Jack Windrush Collection

Chapter 8

Ten years. Jack leaned on the rail of the Peninsula and Oriental liner Ripon and watched the harbour lights of Southampton fade into the bleak distance. The homesickness increased as nausea rose in his throat. The authorities had told him the 113th would be in India for at least ten years. He would not see England again until he was thirty years old; if he survived. The steady chunk of Ripon"s paddles only increased his depression.

"Cholera, fever, loneliness, a hundred different types of diseases they have not even identified yet." The educated tones drawled out the words in between long pulls at his cheroot. "You are going all the way out East, are you not?" His eyes were fringed with lashes as long as any girls.

"I am," Jack agreed. He didn"t feel like talking.

His companion did. "I thought so; you have the look of a man who is saying goodbye to England for a long time." He took another pull at his cheroot. "It can"t be long enough in my case." He tossed the cheroot over the rail and watched it spiral down until the dark water extinguished it.

He wants me to ask why.

He wants me to ask why.Jack said nothing. The lights of Southampton were a dim glimmer through the haze.

"Do you know India?" The man lit a second cheroot.

"I was born there," Jack said unguardedly.

The man raised a weary eyebrow. "Oh, an Anglo-Indian are you?"

"No – military." Jack resented the implication that he was from one of the civilian families who made their careers in India.

"Military background? I didn"t see you at Addiscombe." The dark brown eyes were as innocent as Eve"s serpent.

Addiscombe. That"s the training school for the army of the Honourable East India Company; he is a John Company officer.

Addiscombe. That"s the training school for the army of the Honourable East India Company; he is a John Company officer."I wasn"t there," Jack said.

"You"re in a Queen"s regiment then; which one?" The questions were relentless as the officer probed deeper into Jack"s situation.

Jack nearly gagged as he spoke the name. "113th Foot." He couldn"t hide the bitterness as he added, "The Baby Butchers."

The officer gave a little smile. "I am George Lindsay, soon to be of the Madras Fusiliers." He held out his hand. "What name did fate bless you with?"

Jack took the hand. "I am Jack Windrush."

Lindsay leaned slightly closer. "Windrush – now there"s a famous name. You"re not related to the Windrushes, are you? The famous Fighting Will of the Royal Malverns?"

Jack instantly denied any family connection. "Only by name."

"I thought not. If you were, you"d be going into the Royals and not the 113th ."

"Exactly so," Jack nodded. "But I am only going into the 113th." He thought he saw smug contempt flick across Lindsay"s face. "You"ll be spending your entire John Company career in India then?" Jack shook his head slowly. "I"ve heard there is plenty of money to be made if you survive." He stepped back from the rail; the lights of England had disappeared behind a wall of mist, and his past must vanish as completely. "Now, I must get ready for my career serving the Queen. You fight for the profits of fat merchants; I fight for my country."

And to get my name and honour back, but that is none of your damned business.

And to get my name and honour back, but that is none of your damned business."In the 113th, old man, you only fight children and civilians." Lindsay appeared unruffled. "Your regiment has an unfortunate tendency to run away from real soldiers; especially Indian ones." He waved his cigar in the air, winked and sauntered away.

He"s right, damn him!

He"s right, damn him!Jack opened his mouth to argue, decided he couldn"t and stomped to the deck below. He shared his cabin with two other young India-bound officers, both of whom talked of nothing but glory and women.

"I"ve fixed my eye on that brunette looker," Ensign Rands announced, "she"s the gal for me."

"Oh my word,." Cornet Simpson"s affected drawl did nothing to hide the acne that disfigured his face. "She"s a delicate piece and makes the most of it, don"t you know?" He yawned openly. "My preference is for that lively blonde. She"ll be a Cheapside bargain." He looked at Jack. "How about you, Windrush old man?"

"Women are a distraction," Jack said and sought solitude on a ship where that was a scarce commodity. When promenading passengers crowded the upper deck, Jack found a small space in the darkness of the cable store, lit the stub of a candle and studied his profession.

