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JONES OF THE 64TH
* * * * * *
BLACKIE & SON LIMITED
50 Old Bailey, LONDON
17 Stanhope Street, GLASGOW
BLACKIE & SON (INDIA) LIMITED
Warwick House, Fort Street, BOMBAY
BLACKIE & SON (CANADA) LIMITED
1118 Bay Street, TORONTO
* * * * * *
[Illustration: SUDDENLY THE MAHRATTA TWISTED IN HIS SADDLE, AIMED AT HIS
HEAD, AND FIRED
_Page 217_ _Frontispiece_]
JONES OF THE 64TH
A Tale of the Battles of Assaye and Laswaree
by
COLONEL F. S. BRERETON
Author of "Roger the Bold" "The Great Airship"
"Colin the Scout" "A Knight of St. John" &c.
Illustrated by W. Rainey, R.I.
Blackie & Son Limited
London and Glasgow
* * * * * *
By Colonel F. S. Brereton
On the Field of Waterloo.
The Great Airship.
With the Allies to the Rhine.
Under French's Command.
Colin the Scout.
With Allenby in Palestine.
A Hero of Panama.
Foes of the Red Cockade.
Under the Chinese Dragon.
A Sturdy Young Canadian.
How Canada was Won.
John Bargreave's Gold.
With Shield and Assegai.
With Rifle and Bayonet.
In the King's Service.
The Dragon of Pekin.
One of the Fighting Scouts.
A Knight of St. John.
Roger the Bold.
The Rough Riders of the Pampas.
Indian and Scout.
The Great Aeroplane.
Tom Stapleton.
A Boy of the Dominion.
* * * * * *
Printed in Great Britain by Blackie & Son, Ltd., Glasgow
Contents
Chap. Page
I. MR. BENJAMIN HALBUT INTERFERES 1
II. A PROTÉGÉ 15
III. FACING A DIFFICULTY 30
IV. A HUNTING EXPEDITION 48
V. THE EAST INDIAMAN ATTACKED 66
VI. A TRAP FOR A TRAP 83
VII. TOUCH AND GO 99
VIII. THE CITY OF PALACES 116
IX. JOHN COMPANY 134
X. A MAHRATTA STRONGHOLD 153
XI. AN OLD MAN'S RUSE 171
XII. THE FIRST ASSAULT 190
XIII. SPECIAL SERVICE 209
XIV. A GLORIOUS VICTORY 228
XV. HOLKAR THE TREACHEROUS 244
XVI. A DANGEROUS FRENCHMAN 262
XVII. OWEN MAKES AN EFFORT 279
XVIII. COLONEL LE POURTON'S LEGACY 295
XIX. THE DECCAN INVINCIBLES 310
XX. AN END TO MYSTERY 328
Illustrations
Facing
Page
SUDDENLY THE MAHRATTA TWISTED IN HIS SADDLE,
AIMED AT HIS HEAD, AND FIRED _Frontispiece_
REACHING UP TO HIS FULL HEIGHT HE STRUCK THE
MAN ON THE BREAST 104
HE STRETCHED OUT A HUGE PAW AND DRAGGED
OWEN UP 200
COLONEL LE POURTON WAS STARING DOWN THE
MUZZLE OF THE WEAPON 296
PLAN OF THE BATTLE OF ASSAYE viii
[Illustration: PLAN TO ILLUSTRATE THE BATTLE OF ASSAYE, Sept. 23, 1803]
CHAPTER I
Mr. Benjamin Halbut Interferes
It was late in the afternoon of a lovely summer's day in the year of
grace 1798, and all the world and his wife were abroad, taking advantage
of the brilliant weather, for it had rained heavily for a week past, and
the countryside had been flooded. But another cause had brought the
people from their homes to the town of Winchester, for it was market
day, the weekly day for sales, when farmers gathered at the square,
having driven in their sheep or cattle from miles around, while the
horse-breeders had come in with their droves of animals, many of them
having spent the previous night on the road. And in consequence the
pleasant town of Winchester wore a gay appearance. The market square was
thronged to overflowing, while within the space of a few yards one could
see such a medley of beings that the sight caused any stranger to pause
and wonder. Standing there perhaps in some retired corner watching the
crowd, he could tell at a glance that the rough fellow who had just
passed, with tattered coat and breeches, odd-coloured hose and shock
head of hair, was a cattle-drover, who had more than likely slept last
night in some wayside ditch within hearing of his beasts. Then would
come a burly farmer, stout and strong, a patron of good English beef and
ale, red of face and round of limb, jolly and hearty as a sand-boy. And
if his face failed to tell of his calling, his clothing was a sure
criterion, for your farmer has had his own particular dress for many a
century, and in the year of which we speak, providing prosperity had
come to him, the man who rented or owned his farm, and employed his
hands, turned out on market days in a manner which was distinctive. And
very well and prosperous did they look in their grey beaver hats, their
tailed jackets of broadcloth, with a cravat of ample dimensions about
their necks. And down below perhaps a pair of silken hose, as this was
market day, or, if they had ridden in, boots and spurs, the former well
blacked and polished.
