'We normally hear them coming,' Elliot said. 'They must have crawled across the maidan.'
'They're using new tactics,' Jack said. 'Even so, that attack was not pressed home as hard as it could have been.'
'They're not the same quality as the men we faced on the march to Lucknow,' Elliot agreed.
Jack inspected the temple's defences, a range of rifle pits along the perimeter and lookout positions giving all-around visibility.
'You've done well here,' Jack said.
'Sir,' MacKinnon called down. 'There's movement in the jungle sir. I can hear lots of noises, like men dragging something heavy.'
Jack exchanged glances with Elliot. 'Artillery,' he said.
* * *
With enemy artillery advancing toward them, Jack knew that it was only a matter of time before the temple became untenable. He ordered the men to dig the rifle pits deeper, with sloping banks of earth in front to absorb the impact of the solid shot and loopholes through which the defenders could fire without exposing themselves. He altered the position of the strong points to enable interlocking fields of fire, ensuring that any advancing enemy would pass through a fearful fire-zone. He had small parties go into the maidan and collect enemy weapons, firearms or swords so that even if his men ran out of ammunition, they would have something with which to fight.
'Make sure you lift any powder horns or wherever the pandies carry the powder,' Jack said.
'Yes, sir.' The inflexion of O'Neill's voice indicated that he didn't need an officer to tell him the obvious.
With the outer defences as formidable as they could make them, Jack created an inner ring, centred on the ornate ruins around the chamber where he had made love to Mary, and where the wounded and sick were presently under her care.
'This will be where we make our last stand,' he said.
'Aye.' Elliot pulled on a home-made cheroot. 'And then it's the end.'
'There is no surrender,' Jack said. 'I'm not handing my men to these people as hostages or worse.'
'And Mary?' Elliot asked.
That question had worried Jack ever since he had arrived at the temple. What about Mary? What would happen to her once the enemy destroyed the 113th's position?
'She might be able to merge into their army,' Elliot said. 'She is half Indian, so she could disguise herself without difficulty.'
'She might do that,' Jack said.
'Or…'
'Exactly.' Jack knew what was in Elliot's mind. 'Or.'
'If they capture her,' Elliot spoke slowly, 'God only knows what they will do. Remember Cawnpore.'
'I'll never forget Cawnpore as long as I live.'
'Who will perform the act?' Elliot asked.
'I'll have to,' Jack said. 'She's my woman. I have the responsibility.'
'Sweet Heavens,' Elliot whispered. 'How have we descended to such a thing?'
'It's this war,' Jack said. 'Crimea was bad. This mutiny is infinitely worse. We are fighting our own people. I know you see it as a war against superstition and evil, and you're right to an extent. I see it as a struggle against ourselves; we're reaping the whirlwind of our own bad decisions, fighting people who are our friends and our blood.'
Elliot sipped at his silver hip flask. 'It's beyond a nightmare, Jack. How will you do it?'
'I'll keep the last two bullets for Mary,' Jack said.
'Two?'
'In case of a misfire.'
Elliot nodded. 'You won't use one on yourself though.' He raised tired eyes to Jack's face. 'If they capture you and torture you, Jack, whatever they do, your soul is safe. You fought the good fight, and you'll die a Christian.'
Jack sighed. 'Aye, maybe. I hope so.'
'If you kill yourself, Jack, that's a mortal sin. You'll lose your soul.'
'I won't do that,' Jack said.
'Good man.' Elliot held out his hand. 'What if the pandies get you while Mary is still alive?'
'Would you do the necessary for me, Arthur?'
Elliot nodded, wordless.
'What are you two talking about so quietly?' Mary's eyes were red-rimmed with lack of sleep while stress had carved new lines around her mouth.
'Our future.' Jack told the truth as he mustered a smile.
'Well, we have another two sick men,' Mary said, 'and I could use a hand with the washing. There are many soiled clothes in here. My sick need clean linen.'
'I'll send one of the men.' Jack calculated who he could best spare from the defence. 'Corporal Hutton's a steady fellow, and Parker has a kind heart.'
Mary sighed and sat on a broken pillar at their side. 'I hardly see you, Jack. Here we are penned up in a few square yards, and it's like we're in different worlds.'
