Chapter Four.
The hoped for quiet night did not last long. Gunshots rang out in the darkness and the camp erupted with shouting and confusion.
The outer picket closest to the road had spotted figures coming towards the camp and shouted a warning, after waiting several seconds for a response both guards opened fire then fell back. Pickets either side responded and likewise opened fire as more rebels came into sight. Within a minute the entire picket line facing the rebel town was falling back and firing shots against the closing enemy.
In the camp soldiers scrambled out of their tents, most in no more than vests and trousers, taking up their rifles and running to the trenches surrounding the camp.
The attackers came closer but they were no more than shadows within the night, this however did not stop random shots being fired into the darkness.
Then no more than two minutes after the first shots had been fired the pickets ran into the camp, jumping over the trenches as they went. From the middle of the camp came the solid crump of the East Indian Company mortar, the mortar crew may have been in the employ of a trade company rather than serving Queen and Country but they knew their jobs.
The front of the camp, the road and waste ground beyond suddenly lit with a harsh yellow light as the illumination round ignited high overhead. Now the defenders had targets, they could see the rebels advancing toward them and with a crashing thunder of fire every soldier and native levy opened fire.
The flickering light cast deep shadows but also marked the rebels, the attackers numbers could not be clearly seen but they were coming closer. Bullets threw up sand and dust from the ground, whined through the air overhead and struck among the attackers. One of the rotary guns opened fire and several of the attackers were bowled over by the heavy fire.
But the rebels came on; musket fire began to strike the dirt banks or sand bags forcing men to duck down. The rotary gun swung to engage more targets then was swung back to its original position as more movement was seen there.
General Summerby arrived with tonight’s guard just behind him; he ducked down behind one of the protective banks then peered around it to assess the situation. Several of the rotary guns were now in action, a second illumination round had been fired just as the first had died away. From the trenches facing the attack at least a platoon of men were firing at the rebels. Rebel fire was sporadic and poorly aimed; most of them seemed to be charging straight at the camp.
Wait, they were walking toward the camp. This was no headlong charge, they were walking. He needed to see what was happening. He turned to the closest soldier.
“You there, run to the mortar, tell them I want at least two of those lights in the air at once, I need to see what is happening,”
The soldier ran off and Summerby turned back to the fight. There seemed to be hundreds of the rebels, they were felled then more movement came from the darkness.
A fresh illumination round was launched skyward, the tin sphere flew to the highest point of its flight, as its fuse burned down and went off the upper section separated and the cloth parachute within came free and filled. The lower, heavier hemisphere was also ignited by the fuse, the phosphor within burning brightly and spraying outward by means of a hole at the bottom of the half sphere. It was this spray of burning phosphor that cast the light below it.
Quickly a second illumination round joined the first casting harsh, bright light across the battlefield.
Now the attackers could be seen, the dozens became only a handful and as Summerby watched one took several hits and fell over backwards. Then he gasped and called on god for salvation as the man he had just seen take at least two hits in the chest struggled back to his feet. More rounds struck the rebel, one struck him in the head and the heavy round shattered his skull and blew the back of his head outward in a cloud of brains. The rebel staggered but stayed upright till a vast explosion erupted from the ground in front of him and the blast turned him into a spray of flesh and bone.
Across the fighting the few remaining rebels were drawing a storm of fire and one by one they fell and did not rise again.
The light from the illuminating rounds flickered and died. Silence swept across the camp as the last shots were fired. Then a few calls began, shouts, calls to god, someone was praying, others were trying to explain what they had seen.
“You see that. They wouldn’t die. I hit that one. His head was gone. This aint natural. Cursed place. God save us.
Sergeants and officers stepped in to restore order, the levy took the longest to bring to order, British army discipline had the redcoats back in order quickly. No matter how strange or unnatural things seemed to be the shouts and curses of the sergeants remained as a reminder of order.
It took time to get everything back under control, not unsurprising given that first company, first battalion, 53rd (Shropshire) Regiment of Foot had just fought a battle against an enemy that seemingly would not die. Skirmishers were sent out to sweep the battlefield, reluctantly and very carefully but they went none the less.
Shouts and shots indicated they had found at least one survivor, though survivor was perhaps not the right word. One of the soldiers came back into the camp to report, they had found no more enemy, no sign of the rebels that had been firing at them and “Beg pardon general but one of em is still moving and would you come take a look.”