But all were not farmers and drovers. Women sat huddled in the corners,
some with baskets of sweets and cakes, others selling combs,
handkerchiefs, and fancy articles likely to attract the maids who
patronised the spot. Horsy-looking men tramped the pavements, or stood
opposite the Black Bull, chewing the inevitable piece of straw,
discussing the prices of the day and the business which they had done.
Boys, for the most part barefooted and in tatters, rushed here and
there, seeking to earn an odd copper by carrying a bag or holding a
horse. And lurking in the crowd one caught sight of furtive-looking
individuals, whose slouch hats were pulled well over their eyes, and who
stood, with hands deep in their pockets, surveying the scene idly,
waiting for the night to come. For then it would be their turn to hustle
the tired marketers, to pick the pockets of the women as they looked on
at some outdoor fair, and to lure the revellers to some dark corner
where they might easily rob them of the results of their marketing.
It was all very interesting and very entertaining to one of thoughtful
mind, and Mr. Benjamin Halbut, of the celebrated East India Company,
found ample food for thought as he wandered amidst the booths and
cattle-pens. He was a gentleman of more than middle age, moderately
tall, and practically clean shaven, as was the custom of the day. He was
elegantly dressed in the height of the fashion, and wore a high stock.
But there was nothing frivolous about his appearance, for his features
told a tale of study, of a peaceful and thoughtful mind, and of a nature
which was the reverse of unfriendly. And there was something
distinguished about him too, something which his refined features
enhanced, and which caused many a farmer to glance at him with approval.
Some, in fact, raised their beavers to him and smiled, a salutation
which he instantly responded to, tucking his malacca under his arm in
military style, and lifting his hat with a grace which was captivating.
And at such times he showed a splendid head of hair, continuous with
short and bushy whiskers which were then commonly worn by those who
belonged to the quality.
"A proper gentleman, and one as it's a pleasure to rent from," said
young Farmer Smiles, as Mr. Benjamin passed before the Black Bull. "I
reckon as he's the best landlord this side o' London Town."
"And for many a mile round, lad," added a rotund individual, as he wiped
the perspiration from his brow with a brilliant bandana handkerchief,
and replaced his beaver with great care, giving it that rakish list to
one side which many a farmer practised. "And to think as he's a
bachelor, and at his time o' life," he went on. "They say as there's
many a lass from the fine houses as would willingly look over his age
and take him as a husband. But, bless yer, he don't see it. He's too
busy a man for marriage. What with sailin' to India every other year,
and posting backwards and forwards between this and town, he ain't got
the time. Well, Simon, it's main hot to-day, and so we'll have another
tankard to drink his health in. Hi, lass! another full to the brim, and
as cold as you can draw it from the cellar."
