The Generals r-2

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘Not really.’ Arthur smiled. ‘Only a select few men in India have a nose like that.’

  Henry left his escort as they entered the compound and continued towards the residency as the troopers dismounted from the exhausted horses and led them to the troughs by the line of tie rails beside the entrance. Arthur got up and descended from the veranda, waving a greeting to his brother.

  ‘Henry! What brings you here?’

  ‘Charming greeting, I must say.After such an arduous journey, and not having seen you for so long, I’d have expected something better.’ Henry reined in and slid down from the saddle. A servant darted out from the side of the house and took the reins as he stretched his back and rubbed his seat. He nodded to the servant. ‘Have him watered, fed and groomed.’

  Arthur raised his eyebrows. ‘You’re not staying?’

  ‘Only long enough to brief you. Then I’ll carry your reply back to Richard.’

  ‘Brief me? Why, what’s happened?’

  Henry gestured to the table where Close was still seated, and they exchanged a brief wave.‘Let me take some refreshment first. I swear I have half the dust of India lining my throat. We’ve ridden directly from Madras, only stopping to rest when the nags were on the verge of collapse. Not a pleasant experience.’

  Arthur smiled at his brother’s affected insouciance before replying in kind. ‘I beg your pardon, how inhospitable of me. Do please be my guest.’ He gestured to the table and they climbed the steps to join Close. While Arthur ordered the steward to bring a jug of pressed juices, Henry beat some of the dust from his coat and eased himself into one of the cane chairs.

  ‘So.’ Arthur turned to him. ‘Tell me. What brings you here?’

  ‘It’s the French.You know that Richard has been holding off their claims for their colony at Pondicherry to be returned to them.’

  ‘I had heard about it.’

  ‘The situation has changed. A French frigate arrived to reclaim the colony on the fifteenth of June. Over two hundred men landed and took possession of the fort. They say that a powerful squadron of warships is sailing to join them, together with a general and a division of French soldiers.’

  ‘Most awkward. Who else knows about this?’

  ‘Richard sent me as soon as he found out, but you can be sure that word will have reached most of our Mahratta friends by now.’

  ‘Which means they will be making speedy efforts to contact the French and come to some arrangement to inconvenience our interests.’

  ‘To put it mildly.’ Henry leaned forward and his tone became serious. ‘We can’t delay the inevitable a moment longer. Richard wants you to move against Scindia at once. He’s already given orders to General Lake to advance into the land between Jumna and the Ganges. Everything turns on a decisive defeat of the Mahrattas. Then we can enforce British influence across the breadth of the subcontinent.’

  ‘You have to admire our brother’s ambition,’Arthur responded drily. ‘The situation is rather more complicated here in the field. My army is stuck in mud and my supplies are tenuous.’

  ‘Now is not the best time to start a new campaign,’ said Close.

  ‘There never is a best time,’ said Henry. ‘Anyway, those are his instructions.’

  Arthur raised an eyebrow. ‘Instructions, or orders?’

  ‘Richard gave you his full authority to act in this matter. He has every confidence that you will make the right decision.’

  ‘I see,’ Arthur replied coldly. If the campaign failed, Richard would be absolved of blame. Of course, if it succeeded then he would claim the credit for his grand strategic vision. Besides that, Arthur sensed that his loyalty to his brother was being tested.The expansion of British interests in India had cost a fortune, and the government in London and the directors of the Company would be certain to call the Governor General to account in the near future. It would be natural for Richard to want to know how far he could depend on his brother’s support. Yet Arthur deeply resented the ploy.

  He let out a weary breath. ‘Very well, tell him that I will destroy Scindia’s army.’

  The monsoon rains continued to slow the army’s march as Arthur led his forces towards the fortress of Ahmadnagar. Mud sucked down the wheels of his guns and the drivers of the artillery trains whipped their bullocks on as soldiers, often knee deep in mud themselves, braced their shoulders against the spokes and strained to shove the guns and the limbers back on to firmer ground. Even that had its hazards as the rain, and lighter deposits of mud, made the ground slippery and the men had to avoid the slithering motions of the bullock-drawn vehicles while struggling to remain on their feet and trudge on towards Ahmadnagar.

