Jack Windrush Collection

Chapter 11

"They won"t stand a chance." Coleman sat in the centre of the boat with a man on either side and his musket upright between his knees. He looked toward the still-smoking remnants of the stockades that had barred the British landing on this bank of the Rangoon River. Now the route to the Golden Pagoda lay open. "They ran away from us last time, and they"ll run again."

Jack let him talk. In the two days that had elapsed since the bombardment of the stockades, reinforcements had joined the British fleet. Vessels of the Honourable East India Company had brought up hundreds of soldiers, both Queen"s and Company"s, and now instead of three boats from Rattler and a handful of redcoats and bluejackets, dozens of boats were rowing across the river, each with its quota of soldiers. All peered eagerly into the pre-dawn dark and hoped for a brief, victorious fight followed by plunder.

RattlerJack surveyed the scene; he saw the proud Midshipmen or bearded petty officers in the stern of each boat, directing the naval rowers while the redcoats sat in disciplined ranks waiting for their opportunity. There were the Royal Irish of the 18th Foot, the 51st Regiment and four hundred of the 80th Foot, as well as immaculate sepoys of the Bengal and Madras Native Infantry from the Company"s army plus some capable sappers and miners. Backing the infantry were pieces of artillery, precariously balanced in the boats. Together with the Navy and company ships, it was the most extensive collection of British military might Jack had seen gathered in one place.

And my men of the 113th are part of it.

And my men of the 113thare part of it.Jack grinned, unable to hide his sudden pleasure at living the life he had always wanted. Here I am, fighting for the Queen in this strange humid land, facing the Queen"s enemies and seeing exotic and captivating places.

Here I am, fighting for the Queen in this strange humid land, facing the Queen"s enemies and seeing exotic and captivating places."There"s that Golden Pagoda." O"Neill blinked away the sweat from his eyes. "That"s what we"re taking today, boys." He licked his lips. "Gold and silver and jewels," he said. "I heard that place is stuffed with rubies and emeralds for the taking."

"How did you hear that?" Coleman jeered. "Your thick Irish ears can"t understand English, let alone Burmese."

"One of the sweepers told me,." O"Neill ignored the insult. "He said he"d seen hundreds of rubies and piles of gold."

"I heard there were dragons and monsters there." Graham"s Cumbrian accent was every bit as incomprehensible as O"Neill"s Donegal.

"And guns." Wells grunted as a single cannon shot sounded across the ruins of the stockades. "This may not be as easy as the last time." He nudged Thorpe with the side of his boot. "None of your grousing, Thorpey-boy; I"m watching you, and I"m up to all your dodges."

"They"re firing at us," O"Neill said as a spurt of smoke emitted from the Golden Pagoda followed a second later by a deep bang. "They want you, Thorpey!"

"Keep together, boys," Jack ordered. "Remember that we"re with the 51st Foot, and we"re going after the White House Picket." He indicated their target, a stockade that stood directly between the landing party and the Golden Pagoda. "After that," he pointed ahead, "we are advancing on the pagoda itself."

"Will the Burmese fight?" Coleman sounded anxious.

"I b****y hope so." O"Neill"s words brought general laughter. "The quicker they fight, the quicker we can kill them and get the loot!"

"113th!" The word cut crisp across the mudflats. "Form up beside us."

Sun-bronzed and fit, the 51st glowered at the newcomers and only reluctantly made room for them. "b****y Griffins and Johnny Raws," a corporal complained. "I hope you know how to fight."

"I"m Major Reid," a stocky, tanned officer introduced himself, "of the Bengal Artillery." He jerked a thumb toward the stockade that blocked their path. "We are the leading unit and your men have to escort us so we can blast the Burmese out of the way."

"You can rely on us." Jack hoped he sounded more confident than he felt. Not only Thorpe had started at the report of the g*n from the pagoda – Coleman and a couple of others had looked decidedly nervous as well.

"You take the right flank," Reid ordered and returned his attention to his artillery.

The right flank was that furthest from the landing-place, and the least covered by the guns of the Navy. There was an area of open ground, a maidan between the advancing British and the dark scrub jungle that spread on either side of Rangoon.

maidan"Open order, men, keep in front of the guns but not too far, in case the Burmese get between us." Jack tried to sound confident.

We are the foremost troops of the British Army – the 113th is in the van.

