The Heroic Garrison Read online

  The jemadar of the guard approached the chattering escort suspiciously. He had already seen one doolie pass, with the wounded Nana in it, and he paused, pulling back the curtain of the second, to exclaim in horror as he recognized its occupant.

  “It is Colonel Singh!” he said, addressing Kedar Nath. “What is happening, Subedar-ji? And”—he caught sight then of Alex— “where are you taking the sahib?”

  The havildar answered him, eager to assert his new authority. He gave a garbled and highly colored account of all he had witnessed in the audience chamber, ending with the order he had received from the Moulvi.

  “Is this true, Subedar Sahib?” the jemadar asked, his jaw dropping. “Surely it cannot be! Surely—” he was interrupted by a warning shout from one of the sentries.

  “Jemadar Sahib, there are armed men in the courtyard—many of them! Mounted men, they—”

  “Our men?”

  “Nahin, they are not ours. Mahratta horsemen, they—it seems they are waiting for someone. But the Nana Sahib has already departed.”

  Alex was conscious of a coldness about his heart. It was not hard to guess for whom the Nana’s Irregulars were waiting or for what purpose, and he said, as the jemadar agitatedly made for the open postern gate, “Do not show yourself, Jemadar-ji.They wait for us.”

  The native officer took heed of his warning. He peered cautiously out into the moonlit courtyard and returned, visibly shaken. “There are nearly a hundred of them—Mahrattas, without a doubt. Sahib,” he appealed to Alex, “why do they wait for you?”

  “That they may kill us,” Alex told him bluntly. “You also, if you enter the courtyard.”

  Kedar Nath confirmed his assertion, an edge to his voice.

  “Will they seek to force their way into the palace?” the jemadar asked.” If they do, we are too few to oppose them.We—” apprehensively, he ordered the postern closed but before the order could be obeyed, the havildar pushed officiously past him. “You seek to trick me!” he complained. “There are no horsemen, there . . .” they were the last words he spoke. Scarcely had he emerged into the courtyard than the horsemen closed about him and the two sentries, posted at the head of the steps, came rushing back into the dimly lit hall, impeding each other in their frantic efforts to close the gate behind them.

  “They have borne the havildar off,” one of them screamed. “Like a sack of rice, flung across the saddlebow of their leader!” The jemadar cursed him automatically and again appealed to Alex. “What are we to do, Sahib? It seems you speak truly and they are indeed waiting for you.That misbegotten dog of a havildar will tell them that you are here and . . . whose head do they seek, Sahib? Yours or the subedar’s or,” his gaze went uneasily to the doolie, “that of Colonel Singh, who is surely even now breathing his last?”

  Kedar Nath attempted to speak, but Alex laid a restraining hand on his arm. “I fancy they may be satisfied with mine alone,” he answered grimly. “And they shall have it, if there is no other way.”

  It would be quick, he told himself, bouyed up by a fatalistic resignation that banished fear. If he resisted them, the tulwars would strike swiftly, since all the plotters required was to ensure his silence. Azimullah had virtually made sure of Kaur Singh’s and the word of an old native officer, unsupported, would carry little weight, even with the Moulvi . . . insufficient, in any event, to harm the Nana or Man Singh.

  “Sahib,” Kedar Nath whispered urgently. “It was arranged that we should make our escape by the west gate. Our horses wait there and an ekka, in the charge of Daffadar Mohammed Khan. The passageway behind us leads to the west gate.”

  “Then go, Subedar-ji,” Alex bade him, “when you see your opportunity.”

  “Not without you, Sahib. I—”

  “They will not let me go,” Alex returned flatly. He crossed to the door, the jemadar, as he had expected, in anxious attendance and, bending his head, studied the well-mounted horsemen in the courtyard beyond, his eye to one of the loopholed apertures. They were the Nana’s men—his personal bodyguard, judging by their accouterments—and undoubtedly he had sent them back to waylay the havildar’s small escort of sepoys as they left the Kaiser Bagh with their prisoners. Probably their orders had been to leave none alive to tell of it or place the blame where it belonged but, due to overeagerness, perhaps—or even arrogance— they had exceeded their orders and allowed themselves to be seen. Soon they would realize their folly and withdraw from the courtyard, to wait in the darkness at the roadside, as, had they been well commanded, they should have done initially . . . Alex breathed a silent prayer of thankfulness, blessing their unknown leader for his mistake. It gave him a chance, he thought, albeit a slim one, but he would have to grasp it quickly, before the horsemen withdrew. And certainly before the meeting in the audience chamber came to an end . . . he made a swift inspection of the massive, iron-bound door and, turning to the jemadar, said crisply, “Post every man you have at the loopholes, Jemadar Sahib!”

