The Cannons of Lucknow (10 page)

“Mysterious, sir?” Alex echoed, more puzzled than alarmed. “I was not aware that there was any mystery attached to me.”

“Ah, but there is,” Neill asserted. “I have been making enquiries about you. I was astounded to learn that you had made no report on the siege and furnished no details of casualties to General Havelock, although you have been with the Movable Column under his command since it left Batinda. But no doubt there's a reason for your reticence?”

“Yes, sir. Unfortunately I was wounded in the head and—”

“We'll hear about that in due course. Let us first establish one or two pertinent facts. It would appear that you were appointed to command Sir Henry Lawrence's Volunteer Cavalry in Lucknow, for which reason, presumably, you received promotion to your present brevet rank? Rapid promotion—you were a captain, I believe?” Neill smiled.

Still not quite clear as to the purpose of his interrogation, Alex looked at him in surprise. “That is so, yes. But I—”

“But you turn up fifty miles from here, in the uniform of a native sowar, claiming to be one of only two survivors of the appalling massacre in which the rest of General Wheeler's garrison perished! That, in itself, has all the ingredients of a mystery, has it not? The more so, since your command is in Lucknow.” James Neill's tone had been faintly jocular and he had not raised his voice, but he raised it now and the other officers, who had been conversing in a desultory way among themselves, looked round startled, as he demanded, “Well, hasn't it? It certainly has to me, Colonel Sheridan! Unless, of course, you had been sent to seek aid for the garrison?”

“No, sir, it was too late for that. General Wheeler had been compelled to surrender and—”

“Yes, so you told Palliser, I believe. But you've never explained why you were with General Wheeler's garrison, have you?” Neill's tone was deliberately provocative, his smile equally so.

“The explanation is simple, sir,” Alex assured him, determined not to allow himself to be provoked.

Ignoring an attempt by Colonel Tytler to intervene, Neill exclaimed harshly, “The devil it is! Then pray let us hear it, sir.”

None of the others spoke, but they were all, Alex could sense, listening intently to this strange and totally unexpected clash between James Neill and himself, as much at a loss to understand what had prompted it as he was … with the exception of Palliser. It had been Palliser's patrol with which he had first made contact at Batinda, and the Irregulars' commander had been at loggerheads with virtually everyone since his men—to whom he had been deeply attached—had been disgraced for their failure to charge the mutineers at Fatepur. He had resented their horses being turned over to the infantry recruits and, Alex decided wryly, he had probably also resented Lousada Barrow's choice of himself as training officer. Charles Palliser was a good soldier and an excellent cavalry leader; his resentment was, perhaps, understandable, but even so … he drew in his breath sharply as Neill prompted, “Well, Sheridan? Let us hear your simple explanation of how you came to be in General Wheeler's garrison and not in Sir Henry Lawrence's?”

Alex stiffened. He said, at pains to speak calmly and precisely, whilst racking his brain for the now only half-remembered details, “After the electric telegraph wires between here and Lucknow were found to have been cut, I volunteered to deliver a letter from Sir Henry Lawrence to General Wheeler. That was on the—on the afternoon of Thursday the fifth … no, the
fourth
of June. The letter contained information which Sir Henry had received by telegraph from Calcutta and was—”

“You volunteered to leave your command in order to deliver a letter a
cossid
could have delivered?” Neill challenged scornfully. “Damme, Sheridan, why?”

“The message was urgent, sir, and of too much importance to be entrusted to a
cossid
. Had it fallen into the wrong hands, it—”

“But why
you
, Sheridan? For heaven's sake, surely a junior officer could have taken it?”

“My wife and child were here, sir,” Alex admitted. “I was anxious to ensure their safety and Sir Henry Lawrence offered me the opportunity to come here, so that I might make arrangements for them to join me, if possible, in Lucknow.”

“That was extremely considerate of Sir Henry!”

