“You have heard the terrible news from Cawnpore, Captain Broome, so you will understand my anxiety. The situation in Oudh is extremely precarious. I have the greatest confidence in Sir Henry Lawrence, but with Lucknow now besieged by thousands of mutineers and Cawnpore taken, there is little even Sir Henry can do to restore peace in the province. At all hazards, we must send relief to him. General Havelock has set out from Allahabad, as probably you have heard, but he has barely a thousand European troops under his command. And Colonel Neill’s advance force-led by a Major Renaud, I believe-is now in grave danger of being cut off and annihilated. It will be a miracle if General Havelock can catch up with them in time.” He turned his tired gaze on General Grant, and the Madras commander in chief responded with a gruff-voiced confirmation of what he had said.
“If my ship can be of service,” Red began, “I-was
The governor general cut him short.
“Colonel Birch has explained your position, Captain, and I fully understand that you are under orders from the Admiralty to join Admiral Seymour’s flag in China. I shall countermand those orders, having, of course, informed Admiral Seymour that I have done so. You have already been of service by conveying the detachment of Royal Engineers to us from Singapore, for which I am immensely grateful.”
He paused, glancing again at Sir Patrick Grant.
The general said crisply, “Colonel Birch says you’ve been supplied with all your needs and are ready to put to sea-that’s right, I take it? And the Royal Engineer detachment has
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dis
embarked?” Receiving Red’s confirmation, he went on.
“Then Colonel Birch will prepare your orders, Captain. As soon as you receive them, you will sail for Madras, take on board units of the Madras Artillery with their guns, and convey them here with all possible speed. Your orders will be addressed to Brigadier General Carthew, of the Madras Presidency Army, who will also take passage with you. You will need to load your frigate to the limit of her capacity.”
“I understand that, sir,” Red acknowledged. “Rest assured that I shall do so.”
The governor general permitted himself a brief smile and held out his hand. “I am greatly indebted to you, Captain Broome, believe me.
Do you have any questions for either General Grant or myself, before we continue to keep up the appearance of unruffled calm for the benefit of our guests?”
Red hesitated and then, encouraged by Lord Canning’s smile, asked diffidently, “On a personal matter only, Your Excellency, if I may take up your time.”
“Of course, my dear fellow. Ask away-we’ll answer you if we can.”
“Thank you, sir. I-was Red phrased his question as concisely as he could. “My sister and her husband, Colonel William De Lancey, are in
Ranpur, one of the Oudh outstations. William is commanding a native cavalry regiment there, the Fifth Oudh Lancers. And his brother is my first lieutenant. I wondered if-that is to say, if your lordship had any news from that station? I comneedless to tell you, I am anxious, sir.”
It was the military secretary who answered him.
He said gravely, “The only news we have had from any of the outstations is three weeks to a fortnight old, Captain Broome. I recall that we received a telegraphic message from the district commissioner in Ranpur, via Lucknow.
It was to the effect that the garrison had mutinied,” but … it was one of many, alas, and I do not remember the details. However, if you would care to accompany me to my office, I will have the duty officer extract the message from the files, so that you may read it for yourself.”
The message-when the officer on duty hunted for and finally produced it from a stack of others-sent Red’s hopes plummeting. With stark brevity, the district commissioner had informed
Sir Henry Lawrence that with all three native regiments having thrown off their allegiance and, in some cases, murdered their officers, the Europeans, both civil and military, had taken refuge in his Residency, which they were defending against attack by the mutineers.
“We have our women and children with us,” the message concluded, “numbering over sixty, and have so far, by the grace of God, kept our attackers at bay.
It is our intention to try to make our escape by river, when boats and provisions can be procured.
An attempt is to be made by volunteers to blow up the magazine, to prevent it from falling into the hands of the sepoys.”
“Since that message was received, I do not think we have heard anything further, Captain Broome,” the colonel said regretfully. As Lord Canning had done, he offered his hand. “I’m sorry to be unable to tell you more. One can only pray that your sister and her husband are safe. I recall meeting them two or three months ago, when they arrived here from-from Australia, wasn’t it? Colonel De Lancey is a fine soldier and the bearer of a most distinguished name. He-was
The young staff officer, who had continued to search the files, interrupted him with a smothered exclamation and rose, a flimsy sheet of paper in his hand.