'There will be other times,' Jack said, as Elliot made polite excuses and walked away.
'Will there, Jack?' Mary leaned closer to him. 'How will we get away from here? Nobody knows where we are and the enemy is all around us.'
Jack tried to smile. 'We'll hold out,' he said. 'The pandies know that they're defeated. Sir Colin and Hugh Rose are smashing their armies and capturing their last strongholds. They will not last forever. The longer we hold out, the weaker they'll get.'
The deep boom of cannon fire and the passing howl of roundshot interrupted Jack's words.
'Sorry, Mary, I'll have to go. It seems that the enemy artillery is in range.'
'You be careful now, Jack.' Mary put a hand on his shoulder.
'You too, Mary,' Jack said. He kissed her quickly, felt her briefly press against him and then they parted. He watched her return to the hospital chamber and turned away.
Chapter Twenty-Three
'I think the pandies have only one cannon in position, sir,' Elliot said. 'I'll take a patrol and have a look.'
'No,' Jack shook his head. 'I'll take a patrol as soon as it's dark. You take over here.'
Elliot frowned. 'No, sir. I protest. The men need you here.'
He's right, damn it!
'All right, Elliot. Take who you think best.' Jack ducked as the cannon barked again and a large calibre shot crashed against a stone pillar. 'You'd think they'd have some respect for one of their own temples.'
Elliot chose O'Neill, Coleman and Thorpe, three Burmese veterans who had experience of fighting in the jungle. They slipped away as the sun set in an orange blaze.
'Arthur can look after himself,' Mary murmured.
'I know, but I worry so.' Jack admitted his fears.
'I know you do.' Mary touched his arm and withdrew to her patients.
It had been only a brief meeting, yet Jack felt better for it. He scanned the maidan for signs of Elliot and breathed his relief when the patrol returned.
'How close are the pandies?'
'They've set up firing positions about twenty yards inside the jungle perimeter,' Elliot reported. 'They've only two light guns in position so far, and they've cleared the trees in front to give themselves a field of fire. Heavier guns are still on their way, hacking and banging through the jungle.'
'We'll take them tomorrow night,' Jack decided.
'A raiding party?' Sweat dripped off Elliot's face as he looked back across the maidan.
'A strong one,' Jack said. 'If they get heavy artillery up, they can batter us to pieces, and we won't be able to do a thing about it.'
'How many men shall I have?'
'I'll lead this one,' Jack said.
About to protest, Elliot saw the determination in Jack's face. 'Yes, sir. How many men?'
'I'll take twenty,' Jack said. 'If we fail, we're lost. If we succeed, we'll buy ourselves another few days, or sting them into a massed attack we can deal with.'
Elliot didn't argue. 'What will you do?'
'Damage the guns and kill as many pandies as possible,' Jack said. 'It must be a decisive blow.' He shook away the image of Mary sitting in her chamber. I can't think of her. I must concentrate on my duty.
But he knew he needed to see her.
* * *
They sat side-by-sid
e, leaning against a pillar while the sun eased downward. It was a moment of rare peace in the temple, with the monkeys chattering in the background and the jungle alive with nature's sounds.
'India can be incredibly beautiful,' Mary said. 'Sometimes I feel so blessed to live here, although I was brought up to think of Britain as home.'
Jack edged slightly closer. 'I don't know how I feel,' he said. 'Back in England, we thought we were the centre of the world and that all that is civilised rotated around London. Now,' he gestured to the surrounding temple, 'I find architecture that surpasses anything in Europe, a culture that predates us by a thousand years and people who have never heard of Great Britain. My little island seems so small and cold, somehow.'
Mary laughed. 'You're turning Indian, Jack!'
'Maybe I am,' Jack said. 'I still miss England. I miss the coolness and safety, without the constant threat of disease. I miss the long-drawn-out sunsets and the crisp winter frosts. I miss the old inns and fishing in the rivers.'
'I'd like to visit England sometime,' Mary said. 'I've always wanted to go Home.'
Putting an arm around Mary's shoulder, Jack pulled her close. 'You will do,' he said. 'You'll love the greenness of summer and the yellow fields of wheat in the autumn, the apple orchards of Herefordshire and Worcestershire and the soft slopes of the Malvern Hills.'
