The Generals r-2

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘Then why prepare so ardently for war?’

  ‘Because the Tipoo is firmly resolved to fight us.’ Arthur suppressed the anger that was welling up inside him and took a deep breath before he resumed. ‘I imagine you’ve placed a wager at some point in your life, Mr Webbe.’

  ‘Yes. What of it?’

  ‘Then hear me out. Tipoo may or may not intend to declare war on us, agreed? If we prepare for war and it turns out that he has no desire to attack us, then what has it cost us? Money.That’s what. A lot of money, I grant you, but nothing the Company won’t recover from future profits. But if it is Tipoo’s intention to attack us, and we are not ready to face him, because we have not made the necessary preparations, however costly, then we lose everything. Not just the chests of gold and silver in the vaults beneath Fort St George, but also the priceless reputation England currently enjoys amongst the natives. Not to mention tens of thousands of lives - yours and mine amongst them. Now then, on that basis, what would a reasonable gambling man decide to do?’

  ‘All very neatly argued, Wellesley, but what of the third possibility? That he might have no intention of attacking us, and that we might therefore save ourselves a considerable sum of money by not preparing for an attack that won’t happen.’

  ‘It’s possible,’ Arthur admitted. ‘But what are the odds of that? Would you bet your life on such odds?’

  Webbe turned his head and stared out of the window for a while. Below the building stretched the warehouses of the East India Company and the bungalows of its managers and their families, basking peacefully in the sunshine of a clear sky. He turned back to Arthur with a resigned expression. ‘Very well, Colonel. I’ll do what I can to help you.’

  With the Military Board behind him Arthur was able to put together the siege train, and by the end of the year the heavy artillery was sent forward to Vellore with twelve hundred rounds for each gun. As Arthur carried out the assembling of the train he soon discovered that his fellow staff officers were men of high calibre. Barry Close proved to be a mine of useful information about the terrain the guns would have to be moved over, while Henry Ashton deployed great charm and tact when dealing with civilian officials and senior officers in order to obtain what he and the other staff officers needed. If Ashton had a fault, it was his tendency to treat subordinates with studied indifference.

  ‘Look here, Arthur,’ he fumed one day as they sat in their office. He was brandishing a letter. ‘Here I am trying to prepare the army for war and two witless officers in the 12th are stirring up trouble to waste my time.’

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Arthur asked patiently, looking up from the requisition form he was completing.

  ‘One of my lieutenants is registering an official complaint against Major Allen, my quartermaster, for billing him for equipment he has not received. Apparently it’s caused quite a lot of fuss at Arnee and now the bloody major has asked me to intervene. Christ, as if I hadn’t got enough to deal with.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Do?’ Ashton snorted. ‘Nothing. I will tell Allen to leave me alone and sort it out himself, or if he can’t, to find someone more competent to do the job for him.’

  Arthur lowered his pen and stared at Ashton. ‘Good God, you can’t say that to him. Certainly not in those terms.’

  ‘Why not? It’s true. He should not be bothering me with such trivialities.’ Ashton plucked out a fresh sheet of paper and began to compose his response. Arthur watched him for a moment, then shook his head and turned his attention back to the requisition form.

  A few weeks later, at the end of November, Ashton was ordered to leave Madras to take up temporary command of the army forming up around Arnee. As he said his farewells to the staff at Fort St George Arthur regarded him with a touch of envy. Ashton would have the chance to take command of an army while Arthur remained behind in Madras dealing with paperwork.

  Some days later Arthur was preparing to go to bed when a corporal arrived at his house. The man carried an urgent summons to the office of Lord Clive.

  Arthur lowered the hurriedly written note from General Harris and turned to the messenger. ‘Do you know what’s happened?’

  ‘No, sir. I was just told to deliver the message.’The man’s chest was still heaving after his run from the fort. ‘But the Governor, General Harris and Mr Webbe were all there.’

