Flood of Fire (81 page)

Then the rice-fields ended and they were racing up a scrub-covered slope, with shells throwing up dust all around them. Kesri saw an officer go down and then a cannonball landed right on the Cameronians, felling three troopers.

In the distance Manchu bannermen were banging their shields and brandishing spears, almost as if to taunt the attackers. Then a volley of projectiles took flight from the ramparts of the nearest fortress and came arcing down the hill, towards the sepoys. Kesri caught a glimpse of them as they slammed into the scrub, amidst clouds of smoke. He realized, to his disbelief, that the Chinese were launching rockets.

All of this was new: the improved gunnery, the rockets – how had the chootiyas learnt so much so fast?

Up ahead the Cameronians had halted to catch their breath,
under the shelter of an overhang. Captain Mee brought B Company to a stop too and then went to join the Cameronians.

Shrugging off his knapsack, Kesri dropped gratefully on to the rocky soil. They were within musket range of the Chinese troops now and volleys of grapeshot were whistling through the air. Keeping his head low, Kesri reached for his flask; it was almost empty so he was careful to take only a sip. It would be a while yet before the followers caught up and they too were probably running low on water now; the company had been so thirsty at the last stop that the bhistis' mussucks had shrunk to less than half size.

When at last the bhistis arrived, Kesri signalled to them to stay low and serve the sepoys first. From here on it would be a straight run up to the rectangular citadel: only the sepoys would advance now; the fifers, drummers, runners and bhistis would remain here. Of the followers Maddow alone would accompany the fighting men, with the ladder.

Glancing back, Kesri saw that Maddow had kept up with the front line despite his unwieldy burden. Beckoning him forward, Kesri said: You'll stay beside me from now on: understood?
Samjhelu?

Ji, havildar-sah'b.

*

Further down the slope the fifers were still scrambling after the sepoys. Now, as grapeshot began to hum and whistle around them Bobbery-Bob shouted, ‘Get down, you fucking barnshoots! Do you want to get your balls shot off?' They flattened themselves on the ground.

Raju's mouth was as dry as sawdust: he was thirstier than he had ever been. Snatching at his flask he pulled at the cap with trembling fingers – but only to discover that the cork had come loose and all the water had leaked out.

A disbelieving wail burst from his throat: ‘It's gone – all my water.'

Dicky, lying beside him, had already drained his own bottle. On impulse he grabbed Raju's flask and jumped to his feet: ‘Wait, men – I'll get some more from a bhisti.'

Dicky started off at a run but came to a sudden stop after a few steps. For a moment his body stayed upright, as if frozen in motion, and then he spun sidewise and fell to the ground.

‘Dicky?' screamed Raju. Leaping to his friend's side, he took hold of his shoulder and gave him a shake. ‘Dicky, what's the matter with you, bugger?'

Raju could not understand why Dicky would not look at him, even though his amber eyes were wide open.

‘What's happened, Dicky?' Raju shook him again. ‘Get up, bugger, get up! This is no time to play the fool, men.'

There was still no answer so Raju flung himself on the unmoving figure and wrapped his arms around him.

‘Please, Dicky, get up. Please listen to me, men. Get up!'

*

The British barrage had risen to a crescendo when Captain Mee came scrambling back to tell Kesri that he was going ahead with the Cameronians.

That the captain was impatient to be in the thick of the fighting was amply evident to Kesri; during the advance he had exposed himself to fire with a recklessness that was unusual even for him: it was almost as if he were courting a bullet.

‘Be careful, Kaptán-sah'b,' said Kesri.

The captain gave him a nod and ran off, ducking and dodging as grapeshot whistled through the air.

As he lay on the gravelly slope Kesri was aware of a quickening in the rhythm of his breath; when he tried to tighten his grip on his Brown Bess the barrel slipped through his palms which were oozing sweat. In his stomach too there was a peculiar gnawing tightness, a sensation that puzzled him until he recognized that his guts were churning in fear. He shut his eyes and pressed his cheek into the ground, so that the pebbles pushed against his teeth.

