The Cannons of Lucknow (4 page)

“I don't know,” Alex confessed. Lousada Barrow was an old friend and had been his mentor when he had first been seconded to the Political Service. He added, with feeling, “To be honest, I hope he isn't dead.”

“You hope he's
not?
” Barrow stared at him in astonishment. “In heaven's name, why?”

“Because I had promised myself the satisfaction of being the one to bring him to justice, Lou. But if he has gone to meet his Maker, then I can only pray that the mills of God will grind exceeding small in his particular case.” Conscious that his scarred face reflected more of his pent-up bitterness than he had intended to reveal, even to Lousada Barrow, Alex controlled himself and went on flatly,“I may be this garrison's only survivor—apart from Shepherd, who is a clerk—which leaves me with a debt to pay for all those who are no longer here to demand settlement. My wife and son among them.”

“You are not alone, Alex,” Lousada Barrow assured him. “By heaven you're not! After what was done to those poor innocents in the Bibigarh, none of us can rest until the debt is paid. And I don't imagine that any of us will forget what we saw here for as long as we live. But …” he broke off in sudden consternation. “Oh Lord, I'm sorry! I'm a thoughtless idiot, but there's been so damned little time to talk since you joined us. I … were your wife and son … that is, were they—”

“No.” Alex shook his head. He had himself under stern control now, although it took a considerable effort of will to shut his mind to the memories his own words evoked.“ They were spared that ultimate horror, for which I thank God with all my heart. The child, who was only an infant, died during the siege and Emmy … my wife was shot when they attacked us at the landing
ghat
. She died in my arms.”

Barrow grunted his relief. He waved to the line of guns, as the last of the sixteen pieces lumbered past them and shouted out an order to his volunteer cavalrymen to form up as escort. “I told Lionel Stephenson that we would see our prizes safely delivered. Ride with me, Alex, if you would—I want to talk to you.”

He set spurs to his big chestnut and Alex followed him through clouds of choking dust to the head of the column, where both reined in, slowing their pace to match that of the labouring bullocks. “Do you really suppose,” Barrow went on, as if there had been no break in their conversation, “that you and the clerk—what's his name?—Shepherd are the only survivors of the garrison, Alex? Shepherd left the entrenchment before it was evacuated, did he not?”

“Yes,” Alex confirmed. “General Wheeler sent him out, disguised as a servant, in the hope that he might be able to make contact with the Nunneh Nawab, Mohammed Ali Khan, who was said to have remained loyal to us. We sent out a number of others, servants and Eurasians mostly, and one loyal
jemadar
, but few of them managed to get back—apart from the pensioner, Ungud. Sir Henry Lawrence sent him from Lucknow originally and he contrived to take messages between us—I shall never know how. He's either a very brave man or an exceptionally lucky one—both, probably. And there was a Eurasian drummer named Blenman. Poor devil, he died in Eddie Vibart's boat.” He felt his throat contract as be remembered the manner of the brave Blenman's death.

“What of the others who were with you in Vibart's boat?” Lousada Barrow pursued. “Did none of them get away?”

Alex frowned. “We made a final sally, thirteen of us, when our situation became hopeless. We didn't expect to get away. We just wanted to die like soldiers, taking as many of the Pandies with us as we could. When they surrounded us in a small temple and set it on fire, those who could swim decided to make a break for the river. The rest of us covered them. I saw four or five heads in the water. Mowbray Thomson's was one of them—he has … had red hair and it was unmistakable. I vaguely remember that an Irish lad named Murphy, of the 84th, was swimming beside him, helping him along, but they were under very heavy musket fire from both banks—I don't know how far any of them got. A couple of sowars rode at me and cut me down and I was unconscious for most of the day. When I came to it was dusk and I was pretty groggy, with great gaps in my memory. All I can recollect now is that I buried those of our men whose bodies I was able to find or dragged them to the river. The place was a shambles and there were clouds of vultures hovering about, so I couldn't leave them, I …” for all the effort he made to control it, his voice shook. “And the boat had gone, with the wounded in it.”

