The Cannons of Lucknow (17 page)

“Naik Sita Ram, First Sepoys!”

Alex turned and made his way with slow deliberation through the closely packed crowd to the gateway, not caring whether Neill noticed his departure or not. He had stood enough, he thought, sickened. War was one thing but this … dear heaven, this was quite another, and as a soldier he deplored it. Reaching the gateway, he turned for a moment to look back and saw, a few paces behind him, the young Native Infantry officer who had earlier questioned General Havelock's sanction of his successor's order. The boy was white and tense but he managed a wan smile, and when he realised that Alex was waiting for him, caught up and walked with him through the gateway.

“I could not stick any more of that,” he confessed. “But I was afraid I'd have to until I saw you leaving, sir. I kept thinking, you see, about those who died here … the women and children, I mean, who were massacred in that house. Would they have wanted to be avenged in such a manner?
Could
they have wanted it?”

“‘That it may please Thee to forgive our enemies, persecutors, and slanderers, and to turn their hearts,'” Alex quoted softly. “I found that passage from the Litany heavily underscored in a prayer book which one of them dropped, so I think the answer to your question is—no, they would not. They kept their faith to the end and I feel sure that not one of them would have wanted to deprive even their murderers of the hope of life after death.”

“Did you know any of them, sir, or have relatives among them?” the boy asked and, when Alex nodded, he went on, a catch in his voice, “My eldest brother was in General Wheeler's garrison, with his wife and two little girls. Edward Vibart … he was a major in the Light Cavalry. He—did you ever meet him, sir?”

“Yes, I did.” Alex looked at his companion with quickened interest. Eddie Vibart had talked of a brother, he recalled, when he and Francis Whiting had consigned a brief, pencilled account of their ordeal to a bottle, which they had dropped into the river on the last day of their flight. “Didn't you go to Fategarh to visit friends?”

“No, that was John. I'm Tom—Thomas Meredith Vibart, sir, Thirty-Seventh N.I. Poor old Johnny is missing too. I'd hoped that
he
had managed to escape, but they tell me that none of the Fategarh garrison survived.” Tom Vibart sighed disconsolately. “They defended the fort for as long as they could and then tried to get through to Cawnpore by river. They couldn't have been aware of the situation here when they made
that
decision, could they, sir?”

“No,” Alex confirmed. “They could not.” He wondered whether to tell the boy what he knew of his brothers' fate and decided against it. Now was not the time; the lad was already upset, and no doubt an opportunity would arise later on, when he would be better able to take it in without distressing himself. “Come back to camp with me, Vibart,” he invited, “and we'll have a drink together—I think we could both do with one.”

They collected their horses and rode through the motley crowd of natives still thronging the approaches to the Bibigarh. The rain had ceased and a watery sun lit the domes and minarets of the city to a soft and lovely radiance, belying the horrors with which now the name of Cawnpore would be associated in the minds of both British and Indian, perhaps for generations to come. Alex shrugged off his depression and, anxious to change the subject, questioned his companion about the mutiny in Benares and the disarming of the 37th. The boy was anxious to talk and replied readily to his questions.

“General Neill had just arrived with a small party of the Fusiliers when we received news of the mutiny of the Seventeenth at Azimgurh. The Brigadier commanding in Benares, General Ponsonby, who, with our Colonel Spottiswoode, had been reluctant to disarm our men, finally agreed that it would have to be done. He was ill—indeed, sir, I don't think the poor old man was really aware of how badly disaffected our fellows were—and he wanted to put off the disarming until the following morning but …”

“But General Neill insisted that it must be done immediately, did he not?” Alex suggested.