His old wounds had begun to throb now; it was as if his body had become a storehouse of memory, a map of pain. Yet what he recalled most vividly was not the fiery burning that had accompanied each injury but rather the dull, crushing pain of recovery – the weeks of lying in bed, of not being able to turn over, of having to soil himself. He did not want to go through that again; he did not want to die, not now, not for nothing, which was what this was.

Somewhere nearby there was a sound of convulsive swallowing.

Opening his eyes, Kesri saw that it was coming from the sepoy who was lying next to him – a man not much younger than himself.
He was from the hills, Kesri remembered, and was the father of a large brood of children. Was he thinking of them now? Was he remembering the shadows of the mountains as they stretched across his valley on frosty evenings? It was plain to Kesri that the sepoy too had been seized by fear: his lips were white, his hands were shaking and his eyes were showing their whites. In a minute or two he would curl up; his whole body would be paralyzed by fear. When it came time to move he would not be able to rise to his feet. It would fall to Kesri to report him to Captain Mee; there would be a court martial and the man would probably be shot for cowardice – and he, Havildar Kesri Singh, would be as much to blame as the man himself, for it was his job, his duty, his karma, to protect his men as best he could, even from themselves.

Sticking out an elbow, Kesri jabbed the sepoy in his ribs: Chal! It's almost time now.

The words stuck in his throat and he had drag them out as though he were making himself retch.

Then, abruptly, the noise of the gunfire diminished and the British barrage drew to an end.

‘Fix bayonets!'

A bullet threw dust into Kesri's face as he pulled himself over the escarpment; his feet slipped on the loose gravel but he managed to stay upright and began to stride uphill, head lowered, moving with a stooped, lumbering gait, which was the only way you could run up a slope with a fifty-pound knapsack on your back and a musket in your hand. Between steps he sucked in a mouthful of air and shouted –
Har har Mahadev!
– and the battle-cry came roaring back at him, propelling him forward.

After another two hundred yards Kesri saw that the Cameronians had stopped their advance. They had come under heavy fire from a detachment of Manchu bannermen, positioned at the crest of the hill.

Looking rightward, Kesri spotted a grove of trees and held up his hand to signal to the sepoys to follow him there.

Just as Kesri had thought, the spot offered a clear line of fire to the bannermen. It took him only a few minutes to site the sepoys to his satisfaction. Then they unloosed one volley after another until the bannermen withdrew.

As soon as the firing had ceased Kesri sprinted over to the Cameronians: ‘They're gone!' he shouted. ‘They're gone!'

The Cameronians seemed to be unaware of the little sideshow to their rear.

One by one their faces turned blankly towards him. Then he heard Colour-Serjeant Orr's voice shouting into his ear. ‘Where the fuck have you black bastards been? Were you hiding below so you wouldn't have to fight? Bloody bunch of cowards.'

Suddenly Kesri's musket began to twitch in his hands. The urge to thrust his bayonet into Colour-Sarjeant Orr's belly was almost irresistible: to skewer this maadarchod seemed far more urgent than fighting some unknown Chinese soldier.

But before he could make a move Captain Mee's voice cut in – ‘Havildar?' – and habit took over. Kesri snapped off a salute: Ji, Kaptán-sah'b.

‘Has our ladder been brought forward?'

Glancing down the slope Kesri saw that Maddow was squatting beside the sepoys of B Company. ‘Ladder is here, sir.'

‘Good. Let's get the job done then. The Cameronians will charge to the right – we'll take the left.'

At a signal from Captain Mee the ranks began to peel off, in staggered order, to advance slantwise, in echelon. The fire from the fortress died away as they charged. On reaching the ramparts B Company formed a protective cordon around Maddow as he assembled and erected the ladder.

The first man to scale the walls took a look around and announced that the fortress had been abandoned; its garrison had withdrawn towards the city. Kesri went up next and found himself on a parapet that led to an embrasured turret.

Kesri went into the turret and climbed up to the highest of the embrasures. Sprawled below lay the vast expanse of the city of Guangzhou. The streets and avenues, towers and pagodas, houses and shanties stretched away as far as the eye could see, to the east and to the south. Some of the gates of the walled city were open and long lines of people could be seen trickling out: they appeared to be fleeing in every direction.