When the weather turned wild in the Bay of Biscay, the upper deck was remarkably clear, so Jack positioned himself beside the upside-down launch and began to study military manuals. "Courage, above all things, is the first quality of a warrior," he read as the spray spattered around him. He lowered Clausewitz"s On War when he heard a familiar laugh.

On WarEnsign Lindsay and Cornet Simpson faced toward him as they spoke animatedly to a tall woman in a blue boat-cloak. As Jack watched, the women laughed again and turned her head, allowing him to see her face.

Good God, what are you doing here?

Good God, what are you doing here?Lucinda Harcourt looked directly at him. "Is that Ensign Windrush?" She raised a white-gloved hand in salutation. "Won"t you join us?"

"Do you know that bookish fellow?" Lindsay asked. "I"m afraid he much prefers his own company to that of ours." He slipped a hand through the crook of Lucinda"s arm. "I do believe he doesn"t care for ladies, either."

Jack opened his mouth to retaliate but closed it again. Clausewitz says: "If the leader is filled with high ambition and if he pursues his aims with audacity and strength of will, he will reach them in spite of all obstacles." Lucinda is merely another obstacle to my aim. I will not weaken at the first hurdle.

Clausewitz says: "If the leader is filled with high ambition and if he pursues his aims with audacity and strength of will, he will reach them in spite of all obstacles." Lucinda is merely another obstacle to my aim. I will not weaken at the first hurdle."Oh!" Lucinda gave him a look of astonishment. "I see. Well, Ensign Windrush, we will leave you to your own devices on this occasion, but your future company would please me very much."

"Oh, leave him, Lucinda, he"s a queer fish." Simpson dismissed Jack with a sneer. Lucinda awarded Jack with a small smile and waved her hand at him behind her back as she promenaded along the canting deck with her companions.

Clausewitz welcomed Jack back.

"Are you joining us for a hand of whist, Windrush? Lucinda and Harriet will be there." That was a daily invitation in spells of clear weather, and Jack gave a reply that gave rise to much amusement and not a little contempt.

"I have too much to do; you carry on."

"Oh, he certainly doesn"t like the company of ladies," Lindsay said.

When they called at Gibraltar to re-coal, Jack accompanied Lindsay and the others for a tour of the fortifications, asked many questions and took notes of the answers. He nearly missed the ship as the Grand Harbour fortifications in Malta engrossed him, ignored a squall as they neared Egypt and stood aside while his peers rushed ashore in Alexandria to test out their theories about the delights and souks of Egypt.

"Do come along Ensign Lindsay. I have heard so much about these romantic Oriental bazaars, and I need a chaperone, father says."

As Lindsay tipped his straw hat and rushed to obey Lucinda, Jack hefted his single trunk over his shoulder and negotiated the gangplank.

"Is he a pederast I wonder?" Simpson asked in a shocked whisper.

"I imagine that might be the case," Lindsay replied.

A pederast! Jack shuddered. One hint of homosexuality will blight my career and ruin my reputation for all time. Whatever courageous acts I perform, however good a soldier I am, will not matter if they think I am guilty of that most unspeakable of all sins. I must try to talk to Lucinda, at least. There will be an opportunity when we travel along the canal.

A pederast!One hint of homosexuality will blight my career and ruin my reputation for all time. Whatever courageous acts I perform, however good a soldier I am, will not matter if they think I am guilty of that most unspeakable of all sins. I must try to talk to Lucinda, at least. There will be an opportunity when we travel along the canal.Jack followed the others into an open boat that someone may have cleaned in the previous year. He watched clamorous boatmen attaching the tow, wiped sweat from his forehead and mustered a smile for Lucinda and dragged his brain for something to say. "Did you have success at the bazaar, Miss Harcourt?"

"We bought the most wonderful things!" Lucinda sat close. Jack flinched at the touch of her hand on his arm. "A carving of a sphinx that is three thousand years old." She displayed her treasure for Jack"s education.

It was rough sandstone, crudely carved. "Are you sure this is genuine?" Jack held it up.

"Of course, I"m sure!" Lucinda snatched it back at once. Hot eyes replaced her incipient smile.