  As soon as Henry had left Poona to carry Arthur’s response back to Calcutta, a message was sent to Scindia declaring that he bore responsibility for the coming conflict thanks to his unwillingness to negotiate. Scindia’s reply blamed the British in turn, saying that their pre-conditions had made any meaningful negotiations impossible. Scindia’s message ended with a rallying cry for every native of the subcontinent to rise up and throw off the British yoke. It was a hollow ambition, since the inhabitants of lands already under British rule realised they had more to lose than to gain by rebelling. But Arthur knew that the real audience of Scindia’s call to arms was the French. If they could supply enough advisers and arms, then the Mahratta armies might yet overthrow the British.

  Four days’ march brought the British army to Scindia’s fortress at Ahmadnagar. Arthur, and a small escort, rode ahead to examine the enemy’s defences. At first light that morning the rain had finally stopped. By the time they found a small hill close enough to give a good view of the walls the sky had cleared and the rising sun was quickly warming the lush landscape, causing steam to rise up in a faint haze. Before them lay the pettah - a small walled town - and to one side the fortress itself. Ahmadnagar was circular with massive walls of solid stone with formidable-looking towers at regular intervals. A deep ditch, filled with water, surrounded the fortifications. Arthur flicked back his drenched cape and reached for his telescope. Around him, the staff officers followed suit as the escorting dragoons allowed their mounts to wander a short distance off to graze.

  ‘The scouts say that between the pettah and the fortress there is a garrison of a thousand Mahratta troops, and another thousand Arab mercenaries, under the command of French officers,’Arthur commented as he scanned the walls of the pettah closely. ‘Looks like the usual combination of brick, mud and masonry surrounding the town.’ He squinted as he focused on a party of enemy soldiers watching them from one of the towers. ‘About twenty feet high, I should say.’

  ‘The town walls should be breached easily enough, sir,’ commented Captain Fitzroy. ‘Once we get the heavy guns out of that damned mud.’

  ‘We’re not going to lay siege to it,’ Arthur replied.‘There’s not enough time for that.We’ll take the town by direct assault, before we turn our attention to the fortress. The key thing is not to let the soldiers garrisoning the pettah escape to the fortress.’

  Fitzroy examined the walls of the latter for a moment. ‘That’s going to be a tough nut to crack. The heaviest guns we have are twelve-pounders. It’ll take weeks before we can batter a hole in those walls. We could always bypass Ahmadnagar, sir.’

  ‘No. I need a forward supply base, and somewhere to fall back on if the campaign goes against us. So we must take the place. There’s no avoiding it. But don’t be too daunted by those walls. They look old and weathered to me. I doubt they’ll stand up to much. Our twelve-pounders will be perfectly adequate for the job.’

  He collapsed his telescope and pushed it back into its saddle holster before turning to Fitzroy.

  ‘Return to the column at once. I’ll use three battalions for the attack, the 74th, the 78th, and a battalion of the Company’s natives. Have them assemble assault ladders and bring up one of the guns to blow the gates open.’

  ‘Very good, sir. What time shall I give them for the attack to b
egin?’

  ‘What time?’ Arthur paused to stretch his back muscles. ‘Why, we shall attack the place at once.’

  Chapter 67

  ‘There’s nothing complicated about it, gentlemen,’ Arthur explained.‘We haven’t got time for a textbook siege of the town. I want it taken at the first attempt, understand?’

  The officers nodded.

  ‘It is vital that as much of the garrison is destroyed as possible. Our cavalry pickets will cover the perimeter of the town to prevent any attempt to reach the fortress. Now, remember, although I want your men to go in hard and fast, they are to respect the townspeople. Any man caught looting or raping will be hanged.’

  ‘Sir?’ One of the Company officers spoke up.

  ‘What is it, Captain Vesey?’

  ‘My lads are from Madras, as are most of the sepoys. There’s plenty of bad blood between them and the Mahrattas. It’ll be hard to stop them taking their revenge.’

