The Far Pavilions (154 page)

Once again the sky rained debris, and the exhausted doctor, who had clutched a pillar and then sat down abruptly, leaning against it, saw Walter Hamilton and Daffadar Hira Singh racing towards the inner door of the archway and pulling it open; and thought dazedly that the shock of the explosions must have unhinged them both, and that they intended to go out and attack the mob before the guns could be reloaded. But they did not touch the new outer door that by now was so spattered with bullet-holes that it had the appearance of a colander. Instead they turned back to confer briefly with Havildar Hassan and Lance-Naik Janki, and presently Wally nodded briefly, and returning to William and Rosie, said tersely:

‘Look, we've got to get those guns.
We've got to
! I don't mean spike them. I mean capture them. If we can only get 'em back here we can blow the Arsenal sky high – and with it most of that mob out there and half the Bala Hissar as well. We've only got to land one shell fair and square on it, and all that ammunition and gunpowder inside is going to go up with a bang that will wreck everything within a radius of several hundred yards.’

‘Including us,’ said William wryly.

‘What the divil does that matter?’ demanded Wally impatiently. ‘Not that it will, for we're much lower down here, and these walls are far too thick. Ah, I know it sounds a crazy idea, but it's worth a try – anything's worth a try now. If we can get our hands on those guns we've got a fighting chance, but if we don't – well, we can say our prayers now.’

William's eyelids flickered and his youthful face whitened under its mask of blood and dust. He said tiredly: ‘We can't do it, Wally. We've proved that already.’

‘We hadn't got enough rope last time. Besides, the guns were too far away then. But they aren't now, and I'll bet you anything you like that they are being dragged nearer this minute, because those bastards out there are certain that they've got us beat and we can't do anything about it. My Havildar says that there's a fakir out there who's been egging them on all afternoon, screeching to them to blow in the door so that they can fire straight through the barracks and smash down the back wall to allow their friends in the Residency to rush us from the rear. That's why I had the inner door opened: so that if they smash in the front one, we've still got that to fall back on.’

Rosie said shortly: ‘It's mad you are. What would we be using for ammunition even if we did get a gun? Bullets?’

‘The shells we brought back with us last time, of course. We left them here in one of the quarters – twelve of ‘em. That's six for each gun. Just think what we could do with that!’

But William remained unconvinced.

‘I've no objection to charging the damn things again,’ said William, ‘but if we get our hands on them, for God's sake let's spike them this time and be done with it, instead of trying to bring them back with us.’

‘No!’
insisted Wally passionately. ‘If we do that it's all up with us, because they'll have other guns. And they've already got all the ammunition they need, while we're running out of ours; and when we do, and they realize we aren't firing any more, they'll rush this place in force and it will fall inside five minutes. No, there's only one thing for it: we've got to cut off their source of supply, and the only way we can do that is by shelling the Arsenal – and killing as many of them as we can in the process. I tell you we've
got
to get those guns! One of them, anyway. We'll spike the second – I'll get Thakur Singh to do that while the rest of us concentrate on getting the other back. We ought to be able to manage that. Ah sure now, I know it sounds crazy, but it's better than cowering here until they realize that we've run out of ammunition and that all they have to do is get a few ladders and pour in on us over the roof, as they did in the Residency. Is
that
the way you want to die?’

Surgeon-Major Kelly gave a harsh croak of laughter, and coming wearily to his feet, said: ‘Be easy boy, we're with you. Faith, it's a mad gamble, so it is. But there's no saying it couldn't come off. And if we don't take it we're dead men anyway. Well, if we're going to try it you'd best be telling us what to do and getting us started.’

Wally had been right about the guns. While they talked, the mob had been dragging them nearer and nearer until now both were less than seventy yards distant, loaded and facing the wall to the left of the archway; and ready to be fired –

Once again the crash of the double explosion was followed by a wild outburst of cheering. But as the echoes died away the dry-throated mob fell silent, and from his prison high above the compound Ash could hear, cutting through the unceasing rattle of musketry, the muted roar and crackle of burning timber, the hoarse cawing of startled crows and the shrill voice of the Fakir encouraging the mutineers who were pushing the guns towards the barrack archway.