"Of course, Lucinda is sure," Lindsay echoed. "You ignore him, Lucy; he"s not worth your time." He put an arm around her as the tow began with a jerk.

"I meant no offence, Lucy," Jack said.

"My name is Lucinda." She silenced him with a look that would have caused the Biblical plagues to flee from Egypt.

The ten-hour journey up the Mahmoudieh Canal to Aftieh would have been uncomfortable enough with just the hot sun and rough benches to contend with, but Lucinda"s turned shoulder and Lindsay"s barbed comments made things infinitely worse. Jack barely noted the fellaheen working on the canal bank or the long strings of camels that patiently plodded past.

When they reached Aftieh, Lindsay helped Lucinda up to the quay and guided her on to the slightly scruffy steamer that took them to Cairo. Jack huddled in the lee of the paddle-box and looked miserably at the beautiful feluccas that sailed the Nile waters as they had for centuries.

"I"ll be grilled long before we even get to India," Rands complained as he looked at the carriage that was to draw them across the desert from Cairo to Suez. Six mules stood patiently, waiting for the eighteen-hour drag. Behind the rickety wagon, a score of Egyptian workers piled British baggage onto a string of lean camels.

"You"ll get used to the heat." Jack found himself enjoying the high temperatures. "I was born out East."

"That might explain rather a lot," Lindsay said as he fanned Lucinda.

"True English never get used to the heat." Lucinda raised her face to the draught of hot air. "Father told me that."

"Perhaps Windrush is only part-English," Simpson said. "He certainly has dark enough hair to pass for a native, and I have noticed he does not suffer in the heat as we do."

"Withdraw that!" Jack knew he couldn"t let such an insult pass.

"It was said in haste,." Lucinda shook her head. "Really, Jack, you must put a curb on that hot temper of yours!"

"His hot temper must come from a hot climate, eh Windrush?" Lindsay turned away, leaving Jack with nobody on whom to vent his frustration.

From Suez, it was another voyage on Oriental across the painted Indian Ocean to Madras. They disembarked at the dock, with the ensigns and cadets split up with handshaking and promises of eternal friendship. Jack watched Lindsay accept a folded note from Lucinda, took a deep breath and lifted his single trunk. He had neither need nor money for a porter.

"Our life begins here." Rands looked around at the confusion of noise and colours, the press of people, the beggars that held out hopeful hands and the thin thread of British officers who pushed through, each man an island amidst a breaking ocean of Indian humanity. "I wonder if we"ll ever get used to this place."

"You hate India for a month and then love it forever." Jack quoted a family saying. He had vague childhood memories of the noise and bustle and colour of this country and here he was experiencing it again as if the intervening fifteen years had never been.

"Where are you off to?" Rands asked.

"Calcutta," Jack said, "and wait for marching orders."

"I"m off to the Frontier," Rands said, "Peshawar and all points north." His grin was triumphant. "Where "Where is the august 113th based?"

"All over the shop,." Jack tried to keep the despondency out of his voice. "But nowhere near the Frontier. Assam, Arracan, Bengal … everywhere they are not needed."

Rands sucked in his breath. "All on the East side of India? Hard luck, old man." He lifted a hand in farewell, turned his head to the north and stalked away, with his head and shoulders rising above the mass of the crowd.

Lucky beggar.

Lucky beggar.Jack watched him go, balanced the trunk on his shoulder and then searched for transport.

Fort William was the principal military base for Calcutta, but Jack felt nothing but gloom as he mingled with hordes of soldiers, sick with identified or unidentified fevers and all clutching medical certificates to take them back home. The streets were dim and the humidity oppressive; during the day the population was ill-tempered, and at night the streets were dark, with the few oil lamps emitting as much smoke as light.

He stood outside his quarters, a tiny dark building where the air that penetrated only added malodour from the street outside to the stinks from the lack of sanitation within.

Well, this is India, my home now. I hope I don"t have to wait long for my marching orders.

