Guns to the Far East (23 page)

Phillip eyed him sombrely. “Then it
is
a gamble?”

Peel laughed shortly. “Sir Colin said himself, at the end of our conference, that this is the greatest gamble he's ever taken in his life … and he said it a trifle cynically, reminding us that he's always had a reputation for being overcautious! But I think he's right to take the gamble—Lucknow
cannot
be allowed to fall, whatever the cost. If Outram is forced to surrender, he'll be served as poor old Wheeler was served—and my God, Phillip, another Cawnpore would be more than any of us could bear!”

Phillip shuddered, thinking of the yellow-painted bungalow in the heart of the city and of Harriet and her children. There was not a man in the Relief Force, he knew, who would not gladly give his life to prevent another Cawnpore. War was one thing, the brutal slaughter of defenceless women and children quite another …

“As I said,” the
Shannon
's Commander went on, “the entrenchment Windham has to defend is a strong one—poor old Wheeler's doesn't compare with it. Sir Colin has instructed him to ‘show the best front possible'—his words—but not to move out to the attack unless he's compelled to do so by the threat of heavy bombardment.”

“Then as long as General Windham can hold the entrenchment and keep the bridge across the river intact, all should be well?” Phillip suggested.

Peel nodded. “Yes, it should—after all, the late General Neill held the same entrenchment with only three hundred men, when Havelock's Force was in Oudh. I gather that Windham intends to post one of our twenty-four-pounders on the bridge itself, under a strong guard, to prevent any attempt by the enemy to blow it up. In any event, we move out tomorrow, ahead of the Chief and his staff, and join up with Hope Grant's column and our advance guard at Buntera. We've to be there by the tenth, which will mean two marches of seventeen miles. The Chief hopes to push on to the Alam Bagh and relieve the holding force there on the twelfth. The Alam Bagh garrison has been reinforced and supplied, and their wounded evacuated, so they will join us in the attack on Lucknow, being replaced by Hope Grant's sick and footsore men.” William Peel smiled suddenly, his blue eyes gleaming. “When you come to think about it, Phillip,” he said, with a swift change of tone, “
we
took a hell of a gamble at Kudjwa, didn't we? According to Sir Colin we did”—his smile widened— “but it came off. Given a modicum of luck and the guts and determination our fellows displayed at Kudjwa, so will this one, God willing! This force doesn't lack guts and Hope Grant's column has carried all before it since leaving Delhi—having taken part in the recapture and then saved Agra, which was no mean achievement. We could hardly ask for better comrades in arms, could we? Not to mention the 93rd and poor Colonel Powell's 53rd, both splendid fighting regiments.” He rose, still smiling. “First light tomorrow, Phillip—make sure that we leave on time, if you please, with all officers mounted. I'll join you in a little while but first I'll have to find Ted Hay and break the bad news to him that he's to stay here. Edward Daniels can come with us in his place—he's earned it, he's done a fine job here.”

The siege-train moved out the following morning, the men in great heart despite the long hours spent loading stores the previous day, and Buntera was reached on the evening of 10th November. On the 11th, Sir Colin Campbell reviewed the combined Relief Force which, during the afternoon, was drawn up in quarter-distance columns in the centre of a flat, sandy plain surrounded by trees.

Pickets were posted and the Commander-in-Chief, mounted on a small white hack, rode out with his staff to inspect them. With him—although few of the assembled troops were aware of his identity or of the perils he had faced in order to reach them—was a civilian clerk named Henry Kavanagh. A tall, redbearded Irishman of the Lucknow garrison, he had made his way through the rebel lines during the hours of darkness, in native guise and accompanied by a trusted Hindu
cossid,
in order to offer his services as guide to the Relief Force.

Phillip, when the parade was dismissed, wrote a description of it and of their journey to his father. He had, as yet, received no mail from England and, reluctant to write more than was strictly necessary of Cawnpore, simply mentioned that he had passed through the city on the way to Lucknow.