  “The loopholes? Will they attack us, then?” The jemadar’s apprehension was in his eyes. “I will send for reinforcements and a gun. A six-pounder, Sahib, loaded with grape.”

  Alex shook his head. “I do not think they will attack, but if they do, you can hold them off without difficulty from here. Twice the number of mounted men could not force a door as stout as this against your men’s muskets.”

  “Perhaps not,” the jemadar conceded, only half-convinced. But he posted his men in accordance with Alex’s advice and again mentioned the possibility of sending for a gun.

  “That would be unwise, Jemadar Sahib.Those men are Mahrattas in the service of the Nana of Bithur . . . they are your allies, are they not?”

  “Supposedly, Sahib. They escorted the Nana from here, but why have they come back, if not to attack my post?”

  “I tell you, they seek for us,” Alex said impatiently. “If they believe we have gone, they will withdraw and seek us elsewhere. There are many other ways out of here—they cannot guard all the exits. You will have to send us by another way, Jemadar-ji, and, when we have gone, open the gate to their commander, so that he may see with his own eyes that we are no longer under your guard. Then they will do you no harm.”

  The jemadar hesitated, torn between the desire to save his own skin and the fear that he might be held responsible for the loss of his prisoners. “I can spare you no escort—” he began uncertainly. A shout from one of the musketeers cut him short.

  “They are sending Havildar Dass to the foot of the steps, Jemadar Sahib! He demands that his prisoners be released to him.”

  Again the jemadar hesitated in an agony of indecision, fear flickering in his eyes, and Alex, sensing that he was tempted to accede to the havildar’s demand, sought desperately for some means to prevent him from doing so. It was Kedar Nath who made up his mind for him. The old subedar had waited, kneeling beside the doolie and refusing to take his chance of escape alone, and now he got to his feet and said, a note of authority in his voice, “Colonel Singh is dead.Yield his body to the Mahrattas, my brother, and should you be called upon to account for your actions, say that all three of us passed, with our escort, through your post and into their hands. Thus no blame will fall upon you. Direct the Mahrattas to the south gate in pursuit of us and they will leave you in peace.”

  Thankfully the jemadar accepted this solution. “Go, Subedar Sahib!” he urged, his voice trembling on the edge of panic. “Go with all speed, you and the Sahib. I will delay the pursuit as long as I can.”

  Kedar Nath grasped Alex’s arm. He ran, with surprising speed for a man of his age, finding his way unerringly through the maze of passages and corridors, some of which were unlit. They were not challenged; no sentries appeared, and it was not until they reached the rear of the palace that Kedar Nath turned aside. “The door is guarded,” he said breathlessly and led the way into a dank, cellar-like room, from which a window opened onto the courtyard beyond. Pulling back the shutters, he invited Alex to precede him. They climb
ed silently through the window and crossed the courtyard cautiously, keeping in the shadows, to pass through a series of unguarded godowns and finally, to Alex’s heartfelt relief, a familiar voice hailed them. Ananta Ram, Man Singh’s vakeel, sounded worried as he greeted them.

  “We had despaired of your coming, Sahib, and were on the point of departure, fearing that you had been taken. Indeed, had it not been for the baba sahiba, panic must have seized us and we should have gone an hour ago.”

  “Baba sahiba?” Alex questioned, doubting the evidence of his own ears. “Not one of the Sitapur babas, Ananta Ram?”

  “Ji-han, Sahib—she lies sleeping in the ekka.” The stout Brahmin gestured ahead of them to a clump of trees and broke into a shambling run. “Hurry, Sahib, I beg you, for it will soon be light and you must set off at once for the Residency. The daffadar, Mohammed Khan, waits to escort you and with him a cossid, who will go ahead to warn the British sentries of your coming.”

