Guns to the Far East (21 page)

“Brigadier Neill's justice,” the youthful Commander of a patrol of Police sowars told them, his tone cynical, when they halted at his camp-site. “There used to be a lot more … hang 'em first and prove their guilt afterwards, those were his orders and his Blue Caps carried them out, until old Havelock put a stop to it. But it's going on still in Cawnpore. Neill's dead, I know, and he died fighting his way into the Lucknow Residency, but drumhead courts martial and indiscriminate hangings aren't really the best tactics if you're hoping to settle the country.”

Captain Peel exchanged a wry glance with Phillip but said nothing.

At the village of Thurrea, after an overnight ride of twelve miles, their small party caught up with the siege-train and its escort. Scarcely had they dismounted at the camping ground than the convoy Commander, Colonel Powell of the Queen's 53rd, sought out Peel in a state of some agitation.

“I've just received a report that a force of rebels—made up of the mutinied Dinapore regiments, with some Irregular Cavalry and three guns—has crossed the Jumna and is preparing to launch an attack on Futtehpore,” he announced breathlessly. “As no doubt you are aware, Captain Peel, we have only a small outpost garrison in a fort near the town—a company of the 93rd Highlanders and a battery of artillery and they're in danger of being wiped out or compelled to withdraw. Futtehpore is an important link in our line of communication. All our columns have to pass through the town on their way to Cawnpore and, in my considered opinion, we cannot afford to let it fall into the hands of the enemy. My orders are to escort your siege-train to Cawnpore without imperilling its safety but …” He hesitated, his faded blue eyes holding an eager gleam of anticipation as he studied William Peel's face. “The report is reliable—it's come from the outpost Commander, Captain Cornwall.”

Peel gripped Phillip's arm. “Let's look at the map,” he requested and then, as the convoy Commander clicked his tongue impatiently, “What do you propose to do, Colonel?”

“Strike camp at once and march to intercept them,” Colonel Powell answered. “We can be in Futtehpore by midnight and join up with Cornwall's Highlanders before the Pandies realise what we're up to—they're still about 25 miles to the north-west. Somewhere near a village by the name of Bindki.” He jabbed at the map Phillip spread out in front of them. “That means they've almost certainly come from Kalpi … and that's where the Nana's supposed to be, is it not? The bloody swine responsible for the butchery of our women and children in Cawnpore! For God's sake, Peel, this is an opportunity we've
got
to take …” He talked on, explaining his proposed plan of action and Phillip, studying the map over his Commander's shoulder, listened with growing excitement.

It was risky, he was aware; the column was strong enough for its purpose, which was to guard the slow-moving seige-train and the long line of lumbering bullock waggons along the wellpatrolled Grand Trunk Road. But with no cavalry to reconnoitre the enemy position and a bare two hundred and fifty infantrymen to put into the field … He heard Powell say that, in addition to his infantry, he had some seventy Royal Engineers.

“I can use them in the line if necessary,” the 53rd's Commanding Officer asserted. “With your seamen and Marines and at least a company of Highlanders, we could muster what? Five hundred bayonets, plus your field-guns. Leave the siegetrain and ammunition and baggage waggons in the fort at Futtehpore and press on to Bindki at first light tomorrow and we'd have the element of surprise in our favour. By heaven, I believe we could do it! What's your opinion, Captain Peel? The alternative is to occupy the fort at Futtehpore and wait for them to attack us—which, in my view, would almost certainly cause them to shy off and leave the swine free to attack other convoys and outposts between here and Lucknow.”

“How many are they, sir?” Peel asked.

The Colonel shrugged. “Between two and three thousand, according to the report. Two thousand are sepoys in uniform.”

William Peel folded the map and passed it back to Philip, his movements calm and deliberate. “My twenty-four-pounders travel deuced slowly,” he warned. “But by all means let us make a forced march to Futtehpore, sir. We can make our final decision when we get there.”