“Yes, sir. And I'm sure he was right.” Tom Vibart spoke with conviction. “We didn't have above two hundred Europeans, apart from the Fusiliers General Neill brought with him, who were quite done up. That is to say, we had a hundred and fifty men and two officers of the Tenth Queen's and Captain Olpherts' nine-pounder battery, with thirty gunners. The Loodiana Sikhs were believed to be loyal, though, and they, with a squadron of the Thirteenth Irregular Cavalry, were ordered to stand by in case they were required to back up the Europeans. The trouble began when our regiment, which had been ordered to muster without muskets, refused to do so. They gathered round the bells of arms, giving every sign of insubordination. Colonel Spottiswoode lectured them and they seemed prepared to obey the order when General Ponsonby turned out the Tenth and, as they approached the parade ground, our men, believing themselves threatened, broke open the bells of arms. They seized their muskets and opened fire on the Tenth, killing four of them. Well, of course, the Tenth returned their fire and so did the Artillery.” Young Vibart shrugged helplessly. “It was all tragically mistimed, sir. Our men started to retire toward their lines, firing wildly at any officer they saw. General Ponsonby fell—or dismounted, I'm not sure which—from his horse, and General Neill assumed command. He was directing an attack on our regiment by the Europeans and the Sikhs when the Cavalry shot down their commander, Captain Guise, and their
rissaldar
galloped to the front, yelling that they had mutinied and calling on the Sikhs to join them. The Cavalry were to the rear of the Sikhs and they started to loose off with their carbines. The Sikhs were confused. They turned to fire on the Irregulars and some of them fired on Captain Olpherts' gunners who, of course, poured a hail of grape into them. It was a truly appalling shambles, sir, and that's the truth.”

“Do you think the Sikhs intended to remain loyal, then?” Alex asked.

The boy nodded. “Yes, I think they did. Those who were on treasury guard and other duties didn't mutiny. But when those on the parade ground suddenly found themselves attacked from both front and rear, they tried to defend themselves. Colonel Gordon, their commandant, said afterwards that he owed his life to the loyalty of his native officers and, when it was all over, quite a substantial number of his men formed up round him and, under his orders, aided the British troops in clearing the mutineers from the lines. But it was done with fearful slaughter, sir …” He talked on, describing how the sepoys of his regiment had barricaded themselves in their huts, from which they had only been driven when Captain Olpherts' battery took up a raking position and fired round after round of grape into them, at a range of 250 yards.

He himself had been wounded, together with three other young ensigns attached to the 37th, their British quartermaster-sergeant, and Captain Dodgson, the acting major of brigade, who had been shot down whilst making a gallant attempt to retrain the Irregular Cavalry from throwing in their lot with the mutineers.

“They took us to a fortified enclosure that had been set up on the parade ground, where the surgeons did what they could for us. But there was no further attack and next day we were all removed to the Mint, a strong building with a flat roof situated between cantonments and the city, which had been previously selected as an asylum for the women and children in case of a disturbance. There were about a 150 of us, all crowded into one room; the British troops had been out all night, bringing in families, some of whom had terribly narrow escapes, because the mutineers were plundering and burning and firing on any white face they spotted. Next day, General Neill sent out parties of Fusiliers and the 10th and most of the Pandies fled. Any who were captured were brought back and hanged. But”—Tom Vibart glanced at Alex—“they were simply hanged, sir. And order was very speedily restored. There was nothing like—like the ghastly business we witnessed here today.”

“No,” Alex said, his voice without expression. He asked a few more general questions and then enquired, smiling, if Vibart had fully recovered from his wound.

“Oh, yes, sir,” the ensign assured him. “I was lucky. One of the fellows with me—Hayter, of the 25th, sir—died of his wounds, and Chapman, who was shot in the face, is to be sent home as soon as he is fit to travel. But mine were just flesh wounds and they've healed.”

“You came on with General Neill, I suppose?”

“Yes, sir. I was given a temporary attachment to the 84th and I could remain attached, I suppose. But frankly, sir, I'm looking for a chance to join General Havelock's Movable Column. I don't want to stay here if I can help it.”

Alex eyed him thoughtfully. Tom Vibart was just the kind of recruit he wanted, and if he proved even half as good as his elder brother had been, he would be worth his weight in gold to the Volunteer Cavalry. “How would an attachment to the Cavalry appeal to you?” he asked, his smile widening. “Barrow's Horse is looking for good men.”

“How would it appeal … good Lord, sir, it would appeal more than anything in the world! I'd give my eyeteeth to serve with the Volunteer Cavalry! Can you—I mean would you consider putting in a word for me?”

“I'll do better than that, Tom,” Alex promised. “If you can obtain your C.O.'s permission, collect your kit, and report to me, with your horse, at the landing place by four o'clock this afternoon, I'll take you with the rest of the new recruits to Captain Barrow, and I'm quite certain he'll accept you.”