'I want to visit the libraries.' Mary snuggled closer. 'I want to see the great abbeys and the cathedrals, the River Thames and Wordsworth's Tintern Abbey, even although that's in Wales.' Her voice lowered. 'I don't only wish to see England, Jack. I grew up with the novels of Sir Walter Scott, so I want to see Scotland as well, the places Sir Walter wrote about; Edinburgh and the Eildon Hills, the Border Country, Loch Katrine and the Trossachs.'
'I've never been to Scotland,' Jack said. 'I've never been so far north.'
'You've read Walter Scott's novels though.' Mary pulled away slightly. 'Every educated person must have read Walter Scott's novels!'
'I've read some,' Jack said. 'His Waverley. The Jacobite one.'
'Scott wrote three Jacobite novels,' Mary corrected. 'Oh, Jack, we have so much to talk about and explore! I wish we could spend more time together.'
We have our whole lives. Jack bit off the words before they reached his lips. Damn the woman. She is trying to trap me. 'I'll have to read the others some time.'
Mary sensed his change of mood and pulled away. 'I'm sure you will, Jack, if you ever release yourself from your duty.' Tossing her hair, she stood up and walked away.
Jack watched the swing of her hips and swore repeatedly. Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn! We never have sufficient time!
* * *
Even in the dark, it wasn't hard to find the rebel convoy. There was no attempt to minimise the noise as busy labourers worked with axes and saws and scores of men hauled at the ropes.
'They have six pieces of artillery,' Jack noted. 'Two six-pounders in position, three eighteen-pounders pulled by bullocks and another eighteen-pounder pulled by hand. There must be four hundred men with the column, about two hundred of them warriors.'
'We have thirty-seven fit men,' O'Neill said. 'We're a bit outmatched.'
'We could delay them a bit, sir.' Coleman lifted his rifle. 'They won't expect it.'
Jack imagined the damage twenty rifles could do against such a large number of men. He would delay the advance by a few minutes or a few hours at best. What chance would all his men have of returning safely against so many? Not much.
My men are soldiers, Jack told himself. They had known the dangers when they took the Queen's shilling. Soldiers? He shook his head. Thorpe was an arsonist, sent to the army as an alternative to jail. Coleman was an orphan and joined the army rather than shivering to death in the bitter winters of the 1840s. The potato blight forced O'Neill to take the Queen's shilling. Technically, they are volunteers, yet it was not for love of a queen about whom they knew nothing or a country that failed them, that enticed them into the scarlet uniform.
They are soldiers. They have their duty to perform.
'Thorpe. I need your special expertise.'
'Yes, sir.' Thorpe paused. 'What does that mean, sir?'
'The two six-pounders in position must have ammunition,' Jack explained. 'They must have a powder store.'
'Yes, sir,' Thorpe said.
'Sergeant O'Neill will take you, Coleman and a two-man escort to blow it up. Do whatever you do, Thorpe, and make me a big bang and a huge fire.'
'Yes, sir!' Thorpe's enthusiasm was evident.
'Sergeant.' Jack didn't need to lower his voice with all the noise the enemy was making. 'Set fire to the powder and take the men back. Don't wait for us. Let Thorpe take charge where he can; he's the expert.'
'Yes, sir.' O'Neill nodded.
'I'll give you fifteen minutes to prepare, and then I'll have a crack at the column.' Jack watched as O'Neill led his men away.
Lying in the forest within a hundred yards of an enemy column was amongst the most nerve-wracking experiences Jack had ever had. He lay prone, ignoring the insects that investigated his body and hoping that his men retained their patience as the enemy crept ever closer to the temple. The hands of his watch seemed to crawl, with each minute a seeming eternity.
The enemy was working hard, widening the path they had already made for the small six-pounders to drag through the much larger eighteen-pounders. Jack watched them, admiring their energy even as he knew he must kill as many as he could. There was a swirl among the enemy, with men stepping aside to salaam as a disciplined unit arrived. Please, God, that's not the Rajah's army.
'Trouble.' Jack mouthed the word as he saw the black turbans and veiled faces, with every woman bearing a musket and tulwar. They marched in silence, purposeful and dangerous. 'That's Jayanti and her warriors. There must be sixty of them.'
