Dust and Steel. Patrick Mercer

one of us walks past and lets his shadow fall upon it whilst it’s being prepared. No, we recruit from across all castes, and whilst our fellows might not be as big and well set up as those northerners, they’re the better soldiers for it,’ Brewill continued.

      ‘Ain’t you got any high-caste men in your regiment, then, Brewill?’ Hume asked, genuinely trying to grasp the size of the problem.

      ‘Yes, but not as many as the Bengal regiments tend to have, and there’s always been a tradition of slackness and mollycoddling of the jawans up there that would never be tolerated in this Presidency,’ Brewill replied sniffily.

      Despite a lack of solid news during the voyage, Hume had done his best to explain to the officers the situation that they were likely to face when dealing with the mutiny. They were fully aware that there were three Presidencies, through which ‘John’ Company ruled and administered British India. So far, the outbreak of trouble had been confined to only one of them – Bengal.

      ‘At the same time that the first mutinies started last month, we issued the latest Enfields and I expected drama when the troops had to draw new cartridges. The rumour in Bengal was that they were greased with pork or beef fat – both degrading to Musselmen and Hindus when the paper cartridge is torn open with the teeth – in a deliberate attempt to break the men’s caste before forcing them to adopt Christianity. That shave spread like wildfire with mysterious bloody chapattis being hawked around the place as some sort of mystical sign that British rule would come to an end one hundred years after it started.

      ‘The dates were right – it was the anniversary of Clive’s victory at Plassey in 1757, but the rest was complete balls, of course, but in the light of all the trouble, we allowed our men to wax their own rounds with whatever they chose, and there were no difficulties. Then, a couple of weeks ago we got orders to start warlike preparations for operations against the mutineers around Delhi, and that’s when the boys got a bit moody. It was one thing for the men to be outraged by the news of the fighting, but quite another to be told that they were going to have to fight against their own people, no matter what their caste or background.’ Brewill was doing his best to present his own regiment’s conduct in the most benign light.

      ‘But we’ll need every armed and disciplined man in India, won’t we, sir, if we’re going to crush the mutinies?’ Morgan asked. He was trying to keep up with Brewill’s account, but was struggling to understand the niceties of caste and religion, of what was taboo and what was not. He thought they had difficulties with some of the papists in his own regiment, but clearly it was nothing compared to this. ‘So are all the native regiments here in Bombay suspect, sir?’

      ‘Well, the Tenth seem sound enough, but we’re less sure about the Marine battalion, and the Sappers and Miners…’ Brewill obviously hated to malign his command, but he knew friends of his and their families who had been murdered and hurt by their own men, apparently loyal and trusted sepoys alongside whom they had fought and campaigned for many years. Reluctantly he recognised that the same could happen in Bombay.

      ‘…but let Forgett here explain in more detail.’

      A short, slight, sun-browned man in his early thirties, wearing dun native pyjamas had come quietly into the room. His black hair was slicked back, his moustache and beard worn a little too long in the native fashion, whilst around his waist was a broad, leather belt with a tulwar on his left hip and an Adams revolver clipped on his right. His bright, intelligent eyes flicked across all of them.

      ‘Gentlemen, allow me…I’m Forgett, thanadar of Bombay police. I’ve a little over three hundred native constables and sergeants at my hand, but they’re as good as useless whilst there’s unrest amongst the troops – they’re mostly low caste and in thrall to the sepoys.’ Forgett looked at Hume and Morgan to see if they were taking in what he was telling them. ‘But what they are good at is tittle-tattle. They let me know that a series of badmashes, from way up country around Cawnpore, were at work amongst our troops and by dint of good intelligence—’

      ‘What he means by that, gentlemen, is some of the most valorous work I’ve ever seen,’ Brewill cut in. ‘He disguised himself so that I would have taken him for a bishti an’ went poking around amongst the bloody Pandies—’

      ‘Forgive my ignorance, sir, but who or what is a Pandy?’ Morgan asked. ‘Everyone uses it about the mutineers, but no one can explain it.’

      ‘Oh, Sepoy Mangal Pandy of the 34th led the first uprising in Barrackpore in May; he was hanged in short order, but he’s become a hero to the mutineers, and they go into action yelling his name, I’m told.’ Forgett took up where he’d left off: ‘Anyway, we got to hear that our troops would reject the new cartridges the day after tomorrow when the first drafts are due to march from Bombay for Delhi, and refuse to serve against their “brothers” in Bengal.’

      ‘Aye, you could cut the atmosphere here with a rusty razor for the past couple of weeks,’ Brewill continued. ‘The men seemed detached enough from the mayhem of the last months in Bengal, but when we were told to prepare for operations, the lads got sulky. We knew you were on your way, but Forgett had to act yesterday and arrest the three ringleaders before you got here. Since then we’ve had mobs out on the streets, and if it hadn’t been for the merchant sailors, I suspect that there might have been outrages committed against some of the European wives and families already.’

      ‘How many Europeans are there here, Brewill?’ asked Hume.

      ‘There’s about three hundred women, nippers and some Eurasians in the cantonment below the fort; couple o’ hundred sailors, and Bolton’s troop of Bombay Horse Artillery – we’ll use them for the executions after the court martial.’

      Hume and Morgan exchanged glances.

      ‘Yes, Hume, I know it’s a nasty business, but I’ll have to ask you to try the scum that we’ve caught and also to oversee the executions. Queen’s Regulations specify that trials and punishment should, as far as possible, be carried out by officers and men from other corps, as you know. The gunners will blow the rascals from the muzzles of their guns, but I shall have to ask your men to be ready to open fire, along with Bolton’s guns, if any of our men get ticklish.’

      Both 95th officers were more than familiar with this grisly but traditional method of execution for disaffected, native troops. It had been used since Clive’s time a century before, borrowed from the Indians themselves by the British as a way of further defiling the victim in death.

      ‘Again, sir, please don’t think I’m trying to interfere, but if you’re preparing execution parties already, doesn’t that suggest that a decision on the men’s guilt has been arrived at even before they’ve stood trial?’ Morgan knew he was speaking for Hume.

      Caustic smiles spread over the faces of Colonel Brewill and the policeman. ‘Fine words, young Morgan, but you’ve no idea what those brutes have done around Lucknow.’ So far, Brewill had been measured. Now his voice sank to a flat whisper. ‘Don’t you know what they did to General Handscome and half the European and Eurasian civilians up there, or their depravity in Bareilly? Why, Commandant Peters of the Third Light Cavalry had to watch whilst his wife and children were butchered in front of him before they roasted him to death over a fire – his own men, mark you. No, there’s no place for mercy here.’

      ‘Or justice, sir?’ Morgan couldn’t stop himself.

      ‘Justice, goddamn you?’ Brewill’s voice rose as all attempts to control himself disappeared. ‘What fucking justice did those poor souls get from the animals in Delhi last month? Have you read Mrs Aldwell’s account – how twenty or more European ladies and children were roped together like beasts of the field and then chopped to pieces by servants they thought they could trust? Don’t come the nob with me just because you chased a few Muscovites around the Crimea. No, heed my words: unless we show our people just who’s in charge, we’ll have the same problems here, and if you think that you can do without the help of the Bombay regiments to put those whoresons in Bengal back in their place then you’re very much mistaken. The only answer is to give them a sharp lesson, and if that means getting blood on your