Jack Windrush Collection

Chapter 13

The British Army had settled in around the walls of Rangoon. The artillery had taken up defensive positions in case of a Burmese counter-attack, and a score of hanging lanterns revealed busy seamen scurrying around doing twice the work of the soldiers in half the time. There was a small forest of tents already pitched, with wooden-faced sentinels outside and harassed officers" servants hurrying from place to place searching for their master"s baggage, fresh water, wine and other essentials of the campaign. Outside the perimeter, Burma waited, seemingly more menacing with the contrast between light within the British camp and the outer darkness.

General Godwin travelled in style, with smart native orderlies at attention behind his desk and two crystal decanters among the litter of papers and maps. There were other officers in the room, with coats of red or blue, and the murmur of educated voices as they discussed the next stage of the campaign. Moths fluttered around the oil-fuelled lanterns, and the high-pitched whine of mosquitoes was so familiar that Jack paid it no heed.

"Who are you, and what do you want?" Godwin snapped when he noticed Jack standing at attention in front of the desk.

"Ensign Windrush, sir. You wanted to see me."

When Godwin frowned, a whiskered Madras Native Infantry colonel spoke. "This is the officer I told you about sir. He left his post without orders to join in the assault on Rangoon."

That was not what Jack hoped to hear. The speaker was vaguely familiar, but from where Jack couldn"t say.

Godwin stared at Jack as the other men stepped back. Jack could feel their disapproval.

There was silence for a full minute, save for the buzzing of insects.

"You are a disgrace, Windrush." Godwin"s voice was quiet, but with an edge to the words. "You were given a job to do, and you failed to do it. You broke ranks and took your men into an operation that was the function of a different unit. You acted entirely without orders and gave an example of poor discipline in front of the entire army. God alone knows what damage you"ve caused."

Jack said nothing. He had hoped for praise for his courage and initiative; instead, Godwin was treating him like a disobedient schoolboy in front of half a dozen senior officers. He felt the blood rush to his face while Godwin continued his tongue-lashing.

"You are from the 113th, Windrush." Godwin paused for a moment. "I had thought to give you a chance. Colonel Murphy persuaded me – assured me – that you were a reliable officer who would help redeem the reputation of that unhappy regiment."

"Quite the opposite," the Company colonel said. He shook his head. "If I may say, sir, I met this officer in England and his conduct even then was quite disgraceful."

Jack shook his head. "I am sorry, sir, but I think you must be mistaken. I do not believe we have met before."

"Silence, sir!" Godwin"s voice was like a steel clamp. "How dare you contradict a senior officer? Colonel Harcourt is a man of integrity and honour, not some…" As Godwin controlled himself, Jack realised that he had indeed met the Company officer before.

Harcourt: this is Lucinda Harcourt"s father, the irascible man who was at the door when I brought Lucinda home that evening.

Harcourt: this is Lucinda Harcourt"s father, the irascible man who was at the door when I brought Lucinda home that evening."So, Windrush." Godwin"s tone was more moderate. "Rather than try to build a better reputation for the 113th, you have tarnished it further. You and they are a regimental disgrace. However, I will make some allowances for youth and inexperience. You acted, I hope, out of impetuosity rather than a desire to take the glory of the day from the 18th Foot. It was glory that they well deserved, together with the gallant soldiers of the Company forces." He nodded to Colonel Harcourt.

Jack said nothing as the blood rushed to his face. He felt the Buddhas, bulky in his pocket.

"I am not going to mention your actions in my official report, Windrush," Godwin said. "Instead, I will send a private message to Colonel Murphy, informing him of my disappointment in you. He may decide to recall you, and he may not. Either way, you can be assured that you have not advanced your career by this action of impetuosity, and have further damaged the already poor reputation of your regiment. I will keep my eye on you, Windrush."

Jack took a deep breath. "We captured the pagoda, sir—."

"You are dismissed, sir," Godwin said. "Get out of my sight."

Jack left the tent, feeling as if his world had collapsed. As he stepped outside a warm drop of rain splashed on his face, a foretaste of the monsoon.

As the British Army consolidated and the Burmese withdrew north, the rains began with a succession of hammer-blows that rendered movement all but impossible. In common with the others, Jack endured the climate while suffering his private torments.

Damn Colonel Harcourt: I did nothing untoward with Lucinda. Damn all blasted women. They are nothing but trouble.

Damn Colonel Harcourt: I did nothing untoward with Lucinda. Damn all blasted women. They are nothing but trouble.An image of the Burmese woman returned, with her deep eyes and that wondrous slide and shift of the longyi around her hips.

I am uncommonly stupid. She is a native woman.

I am uncommonly stupid. She is a native woman.Despite all Jack"s reasoning, the Burmese woman remained in his mind over the next few weeks, during which the British settled into life in Rangoon and the monsoon massed its might overhead. The British longed for the breaks between the savage rain, and then the skies reopened and unleashed a deluge upon them.

