THE GENERALS

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘The range is good. Keep firing, but don’t rush the job. The guns must be loaded carefully. I don’t want a single shot wasted, understand?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Arthur returned the officer’s salute and returned to his tent for breakfast. Once he had eaten, he turned his attention to the latest intelligence reports that had come in from the hircarrah agents. Here in the northern part of India they could not hope to pass through the Mahratta camps unnoticed, and had to report on enemy movements from a distance. Already it was quite clear that they had little ability to judge the size of enemy formations and Scindia was reported to be in command of anything between fifty and a hundred and fifty thousand men. By contrast, Arthur knew exactly how many men he had in his army. In addition to two and a half thousand regulars there were another seven thousand sepoys and four thousand Mysore cavalry. Colonel Stevenson’s slightly smaller force was already marching to join them. Combined, they should be a match for Scindia’s horde.

  All day the guns boomed out in a slow rhythm and by early afternoon there were signs that the walls were beginning to crumble as each impact brought a shower of mortar and rubble tumbling down into the outer ditch. The bombardment continued the following morning and a breach finally opened. More shot widened the gap until finally the ammunition gave out late in the afternoon.

  The chief engineer returned Arthur’s telescope to him and pursed his lips for a moment before he gave his judgement. ‘I’d say that the breach was practical, sir. We could fire a few rounds of case shot in to clear away the enemy before our boys go in. Do you wish to make the assault today, sir?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Then I’ll have the guns made ready.’

  ‘Very well,’ Arthur agreed. ‘See to it.’

  As the sun dipped towards the horizon, burnishing the landscape in a fiery glow and casting long dark shadows, Arthur formed the bulk of his army up opposite the breach. Only the leading battalions would make the actual assault, but he had calculated the impression such a show would make on his enemies and shortly before the attack was due to begin a white flag appeared on the nearest bastion, hurriedly waved from side to side to attract the attention of the British.Arthur went forward and met the killadar’s representatives in front of the battery. In addition to a man bearing a makeshift white flag, there was a Mahratta official and a French officer.The latter saluted Arthur as they approached. Arthur spoke first, in French.

  ‘If you wish to spare yourself from my men, then the fort must be surrendered at once.’

  ‘My commander, the killadar, wishes to know what terms you will offer.’

  ‘I’ve already stated my terms,’ Arthur replied. ‘Surrender now, or perish.’

  There was a brief exchange between the Mahratta and the Frenchman before the latter continued. ‘The killadar wishes to negotiate.’

  ‘The negotiations are over. I will not permit the killadar to play for time. I will give him ten minutes to make his decision, from the moment we finish speaking. You may tell him that he and his men will be permitted to quit the fort and I will give them two days’ grace before I advance from Ahmadnagar.’

  ‘That is a generous offer,’ the French officer conceded. ‘I will do my best to see that it is accepted, sir.’

  Arthur nodded, and then drew out his fob watch and looked at it pointedly as he muttered, ‘Ten minutes, then.’

  Just as the hands on the watch crept towards the deadline, the gates of the fortress were thrown open and the garrison began to file out, glancing nervously at the massed ranks of the British troops formed up in front of them. As the Mahrattas formed a makeshift column, a few hastily loaded wagons and carts trundled over the bridge across the ditch, and finally the killadar and his senior officers emerged. Accompanied by the French officer they approached Arthur and bowed their heads respectfully, before the killadar looked at the British general in frank admiration and spoke briefly, pausing to allow his French officer to translate.

  ‘He says that there is no dishonour in surrender to an army that could make such short work of the pettah and its garrison . . . He says the British are a strange people. You came here in the morning, looked at the pettah wall, walked over it, killed all the defenders, and returned to breakfast. What enemy can withstand you?’

  Arthur forced himself to keep his face expressionless, and the French officer laughed before he continued. ‘I doubt any native army has seen anything like it before. I can imagine the effect it will have on Scindia’s men when the killadar tells the tale,’ he concluded shrewdly. ‘You are a formidable adversary, General. I fear we may meet again soon.’

  ‘Not if you leave India,’ Arthur replied firmly.

  ‘Even if I did, sir, I am sure that a man of your talent will be called back to fight in Europe and I fear for my countrymen.’

  ‘You are most generous in your praise, sir,’ Arthur replied tersely. ‘Now, if you would be so kind as to ask the killadar to move his column out, I have a fortress to occupy and a campaign to fight.’

  The French officer saluted and then translated for the Mahratta commander before they strode off to join their column. The moment the Mahrattas shambled away to the north, Arthur led his men into the fortress of Ahmadnagar.