And then the black turbans were past, sliding into the forest.
Forget them; concentrate on the artillery.
'Right lads.' The larger hand of his watch approached the fifteenth minute. 'Get ready. On my word, aim for the bullocks.' He knew that was an unpopular decision, but each bullock could do the work of ten men. 'If anybody misses, I'll put them on a charge.' He ignored the frowning looks, knowing that some of his men would deliberately miss rather than hurt an animal.
'Cap… On my word… Aim… Fire!'
They fired together, with the sharp crack of the rifles echoing in the jungle. Three of the bullocks fell at once while two others bellowed in pain. War was every bit as hard on animals as it was on men.
The effect was instantaneous with the bullock drivers running into the forest and the accompanying men staring around them or cowering on the ground.
'One more volley,' Jack said. 'Aim for the men on the leading gun this time. That tall fellow giving orders.' He pointed to a bearded man with an ornate turban.
The men loaded quickly, too experienced to panic, aimed with steady hands and fired on Jack's command. The officer staggered and fell, and two men nearby crumpled at once.
'That's enough, now. The pandies will have men after us in a second. Reload and back to the temple.'
They obeyed at once, sliding between the trees. Corporal Hutton led the way, and Jack was rear-marker, turning every few steps to see if the enemy was following. Behind him, he heard the noise from the enemy column increase as they assessed what had occurred.
After a hundred yards, Jack halted the rearmost five men. 'We'll hold them here and allow the others time to escape.'
Logan grunted, 'Aye, sir,' and slid behind a tree. The others followed, calm-eyed and controlled, levelling their Enfields and waiting.
'There, sir,' Whitelam gestured into the darkness. 'I saw movement.'
'Right, lads, give them a volley,' Jack said. A second later, the rifles crashed out. 'Load and withdraw.'
The 113th ran through the forest with scattered shots following them, bringing down leaves and pieces of branches. The men jinked and weaved to spoil the enemy's aim, with
every step taking them closer to the relative safety of the temple.
The explosion was louder than anything Jack had heard since the siege of Sebastopol, an ear-pounding crash that blasted down trees and illuminated the night sky. Pieces of debris and fragments of men rose a hundred feet in the air, hovered for a moment amidst the white cloud of smoke and descended in a terrible rain that had the patrol diving for shelter.
'Dear God!' Jack lay prone and tried to burrow into the ground as pieces of burning wood and shattered men fell all around him.
After the explosion came the silence; a hush so intense it seemed unreal. Jack dragged himself up, winced as something stabbed in his leg and looked around at his men. Most were still lying, stunned by the noise, one or two were attempting to rise.
'Come on, lads!' Jack didn't hear his words and knew that the explosion had temporarily robbed him of his hearing. He shook Smith, the man nearest to him and gestured towards the temple. Hutton was swearing and patting at his trouser leg, which was ablaze from the falling debris. One man stood to stare at the flames and colossal tower of white smoke. That was Thorpe, of course, admiring his handiwork.
'I told you to get back to the temple, sergeant!' Jack shouted to O'Neill, whose words were lost in Jack's deafness. 'Seventeen, eighteen,' he counted his men. 'There are two missing.'
Dragging them up and pushing them towards the temple, Jack found his missing men. Both were dead; one lay crushed under the carriage of a gun that the explosion had lifted and dropped on top of him. Bromley, his name had been, a freckle-faced youngster from the London stews with a sharp wit and a foul tongue. He would never see the Thames again. A mass of burning powder had landed on the second man. Pinthorpe had been a drunken scoundrel, a wastrel although popular with his colleagues, now he was nearly unrecognisable, a blackened crisp. These men would join the tens of thousands of British dead in India, only remembered by their colleagues and possibly by their families, if they had any.
Staggering, each man holding his rifle, the surviving men crossed the maidan at a rush. Jack hurried the laggards, pushing them forward, roaring words he knew they couldn't hear. He saw the little fountain of dust by the reflected light of the fire, the mark of a bullet hitting the ground. The enemy had recovered far quicker than he had expected and were firing at the withdrawing British party.
Windrush- Jayanti's Pawns Page 26