  ‘I don’t care about that,’ Arthur replied firmly. ‘Those are my orders, and you will carry them out, to the letter.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  He paused to make sure the officers were certain of his sincerity. Arthur had seen enough of the suffering of the poorest natives during his time in India to know that if they were only treated humanely they would openly welcome British rule. However, he did not expect many of his officers and men to share his long-term vision for India, and discipline would have to be enforced pitilessly if British forces were to win the favour of the natives of these vast tracts of land. He glanced round at his officers and continued the briefing.

  ‘Colonel Wallace will be attacking the main gate of the pettah. The other two columns will scale the walls on either side. If either of those attempts succeeds in crossing the walls they are to make for the gates and open them, if Colonel Wallace hasn’t already managed to. To work then, gentlemen.’

  The three columns moved into position to begin the attack. Colonel Harness was commanding the left-hand column and, as Arthur looked on, Harness began advancing before the other columns were ready. In front of the column the men from one of the light companies kept up a steady fire on the defenders in the bastions on either side of the targeted length of wall. As yet there was no sign of the enemy on the rampart and Arthur felt a vague twinge of anxiety.

  Beside him, Fitzroy grumbled, ‘Bloody Harness is bolting towards the wall like a March hare. The other columns aren’t even ready yet. The attack will go in piecemeal.’

  ‘It doesn’t much matter,’ Arthur replied. ‘It will unsettle the enemy as much as us, so do calm yourself, man.’

  Fitzroy stirred guiltily. ‘Yes, sir.’

  All three columns were led by companies of King’s soldiers and supported by sepoys. It was the same throughout Arthur’s army. The most reliable units were brigaded with native soldiers to stiffen the latter’s resolve. Harness led a mixed force of men from the 78th and one of the Madras battalions. The 78th was from Scotland and was the only kilted regiment in India. With their colours raised at the head of the column the men marched steadily through the line of skirmishers towards the wall. An occasional puff of smoke appeared on the flanking bastions as the Arab defenders risked quick shots at the approaching column before ducking down out of sight. As soon as they reached the wall the leading ranks hurriedly raised their ladders and leaned them up against the rampart and the first of the men began to clamber up the rungs.

  ‘Where are the defenders?’ Fitzroy spoke quietly. ‘Surely there are men on that wall. Why don’t they show themselves?’

  Arthur did not reply, but strained his eyes to follow the progress of the left-hand column. The first of the men had reached the top of the ladder and swung themselves on to the rampart. Only they did not jump down on to the walkway behind, but froze for an instant, before being jostled to the side by more men coming up behind them. Soon a half-dozen men were poised on top of the wall as still more came up the ladders.

  ‘What the devil is happening?’ Arthur snapped, and then instantly clamped his mouth shut and forced himself to adopt the imperturbable expression that he knew impressed other men. Suddenly he realised why the men were not jumping down on to the walkway behind the rampart - there was no walkway. Just a sheer drop inside the wall on to the ground behind. As he watched, one of the men lurched to one side under the impact of a musket ball and toppled back down the wall amongst his comrades. A moment later another man was shot down by the defenders behind the wall.Then someone at the base of the walls must have realised what was happening and slowly the men began to descend the ladders and fall back from the wall, under fire from the bastions.

  Arthur clenched his fist in irritation at the setback, and then relented. In the event it was just as well that Harness had hurried forward ahead of the other columns. Turning to Fitzroy Arthur indicated the right flank column. ‘Get down there and tell Vesey what’s happened.Tell him to raise his ladders against the bastions. He is to avoid the wall at all costs.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Fitzroy saluted and spurred his mount forward towards the ranks of men marching up to the right side of the pettah’s gate, which Wallace’s column was boldy approaching, dragging a six-pounder cannon with them. Once Fitzroy had passed on the warning the right-hand column split into two as they made for the bastions at each end of the length of wall assigned to them.