  With a secure base to his rear, garrisoned by a battalion of Company soldiers, Arthur moved north across the Godavery river, while Colonel Stevenson marched towards him across the territory of Hyderabad. As the summer sun baked the landscape the two British columns marched deeper into enemy territory, closely following reports of the movement of Scindia’s army. Such was the heat during daytime that the army broke camp while it was still dark and covered as much ground as possible before late morning, when they made camp and rested in whatever shade they could find. Then, late in September, news came that Scindia was at the village of Borkardan, two days’ march away. Arthur hastily sent a message to Stevenson instructing him to join Arthur’s column there to confront the enemy and force a battle. As word spread through the ranks that the enemy was close to hand the sense of excitement and tension was palpable.

  On the morning of the 23rd the army ended their march at the village of Naulniah. If their intelligence was good, the enemy was camped another day’s march away, but already the soldiers were scanning the surrounding landscape for any signs of enemy horsemen. While the dusty columns of infantry, gun limbers and cavalry tramped into the area marked out for the camp the usual cavalry pickets were sent out to cover the approaches to the camp.

  Arthur had just retired to his tent for some refreshment when he saw through the tent flaps a patrol from the 19th Dragoons come galloping up to the array of tents that formed the army’s headquarters. Their cornet hurriedly dismounted and beckoned to a brinjarri merchant riding with them. Arthur set down his cup of tea and rose to meet the dragoon officer.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Sir, this man ran into our patrol three miles from here. He says he was on his way to sell food to Scindia’s troops in their camp, nearby.’

  Arthur’s attention snapped to the brinjarri merchant. He questioned him in Hindoostani. ‘Where is Scindia?’

  ‘Two or three coos from here, sahib.’

  No more than six miles, Arthur calculated, his pulse quickening.

  ‘How many men are in this camp?’ he asked, and then realised that there was no question of the merchant’s being able to judge the number accurately. He tried another tack. ‘How big is this camp, then?’

  The merchant paused a moment before he replied, struggling to work out the scope of what he had seen. ‘Sahib, they are camped along the Kaitna river, for a stretch of three coos.’

  ‘Three coos?’ Arthur repeated, astonished. He made a quick estimate and felt his heart beat fast with excitement as he realised that the enemy force must be at least a hundred thousand men strong. He had found Scindia’s army. Better still, he had caught them in camp. Arthur looked over his army arriving to make camp for the night. They had already marched fourteen
miles. Stevenson was still several miles distant and could not hope to reach the enemy camp before the end of the day. Yet there was not an instant’s hesitation as he made his decision. Turning back to the tent he called out to Fitzroy.

  ‘Pass the word. I want the battalion commanders to have their men stand to and prepare for battle.’

  Chapter 68

  Assaye, 23 September 1803

  ‘Good God . . .’ Fitzroy muttered as he gazed at the host stretched out along the far side of the Kaitna river. His mount shuffled as he and his general surveyed the enemy camp from a small hill half a mile from the river. The strongest position was to the east, where Scindia’s regular battalions were forming up on raised ground covering the far bank of the river. Interspersed amongst the enemy infantry were scores of artillery pieces.‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’

  Arthur smiled. ‘Nor have I. They must outnumber us fifteen or twenty to one. But now we have them. Scindia can’t escape a battle without having to abandon his guns.’

  ‘With those odds I doubt that escape is on his mind, sir. Any frontal attack across the river would be suicidal.’

  ‘Well, don’t be too troubled by those horsemen at least. They’re nothing but rabble.’

  Fitzroy stared across the river.To the west tens of thousands of mounted Mahrattas were slowly saddling up and massing in their war bands.To the north of the village of Assaye, on the far side of another river, the Juah, another host of mounted men was gathering. Fitzroy cleared his throat.‘Even so, sir, if we meet them in the open, those horsemen will surround us in an instant.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Arthur mused. ‘One thing is for certain, they know we are close. They’re already breaking camp and taking up positions for battle. So there goes the element of surprise. Get back to the column and bring the army up.Tell Maxwell to have his cavalry deploy on this side of the river. He’s to screen the movement of our infantry and guns.Tell them all to hurry.We’ve no time to lose.’

  Once Fitzroy had galloped off Arthur hurriedly assessed the position. He was committed to an attack now. If he failed to strike then the British reputation for invincibility in India would be shattered. Worse still, an emboldened enemy would make any retreat a desperate business with the army operating at some distance from its supply base at Ahmadnagar. Arthur would have to win this battle if his army, and the reputation of his country, were to survive. But to get at the enemy he would have to cross the river and charge up the steep bank on the far side, straight into the muzzles of Scindia’s muskets and cannon. The casualties in such an attack would be horrific and the English army might well be broken before it ever came into contact with the Mahrattas.

