The. Heroic Garrison k V. A. STUART. The Alexander Sheridan Adventures, No. 5 MCBOOKS PRESS ITHACA,NEW YORK

Transcription

1 k The Heroic Garrison k V. A. STUART The Alexander Sheridan Adventures, No. 5 MCBOOKS PRESS ITHACA,NEW YORK

2 PROLOGUE s j IN THE WHITE-WALLED palace once occupied by Ali Naqui Khan, prime minister to the deposed King of Oudh, the Moulvi of Fyzabad, Ahmad Ullah, waited with thinly disguised impatience for the arrival of an emissary from the Nana Sahib of Cawnpore, to confer with whom he had been summoned from the battle raging in the neighborhood of the Moti Mahal Palace. Several hundred British troops General Havelock s rearguard were caught, like rats in a trap, in the Moti Mahal, together with their wounded, their ammunition wagons, baggage train, and heavy caliber guns. Unable to follow the main body into the Lucknow Residency the previous evening, their attempt at first light to smuggle out some of their wounded had resulted in the slaughter of at least forty of them... although the rest, due to the bungling of the sepoy officers in command, had been permitted to escape. But one of the heavy guns, which had wrought such havoc with those of the sepoy General of Artillery, Mirza Guffur, was now jammed across a narrow passageway, unable to move and under such heavy musketry fire that the gunners could not use it. The gun a valuable prize in itself could be theirs for the taking, the Moulvi reflected angrily, if only the musketeers valor were equal to their marksmanship. But none dared risk his For Historical Notes on the Mutiny, see page 243, and for a Glossary of Indian Terms, see page

3 worthless life by approaching it, and Mirza Guffur, old woman that he was, had refused to lead a party, with gun-bullocks, to remove it. His own call for volunteers and his promised reward had met with only halfhearted response... they were cowards, these miserable dogs of sepoys, reluctant to fight, concerned only with how much plunder they could amass, to enable them to return, as rich men, to their villages.time and again, they allowed themselves to be routed and put to flight by a mere handful of feringhi soldiers who as they had done that morning, in defense of the laden doolies containing their wounded charged almost contemptuously with the bayonet, aware that no sepoy would face up to them. It had been the same at Cawnpore and in every battle fought between Allahabad and Lucknow, and the cavalry even the much vaunted Company-trained Light Cavalry had acquitted themselves no better. Havelock s puny force of Volunteer Horse all of them officers, admittedly had numbered only twenty when they left Allahabad but, even when many of the Irregulars had deserted and come over to the Nana, they had put the whole of the Light Cavalry to shame at Fatepur and again in the battle for Cawnpore.The Moulvi s sallow face suffused with resentful color. Never had he been more humiliated than the day before yesterday, when his own picked body of horsemen had displayed a craven reluctance to engage their British foes, despite the lead he had given them. As a result, instead of taking two of their guns and making the feringhi Colonel Sheridan prisoner, he had himself only just contrived to evade capture and his witless followers had allowed themselves to be led into an ambush. Sheridan, even with a lost sword-arm, bore a charmed life he had survived the Cawnpore massacre and now, presumably, had entered Lucknow with Havelock s force. Indeed, he had been reported as one of a 12

4 party of cavalry that had made a sally from the Residency during the early hours of the morning, although the identification had not been positive and the promise of substantial reward for proof of his death or capture had, as yet, borne no fruit. The Moulvi s dark, beetling brows met in a scowl as he crossed to a balcony overlooking the river. The Residency lay a mile to the east, on the opposite bank of the river, but in imagination he saw its battered, shot-scarred walls and the defiant flag, fluttering from its rooftop flagpole in the faint evening breeze. Even at sunset, it was never lowered, and however many times it was shot down, it was never left like that for more than a few hours one or two of the garrison invariably risked life and limb to hoist it again. The flag was a symbol of the might of the British Motherland, as well as of the Company s threatened Raj. Reminded of this, the Moulvi s lips tightened into a thin, hard line. So long as it flew, the garrison would not surrender. Halfstarved, deprived of all the comforts and luxuries previously considered a necessity by the British if life in India were to be sustained, their women and children dying of dysentery and fever and their wounded for lack of medical supplies, yet they had held out for over three months. Now that they had been reinforced and their casualties made good by the two thousand men of Havelock s column, they would, the Moulvi did not for a moment doubt, fight back like tigers, so long as any hope of relief remained. Havelock had proved himself an able commander in the field, and Outram s record was, perhaps, the best of any of the British generals, his courage second to none. But...The Moulvi moved restlessly away from the balcony and started to pace the cool, lofty-ceilinged room, his frown deepening. If the Nana and Tantia Topi could be persuaded to attack Cawnpore and then, with the Gwalior Contingent, sweep south 13