“Bring some lights!”
One general, one captain, a cluster of lieutenants and a randomly selected group of soldiers climbed over the trenches and into the darkness beyond, then two more soldiers came up behind them holding big army issue oil lamps.
The entire group followed the messenger across the now bullet and shell torn ground until they came to a group of men standing back from a figure on the ground. They held their rifles with fingers tightly clenched and fear marked every face.
With the lamps casting light across the ground the figure could be seen clearly. A young man, bearded and swarthy. Snapping his teeth and trying to drag himself closer to the surrounding soldiers. But it was the wounds he had suffered that drew gasps from the officers. Both his legs were gone, one at the hip, the other at the knee. His right arm was a mangled ruin, the side of his head was gone and bone and bits of brain could clearly be seen through the hole.
Any of these wounds should have killed him and yet he still moved, still tried to drag himself closer to the British. With no weapon but his teeth he was trying to bite them.
“Kill him. It. Finish it off!”
The soldiers obeyed the generals order and eleven men fired. Every round stuck the man and his body was smashed into the ground. It was not until the last few hits had completely shattered its spine and destroyed its head that it finally stopped moving.
“What in god’s name. Was that a?”
“Not here!” General Summerby quickly silenced his officer’s speculation.
“Sweep the area, any more like this finish them off. Send to the quartermaster for a barrel of lamp oil. Burn them, burn them all.”
The infantry lieutenants turned to carry out his orders and the other officers began to walk back toward the camp when the general suddenly stopped.
“Lieutenant Digby, the Arab that came out last night with a lamp, the one who was shouting this morning, Rashid I think, find him, bring him to my tent. Right now!”
~
General Summerby and the officers still with him walked back to a camp now fully awake, lamps were being set out and several cook fires were bought back to life. Some enterprising sergeant or officer had ordered small fires to be started some distance from the camp to form lit areas in front of the trenches and redoubts.
Every man was alert and most still crouched in the trenches, eyes staring into the darkness looking for the slightest movement that would suggest another attack. Any attempt at gossip was done in no more than a whisper, the three infantry lieutenants and numerous sergeants were quick to pounce on any soldier who tried to speak.
Captain Greyling stopped to check on the lancers who were standing ready for infantry action, going out mounted in these terrain during the dead of night would be impossible so they were formed as a small reserve by the horse lines. Then he hurried to catch up with the General.
Captain Charterhouse stepped away to make sure his three lieutenants and more importantly his many experienced sergeants had things tightly under control. The levy in particular were close to panic and Charterhouse detailed several of his sergeants to keep an eye on them.
The company men were formed up around that damn mortar of theirs and had rifles at the ready. The captain declared himself and then went over to talk to their office to ensure they were under control and would not be shooting anyone by mistake.
Lieutenant Houseman came over to join the general’s party, Greyhound and the four Ironsides had steam up and were ready for action. The Land Frigate was sitting at the edge of the camp with its main turret facing into the darkness toward the rebels.
The Ironsides were in the trenches between the forward redoubts, they could hold there or advance against the enemy if they came in again. Men and officers were beginning to speculate on the nature of this enemy and a pair of additional maxims should prove most useful. The light cannon would be of far less use since the explosive round they could fire was much less of a threat to an enemy spread out across the desert.
The general reached his tent where his orderly had his uniform set out and a lamp lit.
A messenger arrived at the tent to report that Doctor Adler was treating a handful of wounded, none serious and all from the musket fire that had peppered the trenches and redoubts during the attack.
After a few minutes all the officers had reached the tent, except the duty officer from second platoon and Lieutenant Digby who was still checking the native levy for Rashid, . A spirited discussion quickly began as to just what they had all seen or thought they had seen.
The arrival of Lieutenant Digby bought the talking to an immediate stop and he ushered an Arab into the tent, the same man who had held the lantern for the general the night before.
“Abdul Rashid sir, one of the drivers.”
General Summerby looked at the man, the Arab’s face was hard angles and a great beak of a nose under the light of the oil lamp hanging from the tent pole. Not as old as he looked thought the general, a hard life but not a long one so far. Then the General looked into the Arabs eyes and saw fear and vengeance and terror and a fanatical resolve.
“Rashid. You tried to talk to me this morning, something about a book being opened. Tell me everything, I need to know what it is that my men are facing here, leave nothing out. Start from the beginning.”
