Authors: Alicia Meadowes
“The statement as read by Major Covington is in partial error—the execution was ordered by me, but
not
in direct disobedience to General Seton’s orders.” Lord Straeford directed his reply to the seven-man board before him.
“My lord, I hold here a direct communiqué from General Seton, charging that you were given explicit orders to take no reprisals
in reestablishing British control over the village of Nangore.” The major regarded the earl with a quiet disdain.
“I take it you have those exact charges in writing, sir?” Straeford’s reply in the form of a question was not what Major Covington
had expected.
“I have here General Seton’s letter…”
“But does the general make formal charges of misconduct, Major Covington?”
“They are not charges by writ of military code, but this represents the word of your commanding officer. Do you choose to
question the word of General Seton, sir?”
“I choose to defend myself, Major. Do you deny me that right?” The cold authority in Straeford’s voice struck the assembled
board with surprise. Whatever Lord Straeford had done in that distant Indian village, it was obvious that shame bore no part
in it.
“I should think your right to defend yourself is apparent since it is an inquiry and not a court-marital we are conducting
here, sir,” Major Covington sneered.
“In that case, I assume I have the right to explain my actions during that operation and why I ordered the execution of twenty-three
Indian rebels.” Again a statement delivered with absolute authority.
“Very well, my lord, suppose you tell us your…” the major paused significantly, “… version.”
“I will tell the board the facts, Major. I do not deal in versions.”
“Pray then, proceed.”
“It is necessary that I start with the attack on midnight of February 15, preceding the battle at dawn on the sixteenth. It
was shortly after the midnight attack that twenty-three members of His Majesty’s 74th Foot were captured by Dashrami…”
Straeford disregarded the startled looks of the board as he thought back over the events of that dark night. The jungle blackness
had been so intense that it was impossible for him to see his hand in front of his face. Straeford had struggled to prevent
General Seton’s midnight attack, knowing in advance that it was a disastrous tactic, but it was impossible to penetrate the
fog of inebriation that clouded the general’s brain.
The order to attack was given by Seton to Bradwick, and by the time Straeford received word of it, it was too
late. The earl knew he should never have left Seton’s side that night, but there was no way of covering every hole in that
ill-conceived operation. Calamity was inevitable despite Straeford’s vigilance.
It had been only a matter of time before the general committed an irreversible blunder. Seton’s drunkenness had been a scandal
of growing magnitude, and no effort of Straeford’s could conceal it. But the earl’s obsession with duty was a habit of too
many years to alter. And Seton had once been a first-class soldier—that Colonel Lord Straeford could not disavow regardless
of the enmity between them. The earl would try to pull them both out with honor if it were humanly possible; nevertheless,
this inquiry was an humiliating blow. How could the fool have dared create such a fracas? Seton was probably beyond salvation,
but Straeford would not be the one to expose him.
“… and it was because of our attempt to rescue those captured troops that the battle was enjoined at dawn on the sixteenth…” he continued calmly.
The looks of increasing dismay from the board finally caused the earl to halt in his recitation.
“Lord Straeford, is it your contention that there was a predawn attack on the fifteenth in which British soldiers were captured
by the enemy?” This was from General Belvoir, who was also a veteran of the. Indian campaigns.
“But of course, sir. The success of the attack on the morning of the sixteenth was due in large part to surprise. Dashrami
did not think we would regroup and counterattack so speedily. Unfortunately the scoundrel escaped capture, or it would have
been
his
neck we stretched later.”
“But my lord Straeford,” this time it was Lord Carstairs of Castlereagh’s office who interrupted, “there is nothing in the
record concerning a predawn encounter with Dashrami’s forces. This is a most shocking report you bring forth at this time.”
The earl received Lord Carstairs’s statement impassively, in no way betraying the dismay and anger this piece of information
caused him.
The seven-man board appointed by the Secretary of
State for War, Major Covington and the court recorder all stared in consternation at the implacable countenance of the earl,
who regarded each man silently.
After some passage of time, Straeford spoke quietly. “If I may be allowed the opportunity of reading through the record—it
seems there is need of clarification.”