  ‘Right!’ Arthur dismissed the corporal and dressed quicky, and made for the fort as fast as he could run. It was infuriating that the messenger had not been able to provide more details, and Arthur wondered what could be important enough for Lord Clive to summon his senior officials at this time of night. With a chill of anxiety in his gut, Arthur wondered if Tipoo had decided to declare war on Madras. If that was it, then the situation was indeed perilous.The army was not yet ready to fight Tipoo’s host. As he ran, Arthur’s mind was haunted by the spectre of such an attack and its dreadful consequences.

  There were lights burning in the offices of the Governor and when Arthur entered the building and raced up the stairs he saw a number of officers and civil officials talking in agitated tones in the corridor outside Lord Clive’s room. The door was open so Arthur strode straight in. Lord Clive was seated behind his desk. General Harris stood at his side and both looked up as Arthur entered, drew himself up in front of the desk and saluted.

  ‘You sent for me, sir.’

  ‘Yes.’ Clive replied, then nodded to Harris. ‘Tell him.’

  General Harris cleared his throat. ‘You’re to ride forward to Arnee tonight and assume command of the forces there. Your orders are being prepared by my secretary. I want you to leave the moment they’re ready. You can send instructions for the rest of your kit to be sent on once you reach the army.’

  ‘Excuse me, sir. I don’t understand. What about Colonel Ashton? He’s—’

  ‘Ashton’s been shot. More than likely he’s already dead.’

  Chapter 38

  ‘Dead?’

  ‘Or as good as,’ General Harris continued. ‘The fool got himself into a duel over some business with his quartermaster. He was shot through the side.’

  ‘Is there any hope that he might live, sir?’

  General Harris indicated the dispatch on the desk in front of Lord Clive.‘From what he says, it doesn’t seem likely. So you’re to take his place. Given our current relations with Tipoo we cannot afford to leave our troops on the frontier without a commander.’

  ‘What are my orders when I reach Arnee, sir?’

  ‘If Ashton is alive, send word of his condition. In any case, you will take charge of the equipping, training and disposition of our troops in the area. If Tipoo attacks you will hold him back for as long as possible and then conduct a fighting withdrawal to Madras. As for Ashton’s shooting, I want the culprit confined to quarters and you’re to see if we have enough evidence to warrant a court martial. I will not have any more duelling amongst the officers in my command. A man’s honour is one thing, but if upholding it compromises his obligations to his country, then his honour must go and hang. Make sure they all understand that, Wellesley. There’s to be no more of it!’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Very well then. Now find a horse and go.’

  Arthur rode alone through the night. Fortunately the moon was showing enough of its pallid face to light his way and he spurred his mount along the track from Madras towards the field headquarters of the army at Arnee. He rode through sleeping villages, silent and dark, and only the occasional sullen barking of a woken dog heralded his passing.

  He reached Arnee early the next morning. Entering the army camp outside the town, Arthur made for the cluster of large tents that marked the headquarters and dismounted. A staff officer emerged from the nearest tent at the sound of his arrival.

  ‘Where’s Colonel Ashton?’ Arthur demanded.

  ‘This way, sir.’ The lieutenant beckoned and as Arthur followed him inside he continued,‘Have you come from Madras, sir?’


  ‘I’ve been sent to assume command. How’s the Colonel?’

  ‘Difficult to say, sir. He seems calm enough to me, but the surgeon’s concerned that the wound will go bad. If that happens he’ll be gone in a matter of days.’

  ‘Sounds like an optimistic fellow, your surgeon.’

  The lieutenant turned and managed a grim smile. ‘Despair comes naturally to him, sir. He’s from Scotland.’

  As Arthur entered his tent, Ashton struggled to prop himself up on his camp bed, and smiled weakly as he reached out a trembling hand. ‘Really . . . you shouldn’t have.’