  They gained the shelter of the trees, Alex having to assist Kedar Nath now, for the old man was spent and breathless, stumbling with exhaustion. The ekka, drawn by a single, raw-boned horse, stood waiting, with Mohammed Khan at its head, a dark-faced man in the garb of a servant at his side, holding three saddled horses, his gaze anxiously on the already lightening sky. But he said nothing, and, on receiving a nod from Ananta Ram, he relinquished the horses’ reins to his companion and padded off into the darkness without a backward glance.The cossid, Alex’s mind registered, grateful for the forethought of whoever had provided him. He returned Mohammed Khan’s salaam with genuine warmth and then asked, as Ananta Ram approached him, “You spoke of a child, Vakeel Sahib—a British child. But what of her parents?”

  “She is the child of the Sitapur commissioner, Sahib. Both her parents are dead. That is why Orr Sahib asked me to take her . . . I carried her here myself, covered by my robe.” The vakeel’s plump face was wreathed in smiles. “She is a beautiful, golden-haired child who, despite all she has suffered, beguiled the anxious time of waiting with her laughter. And now, as I told you, she sleeps in the ekka. She will give you no trouble, Sahib.” He drew back the curtain of the ekka and a knife twisted in Alex’s heart as he looked down at the sleeping child, thin to the point of emaciation in her ragged dress, yet still—as Ananta Ram had said—a beautiful child, who reminded him poignantly of little Jessica Vibart.

  “What of the other Sitapur prisoners, Ananta Ram?” he asked huskily.

  “Sahib, it was impossible to bring them also,” the vakeel answered regretfully. “We had thought to do so but, with the exception of Orr Sahib, they are so weak and ill, they cannot walk.And he would not leave them. ‘Take the child,’ he bade me. ‘Take only the child’ . . . and I did as he asked. I was to tell you that her name is Sophie Christian and that Orr Sahib has every trust in Wajid Ali, who is doing all in his power to care for and protect them. Sahib . . . you must start on your way. To delay here longer will be dangerous. Conceal yourself in the ekka, I pray you . . . and once inside, keep the curtains closed and do not show yourself. The daffadar has a permit to convey his wife to his village and that will suffice to get you past the sentries, so long as they do not see your face.”

  Alex was about to do as he suggested when he remembered Kedar Nath. “Do you come also, Subedar Sahib?” he asked. “Will you return to the Company’s service?”

  The old subedar hesitated and then shook his head. “I remain, Sheridan Sahib. I shall take service with the Rajah Man Singh.”

  “That is your last word?”

  “Yes, Sahib, it is. Like you, I must say that I fight for a cause. Would that it were your cause, but, since it is not, we must go our separate ways.” He drew himself up and saluted, and only then did he utter a reproach. “You fired your pistol at the wrong man, Sheridan Sahib,” he added softly. “Had your bullet found the heart of him for whom it was intended, many lives would have been spared.”

  Alex could give him no answer. He wrung the hand of Ananta Ram and climbed into the ekka in silence.The child did not stir as the shabby vehicle creaked on its way through the darkened streets.They had barely a quarter of a mile to go, but Mohammed Khan took a circuitous route, approaching their destination cautiously.Twice he was challenged, but each time was permitted to pass, his claim that the ekka contained the women of his zenana unquestioned and seemingly too commonplace to be doubted. A detour took them across a patch of open ground and the sound of galloping hooves set Alex’s taut nerves jangling, but the horsemen swept past, ignoring the slow-moving ekka, and Mohammed Khan called back contemptuously, “Irregulars, Sahib—riding like madmen who chase the wind!”

  The Nana’s bodyguard, Alex thought, still engaged on their vengeful search—the jemadar, for all his indecision, had evidently delayed and successfully misdirected them. He breathed a sigh of relief as the pounding hooves receded and the daffadar whipped up his laboring horse. Little Sophie Christian wakened with the swaying of the ill-sprung ekka and began to sob, terrified at finding herself alone in the company of a stranger, but Alex took her gently on his knee and after a while, her fears subsided and she slept again, her head trustingly on his shoulder and her hand clasping his.