“Indeed, sir, there is,” Lord Carstairs replied. “However, I feel it necessary to put some questions to you before we adjourn
and reconvene to consider this revelation.”
“As you wish, my lord.”
“There are any number of matters to cover here, sir. Let me briefly state them as I see them. First, there was a predawn attack
in which twenty-three British soldiers were captured?” Carstairs had taken over, relegating Covington to the sidelines.
“That is correct, my lord.”
“And the attack at dawn was partially a rescue effort?”
“It was.”
“And did you indeed rescue those men?”
“No sir.”
“No!” Carstairs was aghast.
“No, we found their mutilated bodies following the defeat of the enemy on the afternoon of the seventeenth.”
“Before God, Lord Straeford, these are most serious charges!”
“You have me at a disadvantage, my lord. I do not regard these as charges, but merely as the facts.”
“Well, well, sir, we shall leave that till later. I don’t wish to get into the matter of facts versus charges just yet.”
Straeford nodded.
“Now then, was your order to execute the twenty-three Indian rebels a matter of punishment for the atrocities?”
“Only in part, my lord. It was primarily to issue a public warning to all other rebels—as you know, Dashrami’s band is only
one of many. The rebels must be made to understand that British justice is swift and harsh and that acts of murder will not
be condoned as part of military combat.”
Lord Carstairs and his colleagues regarded Lord Straeford angrily. “My lord, why did General Seton not agree to these measuresif
what you say is true?”
“I am afraid you will have to question General Seton on that matter, my lord.”
“You may be sure that I will. But
he
is in India, and
you
are here and I am questioning you
now.
Why did General Seton not agree to your course of action?”
Lord Straeford paused, gathering his thoughts before replying. “There was great confusion in Nangore at the time. Many inhabitants
of the village were fleeing into the countryside.”
“Where was General Seton when you ordered the executions?”
“On his way to Bengal.”
“He left you in charge of occupational forces?”.
“Yes, sir.”
“But he ordered no reprisals?”
“I… General Seton gave no exact orders to me on that matter, Lord Carstairs.”
“But we have here his own deposition.”
Straeford cursed inwardly. “General Seton preferred that no reprisals be taken.”
“Can you tell me why?”
The earl groaned silently. “He believed it might stir up greater hostility among the native population… and the general was
aware of public opinion in England regarding the treatment of Indian nationals.”
“But this was a situation involving warring natives and the restoration of public order.”
“So I believed, my lord.”
“How real was the danger of stirring up further native hostility, Lord Straeford?”
“Very real, sir. It
still
is a great danger, and likely will continue to be.”
“Then there was some wisdom in General Seton’s position, I take it?”
Again Straeford paused. “Not… not as I viewed the situation, my lord.” His reply startled his auditors once more. “The control
of India requires inflexible strength, Lord Carstairs. Especially in dealing with the countless brigands who roam the countryside
attacking
not only His Majesty’s representatives, but the peaceful citizens of the Indian continent as well. However, those are problems
of state, my lord, which I do not pretend to answer. My training is that of a soldier, and as a soldier I knew the necessity
of setting a harsh example before the people. The safety of the British soldier in India is risky, at best, and it was my
concern to take whatever measures were necessary to ensure our men of at least minimal safety—prisoners of war should not
have to risk mutilation!”
This final statement was pronounced with such deadly finality that even Carstairs dared not refute it.
“Of course, of course, my lord. However, I feel there is much that is still cloudy in this matter. The predawn attack which
you state resulted in the capture of British soldiers—how did that come to pass?”
For the first time the earl displayed visible indecision.
“Lord Straeford, there is nothing in the record about such an attack. There is nothing in the record about the atrocities
you describe. Our loss of some eighty men in the encounter at Nangore was attributed to casualties of battle. This is a serious
alteration to the facts as written up by General Seton, and the record must be set straight. I’m sure you will agree.”
Straeford nodded curtly.
“Now, if this attack did occur as you claim, I cannot, for the life of me, understand General Seton’s intentions in bringing
charges against you.”