  ‘Don’t be a bloody fool.’ Arthur shook the hand and found his friend’s flesh hot and sweaty. The fever was already taking hold then, he thought sadly. ‘Rest yourself, Henry.’

  ‘Rest?’ Ashton chuckled and then winced, gritting his teeth as he fought off a wave of agony. It passed and he looked up at Arthur, his face pale and glistening with perspiration. There was a dressing strapped round his stomach, on which a dark stain showed over his side. ‘I rather think I’ll be resting peacefully enough quite soon.’

  ‘Rubbish!’ Arthur said loudly. ‘You’ll be on your feet in a few days. I’m well enough acquainted with you to know that you simply will not be able to resist the urge to be back on your feet committing further mischief.’

  ‘Ah, is it possible that I am so transparent?’

  ‘Evidently.’

  They exchanged a smile, and then Arthur continued quietly. ‘I’ve been sent here by Harris to take over from you and to investigate the incident. What happened, Henry?’

  ‘It was Major Allen. He took offence at my letter to him, and called me out soon after I arrived here.’

  ‘I warned you.’

  ‘You did, Arthur. I am sorry I paid you no heed. It was foolish of me.’

  ‘Yes, it was. But continue. He called you out. Why did you accept?’

  Ashton looked surprised. ‘It was a matter of honour. There was no question of avoiding the issue. Allen fired first and hit me. I shot into the air.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He had wounded me. If it proves fatal what would it profit me to have killed him? The army would have lost two officers instead of one.’

  Arthur stared at him for a moment and then shook his head. ‘Madness. That’s what it is, pure madness.’

  ‘You may be right, Arthur, but what’s done is done.’

  ‘Where is Allen now?’

  ‘I sent him to Vellore. He can train the men there until this blows over.’

  ‘I have orders to arrest him and prepare for a court martial.’

  Ashton reached over and grasped Arthur’s hand. ‘No, I will not have Allen tried for this. He’s a good officer, and we need such men at the moment. He just needs to curb his temper, that’s all.’

  ‘Henry, I have my orders,’ Arthur said gently.

  ‘And I have my honour. Major Allen and I have had our satisfaction and the matter is closed. I pray you, do not pursue this any further.’ He stared at Arthur with blazing intensity and at length Arthur nodded.

  ‘Very well.’

  He left the tent and found the lieutenant waiting outside. ‘Assemble the officers. I have an announcement to make.’

  Arthur set to work on his new command at once. There were nearly twenty thousand men in the area surrounding Arnee, four thousand European troops and the rest made up from East India Company soldiers.The Company’s men had grown used to being dispersed on garrison duties across the territories ruled by Madras. Now they had been concentrated in their battalions and needed to be trained to fight and march in large formations. Ashton had begun the task and Arthur saw to it that his regimen continued to be carried out, and then turned his attention to the issue of supplying the army in the coming campaign. He sent word to every brinjarri chief in the south of India, inviting them to Arnee to bid for contracts to carry the army’s food and equipment.

  He saw Ashton every spare moment. Any hope of the colonel’s recovering from his wound faded a few days after Arthur’s arrival. The army’s chief surgeon had done all that he could to save Ashton’s life, but the wound became inflamed and a foul-smelling pus had begun to exude from the puckered flesh where the ball had penetrated his side. Ashton’s agonies increased steadily and Arthur sat helplessly by as his friend’s pallid skin turned waxen and his breathing became more and more laboured.Two days before Christmas Arthur saw him at first light, before the day’s duties began. Ashton was no longer even able to raise his head and his eyes rolled towards Arthur when he entered the tent and pulled up a stool beside the bed. The sickening stench from the wound filled the air and Arthur had to fight off the nausea it induced in his stomach.

  He made himself smile. ‘How are you today, Henry?’

  ‘Dying, as usual.’ Ashton’s lips flickered into a grin for an instant. ‘Arthur, it’s too bad. There was still so much I wanted to do . . . so much.’ His hand slithered across the sheet and reached for Arthur’s. ‘Don’t waste your life, Arthur.’

