Amitav Ghosh - Flood of Fire

How to warn them?

Signals and lights would take too long; all Zachary could think of was to fire a shot into the air. Racing down to the captain’s cabin, he snatched a musket from the arms’ cabinet and took it up to the wheelhouse. But as he was trying to prime the gun, he realized that it was a flintlock; the powder was damp and the flint wouldn’t spark. He could not get it to fire.

The Anahita ’s stern had already begun to go under; the windows of the Owner’s Cabin had disappeared beneath the waves and the jib-boom was standing at a sharp angle to the water. In his heart Zachary knew that the Anahita was beyond all help already but to watch and do nothing was impossible. He ran down again to fetch a pistol and came back to find that it was too late: only the forward half of the Anahita was still visible; her elegant bows were pointing straight upwards, at the raging sky.

For a few minutes the Anahita seemed to hang in the water, her head upthrust, as if to take a last look at the heavens. Through the curtain of rain Zachary saw a longboat pulling away from her, heading towards the nearby jetty: he began to pray that the oarsmen would row faster, faster, so that they would not be sucked down by the sinking ship.

Then with gathering speed, the Anahita began to spin as the water dragged her under. A whirlpool took shape around the stricken ship, and as she was vanishing into it, the spinning whorls seemed to race towards the longboat. But then a wave took hold of the boat and carried it away, pushing it towards East Point.

‘Thank God!’

The second mate was standing beside Zachary, fingering the crucifix that hung around his neck and muttering to himself. ‘At least the crew’s safe.’

‘Yes,’ said Zachary. ‘And thank God all the live-lumber had been sent ashore well in advance.’

*

At Guangzhou, eighty miles away, the skies were still clear and people were continuing to pour out into the rice-fields. Soon crowds were gathering in so many places that it looked as though the British troops encamped in the four fortresses were at risk of encirclement.

Inside the fortresses preparations now began in earnest. At rollcall Kesri found that B Company was almost a fifth below strength because of fevers and dysentery. The followers too were much diminished in number and every available man had to be pressed into service, including the cooks and bhandaries. At the last minute Captain Mee ordered an equipment check, to make sure that every sepoy was carrying a rain-cape.

When the bugle sounded the four brigades paraded near the rectangular fortress. The First, Third and Fourth Brigades were ordered to move downhill, to a staging-point in the rice-fields. The Second Brigade, which consisted of marines and armed sailors, was to stay behind to guard the four fortresses.

The descent took a long time because of the narrow hillside pathways; it was not till noon that all three brigades were assembled at the staging-point. Directly ahead of them, at a distance of about a mile, was a crowd of some four or five thousand men. They were armed with pikes, spears, scythes, cudgels, sabres and even an occasional matchlock. Some were carrying long staves with hooks at the end.

There was an extended wait while the officers studied the crowds. It was the hottest hour of the day and the intensity of the sun seemed to increase as storm-clouds crept in from the south. For the troops there was not a spot of shade; the metal frames of their shakoes and topees grew so hot that it was as if they were carrying ovens on their heads. Gaps began to open up in the ranks as men collapsed and were carried away by doolie-bearers.

Meanwhile General Gough and his entourage had decided to go a little way ahead, to a shaded knoll. On the way two officers were seen to reel and lurch. One was the general himself, but he recovered and was able to walk the rest of the way without assistance. But the second officer had to be held up by others; on reaching the knoll he collapsed, falling forward on his face.

It turned out that this was the Quartermaster General; within a few minutes he was dead, of apoplexy, brought on by the heat.

This led to further delays and a good while passed before General Gough finally issued his orders. The brigades were to move in different directions with the aim of engaging and dispersing the mobs. The 4th Brigade was to tackle the crowd that had gathered directly in front of the staging-point. The Cameronians were to advance on it from the left and the Madras and Bengal sepoys from the right.

The fields ahead were flooded. Stepping into the mud, the sepoys waded forward at a slow, deliberate pace, with their muskets at the ready, the barrels resting on their hips.

The crowd began to fall back as the sepoys advanced, but even as it withdrew its numbers kept growing. On coming to a raised embankment the crowd’s retreat suddenly stopped; outlined against a lowering sky, thousands of silhouettes turned to face the sepoys.

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.