“Colonel, there was a second message from Ranpur-I thought I remembered receiving it. It came through four-no, five days ago, sir, at the end of one of Sir Henry Lawrence’s reports.
It says, Captain Broome, that the survivors of the Ranpur garrison, including the women and children, were preparing to evacuate by river, the Residency being no longer tenable. Look, sir, here it is.”
Red scarcely glanced at it, his gaze going to the large-scale map of Bengal that hung from the wall of the office. He found Ranpur and searched for the name of the river by which the survivors of the garrison would seek escape. Fergus Maclaren’s sketch map had marked its course, but … on the military secretary’s wall map it was clearly printed, and he drew in his breath sharply as he read the name. The Ganges-the great waterway that carried much of the trade of India northward from Calcutta, to Benares and Allahabad and … Cawnpore!
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Ranpur was northwest of Allahabad, he knew, a hundred miles or more, and … Red’s finger traced the river’s curving course.
In a strangled voice, he said, “Dear God, they must have been hoping to make for Cawnpore! They couldn’t have known of the-the surrender! They couldn’t have known that General Wheeler’s people had been betrayed and massacred!”
“No,” Birch confirmed. “They could not. My dear fellow-was He laid a hand on Red’s arm, “I’m most damnably sorry. But don’t lose hope.
This message is at least five days old, and we don’t know when it was sent. It was probably by cossid
comby native messenger-which could have taken much longer.
The news could have reached them before they left for Cawnpore. And there are many tributaries of the Ganges-look, they are shown clearly on the map.
It’s possible that their boats could take a different route.”
“Yes, sir.” Red had himself under iron control.
“I will inform you if any further news comes in before you sail, Captain,” the older man promised.
Red thanked him and took his leave, to return, in brooding silence, to his ship. With a heavy heart, he summoned Francis De Lancey to his cabin and related all he had learned from Lord Canning and his staff.
By the following day, when his orders were delivered and he prepared to receive the pilot, there had been no further news of the fate of the Ranpur garrison.
Jenny De Lancey crouched on the dusty, littered floor of Commissioner Melgund’s drawing room and caught her breath as a round-shot, fired with alarming accuracy from one of the mutineers” nine-pounder guns, struck the window above her head. The glass had long since been shattered, and the shot, meeting no impediment, passed over her to hit the opposite wall. It lodged there, bringing down a shower of plaster but, to her relief, doing no serious damage.
Nevertheless, it set three or four of the older children crying out in fear, and Jenny, anxious that they should not waken the others, propped the heavy musket she had just loaded against a chair and crawled back, on hands and knees, to try to comfort them.
“It will be dark soon, Andy,” she told the commissioner’s nine-year-old son. “They will have to leave off then.”
It was not true; the firing slackened during the hours of darkness, but it never ceased altogether and, indeed, had not let up for more than a few minutes at a time since the first attack had been launched on the Residency building, three days before. Andrew Melgund was an intelligent boy, and Jenny sensed that he was not deceived by her attempt at consolation, but, evidently recognizing it for what it was, he managed a smile and sternly bade his small sister dry her eyes and go back to sleep.
“You don’t want to disturb the little ones, Rosie.
It’ll be bedlam if you start wailing and wake them up!”
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Rosie was only five, a delicate little creature with deep blue eyes and a head of golden hair, which, normally done in ringlets by her ayah,
her native nurse, now hung in dust-caked dishevelment about her pale, tear-wet face. She did not argue, and when Jenny settled her more comfortably on the cushions spread about the floor, she closed her eyes obediently and drifted back into exhausted sleep.