  She was still sleeping when a patrol of the 78th Highlanders came to meet them, issuing like ghosts from behind their defensive perimeter to surround and bring them to a halt. Their commander drew back the curtain of the ekka and grinned delightedly as he held out his arms to relieve Alex of the sleeping child.

  “Colonel Sheridan? I’m Lockhart, sir, in command of this post.We were warned to expect you . . . but not this poor, sleepy little angel.” He jerked his head in the direction of the sandbagged perimeter wall. “Be so good as to follow me and your daffadar also. I have instructions to take you at once to General Havelock, who wishes to congratulate you personally on your escape. Er . . .” he paused, his smile widening. “One of my fellows is anxious to offer his congratulations, too, sir—before the general has that privilege. Sarn’t Hollowell!”

  The small, wiry figure that came running toward him was instantly recognizable, despite the addition of sergeant’s stripes to the tunic.Alex held out his hand, but Hollowell, correct as always, swung him an impeccable salute before grasping it.

  “Welcome back, sir,” the Highlander said, beaming. “We’d almost gie’n you up, but I kenned you’d make it if you could. Ye’re no’ the kind to gie up hope, are you, sir, ever?”

  Perhaps he wasn’t, Alex thought, feeling suddenly weary. Or perhaps he was living for the day when, at last, he would see the Nana of Bithur brought to justice. “Some of us must live,” poor Vibart had said, after the massacre at the Suttee Chowra Ghat. “Our betrayal has to be avenged.We’ve no choice but to fight on . . .”

  “No,” he said, wringing Hollowell’s hand. “I don’t give up hope, Sergeant Hollowell—ever.”

  EPILOGUE

  SIR COLIN CAMPBELL left Cawnpore on the afternoon of November 10 and reached Buntera that evening, having covered 35 miles in a little over three hours. Waiting eagerly for his arrival were Hope Grant’s column from Delhi and his own small Lucknow Relief Force.

  Next morning, Henry Kavanagh, the government clerk turned volunteer soldier—whose services as guide had proved so valuable to Sir James Outram’s officers, when making their various sorties to extend the Residency defenses—miraculously appeared in camp.The big Irishman was disguised as a native, having made his perilous way through the enemy lines during the night, accompanied by a cossid named Kananji Lal. The two men had waded naked across the Gomti River, their clothes carried in bundles on their heads, Kavanagh losing much of the lampblack with which he had daubed his face and arms, but they emerged unobserved, dressed, and threaded their way right through the heart of the city without mishap. Once an officer questioned them and let them go; twice they lost themselves in the open country and were within twenty yards of an enemy gun battery in the Dilkusha Park before getting their bearings, and later Kavanagh’s efforts to persuade a pea
sant to guide them resulted in the man’s alarming his whole village. Pursued by the village dogs, he and his companion blundered into a swamp, in which they waded waist deep for two hours, but eventually some fleeing villagers put them on the right track and they made contact, at last, with a British picket, and the Sikh officer in charge passed them through to the camp.

  Kavanagh described his arrival in graphic words. “The day was coming swiftly brighter when I approached the tent of the Commander-in-Chief. An elderly gentleman with a stern face came out and going up to him, I asked for Sir Colin Campbell. ‘I am Sir Colin Campbell,’ was the sharp reply. ‘Who are you?’ I pulled off my turban and, opening its folds, took out the short note of introduction from Sir James Outram.” *

  Aided by Kavanagh’s intimate knowledge of the terrain and by the dispatches and plans sent to the Alam Bagh by Outram, Sir Colin Campbell put the final touches to his plan of action, which had been partially worked out while he was still in Calcutta. He knew what severe casualties Havelock’s advance through the narrow, heavily defended streets of Lucknow had entailed and was therefore determined to give the city a wide berth. He decided to make a flank march across country to the Dilkusha Park and the Martiniere, rest his troops overnight, and then cross the canal. After this, he would seize the Sikander Bagh and the old barracks of the 32nd from open ground, with the river covering his flank, advance under cover of batteries to be opened on the Kaiser Bagh—the rebels’ key position—and carry the intermediate buildings, after these had been subjected to a preliminary bombardment by Peel’s naval guns and rockets.