Well, this is India, my home now. I hope I don"t have to wait long for my marching orders.He looked up as a massive bird hovered above, so close that it blocked the only shaft of sunlight to brighten the street. Jack looked up and waved his hand in a vain attempt to scare it away.

"I wouldn"t do that, ensign," a malarial-faced major with hollow eyes scolded him. "That"s an adjutant bird. There are standing orders that to kill or even injure one is gross misconduct, and you don"t want that as the start of your career." He peered at Jack"s uniform and demanded, "How long have you been out East?"

"I just arrived, sir."

The major grunted. "Ah, you"re a complete Griffin. Of course, we expect that sort of thing from Griffs."

Don"t argue with a superior officer. "I won"t shoot any adjutant birds, sir, despite my inexperience."

Don"t argue with a superior officerThe major frowned. "Watch your words, ensign; they"ll get you into trouble if you"re not careful." He looked upward. "There"s a storm coming in. You"d best get shelter for the night."

"Yes, sir." Jack watched as the major marched away. He couldn"t have been more than forty, but he looked like twenty years older. But he was still a British soldier, straight-backed and proud.

"Ensign Windrush?" The corporal was gaunt and worn, with a face bronzed by a decade out East.

"That"s me, corporal."

"General Beaumont sends his compliments, sir, and could you report to him at once."

"Thank you, corporal,." Jack returned the salute as formally as he could.

Beaumont is somewhere on the other side of Calcutta. How the devil am I to find my way there? There"s never a gharry-wallah when you want one, and anyway, they might not be working with the weather deteriorating as it is. I"ll have to walk.

Beaumont is somewhere on the other side of Calcutta. How the devil am I to find my way there? There"s never a gharry-wallah when you want one, and anyway, they might not be working with the weather deteriorating as it is. I"ll have to walk.Jack signalled to one of the many natives who crowded near the British quarters hoping for employment. "You, fellow, do you know where General Beaumont might be?"

The man nodded and bowed, holding his hands before him, and his palms pressed together.

"Take me there, will you?"

Jack didn"t see from where the man obtained a lantern. "This way, sahib." He set off at a smart walk, turning every few seconds to ensure Jack had not fallen behind. Jack watched the lamplight flickering on the wiry, near-n***d brown body and found he was smiling with half-forgotten memories from his childhood.

I remember you, or men very like you. You"re as tough as teak, and you never give up.

I remember you, or men very like you. You"re as tough as teak, and you never give up.The wind increased minute by minute until pieces of rubbish skipped through the streets, and people searched for shelter within the dingy houses. Within fifteen minutes tree branches flew free and white European faces peered anxiously from windows as brown-faced servants struggled to close clattering shutters. Darkness fell as swiftly as it always did in the tropics, so only the dim light from the lantern was left, flicking back and forth as the wind caught it.

The street ahead was narrow, empty of people except those who had nowhere else to go; Jack saw a Company cornet fighting to hold his hat on his head, a pair of pencil-thin sweepers searching for shelter, a beggar hiding his battered bowl within the scanty folds of a filthy loincloth. Jack saw their faces as a series of vignettes, big eyes and open mouths set against faces scared or resigned and then vanishing again as the wind flicked the lantern light away.

Then the light was blown out. The dark was sudden, frightening with the violent gusts of wind as the unseasonal cyclone battered Calcutta.

"Halloa! The light"s gone out!" Jack yelled. "Come back, fellow! Lantern wallah!"

There was no response except the rising howl of the wind, the batter of flapping shutters and the clatter as gusts blew objects around the narrow street. A large section of wood crashed against the ground a few feet from Jack, then something that shattered into a thousand shards on his other side. Palm fronds flapped in a crazed frenzy somewhere close by, heard but unseen in the dark.

There was a terrible c***k of thunder followed immediately by a flash of lightning that temporarily illuminated the street ahead, showing whirling rubbish, crashing shutters and torn branches of trees. The returning darkness seemed all the more intense after the brilliant light. Jack took a deep breath and moved on, hoping to dodge the worst of nature"s missiles and find General Beaumont"s quarters.