“We march, on average, twelve miles a day,” he wrote. “But coming here we did seventeen—as much as our gun-bullocks can stand in a day. We have with us six 24-pounder guns—two had to be left with General Windham in Cawnpore—and two 8-inch howitzers, with bullock-draft, and our rocket-tubes, which are mounted on country carts, known as hackeries. Our siege-train, when complete with ammunition waggons, stores, tents, and camp followers, is nearly three miles in length, so you can understand why all officers, including mids, have to be mounted. Our baggage animals include camels, elephants, and, of course, oxen and horses and, apart from the gunners and Marines, our bluejackets serve as rifle companies to defend the train. They are armed with Enfield and Minié rifles and drill with the soldiers, under their own divisional officers.

“There are certain differences, however. The troops frequently set out on a march before daylight and without breaking their fast—which they do at the first or second halt—but Captain Peel has issued orders that our men are always to eat before they leave camp. He also insists on our paying very strict attention to camp hygiene and shaving daily and, although the soldiers are permitted to grow beards, we are not. It is a chore sometimes but we are really none the worse for it and our men, in blue frocks, with white duck trousers and polished black boots, always present a smart appearance. As protection from the sun, they wear cotton suncurtains over their straw hats, extending down the back of the neck, and the officers' are similar, but worn over caps or pith helmets.

“William Peel is the best of Commanders, taut enough but considerate and immensely popular with all ranks, and discipline in his brigade—like morale—has never been higher. At today's parade, held prior to the advance on Lucknow, Sir Colin Campbell inspected us and, we were told, made most complimentary remarks concerning us, which was gratifying.

“It was a very impressive and colourful parade, with our Lucknow column joined to that from Delhi, and divided into three nominal brigades of Infantry and one each of Cavalry and Artillery with attached Engineers … in all, I believe, numbering 3,400 men. We were most interested in the troops from Delhi. Their guns looked blackened and service-worn, but the horses were in good condition and the men very tanned and seemingly in perfect fighting trim.

“The 9th Lancers—their Commanding Officer is the Brigadier, Hope Grant—looked workmanlike and ready for anything in their blue uniforms, with white turbans twisted 'round their forage caps, flagless lances, and lean but hardy looking horses, and their bearing is most soldierly. By contrast, the Sikh cavalry—which includes Hodson's Horse—are wild-looking fellows, clad in loose, fawncoloured robes, with long boots, blue or red turbans, and armed with carbines and sabers. (They call them ‘tulwars' I believe.) Their British officers dress as they do, even to the turbans and look extremely picturesque, especially those serving in Hodson's Horse, who wear brilliant scarlet turbans and ride splendid horses, in appearance as wild as themselves. The only ones who can match them are the Punjab infantry, fine, tall men in sand-coloured uniforms, all of them bearded and wearing enormous turbans, which add to their height.

“The poor Queen's regiments—the 8th and the 75th—which apparently suffered very heavy casualties in the assault on Delhi, looked worn and wasted. Their uniforms, which were originally white, are now a dull slate-colour and during Sir Colin's inspection, they stood silent and wearied, lacking the spirit even to cheer him, although he paid them compliments and praised them highly for their achievements.

“The 93rd Highlanders made up for this a little later, though. They were on the extreme left of the line and, out of a thousand of them, more than half were wearing medals for the Crimea so, of course, the Chief is well known to them and they revere him greatly. They made a grand sight in Sutherland tartan and plumed feather bonnets—the latter, they tell us, afford ample protection from swords as well as sun and, in addition, serve them as pillows at night. Certainly they look well, although, being intended to serve in China, on the Canton River, when they left England they were issued with brown holland blouses, with scarlet facings, instead of their normal scarlet tunics, this in no wise detracted from their appearance.

“At all events, when Sir Colin came abreast of them, they received him with such tumultuous cheering that I swear it must have been heard in Lucknow, ten miles away! He addressed them at some length, telling them that when he had taken leave of them, after the Crimea, he had never thought to see them again. ‘But,' he said, ‘another Commander has decreed it otherwise. There is danger and difficulty before us. The eyes of Europe and of the whole of Christendom are upon us, and we must relieve our countrymen, women, and children, now shut up in the Residency of Lucknow. You are my own lads, 93rd—I rely on you to do the work!'

“That brought more cheering, for he delivered his address in the broadest Scots, and the men shouted back that he could depend on them—they would bring the women and children out or die in the attempt. I was moved close to tears when I heard of it, thinking of Harriet and her three little ones and praying, with all my heart, that we may succeed in bringing them safely out.”