We are the foremost troops of the British Army – the 113this in the van.They moved forward slowly with the guns in the middle of the formation, and the sound of gunfire behind. Jack watched the British ships exchange shot and shell with the pagoda"s defenders. Thorpe ducked as a shell whizzed low overhead, then looked around with a guilty grin on his face.

"That was one of ours." Wells" voice was flat. "As soon as it sees your uniform, the cannonball will stop and go elsewhere."

Thorpe"s grin altered to a relieved smile. "Is that right, sergeant?"

"Of course, it is," Wells said, "so keep your head up and don"t bob."

"Oh Jesus, save us." Coleman shook his head.

The cannonball rammed into the ground a few paces in front of them, bounced and splashed into the mud.

"Jesus! They"re firing at us!" Coleman"s voice rose into a near screech.

"Stand!" Jack put a hand on Thorpe"s shoulder to prevent him from running. "We"re British soldiers; they are only a raggy-arsed bunch of jungle-wallahs."

"That was one of theirs" Wells hadn"t flinched.

More balls whizzed past or slogged into the mud. Coleman pointed a shaky finger. "Look over there!"

At first, Jack could see nothing and then as his eyes accustomed themselves to the shape and shadow of the jungle; he saw human forms flitting about between the trees. Drums sounded from somewhere, but whether from the forest or the stockade he could not tell. A gong sounded brassily between the scream and crash of artillery.

"The Burmese lads are hard to see," Wells said.

Jack nodded. "Their clothes and colour blend with nature, unlike us." He was suddenly aware that the scarlet of the British Army looked bold and martial on parade or when armies were manoeuvring in civilised warfare, but out East, in the jungle, the red-coated British soldiers made excellent targets.

"Open up," Jack realised that his men had bunched together, "and advance on these Burmese skirmishers."

The gongs continued; he couldn"t tell when they had started, he only knew that they were there, everywhere, in his head, surrounding him, penetrating his thoughts. They were the sound of Burma and a reminder that he was an intruder in this beautiful, frighteningly alien land. Gongs and artillery, the muted swearing from his men, the sharp c***k of musketry – this was his unique introduction to warfare.

Jack looked forward, where the Burmese gunners were firing from the White House Picket. It was a formidable building, more extensive and stronger than any they had destroyed so far in this war, and the Burmese defenders seemed determined and active. Their cannon fired again, and Jack saw some of the sepoys of the Madras Native Infantry fall; their line immediately closed up. A high-pitched scream sounded across the battlefield, just as the gongs raised their sonorous beat.

"Advance on the jungle skirmishers," a red-faced colonel ordered. "You, fellow" he pointed a plump finger at Jack, "take your men and clear that blasted jungle. We"re fighting on three fronts here, damn it."

Jack saw the cannon on the White House Picket fire again, and the 51st Foot formed up for the assault. There would be glory and honour for the regiment that captured that stockade, but none for the 113th if they merely guarded the flank against jungle skirmishers.

We are no longer the front markers – now we"re a sideshow.

We are no longer the front markers – now we"re a sideshow."They"re getting bolder, sir," Wells said.

A score of Burmese emerged from the jungle, moving fast as they weaved from cover to cover. One dropped to his knees and fired his long musket.

"They"re going to harass our flank as we attack the White House Picket." Wells pointed out the obvious.

"Volley fire!" Jack ordered. "One round – fire!" He stepped close to Thorpe. "Take your time men and mark your target."

Twelve muskets cracked in a ragged volley. None of the Burmese fell.

"Fix bayonets!" Jack said. More Burmese appeared from within the wall of the jungle, sturdy, active men with black padded jackets and long muskets or dhas. Some fired back with the white spurts of smoke swift to appear, slow to dissipate against dark foliage. Others slipped around the sides, intending to outflank the 113th. Muzzle flares momentarily gleamed on the n***d blades of a dozen dhas.

"Spread out!" Jack ordered. He fired his revolver at the closest of the Burmese and saw the man stagger but recover. "Hold the line! Don"t let them entice you into the forest."

"No b****y chance of that," O"Neill said. "Once we go in there, they"ll chop us to pieces."

"Load!" Jack realised his men were standing with empty muskets. I have to tell them even the simplest thing. He saw Thorpe glance behind him, searching for safety. "Look to your front, Thorpe! You took the Queen"s shilling, now earn it!"