He walked straight ahead, trusting in luck not to fall over anything and cursing when something caught him a glancing blow on the leg. Only when the lightning flickered again did Jack realise he had taken the wrong route. Rather than walking along a relatively broad street, he was in a morass of tiny, flat-roomed houses separated by alleys so narrow he wondered how any human could negotiate them. He sensed that a score of predatory faces had turned to watch him intrude into their private world.

"You don"t belong here." The voice came from the deep dark.

"I am a British officer." Jack felt for the pepper-pot revolver at his belt.

"I know sahib, and this is no place for a British officer."

Jack peered into the night. "A British officer can go anywhere in India."

The resulting laugh was more amused than insulting.

"Show yourself, damn you! Stop hiding in the shadows and face me like a man!" Jack pulled out the revolver.

"Is this British officer so scared of a voice in the dark that he has to use a pistol?" The tone was gently mocking.

"Who are you? Damn your hide!" Jack stood still, aware he was being ridiculed but not sure what to do. Mercifully another flash of lightning showed a broad-shouldered man in a blue turban a few feet from him.

"Ranveer Singh," the man said, and added as instant darkness returned, "I was once a soldier of the Khalsa."

"You are a Sikh." Jack aimed his revolver.

"I am a Sikh," Ranveer agreed, "and I fought against the British in two wars, but we are no longer enemies, so you do not need the pistol."

"What do you want with me?" Jack asked.

"I want to stop you from getting killed." Ranveer had to stand sideways to squeeze through the narrow alley. "A pack of these dogs might murder a lone British officer on a dark night. Where are you going?"

"I am heading for General Beaumont"s headquarters." Despite Ranveer"s words, Jack didn"t holster his pistol.

"I will take you," Ranveer said "Follow me, sahib." When he left the alley, Jack saw that the tulwar in his belt had a silver handle.

This man was no ordinary soldier of the Khalsa. He is an officer and a gentleman.

This man was no ordinary soldier of the Khalsa. He is an officer and a gentleman."My name is Windrush." Jack tucked his revolver away. "Ensign Jack Windrush of the 113th Foot."

General Beaumont hardly glanced up as Jack stepped into his office. "Your servant can wait outside," Beaumont said. His servants stood in a silent row of uniformed men behind his desk. In the darkest corner of the room, the punkah-wallah wore only a loincloth as he worked at the constant task of keeping the great fan in the ceiling moving by the string attached to his big toe. Jack thought it best not to mention the typhoon that battered at the corners of the building.

punkah-wallahBeaumont looked at Jack over a tall pile of documents, all tied with ribbon and fastened with a seal. "Which one are you?" As Jack looked bemused, Beaumont snapped, "what"s your name, Ensign? Who the devil are you?"

"Windrush, sir, 113th Foot; I was ordered to report here—"

"Piece of nonsense, Windrush; your orders are being sent out together with all the other officers." Beaumont sifted through the documents in front of him. "With all this uncertainty in Ava, half the officers in India are being sent east, even griffins who are no good to man nor beast." He hauled out a document, glanced briefly at the front and tossed it casually across to Jack. "There you go, Windrush; there are your marching orders, – now get out. You"re dismissed."

That was very casual and where in creation is Ava?

That was very casual and where in creation is Ava?Jack stood outside the office, holding the document, aware that Ranveer watched, impassive. He broke the seal and unfolded the paper.

Moulmein. I have to report to Moulmein, wherever that may be.

Moulmein. I have to report to Moulmein, wherever that may be."I"m off to Moulmein." He spoke without thinking.

"You will need me," Ranveer stated.

"Why will I need you?" Jack stared at him.

Ranveer"s grin was white through his neat beard. "You got lost walking across Calcutta, sahib. What hope is there for you in Burma?"

Burma? Is that where I"m going? The disappointment was like a kick in Jack"s stomach. That"s the opposite side of India from the Frontier.

Burma? Is that where I"m going?That"s the opposite side of India from the Frontier."I will get us prepared," Ranveer said solemnly.

Jack felt too sick to argue.