It seemed, indeed, as if all in the market square were cheerful and
contented on this day, and as Mr. Benjamin sauntered along his
thoughtful face wore a smile of pleased approval. He stopped at this
booth and at that, lifting his hat to the farmers' wives and daughters,
nodding to the drovers whom he knew by sight, and acknowledging the
salutations of the smaller fry, unknown to him personally, but who knew
well who this fine gentleman was. And presently, as he gained the
farther side of the market, a gathering crowd attracted his attention,
and, being curious, he allowed himself to be carried by the people in
that direction. It was the portion of the square given over to the
carts and teams of the marketers. Here all who drove in from the
surrounding country brought their conveyances, and taking the horses out
tied them to the wheel. Some brought large tarpaulins with them, and
rigged up a shelter for the use of their women folk, and a peep beneath
some of these improvised tents disclosed chairs and a box or two upon
which the occupants ate their meals. This was, in fact, the quarter
where the smaller farmers came, those who could not afford to take their
conveyances to the ample yard of the Black Bull.
In the far corner of this portion the crowd had collected round a rough
square, in the centre of which stood a farmer's cart, with the horse
harnessed to the shafts, and a woman seated in the vehicle, holding a
child in her arms. At the horse's head stood a burly fellow, a small
farmer of rough and brutal appearance, who was engaged in examining the
broken knees of the animal, and mopping the blood which poured from
them.
"Thirty guineas lost! Not a penny less," he shouted with an oath, as he
looked at the wounds. "Here have I been tending the beast as if he were
a child, and then this rascal lets him down. I tell you he did it on
purpose!"
He flung the last words at his wife, who sat in the vehicle, and glared
at her maliciously as if he dared her to deny the fact. Then his eyes
sought one corner of the square about which stood the crowd of
marketers, composed of the rougher element, and for the most part
consisting of touts and drovers, though there was a small sprinkling of
farmers, and in one part a tall sergeant from the regiment stationed in
the town. His gaze fixed itself upon a lad some fourteen years of age,
down at heel and shabbily dressed. In fact, his clothes hung grotesquely
about him, for they were the cast-off garments of the farmer, and had
had but little alteration. He was bareheaded, his cap lying at the
farmer's feet, showing that the latter had struck him already. The
little fellow stood there looking fearfully at his master, waiting for
the thrashing which he knew would be given him as soon as the horse's
injuries had been seen to. But if he feared his master's blows there was
an air of desperation about the lad now, and his clenched fists seemed
to argue that he would not suffer without offering some opposition.
"Broken the knees of the best horse in the stable and lost me thirty
guineas," growled the man. "Come here and take your whipping!"
"Leave the lad alone, George," cried his wife, looking fearfully at her
husband. "He couldn't help it. The horse slipped on the cobbles. Ask any
one who stood near at hand."
"And all because you'd save his skin from a hiding. Hold your tongue,
woman," retorted the farmer, snapping the words at her.
He was a nasty-tempered fellow, as any one could see, and the opposition
offered by his wife hardly helped to smooth his anger. He wrapped a
piece of linen about the animal's knees, and then calmly unstrapped the
leather belt which was about his waist. And all the while the crowd
looked on expectantly, while the lad cowered in his corner, trembling
with apprehension. A moment or two later the ruffianly farmer stepped
towards him, and as he stretched out a hand to take him by the shoulder
struck the boy a cruel blow across the face with his strap. Next second
a tiny fist flew out, and the knuckles struck the brute full in the
mouth. At once there was intense silence in the crowd. All held their
breath while they awaited the result of such audacity, craning their
heads to obtain a better view. As for the farmer he staggered back,
spitting blood from his mouth, and growling out curses at the boy. Then
his anger got the better of his discretion, and he threw himself
furiously at the boy, his eyes blazing with rage, and his strap held
well aloft, prepared to deal a stinging blow. But it was never
delivered, for just as Mr. Benjamin Halbut pressed his way to the front,
and stepped into the square with the intention of putting a stop to the
contest, the sergeant who had been a spectator of the scene ran from his
corner and faced the man.
"Fair play!" he cried. "The lad's too small. Strike one of your own size
and weight."
If there had been five sergeants there it would have made no difference,
for George Ransom, the farmer, was blind with anger. Always a
self-willed man he was noted for his brutality, and many a time had the
lad whom he now attacked suffered a severe thrashing at his hands. He
knew his strength and weight, and with a shout of fury he flung himself
upon the sergeant, bringing his belt down with a thud on his shoulder.