The explanation was one the earl chose not to go into. Seton’s hatred of Straeford went back over many years, ever since Straeford’s
growing success in battle began to overshadow the general’s record. As Seton’s blunders increased, Straeford was forced to
assume more authority, which only served to further embitter the man whose career was eroding steadily.
The earl took up the recitation of the night’s events without preamble. “We had been on the march five days prior to our arrival
at Nangore. General Seton, believing that an attack under cover of darkness would have the advantage of surprise, ordered
a charge at midnight on the fifteenth. Unfortunately al Singhe was prepared and
waiting for us. Our men were badly shot up and twenty-three taken prisoner before General Seton called off the attack and
retreated.”
“Was there no reconnaissance of the area to determine the readiness of the enemy?” Lord Carstairs questioned.
“We arrived at sundown and attacked at midnight. There was no opportunity to reconnoitre the situation.”
“Excuse me, my lord,” General Belvoir, who was restraining himself with great difficulty, interrupted, “but I must ask Lord
Straeford to repeat what he has just said. Did you in fact say that General Seton ordered an attack during the dark of night
without first having sent advance patrols into the area to determine enemy strength?”
“It was as you say, General Belvoir,” Straeford replied without explaining that that had been exactly what he himself was
preparing to do when the noise of the attack reached his ears.
“Infamous! That was an infamous piece of work,” General Belvoir sputtered. “By the lord of hosts, General Seton barely redeemed
himself with victory the next day.” Then, as if further infamy dawned on him, “He did lead the counter-attack, did he not,
Lord Straeford?”
A sudden silence fell on the near-empty chamber where the Earl of Straeford had been summoned to give an accounting of himself.
The sound of wind fretted bare branches against the windows, and voices drifted faintly from the streets below. Finally, his
reluctance apparent, Lord Straeford answered General Belvoir’s question.
“The entire expedition to put down the rebellion at Nangore was under the command of General Seton.” He hesitated. “If I may
interject my thoughts here, gentlemen, the purpose of this inquiry is to investigate the execution of those twenty-three Indian
rebels. I readily admit that the execution was carried out by my command when left in charge by General Seton. I also admit
that our viewpoints differed sharply on the necessity of such action. However, I am… ah… surprised that General Seton’s
deposition states that my actions contravened his orders. If I could have some time to read over that deposition, perhaps
I could clear up the misunderstanding to the board’s satisfaction.”
“It is more than a mere misunderstanding, Lord Straeford. Your testimony has brought forth disturbing information which cannot
be lightly cast aside. Perhaps it would be best to adjourn this inquiry until further study of the matter can be made. I suggest,
gentlemen, that we call a recess of indefinite duration and reconvene when the facts are better known on all sides.”
Lord Carstairs’s suggestion was readily accepted and the hearing adjourned—the principal participants hastening to their clubs
to speculate on the startling revelations brought forth by the afternoon’s testimony.
The earl pushed his way through a throng of journalists crowding outside the hearing room and ignored their determined questioning
with grim silence. It was left to Lord Carstairs to quiet their clamor with a brief noncommittal statement.
The reporters scurried to their home offices to ready their accounts which, as usual, relied heavily on conjecture and libel
to appease the appetite of a public eager for scandal rather than facts. Over the years, the fortunes of Lord Straeford and
his family had been the source of much scurrilous entertainment of a people avid to enjoy the comedown of so mighty a house.
“The Infamy of Nangore” was seized upon by working men and gentry alike as topic for heated debate.
The Earl of Straeford had been the target of journalistic assault before, but none had been so vicious and unremitting as
the current affair over the rebels of India. They were represented in the popular press as ignorant natives suffering oppression
and brutality at the hands of an unfeeling monster. Several years ago there had been a tremendous furor raised over Straeford’s
treatment of the Bedloes boy, but fortunately evidence had proved that the then Major St. Clare had acted correctly in having
the blackguard drummed out of the corps. And now it was vastly more satisfying to shred the reputation of that same St. Clare
whose elevated station as the Earl of Straeford enhanced the sport. The earl suffered little at the hands of his detractors,
however. He had long ago steeled himself against the barbs of public obloquy, and there was little the scandal mongers could
say to wound him.