  As he looked again at the enemy line and followed the course of the Kaitna to the east he saw two villages on opposite banks of the river, a mile beyond the enemy’s left flank. A track led across the river plain to the nearer village and then seemed to resume on the far bank before it headed towards Assaye. His hircarrah scouts had assured him that the only place where the Kaitna could be crossed was at Kodully, almost opposite the centre of the enemy camp. Yet it seemed there must be a ford between the two villages to the east. Why else would they be there? In which case, that was where the army must cross. Once on the far bank Arthur’s battalions could form up across the narrow strip of land between the Kaitna and the Juah. If they moved swiftly enough then they might attack Scindia’s flank before his cumbersome forces could be redeployed to face the new threat.

  By the time Fitzroy returned, Maxwell’s cavalry had reached its position and spread out across the plain between Kodully and the two villages Arthur had spotted. Behind them the infantry columns and guns marched towards the Kaitna, kicking up choking clouds of dust as they came on. As Fitzroy reined his horse in Arthur gave his orders.

  ‘We’ll have to hit them where they are strongest - over there on the right. If we can break Scindia’s best troops, and destroy his artillery, the rest will flee of their own accord. But we can’t risk a frontal attack. So,’ he turned and indicated the settlements either side of the river, ‘we’ll cross the river between those villages.’

  Fitzroy frowned. ‘The scouts didn’t mention a ford there, sir.’ ‘I know, but there has to be one. Trust me.’

  ‘But what if there isn’t, sir?’

  ‘There will be,’ Arthur replied calmly. ‘Now go and tell our battalion commanders to make for the ford, then join me there. And pass the word for my groom. I’ll need a fresh horse ready during the battle. Diomed, I think.’

  Fitzroy saluted. ‘Yes, sir. Pray God that you are right about the ford.’

  Arthur examined the battlefield one last time from his vantage point. Swarms of enemy horsemen had crossed the Kaitna and approached Maxwell’s cavalry screen. Every so often one of the English galloper guns would fire a charge of grapeshot at any Mahrattas who drew too close, and they would turn tail and trot back out of range. There was no sign that they were willing to take the English cavalry on, Arthur noted with satisfaction. Then he turned his bay horse away, galloped down the gentle slope towards Maxwell’s small reserve and ordered a squadron to escort him while he examined what he hoped would be the ford between the two villages.

  As the small column reached the first houses on the near bank it was clear that the Mahratta horsemen had thoroughly pillaged the place. Some of the houses were burned down and several bodies still lay in the street. At the sound of horses the remaining inhabitants scuttled inside their hovels and closed the doors behind them. Arthur led the way round the fringe of the village until they came to the track leading down into the river. The current flowed past gently enough but the water was a muddy brown so that it was impossible to gauge its depth from the bank.

  Arthur tapped his heels into the flanks of the bay and urged his mount into the water, taking care to stay in line with the entrance and exit of the ford. The water splashed about the bay’s legs as the mare waded further into the current, yet even by the middle of the crossing the water barely came up to her belly. With a growing sense of relief Arthur urged her on until he approached the far bank and the river grew shallow again. Then he wheeled the bay round and kicked his heels in, and the mare surged back to the southern bank where the dragoon escort stood waiting. He called an order to their officer.

  ‘Get across and form a picket line two hundred yards from the far bank. Report any sign of enemy movement towards the ford immediately.’

  He rode back until he could see the infantry columns approaching down the track and turned his attention to the enemy camp once more. It was clear that they had abandoned their original battle line and were moving to counter Arthur’s move on their flank. He tapped his riding crop against his boot for a moment, until he was aware that he was betraying his nerves and quickly stopped it as Fitzroy came riding up, gesturing towards the enemy.

  ‘Sir, have you seen? They have almost formed a new line already.’

  ‘Let them,’ Arthur replied. ‘They will not be able to bring more than a fraction of their forces to bear on us.Then we’ll see their true quality.’

  Just after he spoke there was a dull roar close overhead and then a cannon ball smashed through the second floor of a house at the heart of the village, showering the street with mud plaster and rubble.

  ‘That must have been a twelve-pounder, at least,’ Fitzroy muttered.

  ‘More likely an eighteen-pounder,’ Arthur replied as he gauged the distance to the enemy. ‘From the direction of Assaye, I think.’

  ‘God help us if they get the range of the crossing.’

  ‘They won’t,’ Arthur replied calmly.‘They can’t possibly see it. There’s a slight rise between us and them. They’re firing blind.’

  Even so, more shots passed overhead and some crashed into the village, unnerving the soldiers as they marched quickly through the main thoroughfare and down to the river. The first of the battalions and a few cannon hurried across to the far bank and marched straight on towards the Juah to take up their pos
ition on the right flank of Arthur’s battle line. As the second battalion thrashed across the river one of the dragoons from the picket came galloping down the far bank into the river and approached his general. He drew up, glistening from the spray that his mount had kicked up, and saluted.

  ‘My officer sends his compliments, sir, and begs to inform you that the enemy have completed their change of facing.They have also fortified the village of Assaye with batteries and some rough earthworks.’