Barrow laid a big hand on his knee. “Alex, old man, when you first joined us, you said you remembered almost nothing. But you're remembering now, are you not?”

“Yes,” Alex admitted. “Unhappily I am.”

“The general would like a report, you know, as soon as you're able to make one,” the Volunteers' commander said gently. “Of the siege and your escape. And he needs the names of casualties, particularly civilian casualties, so that their relatives can be notified.”

“Yes, I know. Harry Havelock asked me about it this morning. I promised I'd do the best I could, but there are still a great many gaps, I'm afraid.” Involuntarily, Alex raised his hand, still grasping the reins, to touch the jagged scar which, although healing, puckered and disfigured his left temple and cheek. The sowar who had dealt him the blow had kept his sabre razor-sharp, he thought wryly, and probably thereby saved his life. He glanced at his companion apologetically. “Names and dates elude me, Lou. I remember some incidents vividly. When the Pandies launched attacks on our entrenchment and we held them off, every detail is clear, but—”

“I've seen your entrenchment,” Lousada Barrow put in gravely. “And before heaven, I don't know how you held them off for a single day, much less for three weeks!” He swore under his breath. “Devil take it, what possessed old Sir Hugh Wheeler to attempt to defend such a place? The Magazine was intact, wasn't it, until the Nana had it blown up?”

“It was, yes. But—”

“You could have held out there for months. So why was it left to fall into the Pandies' hands?”

Alex sighed, reluctant even now to criticise his old commander. “Mainly, I suppose,” he answered quietly, “because General Wheeler made the fatal mistake of trusting the Nana. He was promised Bithur troops to guard the Magazine and Treasury and the Nana assured him repeatedly that the sepoys, when they broke out, would march straight off to Delhi. The poor old man believed he would only have to defend himself against isolated raids by the city
budmashes
, but what really decided him was the promise he was given of reinforcements of British troops, which were said to be on their way from Allahabad at the beginning of June. A handful did reach us and General Wheeler sent them on to Lucknow, on receiving their assurance that Colonel Neill's column was behind them. Wheeler constructed the entrenchment within sight of the Allahabad road so as to enable Neill to get to us without having to fight his way through the city. When the Nana betrayed us and led the sepoys back here to attack us, it was too late to leave the entrenchment … and too late even to destroy the powder and ordnance stores in the Magazine. The Bithur troops seized them and handed the whole lot over to the mutineers who, of course, used them against us. But for all that, Lou, the old general's decision was a logical one, in the circumstances. The Magazine was six miles north of the Allahabad road and—”

“Did
you
consider it a sound decision?” the older man demanded.

“No,” Alex was forced to concede. “A number of us didn't. But we thought we could hold out until Neill's column reached us. We were daily expecting its arrival.”

“But Neill did not come.” Lousada Barrow's expression was inscrutable.“Well, he had his problems, as you'll have realised by now—he had to deal with mutinies at both Benares and Allahabad.”

“I
do
realise that, Lou. Indeed it was I who brought the message from Lucknow that Neill was held up in Benares—”

“You brought it?”

“Yes, by road—the electric telegraph wires had been cut between here and Lucknow. Sir Henry Lawrence sent me, and his warning was the first intimation poor old General Wheeler had that any delay was likely. We expected no prolonged delay—ten days, perhaps, or even a fortnight—because we knew that Neill had been fully informed of our plight. I …” Alex hesitated, choosing, his words carefully before he went on.“No one has yet been able to explain the
length
of that delay, Lou, or to give me an entirely satisfactory reason for it. Lack of transport has, of course, been mentioned, as well as insufficient troops, and I'm aware that Neill had to ensure the safety of Allahabad, as well as that of Benares, before he could move to our aid.”

“You mean,” Barrow offered shrewdly, “it's been suggested that Neill spent more time than was strictly necessary hanging mutineers—and those suspected of being in sympathy with the mutineers—when he should have pushed on to Cawnpore at any hazard?”

Alex inclined his head. “Yes,” he answered, tight-lipped. “Between ourselves, that has been suggested. He certainly appears to have behaved like the wrath of God in Allahabad. Estimates are at variance, but I've been told that he hanged over six hundred natives, some without trial. I don't know if that's true, of course, but I
do
know that he only despatched the advance force, under poor Renaud, on the thirtieth of June … three days
after
his failure to relieve us compelled our surrender. Spurgin's steamer left the same day, I believe.”

