A Far Horizon (26 page)

The Chief Magistrate raised his voice. ‘Our retreat must be orderly and, most important, after dark. Already night is upon us. Nothing can now be properly organised for today. We must wait until tomorrow. During the day the wounded can be evacuated, and also the last of the treasure. Even if this is seen by the refugees it should not raise alarm. Messenger boats are regularly coming and going from the ships and it will be seen that all we Europeans are still here.’

The Chief Magistrate had hardly finished speaking when a whistling noise was heard overhead. The Council of War looked up. The candelabra above the mahogany table trembled, its glass flutes tinkling as if the monsoon had suddenly arrived. The whistling grew louder and ended abruptly with a deafening crash. The sickening groans of breaking timber and crumbling brick followed the thunderbolt.

The Council of War sat in stunned silence, watching a cannon ball drop through the roof of the Council chamber and land a few feet from their table. They looked up at the roof in disbelief. Beside the candelabra, which now swayed violently at a precarious angle, the sky showed through a large hole. The first pale stars could already be seen and the last red streaks of sunset. They were brought to their feet by the creaks of the swinging chandelier that soon threatened to fall on them. The Council of War hurriedly fled the chamber.

T
he next day dawned with terrifying briskness. The enemy now occupied the East Battery and had also mounted cannon there. As the early mist rose, the sun sucked up shadows and the heat pressed down upon Fort William. Soon the hot winds began, whipping up dust, rustling through foliage like falling rain. As the refugees rose to make their way to the river for the day’s ablutions, the enemy opened fire. A splattering of muskets was heard, cannons boomed and from the ramparts of Fort William the enemy were seen swarming everywhere below. Shot suddenly flew about the eastern wall of the fort. The adjutant storks rose from their perches with a violent flapping of wings, parakeets screamed and departed in a yellow cloud. In the parade ground hysterical refugees clutched their children, raising fists to Governor’s House.

In the damp, rat-infested passages that led to the strong rooms and warehouses under the fort these sounds echoed distantly to Sati. The ashram had found a providential place in which to hide the God Woman during the heat of battle. The problem of protecting the Goddess had grown as bands of drunken mercenaries roamed the parade ground looking for women. At first a large number of the ashram had tried to accompany Sati beneath the parade ground. The cramped conditions in the small space at the
bottom of the stairs had forced them down the dank passages. There, darkness, the constant journeying of rats and the fear felt by the children of the Portuguese soldiers forced many again above ground. It was decided that only Sati and her attendants should make use of the underground protection.

As dawn shattered the darkness over Fort William, it was clear that the day, although hardly begun, had already developed a sickening momentum. Soldiers continued to retreat into the fort from outposts, carrying their wounded. The enemy yelled and charged recklessly about below the walls of the fort. Now and then volleys of lighted arrows sailed over the ramparts. Although these fell short of the parade ground, waves of fresh panic ensued. Conditions in the makeshift hospital in the ballroom of Governor’s House were appalling. Dysentery was rampant. The dead lay beside the living in pools of vomit and excrement. Pans and bowls were non-existent and space was unavailable for new contingents of wounded. The constant exiting of corpses from the ballroom into the parade ground upset the refugees further. Bales of broadcloth had been brought up from the warehouses. Groups of men worked to erect traverses about the bastions of the fort to resist cannon balls and grapeshot. As they worked they sang, drunk on illicit liquor. Soon Fort William assumed a macabre holiday air, decked out in yards of dark bunting. The refugees became even more desperate at the sight of such revelry in the midst of attack.

The dank cellar below the parade ground filled Sati with depression. She argued to stay in the sun but her grandmother pushed her downstairs.

‘Still so many drunken soldiers about. Better you remain out of sight. The Goddess must be protected,’ Jaya insisted.

Each day now, for hour upon hour, Sati was cut off in near darkness from the world. And Durga, who had run in her blood like mercury, continued to evade her. To the Devi Ashram, Sati was a container for the Goddess and so was herself contained. And by transforming the Goddess from spirit to reality she was herself
transformed. They could not see that Durga was uncontainable. Or that, weighed down by the restrictive vision of so many, she refused to show herself.

Sati turned on the makeshift pallet. The light from the top of the stairwell dissipated quickly and dissolved within the dark passages before her. The scent of soil and brick and animal droppings pressed closely about her. There was the constant scuttling of insect life and the squeaking of rats. She heard the noise of someone descending the stairs and thought Pagal must have returned to crouch again by her side.

