn it, we have beaten the rebels and the mutineers; we're not going to be frightened by a rag-tag mob of broken men. Ask him where Jayanti is, Mary.'

  A circle had formed around the prisoner, angry men listening to the questioning and offering unwanted advice regarding what to ask and how to treat him.

  The prisoner ignored the shouts from the onlookers as he replied.

  'He says that Jayanti is going to destroy the British,' Mary reported.

  'Is that not what they said last year?' Jack snorted. 'They should try something original, the murdering hounds.' He frowned and took a deep breath. 'Ask him where Jayanti is.' He looked up. 'You men, get about your duty or by God, I'll find you something to do! Bryce! Elliot! Don't you have duties to perform? Check the pickets, send out patrols!' He glowered until the men moved back, giving him more space with the prisoner.

  'You're getting out of temper,' Mary told him.

  'I have to think,' Jack said. 'Ask him where Jayanti is and how she has so much power over men.'

  'He says she is the great woman who is going to blow the British out of India.'

  Jack nodded. 'Ask her real name, for by Christ, I don't believe it's Jayanti.' He waited as Mary exchanged words with the prisoner.

  'He does not know, and please do not blaspheme, Jack.'

  'Or he says that he doesn't know,' Jack said. 'All right. How many men does she have?' Am I blaspheming?

  'He says ten thousand.'

  Jack grunted. 'Ten thousand pandies and they're scared to attack a handful of the 113th? No wonder their mutiny failed.' He gestured to Armstrong. 'Take this liar away and keep him secure until I decide what to do with him.'

  The screams of the night and the incident of Keay's head had unsettled Jack, and he was silent as he led the column on the road to Gondabad. Now that he knew his destination, he didn't need Batoor. He could send the Pathan back to Lucknow under escort, bring him along with the column or release him.

  Although he had promised Batoor liberty in exchange for information, Jack was reluctant to release a man who knew his numbers and destination. He grunted; the mutineers' intelligence service was so efficient they probably knew where he was bound before he did himself.

  'Bring Batoor to me,' he ordered.

  The Pathan stood erect in front of Jack, his eyes level.

  'We had a deal,' Jack said. 'If you helped us find Jayanti, you would be released.'

  'That is correct, Captain Windrush,' Batoor said.

  'I have already released you from your chains, and you have not run, so we trust each other to an extent. If Jayanti is in Gondabad, I will free you entirely and inform the authorities that you are not a rebel.'

  'Yes, Captain Windrush.'

  'If she is not in Gondabad, I will hang you.'

  'Yes, Captain Windrush.' Batoor gave no visible sign of emotion at either his liberty or death.

  'Now answer me this, Batoor,' Jack said, 'why are you still here? You could slip past my sentries any time.'

  Batoor smiled. 'I have my reasons for helping you find Jayanti, Captain Windrush. I am using you as much as you are using me.'

  Jack nodded. 'Thank you, Batoor. That was an honest answer. When we find this woman in Gondabad, I will give you a tulwar and a horse.'

  Batoor smiled. 'If we do not find her you will give me a rope. If you can hold me.'

  'That is what will happen.'

  'Then we understand each other,' Batoor said.

  As they marched on, the days grew hotter and the ground dustier. Jack led them off the main roads and onto bullock tracks, the network of paths that bound all the villages and towns of India together. Dust rose as they marched, irritating their eyes, entering their noses and ears, coating their uniforms. They greeted the occasional river like manna, leading in the camels and drinking their fill.

  'Avert your eyes,' Jack advised Mary as he allowed the men to bathe, and forty naked men gambolled like children in the water. The remaining ten were on guard duty, cursing their luck and enviously waiting their turn in the river.

  'Yes, Captain Jack.' Rather than obeying, Mary turned towards the river and watched, smiling.

  'Gentlewomen would not look at such things,' Jack said.

  'Then I am thankful to be Anglo-Indian and not included in any gathering of gentlewoman,' Mary said. 'I nursed sick an
d wounded men, Jack. I have seen everything there is to see, and I have survived.'

  'I would prefer that you looked elsewhere,' Jack said.

  'There is little to see elsewhere. Watching your men is more amusing.' When she smiled at him, Jack wondered if Mary was genuinely interested, or if she found teasing him more entertaining. 'When your men are finished splashing around,' Mary said, 'you could send one or two to the shallows upstream, near that tamarind tree. There will be shoals of rohu fish at that spot, not great eating perhaps, but they would make a change in diet for everybody.'

  'You are an interesting woman, Mary.' Jack decided he couldn't force her away from watching the men bathing. If I had the opportunity to watch forty naked young women, would I watch? Yes, I would. 'Indeed,' he said, 'I think you are the most honest woman I have ever met.'

  'Why, thank you, Captain Jack.' Mary's mocking curtsey did not match the thoughtful expression in her eyes.

  The country gradually changed, so they marched through a vast landscape of ochre-yellow earth, scrub and clumps of dark rock, interspersed with groups of thorn trees and stretches of pampas grass.

  'Captain Windrush.' Mary pointed from her pannier. 'Best warn your men to avoid these datura plants.' She pointed them out. 'They look pretty, but they are poisonous.'

  'Thank you, Mary, I'll pass that on.' Jack lifted his binoculars and scanned an outcrop of rock. He raised his voice. 'Lieutenant Bryce, take a patrol out to those rocks there, I think I saw movement.'

  'We haven't seen the pandies for days, sir.'

  'We haven't seen God either, but we both know he's there!' Jack snapped.

  The days continued one very much like another, with the occasional flurry of activity to investigate a village or tope of trees. Twice a musket man fired at them, and each time Jack sent out a patrol. Each time they returned empty-handed.

  'These pandies are like smoke,' Elliot smeared sweat across his forehead. 'They vanish into the country.'

  They marched past an area of dark ravines where men pointed out mirages that floated above the land like castles from an Arthurian romance, and they stopped at settlements where the inhabitants had never seen a European before, let alone heard about the Mutiny. One village set above a river opposite a small temple was like an Elysian scene, with naked little boys and handsome men bathing, some smacking the water, so it rose in diamond-bright showers. When they left, a score of women took their place, laughing and quarrelling as they beat their saris in the water and spread them around the rocks. A few waded deep into the water to bathe, while the 113th watched, willing the women to undress. The women did not comply and emerged with streaming unbound hair and the saris plastered to their bodies. The barking of pi-dogs and the smell of cooking enhanced the scene.