Lousada Barrow settled himself more comfortably in his saddle. He took a cheroot from the case in his hip pocket and lit it, the lucifer cupped between his palms. Puffing smoke, he observed dryly,“James Neill has been promoted to brigadier-general in recognition of his services, Alex. Did you hear that?”

“No, I did not.” Alex's tone was deliberately noncommittal. He offered no comment and Barrow frowned.

“Do not misunderstand me. I cannot approve of his drumhead courts martial or, indeed, of some of his other methods of stamping out rebellion—I've been a civil magistrate for too long. “But,”—his broad shoulders rose in an elaborate shrug—“our new general
did
avert what could have been a very ugly situation in Allahabad and the surrounding district and he apparently did the same in Benares. His methods, if crude, are undoubtedly effective … and the Commander-in-Chief evidently thinks so, or he wouldn't have been promoted.”

“I can't imagine that General Havelock will approve of them, judging by his remarks to us this morning,” Alex said. “Barbarism must not be met by barbarism, he said.”

“Quite so,” Barrow affirmed. They were approaching a village, and he sent two of his cavalrymen to scout ahead of the column. Puffing once more at his cheroot, he went on, “Since this conversation is strictly between ourselves, my dear Alex, I can tell you that there's no love lost between Havelock and Neill. There hardly could be—they are such very different characters. Neill, understandably perhaps, resented having had command of the Movable Column taken from him, when he expected to be given it himself. And he said so, quite openly, as well as referring to his new commander as ‘The Old Gentleman.' Before we even left Allahabad, Havelock had to pull rank on him more than once, and finally, when we did set off, he left Neill to follow on with whatever fresh drafts arrived from Dinapore or Calcutta. This, despite his long and distinguished service, is the first independent command our little general has ever had and he intends to make the most of it. He'll tolerate neither delay nor interference from Neill, I can assure you. He'll relieve Lucknow, if it's humanly possible to do so, without wasting a day.”

“You really think he will?” Alex questioned doubtfully.

“I
know
he will. At this morning's staff conference, he instructed Fraser Tytler to begin preparations for crossing the river tomorrow morning. As soon as Neill gets here, Havelock will hand over the command of Cawnpore to him and press on.”

“He's going to leave Neill in command here?” Alex echoed, unable to hide his dismay.

“A force of this size hardly requires two generals,” Barrow returned. “And General Havelock doesn't—” he was interrupted by a shout from one of the two Volunteers scouting fifty yards ahead of the gun train, which was followed an instant later by a fusillade of shots coming from the village they were approaching. Ordering the train to halt and the rest of his small troop to close in and cover it against a possible attack, Barrow put his horse into a canter and rode toward the village, calling over his shoulder to Alex to accompany him. “Mutineers, I imagine,” he added, when Alex drew level with him. “Holed up here with wounded, probably. We'd better take them alive, if we can.”

The village was small, a mere cluster of reed-thatched huts running down to a stream and screened by trees. At first sight it appeared to be deserted, save for a little group of women engaged in washing their household linen at the river's edge who, with shrill cries of fright, flung themselves into the water at the sight of the approaching horsemen. Then a horrifying apparition emerged from one of the huts and came stumbling across the intervening space toward them, voice raised in an ear-splitting scream.

The fugitive was half-naked, a European or an Anglo-Indian, Alex decided, judging by the colour of his skin, but so hideously mutilated that his face bore little resemblance to that of a human being of any race. Nose, ears, and both hands had been hacked off and heavy iron fetters trailed from his ankles, as the unfortunate man dragged himself unsteadily through the dust and filth of the rutted cart track which served the village as a street. The crackle of musketry momentarily drowned his screams and three or four shots whined above his head or buried themselves in the dust at his feet. Intent only on escape, he ignored them, struggling manfully on, until a single, well-aimed shot stopped him in his tracks and he fell awkwardly forward onto his tortured face.