Before Kesri could take it all in the guns on the city walls opened
up with a tremendous roar. A shell crashed into the ramparts, just below the turret. Kesri ducked his head and went racing down, to take cover inside the fortress.

*

The rectangular fortress was a simple structure, with a large covered enclosure in the centre, surrounded by a few rooms and antechambers. The enclosure filled up quickly as the rest of the 4th Brigade poured in, through the rear gate.

In the meantime the other three forts had also been overrun by British troops. The barrage from the city walls continued without interruption all the while but failed to impede the operation. At noon word was sent back to General Gough that all four fortresses had been occupied. One was being prepared to serve as his headquarters; he could occupy it when he pleased.

On his way up the general had a narrow escape: a bullet flew right past his ear to hit the officer behind him.

Soon after his arrival the general called a meeting at his headquarters. Captain Mee was among those who attended. On his return Kesri learnt that the morning's fighting had taken an unexpectedly heavy toll. The British forces had suffered more battlefield casualties than on any other day. The Bengal Volunteers had been lucky not to lose any men.

Feelings were running high among the officers, said the captain. The hotheads were talking of teaching the Celestials a sanguinary lesson by sacking the city's temples, pagodas and markets: these were known to be vast storehouses of silver and gold – the booty would be beyond calculation.

It had been decided, in any event, that the walled city would be stormed the next day. The northern gates had been studied by the engineers and they had come to the conclusion that it would not be difficult to force an entry. Plans had been drawn up for the attack: it would start early, with all four brigades converging on the northern walls.

Through the afternoon followers kept straggling in, but none belonged to B Company. Their absence was both an inconvenience and a worry for Kesri; a couple of hours before nightfall, he dispatched a squad to look for them. They returned at dusk and only then did Kesri learn of the casualties: a runner, a cook and a
bhisti injured; one fifer killed. That was why they had been so slow to arrive; because it had taken a long time to arrange for the injured men and the dead boy to be evacuated to the rear.

The news of Dicky's death had a powerful effect on Kesri: he remembered that he had himself chosen the boy, thinking that he might become the company's mascot. And so indeed he had: his ready smile, quick tongue and jaunty step had won the sepoys' hearts: it was cruel that B Company could not be present at his interment, to bury him with the honour he deserved.

Kesri recalled also that a close friendship had blossomed between Dicky and Raju: his eyes sought out the young lad, who was sitting crouched and red-eyed in one of the muddy, mosquito-infested recesses of the fortress. Kesri felt a pang of sympathy for the boy; he would have gone over to say something had he been able to be sure of keeping his own emotions in check. But instead, seeing Maddow nearby, he said: Keep an eye on that little fellow, will you? It must be hard for him, losing his friend.

*

On hearing that a storm was expected Dinyar decided to move the
Mor
from Hong Kong Bay to the inner harbour at Macau, which was said to be safer in bad weather. He offered to take the other seths with him but none accepted. Many of them had taken rooms in Hong Kong: a resolution to the conflict seemed so close now that they were loath to absent themselves from the island for so much as a day. It was common knowledge that a land auction would be held soon and they did not want to run the slightest risk of missing it.

The seths gave themselves much of the credit for having persuaded the island's current administrator, Mr J. Robert Morrison, to hold the auction even before Hong Kong was formally ceded to the British Crown. But Mr Morrison had dragged his feet over the auction and this had aroused their suspicions; they had convinced themselves that he would seize any possible opportunity to keep them from bidding, and being determined to prevent this, they spent their days dogging the tracks of the land surveyors and arguing over which plots they would bid on.

Shireen alone decided to return to Macau with Dinyar, on Zadig's advice. A south China typhoon was like no storm she'd ever experienced,
Zadig told her; she would do well to sit it out within the sturdy walls of Villa Nova.

‘And once the storm blows over,' Zadig added with a twinkle, ‘maybe we can make the announcement?'

‘Of what?'

‘Our engagement.'

Shireen gasped. ‘Oh Zadig Bey – it's too soon! I need more time. Please. Nothing can be made public until I've spoken to Dinyar – and there just hasn't been time.'