Tom Vibart stared at him in open-mouthed astonishment and then gave vent to an excited exclamation. “That's simply wonderful! Bless your heart, sir—I'm truly grateful, believe me. I … may I know your name, sir? You didn't mention it and I—”

He had earlier avoided making any mention of his name or of his connection with the Cawnpore garrison for the boy's sake, Alex recalled, but he gave his name, expecting a spate of questions, and was relieved to see that his latest recruit appeared to attach no significance to it. They had their drink together in a virtually deserted mess tent, and then Tom Vibart excused himself in order to seek out his commanding officer and obtain the required permission to transfer to the Volunteers.

When he had gone, Alex ordered lunch and the
khitmatgar
was serving his coffee by the time the other members of the mess returned from the Bibigarh. He listened in silence to their comments on the unpleasant spectacle they had all been compelled to witness, thankful that, with three or four exceptions, they condemned the blood-cleansing as barbaric and likely, when the details became known to the populace at large, to do more harm than good. Appealed to for his opinion by a stout, red-faced captain in one of the Queen's regiments who had defended the principle of savage punishment for all mutineers, Alex endeavoured to evade the question, but the Queen's officer persisted.

“Oh, come now, Colonel Sheridan! I'd respect your view. You were with Wheeler's garrison—you were present when the Nana's troops betrayed your friends at the
ghat
. You saw them brutally and treacherously murdered—would
you
advocate mercy for the Pandies, damn it?”

“No, I would not,” Alex returned shortly. “But I would advocate justice.”

“Justice?” the captain exclaimed. “What do you mean, sir? Wasn't it justice that we saw being done today at that ghastly prison house, where over two hundred of our women and children were butchered?”

“Perhaps justice was done to the
jullad
but not, in my view, to the sepoys.”

“Why not to the sepoys, for God's sake? They're all tarred with the same brush, aren't they?”

Several others joined in, and the discussion was becoming heated when the captain, his plump face redder than ever, grasped Alex's arm and said aggressively, “I asked for your opinion, Colonel Sheridan.”

Reluctantly and choosing his words with care, Alex said quietly, “The punishment for mutiny is death; the rebels know that and accept it. There's no question of showing mercy to men who betray their salt, and any sepoy who bears arms against us is aware of what he may expect if he is captured. But to go further—to defile a Brahmin before hanging him is, in my considered opinion, gentlemen, to defile ourselves as Christians and to deny the principles of justice and humanity by which we have sought to govern an alien race. We shall deserve to lose India and our own lives if we permit such things to be done.”

There was a stunned silence, and then a dark-faced Fusilier subaltern said angrily, “They are a conquered race! We govern by right of conquest, sir.”

Alex was suddenly angry. “Our conquests were made with sepoy armies. The blood they shed gained us India.”

“And yet now they've betrayed us,” the Fusilier lieutenant objected. “Virtually the whole Bengal Army is disloyal, if not in open rebellion against us!”

“We commanded their loyalty in the past by respecting their religious customs and scruples,” Alex told him. “It is the fear that we have ceased to do so that has brought about this mutiny. The fear is real—the sepoys believe that we have set out deliberately to destroy their caste system, thereby compelling them to abandon their own faith and embrace ours. What was done here today will lend credence to that belief and rouse the peasants as well as the sepoys to rebellion. Indeed if—”

“You Company officers are all the same!” the stout captain put in resentfully. “Right up to the moment when the sepoys held their muskets to your heads, you and others of your kidney wouldn't hear of the possibility that they would mutiny, Colonel Sheridan. ‘Our men will never betray us,' you said. And ‘We must show no mistrust of our loyal sepoys and all will be well.' Poor old Wheeler trusted the swine, didn't he? He was a sepoy general, for God's sake … and they hacked him to pieces in flagrant betrayal of the terms of surrender they had sworn to keep!” He spluttered indignantly and then returned, like an angry bull, to the attack, ignoring all attempts to interrupt him. “Yet when a vigorous and farsighted commander like General Neill repays them in their own filthy coin, you squeal about justice and humanity and try to tell us that we must respect their religious scruples! You blame
us
for causing the mutiny … you, sir, whose bones—but for the grace of God—would now be whitening on the riverbank with those of our countrymen and women who did
not
escape!”