“Yes, it was, sir. He was considerate to all who served under him.” Feeling Lousada Barrow stir uneasily beside him, Alex kept a tight rein on his temper. Of what use would it be to try to explain the reasons for Sir Henry's consideration, he asked himself, deciding against it. “As I said, sir,” he went on evenly, “the message from Calcutta was urgent. It was, in fact, a warning that your relief column had been delayed by an outbreak of mutiny in Benares. General Wheeler was counting on the early arrival of your troops to reinforce his defence and to enable him, if it became necessary, to evacuate the women and children from what, he was fully aware, might become an untenable position … as, indeed, it proved to be.”

“He chose it, did he not?”

“In the belief that he was to be reinforced by a European regiment, sir. General Wheeler was told repeatedly that troops were on their way to him. He had been assured that your column would reach him within a week or ten days. That was why he—”

“Yes, yes!” James Neill put in, an edge to his voice. “The devil take it, man, that's past history now—we all know why I was held up. I had to put down mutinies in both Benares and Allahabad, I had to restore order in the districts before I could move to Wheeler's assistance … and I had only one regiment to do it with. Damme, even with a regiment as good as my Blue Caps, I couldn't perform miracles!” There was a murmur of sympathetic agreement from several of the officers who had accompanied him to the
ghat
and Neill controlled himself with an almost visible effort. He added, less heatedly, “I sent poor Renaud, and Spurgin with the steamer, as soon as I could … it was Havelock who insisted on halting them at Batinda—not I, for God's sake! If he had allowed them to continue, they might at least have got through in time to save those tragic innocents who died in the Bibigarh. But …” his tone changed to the hectoring one he had used earlier. “It's your story I'm concerned with, Sheridan—
your
actions, not mine, that require explanation. Do you intend to explain them, damn it?”

“My actions, sir?” Alex echoed uncertainly.

“Yes, yours. You delivered Sir Henry Lawrence's letter and remained here, is that correct? You did not attempt to return to your command in Lucknow?”

Alex shook his head. “General Wheeler's troops mutinied within a few hours of my arrival. It was impossible for me to leave, I—”

“Impossible, Colonel Sheridan?” James Neill seized swiftly on his admission. His voice cut like a whiplash, and hearing it, Alex felt a sudden chilling apprehension. Of what, he wondered wretchedly, was he being accused? Neill leaned back in his saddle to glance at the officers grouped about him. The steady drumming of rain on the canopy of wet leaves above their heads had made it difficult for those on the edge of the group to catch every word that had been said, but it was evident from their expressions that they had all heard enough to realise that something out of the ordinary was going on, and now he had their full attention. Major Stephenson, meeting his gaze, shrugged uncomfortably; Palliser, who had been engaged in a whispered exchange with Simpson, whilst endeavouring to quieten a restive horse, wore a perplexed frown; Tytler and Barrow, who were closer than the others, were also frowning but both looked shocked and angry when Neill repeated his question, pitching his voice so that none of them could fail to hear it.

“Impossible, Sheridan, when your place was in Lucknow? Or did the fact that your wife was here influence your decision to remain with Wheeler's garrison?”

The question, with all its damning implications, hung in the air between them, striking at the very roots of Alex's disciplined control. He reddened furiously.

“Surely, General Neill, you cannot suppose that I remained here from choice? As heaven is my witness, I assure you, I—” Lousada Barrow laid a restraining hand on his shoulder, himself starting to voice an indignant protest, but Colonel Tytler cut him short.

“Leave this to me, Lousada.” Turning to face Neill, he enquired icily, “General Neill, are you accusing this officer of some dereliction of duty? I am not at all clear … but if you are, may I suggest that this is neither the time nor the place to conduct an inquisition into Colonel Sheridan's conduct. In any case, accusations of so grave a nature as yours appear to be should, if they can be substantiated, be made the subject of an official enquiry.”

Neill eyed him sombrely. “Official enquiry be damned! I am not
accusing
him of anything, my dear Tytler—I am merely endeavouring to throw some light on the strange circumstances of his survival.”

“Strange circumstances, sir? I do not understand.”