I have to tell them even the simplest thing."But sir!" Thorpe"s eyes were unfocused, and his breath came in short bursts. "Sir…"

"Come on Thorpey," Wells encouraged, "a shilling a day – good pay for the privilege of fighting the Queen"s enemies!"

"Fight them, man!" Jack pointed to where the Burmese advanced from the jungle, crouched to fire and moved again. "There is the enemy, Thorpe! Kill them, and we"ll be safe!"

The British artillery fired again as Reid slewed his four guns around to point at the White House Picket. Roundshot arced overhead and ripped down, too fast for the eye to see.

"That b****y fort is right in our path." O"Neill glanced at the stockade. "Until we destroy it, we"re stuck here for the Burmese to hit us on two fronts at once."

"Ignore the stockade." Jack loosed two shots at the flanking enemy and swore as the hammer clicked on an empty chamber. He fumbled for cartridges to reload. "Our job is to contain the Burmese in the jungle."

A panting corporal of the 51st ran up, musket at the trail. "Are you in charge of the 113th, sir?"

"I am," Jack admitted.

"Colonel St Maur sends his compliments, sir, and could you push the enemy back from the jungle edge sir? He"s going to lead the 51stthrough the jungle to take that fort, and he wants his flank secure."

Damn! We"ll lose all our advantages in the jungle.

Damn! We"ll lose all our advantages in the jungle."Pray inform Colonel St Maur that the 113th will secure his flank," Jack said. He raised his voice. "Come on, lads; we"re needed! The whole advance depends on us!"

Jack estimated that there were between thirty and fifty Burmese on the fringe of the jungle, some firing, others merely making threatening gestures with their dhas. He paused for a moment to complete loading his revolver, dropped a cartridge in nervousness or excitement – he was not sure which – and let it lie as a paper memory on the grass. "Right lads!" He tried not to duck as a Burmese bullet hissed past his head. "Fire a volley and this time hit some of the bastards, and then take them at the charge."

Jack remembered an uncle who told him that very few soldiers ever stood against a British bayonet charge. The fear of facing men intent on spitting them like meat on the end of eighteen inches of sharpened steel was usually enough to break even the firmest confidence. Looking at the Burmese swordsmen, he hoped his uncle"s theory was proved correct. These dhas looked hideously dangerous.

"Present," he gave the order. Twelve red-jacketed men slammed their muskets against sweat-stained shoulders. Twelve Brown Bess muskets pointed toward the swarming Burmese.

"Fire!"

Twelve spurts of flame, twelve jets of white smoke, twelve lead balls hurtling toward the Burmese. Even as three of the enemy fell, two to kick and writhe on the ground, one to lie in a crumpled heap, Jack shouted: again. "Drive them back, boys! Bayonets and charge! Follow me, 113th!"

With his pistol in his left hand and sword in his right, Jack ran forward, hoping that most of his men fwere behind him. He didn"t expect Thorpe to follow.

The Burmese stood longer than Jack had hoped. One brave man stepped toward him, wielding a dha with a long straight blade. Jack squeezed the trigger of his revolver, missed the first time but saw the second shot smack home and the man stagger. The Burmese looked at the bleeding hole in his chest, and Jack swiped wildly with his sword, catching him with a glancing blow that opened a cut on his arm and rushed past, yelling.

"Kill them!" That was O"Neill. "Kill them all!"

"Blood, blood blood!" Knight had remembered the lessons from his bayonet drill.

"Jesus Christ; Jesus b****y Christ!" Coleman was alternately cursing and praying, but he was there with the rest, slashing and thrusting at fresh air with his bayonet.

The Burmese did not stand long. Most fled into the jungle before the 113th arrived and only three put up any resistance. O"Neill finished the swordsman that Jack had wounded, while Pryor bayoneted a stocky man who stood and swung his musket like a club. Coleman and Wells each thrust their bayonets into the body of the third Burmese, and Wells finished him with savage kicks from his iron-studded boots.

"Well done lads." Jack counted his men. All twelve were there, with Thorpe at the rear, panting, wild-eyed and his cap askew, but still with them. "Now keep within sight of each other. We"re going into the jungle; dress the line."

There was no gradual build-up. The maidan ended at what seemed a solid green wall of scrub and bamboo, dark, seemingly impenetrable, familiar to the Burmese but utterly alien to soldiers brought up in the neat fields or urban slums of Britain.