The hoped for quiet night did not last long. Gunshots rang out in the darkness and the camp erupted with shouting and confusion.
The outer picket closest to the road had spotted figures coming towards the camp and shouted a warning, after waiting several seconds for a response both guards opened fire then fell back. Pickets either side responded and likewise opened fire as more rebels came into sight. Within a minute the entire picket line facing the rebel town was falling back and firing shots against the closing enemy.
In the camp soldiers scrambled out of their tents, most in no more than vests and trousers, taking up their rifles and running to the trenches surrounding the camp.
The attackers came closer but they were no more than shadows within the night, this however did not stop random shots being fired into the darkness.
Then no more than two minutes after the first shots had been fired the pickets ran into the camp, jumping over the trenches as they went. From the middle of the camp came the solid crump of the East Indian Company mortar, the mortar crew may have been in the employ of a trade company rather than serving Queen and Country but they knew their jobs.
The front of the camp, the road and waste ground beyond suddenly lit with a harsh yellow light as the illumination round ignited high overhead. Now the defenders had targets, they could see the rebels advancing toward them and with a crashing thunder of fire every soldier and native levy opened fire.
The flickering light cast deep shadows but also marked the rebels, the attackers numbers could not be clearly seen but they were coming closer. Bullets threw up sand and dust from the ground, whined through the air overhead and struck among the attackers. One of the rotary guns opened fire and several of the attackers were bowled over by the heavy fire.
But the rebels came on; musket fire began to strike the dirt banks or sand bags forcing men to duck down. The rotary gun swung to engage more targets then was swung back to its original position as more movement was seen there.
General Summerby arrived with tonight’s guard just behind him; he ducked down behind one of the protective banks then peered around it to assess the situation. Several of the rotary guns were now in action, a second illumination round had been fired just as the first had died away. From the trenches facing the attack at least a platoon of men were firing at the rebels. Rebel fire was sporadic and poorly aimed; most of them seemed to be charging straight at the camp.
Wait, they were walking toward the camp. This was no headlong charge, they were walking. He needed to see what was happening. He turned to the closest soldier.
“You there, run to the mortar, tell them I want at least two of those lights in the air at once, I need to see what is happening,”
The soldier ran off and Summerby turned back to the fight. There seemed to be hundreds of the rebels, they were felled then more movement came from the darkness.
A fresh illumination round was launched skyward, the tin sphere flew to the highest point of its flight, as its fuse burned down and went off the upper section separated and the cloth parachute within came free and filled. The lower, heavier hemisphere was also ignited by the fuse, the phosphor within burning brightly and spraying outward by means of a hole at the bottom of the half sphere. It was this spray of burning phosphor that cast the light below it.
Quickly a second illumination round joined the first casting harsh, bright light across the battlefield.
Now the attackers could be seen, the dozens became only a handful and as Summerby watched one took several hits and fell over backwards. Then he gasped and called on god for salvation as the man he had just seen take at least two hits in the chest struggled back to his feet. More rounds struck the rebel, one struck him in the head and the heavy round shattered his skull and blew the back of his head outward in a cloud of brains. The rebel staggered but stayed upright till a vast explosion erupted from the ground in front of him and the blast turned him into a spray of flesh and bone.
Across the fighting the few remaining rebels were drawing a storm of fire and one by one they fell and did not rise again.
The light from the illuminating rounds flickered and died. Silence swept across the camp as the last shots were fired. Then a few calls began, shouts, calls to god, someone was praying, others were trying to explain what they had seen.
“You see that. They wouldn’t die. I hit that one. His head was gone. This aint natural. Cursed place. God save us.
Sergeants and officers stepped in to restore order, the levy took the longest to bring to order, British army discipline had the redcoats back in order quickly. No matter how strange or unnatural things seemed to be the shouts and curses of the sergeants remained as a reminder of order.
It took time to get everything back under control, not unsurprising given that first company, first battalion, 53rd (Shropshire) Regiment of Foot had just fought a battle against an enemy that seemingly would not die. Skirmishers were sent out to sweep the battlefield, reluctantly and very carefully but they went none the less.
Shouts and shots indicated they had found at least one survivor, though survivor was perhaps not the right word. One of the soldiers came back into the camp to report, they had found no more enemy, no sign of the rebels that had been firing at them and “Beg pardon general but one of em is still moving and would you come take a look.”
