Jack Windrush Collection - Books 1-4

Excerpt from Jack Windrush Collection - Books 1-4

It began around four in the morning, a roaring wind that wakened them and flapped the canvas around their ears. It developed in a steady sequence of gusts that increased in strength so that by five the tent was wrenching at the guy-ropes and the single central pole was bending with the strain of holding the rain-sodden canvas in place.

'The whole tent is going to collapse,' Lieutenant Elliot grabbed hold of the pole in alarm. 'Here, Windrush, give me a hand here!'

Jack watched for a second, threw on his jacket and greatcoat against the cold and joined Elliot. Immediately he grappled the pole; he felt the pressure of the wind threatening to rip the entire edifice down.

'It's stormy!' Jack had to shout above the increasing howl.

The wind cracking the canvas above his head drowned Elliot's reply. He looked up as if the Russians had made a sudden sortie. 'What the devil is happening here?'

'It will pass in a minute,' Jack said. 'Hold on tight, or we'll lose the tent.'

Wrapping their arms around the pole, they anchored their feet in the ground and held on desperately as the wind increased minute by minute, with the canvas bellying and staining above and around them.

'Did you hear about Captain MacDonald of the 95th?' Elliot had to shout above the roar of the wind, the flapping of the tent and the clatter of objects rolling around outside.

'No!' Jack shook his head. 'And at the minute I don't care much about a dozen Captain MacDonalds!'

'They found him on the ground after Inkerman with twenty bayonet wounds. He's in a dangerous condition in hospital.'

'Trust you to know what is going on,' Jack shouted. 'I always said that you have a pigeon in Raggles' tent listening to everything that our lords and masters say.'

'Raggles?' Elliot looked shocked, 'that is no way to speak of our esteemed commander, Windrush! You should treat him with respect and call him His Excellency Lord Raglan.'

'And you should call me sir, Elliot. After all, I am your superior officer.'

'Yes, sir, Captain Windrush, sir,' Elliot said. 'Forgive me for not bowing your highness, but if I release this pole the tent will take off, and your royal and distinguished person will be left sodden on this godforsaken lump of rock they call the Crimea.'

'I'll let you off this time,' Jack said, 'but don't make a habit of it!'

There was a yell from outside, followed by a string of oaths that would make even the most foul-mouthed of marines blush scarlet. 'I think somebody has lost their tent,' Jack said.

'That was Major Snodgrass's voice,' Elliot told him. 'Should we go and offer to help?'

Jack shook his head. 'No.' He felt a surge of satisfaction that Major Snodgrass should be suffering. 'If we let go, we will only join him in the cold, and that helps nobody. I wonder if Raggles did anything about the Russian soldiers bayonetting our wounded.'

'He did,' Elliot staggered as the pole nearly bent double. His feet slid on the trodden wet grass that comprised the floor. 'He complained to Prince Menschikoff about the ungentlemanly behaviour of the Russian infantry.'

'So we can expect an apology soon, then?' Jack heard the sarcasm in his voice.

'Indeed not. The good Prince said he “was sorry for it, but if men come and fight an ignorant people without provocation in their own country, they must expect it.” '

'I thought Crimea belonged to the Tatars before the Russians grabbed it,' Jack said.

'Don't split hairs, Your Majesty, sir,' Elliot said. 'Anyway, Menschikoff might get a surprise soon because Lord Raglan has asked for reinforcements. He wanted to storm Sebastopol right after Inkerman but that French fellow, Canrobert, said we weren't strong enough as long as Johnny Russ has a large field army waiting to attack us in the rear.'

'The Ruskis tried that at Inkerman and got well licked for their pains,' Jack said. 'Canrobert should damn well do as he is told.'

Both men relaxed in a sudden lull in the storm. 'It's us that has to do as we're told,' Elliot said. 'The British Army is down to 16,000 fit men. The French have many times more than we have. We are dancing to a Canrobert's jig, not he to ours.'

Jack grunted. 'Wellington will be turning in his grave, with our men doing what the Froggies want.'

'Aye, and there's worse,' Elliot said. 'General De Lacy Evans wants the entire army to leave the Crimea for the winter.'

'Run away?' Jack stared at him. 'A British general wants us to retreat before the Russians?' He shook his head. 'I can hardly believe what I am hearing!'

'He is not the only one,' Elliot said.

'How do you know these things?' Jack grabbed the tent-pole as the wind increased once more.

'Ah,' Elliot said, straining to hold the pole in place as the wind resumed. 'That would be telling.'

They both looked around as somebody unlaced the tent flap from outside, causing papers to fly around the interior.

'Shut that damned flap!' Jack roared until Colonel Maxwell poked his head in and shouted:

'Windrush!'

'Oh sorry sir, I didn't know it was you.'

'Get you down to Balaklava and make sure my wife and daughter are safe in this storm. I have this damned regiment to look after. Hurry, man!'

Jack nodded. 'Yes, sir.' In his concern about keeping the tent-pole in place, he had not thought how the storm might affect others. He mentally kicked himself for his neglect: what did a tent matter when Helen and her mother may be in danger down at Balaklava?

The instant that Jack released the tent-pole, the pressure of wind proved too much for only one man. Elliot yelled as the canvas cover whipped away, taking the pole with it and leaving them both exposed to the elements with all their possessions scattering around them. Staggering in the wind, Jack realised what damage the storm was doing to the British camp as tents were flattened or had vanished completely, men were lying in the open or struggling to stand and personal goods, and military equipment was rolling across the ground.

'This is terrible!' Jack shouted, ignoring Elliot's despairing grab at the last of the canvas.

'I'm worried about Mrs Maxwell and Helen!' Colonel Maxwell shouted. 'Their ship sails this morning! They are in Redgauntlet! Got the name? Redgauntlet!'

Jack flinched as the wind blasted a shako into his face. 'They are not sailing in this, surely?'

'I should say not!' Colonel Maxwell roared. 'I want you to go down and make sure they're all right. If they are not on the ship yet, make sure they stay on land. Got it?'

'Yes, sir,' Jack said. 'Your lady wife…'

'My lady wife is as stubborn a cuss as any you will find!' Maxwell shouted, 'but she is anything but stupid! If she thinks it's not safe for Helen, she will not go. Remember that: tell her it is not safe for Helen! That blasted woman would sail in this herself just for spite.'

'Yes, sir,' Jack did not relish the task of telling the colonel's wife what to do. Mrs Colonel Maxwell was a lady with a strong will and a tongue to match.

'Well get along with you, then!' Maxwell nearly pushed Jack in the direction of Balaklava. 'And hurry man! Hurry!'

Putting his head down, Jack staggered through the camp, hating the scenes of suffering where the gale had blasted the hospital marquee away, and scores of wounded and sick men now lay on the wet grass. Unable to help, he continued onward with the wind hammering at him from the south-west, knocking down ambulances, tossing blankets and shakos into the air and threatening to pluck him from the track and throw him onto the sodden ground.

Swearing, stumbling, wet to the skin, Jack gritted his teeth and thought of Helen. He must ensure she was safe.

The seven-mile journey to the main British supply base at Balaklava was possibly the worst Jack had ever undertaken in his life. After days of rain, the road itself was near liquid, so every step was an effort to free his feet from ankle-deep mud, while the wind increased in velocity by the minute. Swearing, crouching against the blast and in places forced to his hands and knees, he struggled onward.