Major Reid"s four guns were firing hard with their shot crashing into the White House Picket, with the Burmese guns replying in an irregular ripple of orange flame along the parapet. Jack saw two of the Company sepoys bowled over by a Burmese shot, and another scythed by chain shot so he lay screaming with both legs shorn off just above the knees. Dark blood pumped onto the ground.

"Hot work." Wells cleaned his bayonet with an oily rag. "Is this your first action, sir?"

"It is," Jack admitted. "I know it"s not your first."

When Wells shook his head, Jack saw a gleam of grey hair under his cap. "No, sir."

"You"re a veteran then." Jack decided that any question could wait until later. "Good; I want you to lead the right-wing, and I will take the left. Keep in touch, and we"ll push these Burmese back as far as we can."

"Yes, sir." Wells looked relieved; fighting the Burmese seemed easier on his nerves than answering what may have been awkward questions about his past.

"Thorpe, Coleman, you are with me," Jack decided. "Reload!" He waited until everybody was ready, glanced back at the main army and saw a general officer, presumably St Maur, marshalling a column of the 51st to assault the stockade.

"Follow me, lads." Jack stepped over the threshold of the jungle and into another world. The heat on the maidan had been oppressive, but here it combined with intense humidity to bring out the sweat in great rivers that had his tunic soaked even before he had advanced ten paces. A dozen varieties of biting insects buzzed around his head or fed on the sweat from his face and body. A female monkey crouched on a high bough cradling her young, and then turned and fled, shrieking.

"Keep in touch, 113th!" his words seemed hollow in the green dimness. "Push on!"

He could hardly see the man on his left, let alone any Burmese. A bird called, the sound harsh and ugly compared to the blackbirds and song thrushes of the Malvern Hills. He stepped on, hoping there were no snakes or whatever other wild creatures were native to this hostile environment.

The noise must have scared them all away, like that monkey. Keep moving.

The noise must have scared them all away, like that monkey. Keep moving."All clear, sir!" Wells" shout echoed through the trees.

Jack shouted an acknowledgement and stepped forward. There was no sign of the Burmese; they had melted away as if they had never been. "Push on," he ordered, "give the 51st as much space as they need." When he looked behind him, he saw only tangled undergrowth, creepers twisted around the boles of unknown trees and sunlight frond-filtered to a dull grey.

There was the distorted sound of marching feet as the 51stt entered the jungle in a dense body, a succession of sharp orders and honest British swearing, echoing in the brush.

"Far enough, boys," Jack shouted. "Hold your positions and shoot any Burmese that comes close."

Shoot any Burmese? I can"t see anybody to shoot.

Shoot any Burmese? I can"t see anybody to shoot.The 51st was crashing through the fringe of the jungle that Jack and the 113th had cleared. A flanking file passed Jack, led by an agile-looking engineer officer with red hair and a peeling, sunburned face. He stumbled over a trailing creeper, looked down and shouted something to a squad of men who carried a storming ladder.

Go for glory 51st, while we rot in the jungle.

Go for glory 51st, while we rot in the jungle."Sir!" Wells shout brought Jack back to the alert. "Burmese!"

There was a single musket shot, and then a small fusillade, a long drawn out scream that could have been part of that terrible dense forest, and then thick silence. Powder smoke drifted acrid between the trees. Jack shuddered as a huge spider scuttled out of a hole in the trunk of the tree he sheltered behind. A bird called in the distance and the jungle noises started again.

"Wells!" Jack heard the tension in his voice. "Wells? Are you all right?"

"The bastards tried to sneak past, sir," Wells shouted. "O"Neill gutted one. He"s still alive."

There was a sharp squeal and then O"Neill"s voice. "He"s not alive now, sir."

"Keep alert." Jack felt the hair on the back of his neck raise at O"Neill"s casual disposal of an enemy, but this was war at the fringe of Empire. These men faced brutal reality, not the sanitised romanticism of the newspapers. He peered through the dim light, hoping to see a Burmese soldier before the Burmese saw him.

The 51st tramped onwards, ignoring the roundshot that ripped through the trees.

"There go the 51st! Knight shouted.

"Shabash the 51st!" O"Neill yelled, high pitched.

ShabashStaring into the green jungle, Jack couldn"t see the actual assault on the stockade, but he heard the deep- throated cheer of the 51st Foot and the sudden acceleration of musketry as the Burmese defenders fired at the advancing column.

