Sluggishly, fending off brickbats with their arms, the men fell into a square. Standing shoulder to shoulder they thrust their bayonets at every moving shape.
After a few minutes Captain Mee’s voice was again in Kesri’s ear: ‘We’re too exposed here; we have to move. I saw some houses to the left. If we can reach them we’ll have a wall at our back.’
Ji, Kaptán-sah’b.
‘I’ll lead,’ said the captain, wiping his streaming face with his sleeve. ‘You bring up the rear.’
The radius of visibility was no more than a few feet now; only when flashes of lightning streaked through the clouds was Kesri able to see beyond that. When the platoon began to move he kept his eyes fixed on the darkness, moving backwards, sword at the ready.
Projectiles kept raining down on the platoon as it waded through the mud. When at last there was a slight quickening in the pace, Kesri sensed that they were out of the paddies, on level ground. Then he glanced back and saw that a gap had opened up between him and the rest of the platoon: they were already out of his circle of visibility. He would have to hurry to catch up.
Just as Kesri was about to quicken his pace, the pointed end of a spear came hurtling towards him, from the right. He brought his sword down upon the shaft and had the satisfaction of seeing the tip fly off. And then, inexplicably, without his being aware of an injury, his left leg crumpled under him, bringing him down heavily, on his back. A flash of lightning split the sky, to reveal a circle of faces, closing in, with pikes and spears pointed at him.
Kesri’s sword was still in his hand and he tightened his grip on it: he knew that his time had probably come but he felt no panic; only a kind of sadness that it should happen here, at the hands of men with whom he had no quarrel; men who were not even soldiers, who were trying only to protect their villages, as he himself would have done back home.
He saw a shadow moving towards him and slashed at it with his sword. Even as his blade dug into flesh and bone he felt an impact in his own flank. He was trying to turn when a pike crashed into his wrist and the sword dropped from his hand. And then, as he lay helpless on the ground, he heard a deep-throated voice calling his name — Kesri Singhji? — and he shouted: Hã! Yahã! Here, I’m here!
A bayonet swung out in an arc above him, scattering the faces that had been closing in.
Havildar-sah’b?
The voice was Maddow’s.
Kesri answered with a grunt and Maddow squatted beside him, with his bayonet levelled at the darkness.
Hold on to my neck, havildar-sah’b, said Maddow, and I’ll pull you on to my back.
Kesri wrapped his arms around Maddow’s neck and felt himself being lifted up; then Maddow began to back away, with the Brown Bess circling watchfully in front of him, the bayonet slicing through the darkness.
As he clung to Maddow’s back Kesri became aware of a searing pain in his thigh. Only now did it dawn on him that his hamstring had been severed — and once he had become conscious of the injury the pain welled up in waves, almost overwhelming him. As if through a fog, he recognized Captain Mee’s voice: ‘Havildar? What the devil …?’ — and he realized he was back with the platoon, in the enclosed centre of a square. On every side of him sepoys were fending off attacks.
‘You’re losing a lot of blood, havildar.’
Through gritted teeth Kesri said: ‘Kaptán-sah’b, you go back to the men. Maddow here will take care of me.’
The captain nodded and his face faded away. Meanwhile Maddow had already slit open Kesri’s trousers.
Bahut khoon ba, said Maddow. There’s a lot of blood; I’d better tie up the cut.
Maddow peeled off his tunic, tore off a few pieces of cloth and bound them over Kesri’s wound. Then he reached into a pocket and pushed something into Kesri’s mouth. In a second Kesri’s nostrils were filled with the grassy, sickly-sweet odour of opium.
It was like an answer to a prayer: at the very smell of the substance the pain receded and Kesri’s breath returned.
In a few minutes Kesri heard Captain Mee’s voice again: ‘How are you, havildar?’
‘Better, Kaptán-sah’b. And the men?’
‘They’re doing their best — but if we can’t get our guns to fire I don’t know how much longer we’ll be able to hold off this rabble. They’re everywhere.’
An odd calm had descended on Kesri now and he remembered something he had once witnessed, as a young sepoy.
‘Give me some rain-capes, Kaptán-sah’b,’ he said. ‘Let me see what I can do.’
With Maddow’s help, Kesri fashioned a tent-like covering with a couple of rain-capes. Then he snapped open his Brown Bess; digging a sodden cartridge out of the barrel he told Maddow to find him some dry cloth.
Maddow took off his turban and tore a few strips from the inside, where the cloth was still dry. Kesri took them from him, twisted them into wicks and used them to wipe dry the inside of the barrel. Then he called for Captain Mee and told him to try firing the musket under cover of a rain-cape.
A minute or two later he heard the crack of a musket-shot, followed by cries in the distance.
‘That’ll scatter them for a bit,’ said Captain Mee, ducking under the tented cape. ‘Do you think you could do that again, havildar?’
‘Already done, Kaptán-sah’b.’
As Kesri was handing over the next musket a shot rang out, in the distance, and was quickly followed by another.
‘Percussion guns!’ said Kesri.
‘Yes,’ said the captain jubilantly. ‘I suppose it’s the Cameronians. They must have heard our shot.’
Knowing that help was near, Kesri allowed his head to sink to the ground. By the time the Cameronians arrived he had lost consciousness.
My dear Zachary
I write in haste …
I do not know if there is anything I could do or say to persuade you that I have never meant to cause you pain. If I have seemed cruel or capricious it is only because I knew that there could be no better expression of my love than to set you free, to find your own way in the world. I am, as you know, a foolish, vain, unhappy creature and I wanted to spare you the misery and dishonour that I have inflicted upon everyone I have ever loved. But in that too I was vain and foolish: I understand now that there is only one way in which I can truly set you free –
There is but one last thing I ask of you — that you take care of Paulette, whose hopes of happiness I have also destroyed. You are now well launched in your career and will no doubt achieve great success; for her, things will be much harder. If ever I meant anything to you then you will do for me what I could not do myself: make amends.
I hope also that some day you will come to forgive both yourself and the woman whose unfortunate destiny it was to be
Your
Cathy
May 29, 1841
The British force regrouped quickly once the storm had passed: the units that had gone astray were tracked down and the three brigades then made a hasty retreat to the safety of the four fortresses.
But the confrontation was far from over: the hostile demonstrations continued for two more days, with as many as twenty-five thousand villagers turning out to oppose the invaders; they marched behind the banners of their villages and answered only to leaders of their own choosing.
The British commanders countered by delivering yet more ultimatums to the mandarins, warning that the city would face attack unless the crowds stood down. These threats eventually prompted official intercession and the villagers were persuaded to return to their homes. Only then did the British troops withdraw from the heights above Canton.
Kesri was not aware of these events of the time and did not learn of them until much later: the force was still marooned in the fortresses when the wound in his thigh turned gangrenous; it was there that his left leg was amputated.