The nights were the worst. During the dark hours, Jack"s mind spun with the visions of battle and death. He saw the faces of the men he had fought, and the memory of his position tormented him. Then the faces would alter, become that steady-eyed Burmese woman with the longyi tight around her hips and Jack would reach for her, only to recoil as she dissolved into the fog that shrouded the Golden Pagoda with its stolen Buddhas. He would wake drenched in sweat and stagger up to check his men, who suffered in less-than-silence from the constant rain, staring into the mysterious dark of this hostile land.

The days were nearly as bad for Jack. He was a guest in the mess of the 51st but was not part of it. He shared the hospitality but not the traditions and tried to ignore the hastily cut off conversations.

"He"s out of his element here, poor young fellow. It must be hard on him."

"He was kicked out of the Royals, you know. His own family disowned him, I believe."

"I heard he doesn"t like women either. I mean, what sort of chap is that to have in the army … here he is now." The officers would look away in a sudden silence.

Jack didn"t spend much time in the mess of the 51st. Instead, he explored Rangoon, visited the pagodas and continued to read whatever military manuals he could find as the rains restricted all movement and the army sulked with inaction.

"Now, I know how Noah felt." Wells sheltered under the thatch fringe of a Burmese hut as he peered toward the sodden jungle.

"How did he feel?" Knight pulled his hat tighter onto his head in a vain attempt to mitigate the worst of the rain.

"b****y wet," Wells told him.

Standing a few feet away, Jack hid his smile. Wells sardonic humour was always a tonic, even on the most depressing days. He stared across the rain-tortured river at the n***d Burmese men who guided their buffalos through the mud of the rice-fields.

"They"re tough people," he said.

"They"re different to the Indians." Wells checked the tarred canvas that covered the lock and muzzle of his musket. "They"re cleaner and less excitable." He held the musket muzzle-downward to prevent rain from entering the barrel.

"Have you served in Burma before?"

When Wells nodded, water cascaded from the brim of his hat. "Yes, sir; I caught the end of the last Burmese war, way back in "26 when I was a Johnny Raw."

Jack noted the red, blue and red medal ribbon on Well"s chest. "That"s the Meritorious Service Medal, isn"t it? You didn"t win that in Burma, Sergeant. It only came out a few years ago."

Wells glanced down. "Not in Burma, sir. I was in Afghanistan with the 44th."

"Were you at Gandamak ?" Jack knew about that disastrous battle where the Afghans annihilated the remnants of the 44th.

"Yes, sir." Wells said.

"You survived," Jack prompted.

"Yes, sir." Wells didn"t elaborate. "I transferred to this regiment when my own sailed back to England." He looked uncomfortable at the admission, which suggested that he had something to hide.

"What happened at Gandamak?" Jack pressed.

"A woman dragged me free from the pile of dead, sir." Wells said.

"Why did she do that?"

The outburst of firing was so close that Jack started. "What the devil?"

"Stand to!" Wells shouted. "Out you come, lads!"

The rain fell like an opaque grey curtain, hammering down on the muddy maidan and weeping from the terraces of the Golden Pagoda.

"Nobody fights in the b****y monsoon!" O"Neill struggled to fasten his tunic as he stumbled from the tent.

"You tell the Burmese that," Wells said, "they don"t know the rules."

Jack ducked, as a bullet ripped past his head. He unfastened his holster and blinked through the rain. Figures were moving out there, but whether British or Burmese he could not tell. The failing light made things worse.

"Over there!" Wells kneeled and fired into the gloom.

"What"s happening, Wells? What did you see?" Jack stood ready with his pistol as Wells reloaded.

A havildar of the Madras Native Infantry rushed past in a shower of mud, followed by a score of sepoys.

"Dacoits, sir." Wells fitted the percussion cap on to his musket and c****d it. "They could be anywhere."

"Dacoit? What"s that?"

"Bandits," Wells explained. "They could be local badmashes come to rob, but more likely some lot attached to the King of Ava"s army. I can"t see ordinary dacoits attacking a British garrison."

badmashesSomebody yelled close by, the words in Burmese, and a score of men seemed to rise from the ground and rush across the maidan, holding muskets and waving dhas.

"Look out, sir!" O"Neill shouted, knelt and fired. One of the Burmese fell at once, with the others charging bravely forward. The leading man wore what looked like a ragged red jacket, and Jack fired three shots at him in quick succession. The man in red was unhurt, but another of the attackers fell, to lie kicking on the ground.

"They"re not after us, sir," Wells fired from a standing position. "They want the general."

Jack aimed at the red coat again and pressed the trigger, without result. He swore and stepped backwards, lost sight of his target in the teeming rain but saw another man rushing at him; he squeezed the trigger again and flinched when his attacker staggered and came on, holding his dha high in the air. Dropping the now-empty pistol, Jack grabbed at the hilt of his sword, yelling loudly to heighten his courage.

"Mine, sir!" Graham lunged forward with his bayonet and ran the man cleanly under the chin.

The Madras Native Infantry havildar appeared through the rain with his men in perfect formation behind him and formed them up in front of Godwin"s tent. A sharp order and there was a barricade of bayonets around the tent.

"They"ve all gone," Graham said. "They Madrasi lads scared them away."