  ‘I’ll try not to.’

  ‘Good. I have one last favour I would ask of you.’

  ‘Anything.’

  ‘My horse, Diomed, she’s a fine Arab. Best mount in the whole of India. Take care of her for me. She deserves only the finest of riders. I’d hate to think of her being sold to some fat, rich Company official after I’m gone.’

  ‘I’ll look after Diomed.’

  A bugle sounded morning parade and Arthur glanced to the sliver of light piercing the tent flap. ‘I have to go. I’ll see you this evening.’>

  ‘Yes . . . I’ll look forward to it.’

  Arthur stood up and replaced the stool at the end of the bed before making for the entrance to the tent.

  ‘Arthur!’

  He paused and turned back.With a great effort Ashton raised a hand and pointed a trembling finger at his friend. ‘Remember, whatever else you do, I beg of you, don’t waste your life.’

  ‘I have no intention of wasting it.’ Arthur smiled at him, and ducked outside into the fresh dawn air, relieved to be free from the cloying, sickly-sweet stench inside Ashton’s tent. He went straight to the army commander’s administration tent and sat at his desk. The morning passed slowly as he worked through the terms of the contracts he would offer the brinjarris. As far as possible they were to operate independently of the army, policing themselves and maintaining their stocks of food. In exchange Arthur promised to protect them from the enemy and to pay them in staged cash sums for each phase of the army’s advance into Mysore. The contracts were guaranteed to run until the onset of the monsoon season, whether the campaign was over by then or not. Just after noon he set his pen down and read over the draft with a critical eye. The terms were more than fair and he could not see how the brinjarris could turn down the opportunity presented by such a favourable deal. He smiled with satisfaction, and looking up he saw through the entrance to the tent the surgeon approaching across the parade ground. Their eyes met and Arthur knew at once what the man’s presence portended. He stood slowly and met the surgeon at the threshold to the tent.

  ‘Ashton’s dead.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I’m afraid so.’

  ‘When did it happen?’

  ‘A moment ago. He lost consciousness an hour or so earlier.’

  ‘Thank God.’ Arthur lowered his head to conceal the grief that theatened to break down his calm expression. ‘Thank you. I’m grateful to you for doing what you could for him. I’ll give the orders to prepare for his burial.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Now please go.’ Arthur waved him away, then went back to his desk and covered his face with his hands. Ashton had died needlessly . . . pointlessly. His promise had been evident to all who knew him. One day he might have been a great general. Instead he had died for no better reason than hurting a man’s pride. It was too cruel, especially at a time when his country needed its finest officers more than ever. Arthur swore to himself that, as far as it was in his power to make i
t so, he would never permit such a waste of life and potential to occur again while he held a military command.

  As the new year of 1799 dawned, Arthur received news that Richard and Henry had arrived in Madras to oversee the preparations for the war with Tipoo and to be ready to respond to any military or diplomatic emergency that might occur. Even though Richard had instructed Lord Clive to continue running the presidency as if Richard was still in Calcutta, he sent a coded message to Arthur to see what his younger brother felt about the idea of Richard’s accompanying General Harris on the coming campaign, in an advisory role.Arthur read the letter with a sinking heart. Much as he respected Richard’s administrative abilities, his brother was no soldier, and had little appreciation of the niceties of etiquette as regarded the military hierarchy. Harris would need to concentrate all his efforts on manoeuvring his army and fixing and destroying Tipoo’s forces. The last thing the general needed was a civilian official looking over his shoulder and offering helpful suggestions.

  He picked up a pen and flicked open the cap of his inkwell, and paused. How should he phrase his response to Richard? Then he smiled to himself. Richard was family, and deserved to be addressed as such. He neatly wrote a brief note:

  My dear Richard, all I can say is that if I were Harris, and you joined the army, I should quit it!