The Cannons of Lucknow Read Online Free PDF

same in Benares. His methods, if crude, are undoubtedly effective … and the Commander-in-Chief evidently thinks so, or he wouldn’t have been promoted.”
    â€œI can’t imagine that General Havelock will approve of them, judging by his remarks to us this morning,” Alex said. “Barbarism must not be met by barbarism, he said.”
    â€œQuite so,” Barrow affirmed. They were approaching a village, and he sent two of his cavalrymen to scout ahead of the column. Puffing once more at his cheroot, he went on, “Since this conversation is strictly between ourselves, my dear Alex, I can tell you that there’s no love lost between Havelock and Neill. There hardly could be—they are such very different characters. Neill, understandably perhaps, resented having had command of the Movable Column taken from him, when he expected to be given it himself. And he said so, quite openly, as well as referring to his new commander as ‘The Old Gentleman.’ Before we even left Allahabad, Havelock had to pull rank on him more than once, and finally, when we did set off, he left Neill to follow on with whatever fresh drafts arrived from Dinapore or Calcutta. This, despite his long and distinguished service, is the first independent command our little general has ever had and he intends to make the most of it. He’ll tolerate neither delay nor interference from Neill, I can assure you. He’ll relieve Lucknow, if it’s humanly possible to do so, without wasting a day.”
    â€œYou really think he will?” Alex questioned doubtfully.
    â€œI know he will. At this morning’s staff conference, he instructed Fraser Tytler to begin preparations for crossing the river tomorrow morning. As soon as Neill gets here, Havelock will hand over the command of Cawnpore to him and press on.”
    â€œHe’s going to leave Neill in command here?” Alex echoed, unable to hide his dismay.
    â€œA force of this size hardly requires two generals,” Barrow returned. “And General Havelock doesn’t—” he was interrupted by a shout from one of the two Volunteers scouting fifty yards ahead of the gun train, which was followed an instant later by a fusillade of shots coming from the village they were approaching. Ordering the train to halt and the rest of his small troop to close in and cover it against a possible attack, Barrow put his horse into a canter and rode toward the village, calling over his shoulder to Alex to accompany him. “Mutineers, I imagine,” he added, when Alex drew level with him. “Holed up here with wounded, probably. We’d better take them alive, if we can.”
    The village was small, a mere cluster of reed-thatched huts running down to a stream and screened by trees. At first sight it appeared to be deserted, save for a little group of women engaged in washing their household linen at the river’s edge who, with shrill cries of fright, flung themselves into the water at the sight of the approaching horsemen. Then a horrifying apparition emerged from one of the huts and came stumbling across the intervening space toward them, voice raised in an ear-splitting scream.
    The fugitive was half-naked, a European or an Anglo-Indian, Alex decided, judging by the colour of his skin, but so hideously mutilated that his face bore little resemblance to that of a human being of any race. Nose, ears, and both hands had been hacked off and heavy iron fetters trailed from his ankles, as the unfortunate man dragged himself unsteadily through the dust and filth of the rutted cart track which served the village as a street. The crackle of musketry momentarily drowned his screams and three or four shots whined above his head or buried themselves in the dust at his feet. Intent only on escape, he ignored them, struggling manfully on, until a single, well-aimed shot stopped him in his tracks and he fell awkwardly forward onto his tortured