“Strange indeed, Colonel,” James Neill asserted. “From all the reports I have heard, no one from General Wheeler's garrison escaped, unless—like the Commissariat clerk, Shepherd—they left the entrenchment
before
the Nana's terms for capitulation were accepted. A number of natives deserted, servants and the like, but Shepherd, I've been told, claims to have left in disguise several days before the surrender, on a mission for General Wheeler and with his consent. He was taken by the rebels and imprisoned, so therefore did not go to the boats with the rest of the garrison … which explains why he survived.”

“Shepherd's story is not in dispute,” Tytler pointed out. “General Havelock is quite satisfied with the account he has given. The rebels did not penetrate his disguise; he and a Eurasian drummer, who was imprisoned with him, were still wearing their fetters when our advance party found them on the outskirts of the city.”

“Quite so,” Neill acknowledged dryly. “But our friend Sheridan was found
fifty
miles from here, was he not, also in native guise but happily unfettered?”

“I confess that I cannot see the connection,” Colonel Tytler said. He, too, gripped Alex's arm, warning him with a quick headshake, to say nothing, and Alex waited, very white of face now but aware of the need for caution.

“Can you not?” James Neill scoffed. “Oh, come now, my dear Tytler! I had hoped, for his own sake, that Sheridan would be able to tell us that he was at Batinda because—like Shepherd—General Wheeler had sent him to seek aid for the garrison. That wasn't what he told Palliser, it's true, but he was wounded and confused; I was trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. But be still denies that Wheeler sent him—you heard him yourself, did you not?”

This was too much to stomach, and Alex could contain himself no longer. “General Wheeler was dead before I made my escape sir; to the best of my knowledge, he and all the others were massacred in the boats. I knew of no survivors, as I informed Lieutenant Palliser. Of what use to ask for aid when the whole garrison was destroyed? For God's sake, sir—” Neill silenced him with an imperiously raised hand.

“Wait—I'm not yet done. You've given your explanation and I have listened, although I, for one, find it far from satisfactory. Even the reason you gave for your presence in General Wheeler's garrison scarcely redounds to your credit. And as to your escape … not to put too fine a point on it, Sheridan, I don't believe that anyone
could
have escaped unless he had done so before Wheeler's surrender. When Palliser found you, he said that you remembered nothing of the siege or your own movements. You—”

“Sir—General Neill …” Palliser, flushed and clearly upset, broke his self-imposed silence. “I did not intend to imply … that is to say, sir, Colonel Sheridan had been severely wounded. What I told you was—”

“Hold your tongue, Charlie!” Neill bade him. “You told me the plain, unvarnished facts and I drew my own conclusions from them.”

“I think you have said enough, General,” Lousada Barrow put in angrily. “Colonel Sheridan is a most able and gallant officer, as I have every reason to know, since he's been serving with my Volunteer Cavalry. He has a high sense of duty, sir, and a record second to none.”

He would have said more but James Neill fixed him with an icy stare. “So General Havelock thinks,” he said. “I dined with him this evening and he talked of the gallant Colonel Sheridan. He talked a great deal—damme, gentlemen, you'd have thought, to hear him, that no officer in the column had behaved with greater heroism! Or suffered more grievously at the enemy's hands … and this with poor brave old Renaud and Stuart Beatson barely cold. That stuck in my gullet, I'm bound to admit.” His gaze went to Alex's scarred, unhappy face and rested there in morose appraisal. “The Old Gentleman heaped praises on you for your endurance and courage, Sheridan. He's even thinking of recommending you for a Victoria Cross, did you know that?”

Stunned, Alex shook his head. “No, sir, I did not. I assure you, it's the last thing I—”

It was as if he had not spoken. Neill went on scornfully, “He is not, perhaps, the best judge of what constitutes a deed worthy of the highest award for valour our country can bestow; he is also thinking of recommending his own son for the honour! And for what? Because the young puppy took advantage of the fact that their commanding officer had dismounted from an uncontrollable horse and led the Sixty-Fourth into the attack in his absence. The whole regiment will be up in arms if he makes
that
recommendation, I can tell you!”

“General Neill!” Tytler was outraged. “You are speaking of confidential matters. You have no right, sir, no possible right. You—”

“Have I not?” Neill blazed at him. “When my officers are ignored, their deaths not even mentioned or, it would seem, regretted?”