Then a strange thing happened. The sergeant, a man of some forty years
of age, leapt to one side, and in a trice George Ransom was met with a
terrific blow beneath the jaw, which sent him flying back on to the
ground.
"Straight from the shoulder! A fine blow! A very fine knock-out indeed!"
It was Mr. Benjamin who spoke, and at the sound of his voice the
interest of the spectators was for the moment distracted from the
combatants. A moment later George Ransom had all their attention, for he
rose slowly to his feet, his face scarlet with rage and his fists
clenched tightly. Then he slowly divested himself of his coat and rolled
his sleeves to the elbow. And as he did so the news that a fight was
about to take place spread with the rapidity of a fire, bringing the
people crowding to that end of the market square.
"A fight! A fight! Stand back and give 'em room," they shouted.
"You've taken it into your thick head to stick up for the shaver,"
growled George Ransom, as he made the final preparations. "Well, you've
got to fight for him, and you've got to take punishment for that blow.
Best get that red jacket off, unless you'll keep it on to hold up your
courage."
"Nay, I'll take it off to keep it clear of your fingers. Think I'd have
it soiled by the hands of a man like you, a big hulking brute who
strikes children! That coat, my friend, has been on the shoulders of a
better man than you, as I'll try to show you. Who'll take charge of it
for me?"
Very quietly and coolly the sergeant had begun to do as George Ransom
was doing. He had already unbuttoned his tailed tunic, and slung his
belt and sabre or side-arm from his shoulders. And now, as he turned to
the mob he called for some one to take his part. Then his eye fell on
the lad standing beside him, his cheeks flushed with excitement and his
eyes shining.
"You're the man," he said. "Here, my lad, take charge, and stand in the
corner out of harm's way."
"Silence for a moment, my friends," suddenly rang out another voice, as
Mr. Benjamin Halbut moved to the centre of the circle. "Ah, Mr. Joseph
Romwell and Mr. Tasker, you have come in good time. This gentleman, who
wears his Majesty's uniform, has been challenged to fight by
this--er--this fellow here, whom I witnessed myself striking the lad. We
will see fair play. I am an old hand at the game, and with your pleasure
will keep the rounds. Let us have a couple of chairs, and with a few
more of these friends of ours we will keep a circle. One moment,
sir"--he turned upon the farmer who was now fully prepared and was
moving towards his opponent--"one moment till all is ready. Ah, here are
others, and we shall soon be prepared for you. Gentlemen, I wager fifty
guineas on the sergeant, and if he loses I will give this fellow here
the same and twenty for the boy. If the sergeant wins I will pay twenty
guineas for the boy, and so take him off his hands. Is that a bargain?"
"I'd give him away," answered George Ransom. "But if you're fool enough
to bet on a match like this, all the better. Fifty guineas to me if I
win, and twenty also for the boy. I'm ready."
He spat on his hands and doubled his fists, bringing both in front of
his massive chest. And to look at him there seemed every prospect of his
proving the victor; for he was at least two stones heavier than the
sergeant, while his arms, now that they were bared, proved to be of as
massive proportions as were his thighs and calves. But Mr. Benjamin
Halbut seemed to have no uneasiness as to the results of the conflict,
and it was very clear to all that he at least was well able to judge.
The manner in which he held his watch, his authoritative tones, and the
precision with which he placed the opponents and the judges, showed that
he was not unused to pugilistic encounters. And in fact, like large
numbers of gentlemen of that day, he was keenly in favour of the art of
fighting. True, as viewed nowadays, prize-fighting is and was a
barbarous sport, but it had many adherents in the old days, and was not
always conducted on barbarous lines. And Mr. Halbut had done his utmost
to foster the art, feeling that it helped to make men of his countrymen.
He had attended many a bout, and was considered as good a judge of
pugilists as any in the country. At the very first he had noticed the
wiry, active proportions of the sergeant, his keen eye, and the cool
manner in which he made his preparations. And now that he saw him
stripped, the hardness of his muscles, his pose as he stepped into the
ring, and the poise of his head, told that here was a man who had
practised the game.