  Arthur pulled out his telescope to watch the progress of the attack as closely as possible. One of Harness’s grenadier officers had rallied some of his men and they had moved towards the nearest bastion and thrown up a ladder. The first three men and the officer hurriedly began to climb. As they neared the top a handful of defenders suddenly appeared and thrust the ladder away with poles so that it toppled back, throwing the climbers on to the ground. At once the officer was up on his feet. His hat had been knocked off and a livid red streak ran down his face from an injury in his scalp. He helped his men replace the ladder, and while the skirmishers turned their fire on the defenders above he raced back up the ladder, followed by his men. He didn’t pause at the top. Drawing his sword as he reached the rampart, he clambered across the battlements and fell upon the Arabs in the bastion. His sword flashed brilliantly as he carved a path through his enemies.The grenadiers surged up the ladder and joined him to clear the top of the bastion. The struggle was brief as more grenadiers piled into the fight and then disappeared into the bastion. Colonel Harness was hurriedly directing his men towards the place and they began streaming over the top as the distant pop and crackle of musket fire sounded over the pettah walls.

  Over on the right Vesey’s men had reached another bastion and were locked in a desperate fight with its defenders.With two bastions out of action Colonel Wallace faced little danger as the central column waited on the track before the main gate. Ahead of them the six-pounder had been loaded and the artillery crew was running it up to the gate so that the muzzle pressed against the stout but aged timbers.

  Arthur spurred Diomed forward to join the men waiting to assault the town. He was determined to be there when they did enter to make sure that the officers restrained their men from looting or attacking the civilians within the walls. As he rode along the column towards the gate an artillery sergeant carrying the portfire suddenly shouted. ‘Back, lads! They’re opening the gates!’

  There was a dull clatter from beyond the timbers and then they began to swing inwards. Arthur had a glimpse of armed men under the gate tower, then the sergeant swept his portfire down on to the paper cone of the fuse. Even as it flared briefly, Arthur felt a cold fist clench in his stomach, but it was too late to do anything. The gun went off with a boom as a jet of flame and smoke gushed through the pettah gatehouse. Colonel Wallace thrust his sword out and shouted to his men. ‘Forward! Forward, you devils!’

  Arthur dismounted and pushed his way through the men and under the gatehouse. The cannon had gone off right in the faces of some of Vesey’s sepoys. One man, who must have been directly in front of the muzzle, had been torn
in two and his head, chest and shoulders lay several feet from his pelvis and buckled legs. In between, his guts and pools of blood lay spashed across the ground. Several more men were injured and were staggering out of the way of Wallace’s soldiers as they charged into the town. Beyond them Arthur caught a glimpse of a handful of the Arab mercenaries disappearing into one of the narrow streets.Then he saw Vesey and indicated the injured men.

  ‘Have them taken back to our lines to get their wounds tended.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’Vesey saluted.

  ‘By the way, Captain.’ Arthur clapped him on the shoulder. ‘That was fine work.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.’

  Arthur drew his sword and entered the base of the gatehouse. He stepped over several enemy bodies on the stairs as he made his way up and emerged on to the paved top of the bastion where the grenadier officer had carved a path through his enemies. The small area was littered with the bodies of the mercenaries, all killed by savage sword blows or thrusts from the bayonet. Amongst the dead were two of the grenadiers, and a third, injured, man was slumped against the inside of the rampart clasping his hands over a wound to his stomach. As he saw his general he raised a bloodied hand to salute. For an instant, Arthur felt a compulsion to tend to the man, but compassion was a luxury a commander could not afford until after the battle. So Arthur returned the salute and made his way to the breastwork to look over the town.

  British troops were pouring through the tangle of streets pursuing small bands of the enemy, some of whom still had enough of their wits about them to turn and fire occasional shots. A few had already emerged from the far gate and were desperately running for the cover of the nearest topes to escape the groups of cavalry that encircled the town ready to ride down any Mahratta warriors that came their way. Once he was satisfied that only a handful had managed to reach the fort Arthur turned away from the scene. The grenadier leaning against the parapet was staring at him with a frozen expression of agony. Arthur leaned over him and touched his shoulder.There was no reaction and he realised that death had claimed him only a few moments earlier. Arthur straightened up and gazed sadly at the man. An hour ago he had been marching towards this small unregarded town, no doubt swapping tall tales and jokes with his companions; an earthy vibrant being, perhaps with a wife or sweetheart waiting for him back in Scotland. Now, thanks to an order from Arthur, he was dead.