Camp was struck and the head of the column arrived at the Futtehpore camping ground just before midnight, to find Captain Cornwall and his Highlanders, with two 9-pounder guns of the Bengal Artillery, waiting for them. “Intelligence from spies confirmed the presence of the mutineers near Bindki,” he said, and added, smiling, “Their cavalry are no longer with them—they've apparently gone off foraging on their own, leaving their infantry brothers from Dinapore to make camp at a place called Kudjwa, which is roughly twenty miles from here.” He glanced expectantly at Colonel Powell. “We can get the siege-train into the fort while your fellows bivouac and break their fast, sir, and be ready to move off at first light. And …” He paused to make certain that his words would have the effect he was obviously hoping for, his gaze now directed at Peel. “I'm aware of the importance of this convoy, sir, but my spies tell me that they recognised the Nana of Bithur and one of his leading generals—a fellow named Teeka Singh—with the rebels, who number nearer four thousand than two. We shall need your naval rifle company, sir, and your nine-pounders.”

Colonel Powell slapped his thigh and swore, loudly and vehemently. “Well, have you made up your mind, Captain Peel?” he demanded. “Are you with us?”

Peel nodded. “I'm with you, sir, as long as my big guns can be safely parked.”

The march was along a narrow, rutted road through kneehigh cornfields and across a wooded plain, interspersed with
jheels
which the recent monsoon rain had swollen to the size of miniature lakes. Only two halts were made, the men plodding doggedly along, many of them footsore and limping as the sun rose higher in the sky and the early morning chill turned to sultry heat, sapping at their strength and causing them to sweat profusely. They had covered sixteen miles when the third and final halt was called to consume haversack rations and the half-dozen mounted Police sowars, who had accompanied the column, were sent forward to reconnoitre.

Shortly after one o'clock the march was resumed and, at 1:30, after passing through the village of Bindki, Peel returned from a brief conference with Colonel Powell to announce that the rebel force had been sighted—as expected, near the village of Kudjwa—where they had made camp the previous night. Bugles shrilled and the Highlanders spread out to lead the advance in skirmishing order through fields of growing corn, supported by the detachment of Royal Engineers who, Phillip observed, had fixed bayonets on hearing the call to advance and pressed forward with great eagerness.

The 53rd and the Naval Brigade followed, still in column of march and the 64th's detachment, many of whom were recovered invalids, formed up in the rear to protect the baggage waggons and hospital
doolies.
Peel ordered four of the field-pieces brought up and, after an anxious inspection of the flagging gun-bullocks, gave directions for their positioning to Lieutenant Young and rejoined Phillip and Edward Hay, the rifle company's Commander, on the road.

“The rebels are occupying a line of hillocks to the left of the road,” he told them briskly. “Their line is partly screened by a grove of trees and it continues to the rear of the village … something like this.” With the toe of his boot, he traced the outline in the sand of the road. “Their guns are in the centre, two posted in front of the village itself and covering the approach to it and a third further back, mounted on a wooden bridge which spans a small stream—fordable by the look of it. The distance between the guns is approximately forty yards. Colonel Powell has ordered our four forward guns to engage theirs and give covering fire to the skirmishers, while he endeavours to turn their left flank with his light company, making a detour to the right of the road and using the village to cover his advance.” Again his foot moved, describing an arrow in the sand. “He'll aim to take the bridge-mounted gun and the right-hand one from the rear—provided he can get his fellows across the stream—leaving the Highlanders to take the left-hand one, with the Marines in support, moving in from our left. The Bengal battery will engage the enemy line from the road. Is that clear?”

“It's clear, sir,” Edward Hay confirmed, without enthusiasm. “But what about us? Do we just sit here?”

Peel put an affectionate arm round his shoulders. “Don't be idiotic, Ted my boy!” he admonished. “We go in to the right of the 53rd, taking Garvey's nine-pounder with us, and carry the left of the enemy's line whilst Powell's lads are dealing with the guns. Does that satisfy you?”

Hay beamed. “It does indeed, sir. And what about the Nana?
Is
he with his niggers up there?”