5 on Allahabad, to intercept the British troops on their way upcountry, it would be a different story. Deprived of their promised relief, the Lucknow garrison could be starved into submission... especially if now or within the next few days, they were compelled to dissipate their fighting strength by warding off a series of resolute and well-planned attacks. Those now surrounded in the Moti Mahal the original rearguard and the five hundred or so men sent to their aid from the Residency and occupying two of the adjacent palaces must on no account be allowed to escape. They were burdened by their camp-followers, their wounded, and by the heavy guns. When darkness fell, they were almost certain, despite this morning s setback, to make a second attempt to reach the Residency, by way of the river bank and through the gardens and buildings at its edge. If a trap were set for them, the doolie-bearers could be counted on to abandon their burdens in panic-stricken flight and then... the Moulvi expelled his breath in a long-drawn sigh. With the loss of a third of his red-coated soldiers, even the redoubtable General Outram would be compelled to come to terms, and the story of Cawnpore, repeated in Lucknow, would strike terror into the hearts of the British.The setting of the trap would require careful timing and firm leadership; he could not trust either Mirza Guffur or the white-bearded old nanny-goat the sepoys had elected as their general, Gomundi Singh. If the plan were to succeed, he would have to attend to the matter himself and lead the attack in person, trusting in Allah to give sufficient courage to his followers to carry out the orders he had given them. His mind made up, the Moulvi ceased his restless pacing and, to the servant who answered his impatient shout, he gave brusque instructions to summon the officers that he had requested the Begum to appoint to his personal staff. 14

6 They came, saluted him respectfully and listened in dutiful silence to his orders. He was explaining these in detail when his visitor, the stains of travel now removed from his person, presented himself, accompanied by a tall, slim man in native dress, who took up a position in the shadows at the back of the room. Azimullah Khan came forward, smiling. His greeting was less respectful than that of the sepoy officers had been, but his pleasure in their reunion was, the Moulvi decided, genuine. He had grown in stature and also in arrogance since the days in Cawnpore, when a word or even a gesture had sufficed to bring him running, eager to serve without question... But now, as the Nana s envoy and his trusted lieutenant, Azimullah evidently considered himself the equal of his one-time mentor and his opening words reflected his new-found self-confidence. Ahmad Ullah, my brother, I rejoice to see thy face again! My thoughts have been often of thee during the past weeks. Dismiss these good fellows he waved a graceful hand in the direction of the little group of sepoy officers, who were eyeing him with undisguised curiosity I have matters of some moment to speak of, but what I have to say is not for other ears. What I have to say to my officers is also of some moment, the Moulvi pointed out dryly. We are at war here. Deliberately taking his time, he repeated the instructions he had given earlier but with more emphasis, and had the satisfaction of seeing Azimullah s eyes widen, as the significance of his carefully chosen words became clear. Thou art indeed at war here! the younger man exclaimed, a note of envy in his voice. He brushed an imagined speck of dust from his chapkan and sighed. But think st then that the British will simply walk into this ambush? They are not fools. They will have no choice, the Moulvi assured him. They 15

7 have many wounded, whom they dare not abandon. If we appear to withdraw our troops when darkness falls, they will make an attempt to break out and reach the Residency. And they will bring their guns with them, as well as the wounded General Havelock does not like to lose guns, and these are twenty-fourpounders. Such guns are cumbersome and the road is narrow. They will never reach the Residency with them. They reached the Residency yesterday, Azimullah reminded him, with conscious malice. Did they not? Not without loss. The Moulvi dismissed his staff and went on, without troubling to lower his voice as they filed out. Our men will not stand up to them the accursed feringhis wear a mantle of invincibility in sepoy eyes. Let a lal-kote come face-toface with them and they turn tail one cannot expect the citizens of Lucknow to do better than trained soldiers of the Company s Army. They fight well enough from behind defensive walls and trenches but in the open... He shrugged contemptuously. They run like the curs they are! Perhaps they lack the leadership to which they are accustomed, Azimullah suggested. He exchanged a swift, covert glance with the man who had accompanied him, still standing in the deepening shadows beside the curtained doorway, as if anxious to avoid attention. He did not speak, and Azimullah went on, an oddly cruel little smile playing about his lips, Without their feringhi officers to give them orders, few of the Company s soldiers fight well. Could this be because they do not trust their own kind to command them? It was thus at Cawnpore, during the siege and after... the sepoy commanders cannot or will not enforce discipline. Doubtless it is the same here, Moulvi Sahib, and for that reason 16