He did not see the barrack doors swing open. But suddenly Wally came in sight, running with William and Rosie and a dozen Guides at his heels to charge straight into that blizzard of bullets and across the dusty open ground towards the guns.

For the second time that day they drove the crews back, and having done so eight of them swung one of the guns round so that it faced the mob, and with six of them harnessed to the ropes and another two putting their shoulders to the wheels, they began to drag it back towards the barracks while the rest held off the enemy with revolvers and swords, and a solitary jawan flung himself at the other gun with the intention of spiking it. But once again the task had proved beyond them.

The hail of bullets killed two of the men who were harnessed to the gun and the sowar who was attempting to spike the other, and who dropped the spike as he died, letting it fall to be lost in the blood-stained dust below the wheels. Another four were wounded, and Wally shouted to the others to run for it, and sheathing his sabre, hastily reloaded his revolver. William and Rosie followed his example, and as the men freed themselves from the ropes and ran for the barracks, taking their wounded with them, the three Englishmen covered their retreat, walking backwards and firing steadily and with such deadly effect that the Afghans wavered and held back, allowing the little party to reach the shelter of the archway in safety.

At the last moment Wally turned, and looking up at Ash's window, flung up his arm in a Roman salute. But the gesture of farewell went unanswered, for Ash was not there. The despair that had stabbed through him when he saw the guns had served to goad his brain into searching yet again, and for at least the hundredth time that day, for a way of escape; and this time, suddenly, he had remembered something. Something that it had not occurred to him to consider before – the geography of the storey below…

He knew which room lay below his own, but he had not thought to visualize those that lay on either side of it; and doing so now he realized that under the Munshi's library lay a small disused room that had once possessed a balcony window. The balcony itself had fallen long ago and the window had subsequently been boarded up; but by now those boards were probably rotten, and once he had broken through the library floor and dropped down through the cavity, it would not be difficult to wrench them off. After which it would merely be a matter of using the sheet rope to negotiate the twenty-foot drop to the ground below.

Any Afghan seeing him slide down from the window would suppose him to be an ally eager to get to grips with the enemy, and the only danger was that one of the jawans on the barrack roof would spot him, and taking the same view, shoot him before he could reach the ground and the cover of the low wall that separated the line of tall houses from the Residency compound. But that was a risk that would have to be taken, and Ash did not trouble his head over it, but within a matter of seconds was back in the Munshi's library and attacking the floorboards.

William, who had seen that valedictory gesture and jumped to a wrong conclusion, clutched at Wally's arm and said breathlessly: ‘Who were you waving at? Was someone trying to signal us? Is the Amir… are they…?’

‘No,’ gasped Wally, flinging his weight against the door to help close it. ‘It's – only – Ash…’

William stared at him blankly: the name meant nothing to him and the sudden flare of hope that had sprung to life at the sight of that gesture died again. He turned away and sank down to the ground, but Ambrose Kelly looked up from the wounded sepoy he was tending and said sharply: ‘
Ash
? You can't mean – do you mean Pelham-Martyn?’

‘Yes,’ panted Wally, still busy with the bars of the outer door. ‘He's up there… in one of those… houses.’

‘In –? For Christ's sake! Then why isn't he doing something for us?’

‘If he could do anything, he'll have done it. He'll have tried, anyway. And God knows he warned us often enough, but no one would listen – not even the Chief. Get that fellow into one of the quarters, Rosie. We're too near the door and they're bound to blast off again. Get back – all of you.’

The mob had only waited until the door was closed before rushing forward to take possession of the guns once more and drag them round and into position in front of the archway, while from every housetop their allies directed a storm of musket-balls onto the stout, windowless walls of the barracks, the unmanned roof and the tattered, bullet-torn canvas awnings.