“There's been no mention of his presence, alas. But—” Peel broke off with a smothered exclamation, as one of the enemy guns opened fire and a roundshot came bounding down the road ahead of them. The range was extreme and it rolled harmlessly out of sight, as the head of the column halted and the 53rd swiftly deployed, taking ground to the right of the road. Colonel Powell could be seen, mounted on a big bay horse, waving with his drawn sword to the men of his regiment to commence their detour. Scorning cover for himself, he trotted along the narrow, dusty track, directing the skirmishers, who were pushing forward on either side of him, the Highlanders half hidden amongst the sprouting corn, firing as they advanced with the practised skill of well-trained infantrymen. The Engineers, over-eager and untrained in skirmishing tactics, ran into a storm of grape from the two advanced enemy guns before Lieutenant Young got his nine-pounders into position, unlimbered, and opened a rapid and accurate fire which won a welcome respite for them.

To the left of the road, the two guns of the Bengal Artillery also opened and Phillip saw Thomas Grey moving up in the wake of the Highlanders with his redcoated Marines, the sun striking bright reflections from their steel-tipped Enfields as they advanced steadily through the trampled corn. Ahead of them and to their left, the fire of the British guns flushed out a number of rebels who had been concealed in the grove of trees in front of their entrenched position. Most were sepoys in uniform, who fled back to their comrades in the rear, pursued by a hail of Minié and Enfield bullets.

Peel said formally, “Be so good as to advance with your company in support of the Fifty-Third, Mr Hay.”

Hay's “Aye, aye, sir!” was a trifle strained and, dropping formality, the
Shannon
's Commander added, with a grin, “Let's see what sort of soldiers our Jacks are … keep well to the right, Ted, my boy, and use your cover for as long as you can. Then have at 'em with the bayonet!”

Hay's riflemen acquitted themselves well. Their weariness forgotten, they advanced through the trampled corn to charge the rebel line like veterans the instant they were clear of it, cheering wildly and those lining the embankment behind the village—again sepoys in white and scarlet—fired a last spasmodic volley and took to their heels. The single field-gun ordered to support them, commanded by a young acting-mate, Henry Garvey, lost two of its gun-bullocks and, finding that the rest would not advance, the gun's crew cut the traces and, with Peel and Phillip lending their shoulders, they manhandled the nine-pounder into position by the edge of the stream. From there, Garvey and his team fired shell after shell into the enemy-held hillocks, wreaking terrible execution amongst its yelling defenders.

But the line was a long one and, to the left, heavy toll was being taken of the advancing Highlanders and Engineers who, facing a steep slope, were unable to get to close quarters with the sepoy musketeers entrenched among the hillocks above them. Gradually they were being forced to fall back to the road to escape the deadly fire directed on their flank, the Marines— although better positioned—having to fall back with them. The two guns which had been the 53rd's objective had been taken, however, Phillip saw, as he and Peel and the two naval cadets forded the shallow stream to join Hay's company in their newly captured position. The third gun could just be seen through the drifting smoke, no longer firing, its gunners apparently about to withdraw with it, for horses had been brought up and already two were harnessed to an ammunition tumbril.

Colonel Powell had evidently realised their intention, for his stentorian bellow rose above the crackle of musketry. Phillip grasped Peel's arm, pointing through the smoke to where twenty yards ahead of his own men, the Colonel was galloping straight for the retreating gunners.

“He'll get himself killed!” Peel rasped. “And”—he had his glass to his eye—“devil take the Pandies! I believe they're moving out to attack our rear. Over there to the left, Phillip—d'you see them? They …” His voice trailed off as Cadet Lascelles' high-pitched treble announced that the Colonel had fallen. Peel dispatched the boy with an order to Lieutenant Young to move two of his guns to counter the rebels' new threat and scarcely had the cadet departed on his errand than one of the 53rd's officers—an ensign, with blood streaming down his face—came stumbling to a halt beside Peel.

“The Colonel's been killed, sir,” he gasped. “Captain Mowbray requests you, as senior officer, to take command. Two of their guns are in our hands, sir, but they managed to make off with the third, I'm afraid.”

“Right,” Peel acknowledged. He sounded calm and confident as he said to Hay, “Hold on here, Mr Hay. I'll send another gun to your support as soon as I can. I'm going to launch a counter attack through the village and try to split their force. If it's successful, don't wait for orders—go in behind them and cut off their retreat. If it's not, fall back on our guns.”