She turned to greet him and saw a European man clambering awkwardly down the stairway. He stopped in surprise before her. Sati drew back against the wall in fear, remembering the tales she had heard of rape. The man appeared to be drunk, swaying unsteadily on his short legs, the odour of spirits about him. For a moment they stared at each other in silence, the man’s round, bulging eyes never losing their expression of surprise. Sati faced him like a cornered animal. Then, to her relief, he turned abruptly to stagger away towards the labyrinth of passages. Sati prepared to run to the stairs just as the man, after taking a look at the dark, dank tunnels beneath the fort, decided against proceeding. She drew back again against the wall as he looked about him in agitation. Then his eyes settled upon a filthy trunk pushed into a corner. Without a word he sat himself down upon it and, leaning back against the wall, immediately fell asleep.

Within a moment Govindram and then Mohini and Jaya made their way down the stairs to stare anxiously at the intruder, who had now begun to snore.

‘Get him out,’ Jaya demanded, positioning herself before the man.

‘Better not to disturb him. He will bring others and then who knows what trouble we will face,’ Govindram reasoned.

‘He has come here to hide,’ Mohini declared.

‘Already if one has found this place others may follow. There will be many that do not wish to fight,’ Jaya worried. She stepped nearer
the sleeping man and prodded him with a finger. He gave a grunt but did not stir.

‘We cannot leave the
Devi
alone,’ Mohini announced, sitting down beside Sati. Jaya nodded in agreement and followed Mohini’s example. The women made themselves comfortable upon Sati’s rag pallet; their great bodies stretched out like protective ballast either side of the girl. Govindram squatted down beside them and continued to stare at the man as if, by keeping his eyes upon him, danger would be averted.

*

Dishevelled by circumstances and anxiety, it was impossible to recognise Governor Drake. Wigless and hatless, his shirt and breeches filthy, unshaven and redolent with the scent of spirits, it was easy to mistake him for a Dutch mercenary. The tension of the Council chamber, which he had stoically born for so many days, had suddenly uncoiled like a spring within him.

As he hurried across the parade ground from a visit to Writers’ Row, a hail of enemy fire-arrows had fallen about the Governor. He had looked up to see the sky emptying fiery rain upon him and stood transfixed, feathers of flame falling around him. Looking down at the smouldering sticks spread about his feet, he knew he had come to within inches of death. He turned in panic and hurried on towards Governor’s House, pushing his way through the hysterical refugees. The wretched crowd seemed only to exemplify the adversity against which he struggled each day. An unbearable fatigue washed through him. If he could close his eyes in some dark place for even a moment he was sure his strength would return. As he approached Governor’s House he drew suddenly to a halt, unable to face the lethargic squabbles of the Council chamber. He made for the steps that led down under the fort to the warren of warehouses. All he wanted to do was sleep.

*

For an hour the man dozed, watched minute by minute by the Devi Ashram. He snored and turned but nothing more. Govindram had
made a detailed examination of the intruder but as the man carried neither dagger nor sword there appeared no immediate danger, except that others might follow.

‘All soldiers are drunk. Soon all will want to sleep and hide,’ Jaya continued to worry.

Before Govindram could reply, a further noise was heard on the stairs and yet another Hatman climbed down and came to stand before the sleeping man, leaning forward to shake him.

Lieutenant Witherington, in charge of the powder train, had been searching for the Governor. A sepoy had seen Drake descending the stairs and pointed Witherington in that direction. The Lieutenant made his way down into the darkness beneath the parade ground and looked blindly about, waiting for his sight to clear. Then, seeing Governor Drake asleep on the trunk, he stepped quickly towards him. He cleared his throat loudly but Drake did not stir. Eventually the Lieutenant took hold of the Governor’s arm and shook him apologetically.

‘Governor Drake. Excuse me, sir,’

‘Witherington?’ Drake sat up, rubbing his eyes.

‘Sir, everyone is looking for you.’

‘I am tired, Witherington. The job of Governor is not easy.’ Drake was inclined to close his eyes again but Witherington, who still held on to his arm, shook the Governor gently once more.

‘I thought it best to find you, sir, to report the news to you myself. We don’t know what to do, sir.’

‘Stop blabbering, Witherington. What is your news?’ Drake asked. He had no wish to hear
any
news, all of which he was sure must be bad. He wished to go back to sleep.