"A champion, if I am not mistaken," thought Mr. Halbut. "Game to fight
to a finish, and has science. Well, he will want it, for this big bully
will strike with the power of a giant. All the better; if he is beaten
it will mean that my friend the sergeant will have obtained a finer
victory."
By now the news had filtered to every portion of the square, and a big
concourse of people was gathered in the corner; in fact, all who could
possibly leave their stalls or their animals had come across, while the
hall of the Black Bull was emptied. And thanks to this fact, there were
now numbers of better-class farmers and breeders close at hand, and
these, at a sign from Mr. Halbut, took up a position within the circle
so as to keep the crowd back.
"We are ready, I think," said Mr. Halbut. "Corners, please. Break away
when time is called. Now, time!"
The two opponents at once approached one another, the farmer burning to
beat down the sergeant, and confident that his strength and superior
weight would help him to do so; while the latter came up with a quiet
and intent little smile, wary and watchful, knowing that for a time at
least he would have his hands very full. Nor was it long before his
enemy showed the tactics he was prepared to follow. For a moment or two
he stood to the utmost of his height, his fists moving to and fro like a
couple of enormous sledge-hammers. Then, dropping his head suddenly he
rushed at the sergeant, swinging both arms about his head. And in this
manner he reached the opposite corner, only to find that his opponent
had slipped past him and was waiting for him to turn and renew the
combat. There was a shout of applause from the crowd, and then a cheer
as George Ransom again rushed to the attack. When time was called the
farmer was breathing heavily, while he had so far failed to touch his
opponent. His anger now had risen, if that were possible, and when Mr.
Halbut again called the combatants into the circle the farmer came
forward without a pause, and with a shout rushed at his enemy. He was
met this time with a terrific blow beneath the guard, and staggered
back, spitting teeth from his mouth. But the blow was nothing to a man
of his size and strength, and in a little while he had closed with the
sergeant and the two were striking at one another, the farmer with blind
fury, and the sergeant with skill and coolness. Once, in the third
round, the latter failed to check a rush, and a blow from George Ransom
laid him on the ground, where he lay for a time half stunned, while Mr.
Halbut slowly counted out the seconds. Was he to be beaten after all?
for by the rules of the science of pugilism, if he failed to come up
when time was called he was defeated. But a little later he rose on his
elbow, looked about him as if bewildered, and then sprang to his feet.
And the blow seemed to have increased his activity. For in the three
rounds which followed he struck the farmer many a blow, while the latter
expended his powers on the air, and rapidly became more and more
exhausted as his more active opponent escaped his rushes. Finally, in
the eighth round the climax came. The sergeant, seeing that his man was
at the end of his tether and no longer so dangerous, struck him
unmercifully, driving him round the circle and then into one corner,
where he retained him till the man was ready to drop. He escaped,
however, and the two faced one another. But it was only for a moment. As
George Ransom advanced again he was met with a blow on the point of the
chin which threw him from his feet, and in an instant he lay unconscious
on the ground.
"One, two, three, four," Mr. Halbut began to count. "Stand away there.
Keep the circle, my friends. He has a quarter of a minute yet. Time!"
A shout went up from all who were present as the sergeant went back to
his corner and took his coat from the lad. Mr. Halbut and the others
went to the farmer and ascertained that he was merely stunned. Indeed,
in a few minutes he was conscious again and being supported on his feet,
where he remained looking sourly at the group about him. Then he
stumbled blindly towards his cart, and with the aid of his wife managed
to scramble into his coat.
"One moment," said Mr. Halbut, as he was about to climb into the cart.
"The wager was that if you lost I should pay twenty guineas for the boy.
Give me your name and address and I will bring the money and have the
lad legally handed over. Wait, though, here is half the sum down. I will
look after the boy, and the rest shall be paid through an attorney."
He pulled a long purse from his pocket and told out the guineas. Then
with a sympathetic nod to the farmer's wife he turned on his heel and
went to the sergeant.
"You are a fine fellow, and I thank you," he said. "You are a little
shaken, as is natural, and a glass and something to eat at the inn will
do you no harm. Bring the lad with you and follow."
Ten minutes later they were gathered in the hall of the famous Black
Bull, waiting while the victuals were put before them.