The others-the two Lund girls and Bella Gillespie’s son, Tommy-followed her
example, as weary and dispirited as she, and Martha Lund, stretched out on a sofa at the far side of the room, smiled her thanks. She was in the seventh month of pregnancy and, Jenny thought pityingly, must be enduring intense discomfort, for the room was hot and airless, and until darkness fell, none of the Residency’s hard-pressed defenders dared risk an attempt to draw water from the well, which was a scant twenty yards across the rear compound. The sepoys had posted sharpshooters in a nearby banyan tree to keep it under fire, and what drinking water remained in the stored
chattis
had to be hoarded and given only to slake the thirst of the smaller children and the more seriously wounded.
Already there were over a dozen wounded, and the toll was mounting. There would be more, probably, when William’s volunteers fought their way back from the magazine, they were able to fight their way back, and .
. . Jenny’s throat was tight. If they were even able to reach the magazine without the sepoys divining their intention. Oh, dear God in heaven, she thought despairingly, what chance would they have, five men, armed only with pistols, against the mob of sepoys and townsfolk ranged against them? The fewer the better, William had insisted. Five of them, with faces blackened and native robes draped over their uniforms, would have a slim chance-the only chance-of reaching their objective. And perhaps-From the window she had left, Jenny heard the crack of Major Lund’s rifle, and recalled to her self-imposed task of acting as his loader, she returned to take the Enfield from him and place the Brown Bess musket in his outstretched hand.
He did not thank her; the resentment he had displayed so openly, when William had arrived in Ranpur to take over command of his regiment, still lingered in the cold gray eyes. It was not easy, even now, to forget Marcus Lund’s hostility, the lukewarm welcome he had offered them at the end of the long, exhausting journey upcountry by steamer, horse-drawn cart, and finally by country boat. And Jenny had not forgotten it, although Martha, kindly soul that she was, had tried very hard to make up for her husband’s unyielding discourtesy.
And William had made allowances for it; he had attempted to explain to her, Jenny remembered, sought to rationalize it.
“Marcus Lund’s whole life has been spent with the Lancers, Jenny, and his father’s before him. The regiment is his life, and it’s only natural that he should resent a stranger-and a Queen’s officer into the bargain-being given the command over his head. He’s years older than I am, and he’s known most of the men ever since they joined the regiment. He speaks their language as well as they do, whilst I’m still struggling to make myself understood. He’ll come round, I feel sure, given time, when he realizes that I’m not trying to supplant him, simply to work with him and learn from him.”
But they had not been given time. The mutiny in Ranpur had come too soon, too suddenly.
William had sensed the danger; it had been plain for an outsider to see, for the tension had been there, mounting with each day that passed. But Marcus Lund had obstinately refused to believe that his Lancers-his beloved sowars, as they were called-would betray their trust or question the paternal authority he had always exercised over them.
“My sowars will be true to their salt,” he had asserted, over and over again. “Whatever Jeremy Roach’s Rifles do, or the police. They’re blasted Hindus, most of them, and my fellows are Muslims-they’ll never form any sort of alliance with unbelievers.”
He had been proved wrong, Jenny thought unhappily. He and Colonel Roach, commanding officer of the Oudh Irregular Rifles, who had held similar views concerning his sepoys, had both been proved wrong when news of the outbreak in Meerut and the capture of Delhi had reached the garrison, borne by
fakirs
and itinerant
sadhus,
holy men who had entered the native lines in secret to spread the tidings among their men. And, because of his refusal to believe in the danger, still less to take
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steps to meet it, Commissioner Melgund had delayed implementing the precautions William had repeatedly urged” on him.
“At least fortify the Residency,” William had pleaded. “Make arrangements to bring in all European and Eurasian women and children from the cantonments at the first sign of trouble. Bring in provisions and look to your stock of water, sir, so that you’re ready to receive them. And hire boats and set a European guard on them.”
“But if we do that, Colonel De Lancey,”
Melgund had answered, “it would suggest that we expect
the troops to mutiny. It might even provoke them, since they would suppose that we do not trust in their continued loyalty.”
He had said it on the last occasion that she and William had dined in the Residency, Jenny recalled with a pang-dined by candlelight, waited on by obedient, well-trained native servants in government livery, and with sentries of the Rifles standing guard at the gates. But Colonel Roach and his gray-haired, forthright wife had been their fellow guests, and it had been to their quite contrary opinions that the commissioner had listened.