‘There is no more powder, sir, we have now reached the very end. If we have enough for even a few hours of battle tomorrow we shall be lucky.’ Witherington spoke in a low voice. Drake leaned forward with a frown.

‘Speak up, Witherington, I cannot hear.’

As Witherington turned back to Drake, Govindram moved
forward, for if he had understood correctly, the sleeping man was the Governor, improbable as it seemed. As Witherington repeated his news in a louder voice, Govindram gave a gasp.

‘What is it?’ Jaya and Mohini asked together.

‘There is no more powder with which to fight.’

‘The Hatmen can no longer fight?’ Mohini wailed.

‘The nawab will come and we shall be slaughtered,’ Jaya gasped.

The women turned and made for the stairs, struggling upwards as fast as their bulk allowed. The sound of their cries and their stricken expressions made it clear to Drake that his conversation had been understood.

‘There will be a panic, Witherington, if those women spread the news.’ Drake’s brain was forced suddenly into gear.

Witherington immediately threw himself at Jaya’s feet as she ascended the stairs. She kicked herself free of his grasp and with Mohini emerged into the sun of the parade ground to warn everyone of the new danger.

Soon the parade ground was alive with the terrifying news that the nawab was coming to slaughter them and the Hatmen had no defence. Refugee women ran about screaming, children still suckling at their breasts. Goats and chickens, terrified by the hysteria, set up a great commotion. Old men shouted advice that nobody heard, children shrieked in a heartbreaking way. Within moments everyone began to run towards the river, set upon escape by the Hoogly.

At last Drake reached the Council chamber with Witherington. The Council of War stood before the windows that faced White Town. Much of the town was in flames, fired either by the enemy or now by the garrison for their own protection. They stood helplessly, trying to determine whose houses had been fired and whose had not. At the Governor’s noisy entrance, the Council of War collected once more about the table while Drake imparted his news. At once the Council transferred to the windows of the chamber which
overlooked
the Hoogly. As the refugees reached the River Gate, the sentries raised their muskets, attempting to quell the hysterical
crowd. For a few moments they were seen jerking about like puppets before being thrown aside by the crowd, which then flowed on to the river.

It was at this moment that further bad news was received. The enemy were now in possession of the Company House to one side of the fort and were trying to force the fence to the river. From the upper storey of the Company House they were firing directly into Fort William. Retaliation was impossible, for the men of the garrison were picked off by the enemy like clay pigeons. Attention was diverted from events at the river by this new development. The Council of War immediately moved back to the windows looking out over White Town. Within moments they saw a lucky cannon ball from Fort William put an end to the ferment from the Company House.

When the Council of War returned their attention to the river, they found a disaster of tragic proportions already in the making. An army of hysterical women had fled down the steps of the quay to a large but dilapidated ferryboat. With children held high above their heads, the women waded into the water towards the boat. It had been built to hold fifty people but soon several times that number of women and children had managed to cram themselves into the craft. Even as it floated away, more women tried to climb in over the bows. They were pushed viciously back into the water by those already aboard.

The Council of War now hurriedly made their way out of Governor’s House and up on to the ramparts of the fort to assess the situation the better. The first thing they saw was that Siraj Uddaulah’s army was still thick about the river fence. Slowly the overloaded boat of women drifted towards the enemy upon the Hoogly’s strong current. As soon as they came within range, a stream of fire-arrows was let loose upon them. Volley after volley hissed through the air and fell upon the boat. The women left on the banks began to scream as stray arrows landed amongst them. They turned and hurried back into the fort. No such escape was available to the
women in the boat. Within moments the craft burst into flames and lurched over on its side. Women and children, their garments aflame, jumped into the water, forced to choose between drowning and roasting.

The Chief Magistrate watched the unfolding tragedy in grim silence. The Governor trembled and began to blubber in fright. Below them, refugee women fleeing back into the fort were met by a crowd of deserting, drunken troops staggering towards the river. The thought of escape swept through Fort William with the force of a hurricane. The wharf was soon choked by a hysterical crowd of soldiers and refugees. As the Governor, the Chief Magistrate and the Chaplain leaned over the ramparts they were shocked to see amongst the mass of desperate deserting men Captain Minchin, commander of the garrison, clambering into a
budgerow.
O’Hara, the Chief Engineer, climbed in beside him and seized the oars. Far out in midstream the
Dodaldy
waited. O’Hara turned the craft towards it and began to row rapidly away.