Jack nodded; the only Burmese he could see were either dead or injured.

"Where have they gone?" Jack, at last, drew his sword and held it ineffectively.

"Vanished into the night, sir." Graham placed a foot on the man he had killed and withdrew his bayonet. He began to reload his musket. "b****y dacoits."

There were three Burmese and two sepoy bodies on the ground, with two Burmese wounded.

"They didn"t fire," Jack said, "why did they not fire?"

"The Burmese only have flintlocks, sir," Wells explained. "They don"t work too well in the rain."

"They"re brave men to attack when they only have knives," Jack said. He raised his voice. "Ranveer!" He hardly said the name before the Sikh arrived. "Did you see how the dacoits got in?"

"Like snakes, they crawled on their bellies," Ranveer said at once.

Godwin appeared from his tent, sword in hand. "What happened? What did they want?" He looked down at the wounded Burmese. "Can anybody speak Burmese?"

"Not a word, sir," Jack said. He looked at Ranveer. "How about you, Ranveer?"

"No, sahib."

"I know a few words, sir," Wells volunteered.

"Ask that fellow what they were thinking of, attacking a British garrison," Godwin ordered. "I"m sure you can be persuasive."

"I"m sure I can, sir." The Burman lay on his back on the rain battered maidan, twisting with pain as Wells lifted his dha and thumbed the edge. "Right my boy, time for you to tell us things." He laid the blade alongside a bullet hole in the man"s leg and spoke in halting Burmese.

When the man shook his head, Wells pushed the point of the knife into the wound and twisted slowly. The man writhed, with sweat breaking out on his face.

I thought we were English gentlemen! We don"t do this sort of thing!

I thought we were English gentlemen! We don"t do this sort of thing!Godwin looked on, unmoved as Wells repeated his question. "Where did you learn Burmese, Sergeant?"

"I was here before sir, with the 44th."

"I see." Godwin nodded. "You transferred then?"

"Yes, sir." Wells looked up. "Shall I ask him again?"

"Please do so." Godwin turned away. "Let me know the moment you find out anything, Windrush."

I feel sick; this is not what Englishmen do!

I feel sick; this is not what Englishmen do!"You"re not looking very well, sir." Wells said tactfully. "Maybe you"d better have a lie down out of the rain; I"ll carry on here." He raised his voice. "Bring me some light!" Lifting his boot, he kicked the wounded man hard in the groin, ignored the resulting scream and stood on the bullet wound as the dacoit writhed underneath him.

"I"ll stay." Jack fought the nausea that threatened to unman him.

I should be able to do anything the men can do, but better and for longer, and that includes watching human suffering.

I should be able to do anything the men can do, but better and for longer, and that includes watching human suffering."As you wish, sir." Wells turned the dha and ripped the Burman"s loincloth from his body and began to jab him with the blade. When the man"s cries turned to agonised screams, Jack pulled at Wells" arm.

"That"s enough, Wells."

"Nearly there, sir." Wells sounded as calm as if he was merely asking the time of day.

Jack looked into the pleading eyes of the dacoit. "I"m sorry," he said. "I don"t like this either, but we must know."

"Just a few more minutes, sir," Wells placed the toe of his boot on the man"s groin and pressed, twisting, as he repeated his question.

The man screamed again and gabbled something.

"That"s my lad!" Wells removed his foot at once. "That"s what we wanted to hear. They were after the general, sir. They knew he was in the big tent and they wanted to kill him and the staff officers." He nodded to the dacoit who lay in a foetal ball on the ground, clutching at his injuries. "You"re a brave man, Johnny Dacoit." He raised his voice. "I need somebody to look after this wounded man. Take care of him."

Stooping, Wells examined the dha.

Jack couldn"t face the wounded man, and the golden Buddhas were heavy in his pocket. He hesitated, hating himself for what he had to say next. "I"m sorry Sergeant, but there is something else I must know. Ask him why their leader was wearing a red coat. Did he steal it from a British prisoner?"

Wells nodded. "Yes, sir." He pulled the dacoit"s head back and spoke to him again, pointing to his groin with the dha. Jack shuddered; he could only imagine what Wells was saying.

Now I am as bad as any dacoit; I"ve condoned t*****e and encouraged Wells to inflict more pain on that unfortunate fellow.

Now I am as bad as any dacoit; I"ve condoned t*****e and encouraged Wells to inflict more pain on that unfortunate fellow.The dacoit said something, holding onto his injuries, and Wells patted him on the shoulder.

"That was easy enough, sir. He doesn"t know why their Bo wears a red coat, but they call him Bo Ailgaliutlo or something like that. I can"t quite make out what he is saying."

"That"s not surprising considering he"s in a lot of pain," Jack murmured. "Bo Ailgaliutlo – is that the leader"s name?"

Wells shook his head. "No, sir. It"s his title. Bo is a military commander. His name means the English officer or Commander English." He helped the dacoit onto a litter with such care that it was hard to imagine he had been inflicting terrible pain on the man just a few moments before. "I think your fellow in the red coat is an Englishman, sir."