Chapter 4-3
1033 Words
I hope you catch the pox.
I hope you catch the pox."Blood!" Wells screamed the word. "Blood, blood, blood; come on lads, shout out!"
Jack had started at the sheer volume of sound that came from Wells" lungs. Now he watched as the sergeant trained his men in the gentle art of s*******r by bayonet. He showed them lunges and parries, how to use the point and the edge, and had them yell "Blood" and "death" and "kill" as they rammed the bayonets into the boles of the nearest tree.
"Next time," Wells promised, "I will find you a live pig to practice on." His men watched through eyes that were dull with fatigue.
I want him, whatever his history, I want that man with me.
I want him, whatever his history, I want that man with me.
"I"m not sure which is worse,." Major Snodgrass sipped at his gin and growled at the punkah-wallah to work harder at the fan. "The heat, the humidity, the insects or the blasted natives."
punkah-wallahJack looked around. The officers" mess of the 113th consisted of a thatched Burmese hut with a fan in the ceiling, a table, a dozen wickerwork chairs and a cabinet of drinks. Ranveer stood, smart in the livery of the 113th but was only one of the dozen or so Indian servants who outnumbered the officers three to one, while the Regimental and Queen"s colours were encased in half-cleaned glass as if ashamed to admit they didn"t bear a single battle honour. Jack remembered peering into the officer"s mess of the Royals when he was a child, staring in awe at the glittering silver and the trophies from scores of campaigns, the cased colours held in pride and the aura of assured victory.
"I hear you are going up-country?" Snodgrass raised a lazy eyebrow.
Jack nodded. "Colonel Murphy wants the regiment represented in the war."
Snodgrass shrugged, rolled the gin around the glass and swallowed it. He leaned across the table toward Jack. "Here"s some free advice, Windrush. Keep your head down, never volunteer and let the sergeants" deal with the men. Maybe flog a few now and then so they respect you but aside from that, avoid them."
"They can"t be that bad," Jack said hopefully.
"They"re gutter-bred scoundrels to a man. You"ve heard the stories, no doubt?" Snodgrass asked. He snapped his fingers and pointed to the drinks cabinet. A soft-footed servant brought him another bottle of gin, opened it and poured a generous glass. "You will have heard how the regiment was raised to put down the Radicals in England and how they charged a meeting in Liverpool, bayoneting and clubbing the civilians?" He tasted the gin and screwed up his face in disgust. "This is watered down pony-piss."
"Yes, sir," Jack said. "The regiment is known as the—"
"Baby Butchers." Snodgrass finished the sentence for him. "And don"t call me “sir” in here. They killed a dozen civilians and wounded over a hundred at that Radical meeting. Among the dead were two babies under a year old."
"That was a long time ago," Jack said.
"It was in 1819." Snodgrass finished the gin in the glass and signalled for a servant to pour him another. "The regiment was never abroad until the 1840s; our first action was in the Sikh Wars." He sipped the gin. "This is not so bad once it numbs your palate."
"I heard we were in the Sikh Wars." Jack looked away. "That was another less than glorious occasion, I believe."
"Chillianwala," Snodgrass said only the one word and then glanced at the servant to ensure he wasn"t listening. "One of the hardest fought battles in India; the regiment"s introduction to glory and what did they do?" He shook his head and dropped his voice to a whisper. "They ran away. As soon as the Sikh artillery got our range, we threw away our muskets and ran as fast as God would let us."
Jack drew a deep breath. The thought of a regiment of British infantry running before any foe was disturbing; the idea of British soldiers fleeing from an Indian army was frightening. The British could only control the enormous population of India because of their reputation for moral and military superiority; once that was damaged who knew what the outcome might be. He glanced at Ranveer; what must that inscrutable, shrewd man think of this defeated and disgraced regiment?
"Colonel Murphy wants the 113th to redeem its reputation," Jack said.
Snodgrass snapped his fingers for more gin. "Not quite Windrush, old fellow. Colonel Murphy does not want the 113th to redeem its reputation; Colonel Murphy wants you to redeem the reputation of the 113th." He pushed the servant aside and grabbed the gin bottle for himself. "He knows that none of us will be willing to risk life and limb for a lost cause, but you are young and idealistic. You did not see the men"s faces as they broke and ran – we did."
"Did you try and stop them?" Jack asked.
"I fired shots in the air and walloped them with the flat of my sword," Snodgrass said, "but they were too far gone. I"ve never seen such a disgusting display. British soldiers!" He shook his head. "These are not soldiers, and I doubt that they are even men!" He surveyed Jack over the rim of his glass. "Murphy is an old woman, Windrush; the affair at Chillianwala broke him. You are a fool if you think you can restore any pride or courage to this regiment and a bigger fool if you think any other regiment would accept you now. The curse of the 113th has already tainted you. God help you."
I have no interest in women, the stigma of illegitimate birth and now the curse of the 113th; what do I have except some mad act of bravery? God, I hope that the Burmese fight.
I have no interest in women, the stigma of illegitimate birth and now the curse of the 113th; what do I have except some mad act of bravery? God, I hope that the Burmese fight.
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