There was very little light inside the barracks, for the sun had sunk behind the heights of the Shere Dawaza, and by now the whole compound was in shadow. But as the day waned the flames from the burning Residency gathered brightness, and when the guns fired again the flash was no longer dimmed by sunlight, but a vivid glare that dazzled the eyes and gave a fractional warning of the deafening crash that followed.

This time there had been no attempt to fire both guns simultaneously. The first shell had been intended to break in both doors of the archway, and as far as the mutineers were concerned it had done so, for they were unaware that the second one had been left open. They saw the woodwork of the outer one disintegrate in a haze of flying splinters, and when the smoke cleared, the archway gaped on a view of the long central courtyard and the far wall.

Cheering wildly, they touched off the second gun, and the shell streaked through the centre of the barracks to smash a ragged hole that gave access to the lane. Behind that breach lay the courtyard of the Residency – full now of their victorious brothers, who had only to cross the lane and fall upon the infidels from the rear while their exultant allies in the compound rushed them from the front. But though the scheme was an excellent one, it contained two serious flaws, only one of which was immediately apparent: the fact that the inner and far stouter door of the archway had not been destroyed and was now slammed shut.

The other and more serious one, which was known to the garrison but still not realized by the mutineers, was that in setting fire to the Residency the Afghans had made the place untenable for themselves, so that instead of massing there in strength they had looted what they could find and hastily withdrawn out of reach of the flames. The likelihood of an attack from that direction was therefore minimal, and Wally could afford to disregard it and concentrate on one front only since by now there would be no snipers firing on them from the Residency, and the smoke from the burning building would confuse the aim of many of the marksmen on the nearby rooftops.

Secure in this knowledge, his first act after retreating to the barracks and closing that flimsy outer door had been to order four of his men up the stairway at the far end with instructions to keep down out of sight until the guns fired, and then run forward under cover of the smoke and take up their former positions behind the front parapet above the arch, from where they would open fire on the gun-crews to prevent them reloading.

The rest of his small force had scattered to left and right; neither he nor they having any illusions as to what would happen next. Nor had it been long in happening. The outer door duly went, and the shell that demolished it also damaged one of the stone pillars and brought down a shower of bricks; though without injuring anyone.

They waited tensely for the second, and the instant it came, raced forward to close and bar the heavy inner door, while the four jawans who had been crouching at the top of the far stairs leapt to their feet, and concealed by the smoke, ran forward to take cover behind the parapet overhead and open fire on the cheering gun-crews.

Now the loading and firing of a piece of heavy artillery is no easy task for inexperienced men; and the mutineers were not gunners. Not only should the gun be swabbed out between shots, but the live shell must be thrust into the muzzle and rammed down the barrel, the touch-hole primed with gunpowder and lit with a port-fire – or, if necessary, a match. All this takes time, and can be an exceedingly difficult and dangerous task when the crews are being fired on at close range.

Had the walls of the barrack-block possessed proper loopholes that offered protection and a reasonable field of fire, the garrison would have found it a simple matter to prevent the guns being used against them. But as the only place from which they could fire was from behind parapets surrounding a roof that was overlooked by enemy snipers, the guns were strong cards that could not be trumped, and Wally knew it.

He knew too that it was only a matter of time before the four on the roof ran out of ammunition – and that the rest of them had very little left. When that was gone the guns would be loaded without interference and the door would be blown in.

The end was a foregone conclusion, and he realized now that he must have recognized that long ago, and unconsciously based all his actions upon it.

If they must die, then at least let them die in a manner that would redound to the credit of the Guides and the traditions they upheld. Let them go down fighting, and by doing so add lustre to their Corps and become a legend and an inspiration to future generations of Guides. That was the only thing they could do.

He knew that there was very little time left, and that little was running out fast; but for a brief space he stood silent, staring into space and thinking of many things… Of Inistioge and his parents and brothers; of his mother's face as she kissed him goodbye; of Ash and Wigram and all the splendid fellows in the Guides… He had had a good life – a wonderful life. Even now he would not have exchanged it for anyone else's.