“Bring some lights!”
One general, one captain, a cluster of lieutenants and a randomly selected group of soldiers climbed over the trenches and into the darkness beyond, then two more soldiers came up behind them holding big army issue oil lamps.
The entire group followed the messenger across the now bullet and shell torn ground until they came to a group of men standing back from a figure on the ground. They held their rifles with fingers tightly clenched and fear marked every face.
With the lamps casting light across the ground the figure could be seen clearly. A young man, bearded and swarthy. Snapping his teeth and trying to drag himself closer to the surrounding soldiers. But it was the wounds he had suffered that drew gasps from the officers. Both his legs were gone, one at the hip, the other at the knee. His right arm was a mangled ruin, the side of his head was gone and bone and bits of brain could clearly be seen through the hole.
Any of these wounds should have killed him and yet he still moved, still tried to drag himself closer to the British. With no weapon but his teeth he was trying to bite them.
“Kill him. It. Finish it off!”
The soldiers obeyed the generals order and eleven men fired. Every round stuck the man and his body was smashed into the ground. It was not until the last few hits had completely shattered its spine and destroyed its head that it finally stopped moving.
“What in god’s name. Was that a?”
“Not here!” General Summerby quickly silenced his officer’s speculation.
“Sweep the area, any more like this finish them off. Send to the quartermaster for a barrel of lamp oil. Burn them, burn them all.”
The infantry lieutenants turned to carry out his orders and the other officers began to walk back toward the camp when the general suddenly stopped.
“Lieutenant Digby, the Arab that came out last night with a lamp, the one who was shouting this morning, Rashid I think, find him, bring him to my tent. Right now!”
~
General Summerby and the officers still with him walked back to a camp now fully awake, lamps were being set out and several cook fires were bought back to life. Some enterprising sergeant or officer had ordered small fires to be started some distance from the camp to form lit areas in front of the trenches and redoubts.
Every man was alert and most still crouched in the trenches, eyes staring into the darkness looking for the slightest movement that would suggest another attack. Any attempt at gossip was done in no more than a whisper, the three infantry lieutenants and numerous sergeants were quick to pounce on any soldier who tried to speak.
Captain Greyling stopped to check on the lancers who were standing ready for infantry action, going out mounted in these terrain during the dead of night would be impossible so they were formed as a small reserve by the horse lines. Then he hurried to catch up with the General.
Captain Charterhouse stepped away to make sure his three lieutenants and more importantly his many experienced sergeants had things tightly under control. The levy in particular were close to panic and Charterhouse detailed several of his sergeants to keep an eye on them.
The company men were formed up around that damn mortar of theirs and had rifles at the ready. The captain declared himself and then went over to talk to their office to ensure they were under control and would not be shooting anyone by mistake.
Lieutenant Houseman came over to join the general’s party, Greyhound and the four Ironsides had steam up and were ready for action. The Land Frigate was sitting at the edge of the camp with its main turret facing into the darkness toward the rebels.
The Ironsides were in the trenches between the forward redoubts, they could hold there or advance against the enemy if they came in again. Men and officers were beginning to speculate on the nature of this enemy and a pair of additional maxims should prove most useful. The light cannon would be of far less use since the explosive round they could fire was much less of a threat to an enemy spread out across the desert.
The general reached his tent where his orderly had his uniform set out and a lamp lit.
A messenger arrived at the tent to report that Doctor Adler was treating a handful of wounded, none serious and all from the musket fire that had peppered the trenches and redoubts during the attack.
After a few minutes all the officers had reached the tent, except the duty officer from second platoon and Lieutenant Digby who was still checking the native levy for Rashid, . A spirited discussion quickly began as to just what they had all seen or thought they had seen.
The arrival of Lieutenant Digby bought the talking to an immediate stop and he ushered an Arab into the tent, the same man who had held the lantern for the general the night before.
“Abdul Rashid sir, one of the drivers.”
General Summerby looked at the man, the Arab’s face was hard angles and a great beak of a nose under the light of the oil lamp hanging from the tent pole. Not as old as he looked thought the general, a hard life but not a long one so far. Then the General looked into the Arabs eyes and saw fear and vengeance and terror and a fanatical resolve.
“Rashid. You tried to talk to me this morning, something about a book being opened. Tell me everything, I need to know what it is that my men are facing here, leave nothing out. Start from the beginning.”