Phillip paused, the pen in his hand. He had not intended to make more than passing mention of either of his sisters; his father and mother would have heard the terrible news of the Cawnpore garrison's massacre and read of it in the London papers weeks before his letter could arrive. Anything he might write concerning Lavinia and her husband would serve only to open old wounds; he could offer them no comfort, since he did not know when or how either had died and—until Sir Colin Campbell's Relief Force gained the Lucknow Residency— Harriet's fate was a matter for prayer and speculation. The four-month siege must inevitably have taken heavy toll of the women and children—from sickness and semi-starvation, as well as from enemy shot and shell, so that … He sighed and took a fresh page, to finish his description of the parade with a list of the other units and detachments which had taken part.

“The 93rd are the only regiment of ours at full strength,”
he wrote.
“For the rest, our Infantry Brigade is made up of detachments—a wing of the 53rd, two companies of the 82nd and of the
23rd Fusiliers. They will be augmented by detachments from the Alam Bagh garrison, which will bring our total strength up to almost five thousand with, I think, about fifty guns. We—that is to say, the Naval Brigade and the Royal, Bengal, and Madras Artillery—are under the command of Brigadier-General Crawford, four batteries being horsed and ours the only siege-guns.”

There was nothing more he could write … Phillip put his pen down. The mail was going out that evening, he knew; after that, there would be little time for letter-writing with the fate of the Lucknow garrison in the balance. He added a few personal messages and was about to seal his letter when the tent flap parted and, looking up, he saw Edward Daniels's tall, thin figure framed in the aperture.

“I hope I'm not disturbing you, sir,” the midshipman said uncertainly. “If you're busy with your mail, I can come back, I …” He sounded as if he would have preferred to postpone his visit but Phillip, gesturing to his letter, invited him to come in.

“No, I've finished. Sit down, Mr Daniels. A drink … I've only got whisky, I'm afraid.”

“That's all right, sir. To tell you the truth, I've developed quite a taste for whisky since my attachment to the Army. They drink a lot more than we do and without Captain Peel to tell me my mess bill's too high, I … well, as I said, I've developed quite a taste for whisky. And champagne, sir. The Army officers regard champagne as a necessity in this climate … some of them even have it at breakfast. Or they did in Cawnpore. And I … that is, sir—”

His voice, Phillip realised, was slurred and his over-thin young face unusually flushed. “Mr Daniels,” he demanded curtly, “are you sober?”

The boy shook his head. “No, sir, not very. I … well, I've been dining with some of the Delhi column … the Cavalry. They seem to think we're … well, a bit out of the ordinary because we're sailors and I … I've got rather a thick head now. But I needed some Dutch courage to come to you, sir.”

“Dutch courage to come to
me,
Eddie?” Phillip challenged wryly. “In God's name, why? Here, sit down, there's a good fellow, and I'll get you some coffee.”

Midshipman Daniels sat down. “I don't need coffee, sir, thanks all the same. It's just that I—I've something to give you but I'm not sure if I should or whether you'd want it because … well, you see, sir, it
proves
something you might rather not know for certain and …” He was floundering helplessly and Phillip eyed him in some astonishment. Normally Edward Daniels was the most composed, as well as the most efficient of the
Shannon
's “young gentlemen”; Captain Peel had chosen him to go to Cawnpore as artillery officer because of his reliability, yet here he was now what the bluejackets called “half seas over” and fumbling for words, like some newly joined cadet, as if …

“Pull yourself together, Mr Daniels,” he said, an edge to his voice. “I suggest you go to your tent and sleep it off—for heaven's sake, lad, you don't want the Captain to see you in this state, do you?”

“God forbid, sir!” Daniels answered feelingly. “But”—he was fumbling in his pockets and finally succeeded in bringing to light a small, leather-bound book. Holding it as if its very touch were painful to him, he blurted out unhappily, “It's this, sir. I got it from Captain Mowbray Thomson—he was one of the only four survivors of the Cawnpore garrison and now he's acting as Garrison Engineer in General Windham's entrenchment. That was how I met him, you see, sir, and we … that is, we talked quite a bit about the siege and the massacre. I told him that your sister and brother-in-law were in the garrison—General Wheeler's, I mean—and, of course, he asked their names. I remembered you'd told me that your sister's name was Lavinia and that her husband was one of the Queen's 32nd officers and—”