Movement in the jungle in front attracted his attention. "Here they come again!" he yelled and fired in the general direction of the noise. Jack saw leaves flicker, and a flat, intent face and then the Burmese advanced with a rush, flitting from tree to tree, firing muskets and ducking away again.

Pryor stiffened and looked down at his arm, where a feathered stick seemed to have sprouted. "That"s an arrow," he said in amazement and yelled as another thumped into his side. "They"re using bows and arrows!" Leaning his musket against the bole of a tree, he pulled at the arrow in his arm.

"Get down!" Wells yelled, "get your b****y head down!"

"Look for cover," Jack shouted. "We"re just targets standing here. Get behind a tree and fire back." He blinked as an arrow thumped into a tree trunk six inches from his head, and flinched at a spatter of Burmese musketry. Jack suddenly realised this wasn"t a formal set-piece battle such as characterised British military thinking since the Peninsula and had come to its Indian apogee in the Sikh wars: – this was warfare against a different type of enemy and needed different tactics. "Fire at will boys! If you see the enemy, fire! Don"t wait for orders!" That wasn"t something he had ever expected to say in the British army, where volley fire had been the norm for centuries. Wells will not agree. He heard a spatter of musketry from his men. Good lads! Fight them!

Wells will not agree."They"re coming at us!" That was Thorpe. "I can see them!"

"Get back, Thorpe! Don"t just look! Get behind a tree and shoot the buggers!" Wells" voice cracked through the forest. "Fire lads! Send the bastards to hell."

Now that Jack had freed his men from the restraint of waiting for orders, they loaded and fired faster than he had expected. The sound of their musketry was like rolling thunder until Jack realised there was no fire coming toward them. "Stop firing boys! We"re shooting at nothing."

The firing died away, leaving the acrid drift of burned gunpowder and the low gasps of the 113th. The silence was stifling. "Anybody hurt? Call the roll!" Jack listened to the names as the men shouted out. Only Pryor was silent.

"Pryor? Where are you, Pryor?" Jack"s voice echoed in the trees.

"Here he is, sir." O"Neill sounded casual. "He can"t answer, though; he"s dead."

Pryor stood erect beside his tree with five arrows in his body and one through his mouth.

That"s two of my men dead.

That"s two of my men dead."Hold still boys; check your ammunition and keep watching." One by one, the sounds returned to the jungle as birds and insects filled the void.

The cessation of violence was as unsettling as its sudden eruption had been. Jack controlled his ragged breathing and nudged Coleman. "Go and see what"s happening at the White House Picket. Tell the colonel that the 113th has secured his flank and repelled a Burmese attack."

The sound of firing from the stockade increased and then died away to a succession of single shots. Then there was cheering and then silence.

It was forty anxious minutes before Coleman returned, with his hat awry and his uniform ripped by trailing thorns. "The stockade has fallen, sir." He threw a belated salute.

"How?" Jack asked.

"The 51st did it, sir. They threw four ladders against the walls and some major, I heard he was a Sawney called Fraser, was first up." Coleman blinked ,as a flying beetle investigated his face.

Jack brushed the beetle away. "Carry on Coleman."

"There were wounded, sir. The Burmese hit a lot of the 51st and some of the sappers. I think there was an officer killed as well, but it was the heat that done for them more than the Burmese."

Jack realised his men had gathered to listen to the news. "Get back to your positions, 113th! We have not won the day yet!"

Coleman continued, "Once the 51st mounted the walls, the Burmese fell. We have the stockade, sir." Standing close to Coleman, Jack realised he was older than he"d assumed. He was about thirty, with the thin physique of a slum dweller or a man who was a habitual drinker, a description which covered a large proportion of the British Army.

"Were there orders for us, Coleman?" Jack asked.

Coleman had the grace to look guilty for a second. "Yes, sir. We have to move forward and allow the 51st to take over the flank guard."

That was it; no thanks and no recognition for the 113th, but that wasn"t unexpected in the army. We did our duty without glory or fuss. We stood our ground; we did not run.

That was it; no thanks and no recognition for the 113th, but that wasn"t unexpected in the army. We did our duty without glory or fuss. We stood our ground; we did not run.Jack raised his voice. "Well done men, you did yourselves and the regiment proud." He ordered Thorpe and Coleman to carry Pryor"s body. Only Wells and ten men were left now.