It was late in the afternoon now and the Cameronians had disappeared from view, behind a cluster of houses on the left. The three hundred sepoys were on their own now, facing an assembly of six or seven thousand men.
The long trudge through the mud had all but exhausted the sepoys so a rest was ordered. The respite lasted just long enough for the followers to catch up and for water to be distributed to the sepoys. Then suddenly the crowd began to move towards them in a mass, brandishing weapons and shooting matchlocks.
Meanwhile a contingent of artillerymen had taken up positions to the rear of the sepoys. A flight of Congreve rockets now sailed over the soldiers’ heads; crashing into the crowd, the projectiles went ploughing through its ranks, leaving behind furrows of fallen bodies. But still the crowd kept on coming, undeterred.
Now it was the sepoys who began to retreat, but being weighed down by heavy loads, they could not move as fast as their adversaries. When the gap between them and the crowd had dwindled to a stone’s throw, the sepoys were ordered to stop and take up firing positions.
The sepoys’ first volley decimated the front rank of the crowd, bringing it to a halt. The sky had darkened now and a fierce wind had arisen. A sheet of lightning darted through the clouds and then, to the accompaniment of peals of thunder, the rain came pelting down, not in drops but in long jets. It was as if the countryside were being bombarded with liquid projectiles. The sepoys were soaked before they could put on their rain-cloaks.
To fire flintlock muskets was impossible now: swords and bayonets were the sepoys’ only serviceable weapons — and both were shorter in reach than the pikes and spears of their adversaries. The storm was now the sepoys’ sole ally, its fury the crowd’s only check.
Through the roar of the wind Kesri heard Captain Mee’s voice, shouting in his ear: the CO had ordered him to make contact with the Cameronians; he was setting off in search of them with a platoon of sepoys; Kesri was to accompany him.
‘We’ll need to take a runner with us, havildar.’
Ji, Kaptán-sah’b.
Shielding his face against the driving rain, Kesri went to take a look at the few followers who had managed to keep up with the company. His eyes went at once to Maddow and he beckoned to him: Chal — stay close to me.
*
At Hong Kong the rain kept falling, in torrents, even after the storm had passed over the bay, sweeping northwards, in the direction of Canton. But the fury of the gale quickly abated and the mountainous waves subsided into heavy swells. As soon as it was safe, Zachary called for the Ibis’s longboat to be lowered. Climbing in, he ordered the crew to row over to the jetty that led to the new Burnham godown.
The building was unharmed but there was so much wreckage all around that it took a while to approach it: Zachary had to hammer on the door for several minutes before he was let in.
The godown’s cavernous interior was lit by a few dimly flickering lamps: some of the Anahita’s crewmen were kneeling in rows, saying namaaz; some were sitting huddled in the corners, shivering as they hugged their knees.
‘Master Zikri!’
Turning to his right Zachary saw that Baboo Nob Kissin was hurrying towards him.
There was now only one thought in Zachary’s mind. ‘Where’s Mrs Burnham?’ he said. ‘Is she in that room you’d prepared for her?’
Baboo Nob Kissin took a few more steps and then his enormous head shook slowly from side to side. ‘Master Zikri — I am sorry.’
‘What do you mean you’re sorry?’ Zachary snapped. ‘Where is she? Just answer the question.’
Again Baboo Nob Kissin shook his head: ‘I am sorry …’
Zachary laid his hands on the gomusta’s shoulders and shook him hard. ‘Baboo, this is no time for your flumadiddles: just tell me where she is.’
‘Yes, Master Zikri — that is what I am trying …’
Mrs Burnham had changed her mind at the last minute, said Baboo Nob Kissin. She had decided that instead of going ashore, to take shelter in the godown, she would ride out the storm on the Anahita: she had complete confidence in the crew, she had declared, and she wasn’t going to allow a bit of a blow to throw her into a funk. Baboo Nob Kissin had tried to persuade her to leave but she had silenced him in her usual imperious way. It was impossible to argue with the Burra Memsah’b beyond a point; at her orders Baboo Nob Kissin and a few others had left the ship as planned, to take refuge in the godown.
The rest of it Baboo Nob Kissin had heard from the crew, when they came ashore after the sinking of the Anahita.
Early that morning, before the storm hit the coast, Mrs Burnham had rung for a steward and asked for a tray of tea. The steward had returned to find her sitting in the Owner’s Suite, beside a window. It was already blowing hard then: she had said that she would be safe there and that she wanted to watch the storm coming in.
Once the storm broke the crew had no time to check on Mrs Burnham. It wasn’t till the ship began to take in water that a serang ran down to the Owner’s Suite. He had found the suite’s door jammed, perhaps by a piece of furniture: he had pounded on it and on receiving no answer he had gone to fetch an axe. But by the time he returned the ship’s stern was already below water, the gangway flooded — he would have drowned if he had stepped in. There was nothing more to be done.
‘But Master Zikri …’
Although Baboo Nob Kissin was leaning close to Zachary now, his voice seemed to reach his ear from very far away.
‘Last night, Master Zikri, before I departed from Anahita, Burra Memsah’b gave one letter. For you. She said to ensure that you received.’
‘Where is it?’
‘Here — I have safely kept.’
Withdrawing into a corner, Zachary broke the seal and began to read.
*
The platoon set off with Captain Mee in the lead and Kesri bringing up the rear. As they veered leftwards Kesri handed his now useless musket to Maddow and took his sword in his hand.
The surrounding fields had already turned into a continuous expanse of water; the bunds had disappeared and the only points of orientation were a few clusters of dwellings, dimly visible through the rain. Although nightfall was still a while away the sky was so dark that it was as if the sun had already set.
Hearing a sound behind him, Kesri looked over his shoulder; peering into the failing light he spotted the misted outlines of moving figures. It occurred to him that these might be the Cameronians and for an instant he was light-headed with relief. But then a rock came hurtling through the rain, to hit him in the shoulder, and he knew that they were being followed by the mob.
‘Halt! Halt!’ Kesri shouted and in a matter of seconds Captain Mee appeared beside him, sword in hand.
‘They’re behind us, sir,’ said Kesri — and as soon as the words were out of his mouth Kesri realized that he’d spoken prematurely. The armed men weren’t just behind the platoon; they were all around, their outlines enshrouded by rain. Suddenly the pointed head of a pike shot out of the curtain of falling water; it would have pierced Kesri’s ribcage if Captain Mee hadn’t struck it down with his sword.
Now, as rocks and stones began to fly out of the deluge, Kesri felt something tugging at his ankles and looked down. It was a large hook, attached to a staff. He slashed at it with his sword, breaking it in two. But somewhere to the rear one such staff had succeeded in hooking a sepoy; he had fallen and was being dragged through the mud.
Two sepoys caught hold of the fallen man’s arms and pulled him back. When he was on his feet again, Captain Mee shouted: ‘A square! Form a square!’