Flashman and the Cobra

by Robert Brightwell

  It was a group of bhinjarries that started to unravel the Mahratta plan. They sold information as well as goods, and so when a British cavalry patrol found them that morning, for a fee they revealed that the Mahratta were not at Borkardan, but much closer just across the river Kaitna. It was mid-morning by the time the news reached Wellesley and by then his army had already marched fourteen miles to a village called Naulniah, which was just five miles south of Assaye. As soon as he was told, Wellesley set off to investigate, taking nearly all his five thousand cavalry with him. Leaving a sepoy battalion as rear guard, he ordered the rest of his four and a half thousand infantry to follow him.

  The first that the Mahratta knew of these events was when some scouts came riding fast over the hills from the south. A stream of scouts had been arriving all morning with news of the progress of the British march, but as these two riders came splashing full tilt through the ford on sweat-lathered horses, it was clear something was not right. I tooled on over to Pohlmann’s tent to find out what. If I was expecting consternation, I was to be disappointed, for Pohlmann was laughing with delight and several of the other commanders there, including the begum, looked equally pleased.

  “This is excellent news,” boomed Pohlmann, giving one of the messengers a hearty thump on the back. “Now the British come to us, we are in a strong position, and both infantry and cavalry can share the victory and the spoils. Let us break camp and have our guns lining the southern shore so that we can give them a hot reception when they arrive.”

  The begum saw me standing there and came over. “Well, Thomas, one of my prayers has already been answered, but you should not blame God if he does not listen to you today. To beat the combined artillery, infantry and cavalry after a twenty-mile march, now that would take a real miracle.” She looked up and saw someone waiting for her. “Now you must excuse me. I have some business to conduct,” she said as she walked away.

  She walked over to one of the bhinjarrie chieftains and I saw her hand over a large purse. I did not think anything of it at the time, as we bought lots of materials from the bhinjarrie. Only days later did I discover how Wellesley had learned of the Mahratta position. Ever since I have wondered whether the begum relied entirely on God to deliver the British to the combined Mahratta force or whether she arranged some more practical help through the bhinjarrie.

  A short while later the British cavalry arrived on some high ground overlooking our camp around a mile and a half south of the Kaitna. They stood watching what must to them have seemed an ant’s nest of activity as tents were struck down, guns dragged by elephant and oxen to be lined up on the river shore and infantry organised into two solid ranks behind the guns. Despite the fact that they outnumbered the British horsemen ten to one, half of the Mahratta cavalry, including many of the pindaree, decided to cross the river again back to the Mahratta shore. They had been insulted by the infantry when they had headed south but were now greeted with howls of derision from their own soldiers for their timidity in front of such a meagre force.

  “Why look at these brave horsemen who would run to hide behind our skirts at the sight of an angry washerwoman,” cackled one sergeant. Others started throwing turds at the retreating cavalry. Soon there was some jostling and I saw some cavalry sowars and pindaree using the flat of their blades none too gently to push their way through the heckling crowd with several cut heads as a result. Infantry and cavalry officers moved in to restore order but clearly no love was lost between the two forces.

  I looked for the begum again and found her where the command tent was being dismantled with a gaggle of other officers including Pohlmann. They were gathered around two large brass telescopes on tripods.

  “Ah, Flashman,” said Pohlmann in his slight Hanoverian accent when he saw me. “Come and tell us whether the officer in front is Vellesley.”

  All I could see with the naked eye was a dark crowd of officers on a distant hill, but they made way for me around one of the telescopes, which was a fine instrument. While you could not see the faces, the positions of the leading officers told me all I wanted to know. There, as when I had first ridden with him back to Madras, was one tall, erect officer sitting out alone, using a telescope to stare back in my direction. A few yards behind him was someone in native dress whom I took to be a guide and then a gaggle of senior offers standing back a few more paces.

  “Yes, that is Wellesley,” I confirmed, watching as he now swung his telescope to his right to stare at something beyond the Mahratta left flank.

  “Vat is he looking at?” asked Pohlmann, who was watching Wellesley through the other brass telescope. I stepped away so another officer could look.

  “He is looking at the village of Peepulgaon down the river,” said the other officer.

  “There is another ford there, isn’t there?” asked Pohlmann.

  “Yes, but it is smaller than the one in front of us, and anyway, his guide will tell him that the one in front of us is the only crossing of the river. You see, sir, the guide is pointing Wellesley back down in our direction.”

  Pohlmann gave a grunt and then said, “Flashman, take another look. Vat do you think?”

  I stepped up to the second telescope again and looked. I did not realise it then but I was watching what was probably the pivotal moment of the battle. The scout was indeed saying that the ford in front of the gathering Mahratta ranks and cannon was the only one in the area. Wellesley, looking down at the steep banks, chest-high water, massed guns and twenty thousand cavalry still on his side of the river waiting to pounce, saw that a frontal assault with his meagre force would be suicidal. But looking to his right, he saw the village of Peepulgaon on the river bank with another village on the opposite bank and he reasoned that the two villages would not be so close on opposite shores of the river if there was not a ford in between. He also realised that if he could get his men across onto the narrow neck of land between the two rivers then he could attack, with the rivers stopping the Mahratta outflanking him. Not that I appreciated any of this as I watched, but I was just in time to see him send a group of his officers off in the direction of Peepulgaon to confirm his suspicion of the existence of the ford.

  “Vill he attack now he has seen our forces?” asked Pohlmann.

  “He cannot possibly consider it,” snorted one of the cavalry leaders. “Our cavalry outnumbers his ten to one and our scouts say he has only four and half thousand infantry following him against our eleven thousand trained infantry, and we have another ten thousand warriors not to mention over a hundred cannon.”

  I turned away from the telescope in time to see one of the pindaree leaders stare wolfishly at me and say, “The British are beaten before they even fire a shot. They have to retreat, and when they do we will tear them apart.” Then, looking me directly in the eye, he added meaningfully, “We always settle our scores with the British.”

  “Vat do you think, Flashman?” Pohlmann repeated.

  “He will attack you, sir,” I asserted, sounding as confident as I could. “He knows his army would be destroyed if he tried to retreat and he is desperate for a victory as a general.”

  “Nonsense!” exclaimed the cavalry commander. “This knave is just trying to stop you releasing the cavalry to ensure their destruction. Even now we could destroy their infantry before they get here.”

  While the commander of the regular cavalry was still keen to attack, his forces were only a small part of the whole and I noticed that the pindaree leader was less enthusiastic.

  “Let them waste themselves on our cannon first,” the pindaree chieftain said. “Then we will sweep in on what is left.”

  I turned back to the telescope and watched the British, who seemed tantalisingly close through the lens. Wellesley was desperate for a victory; indeed, I heard later that he had said that if had not attacked at Assaye, there would have been nothing for him to do but hang himself from a tent pole. But desperate or not, I could not see how he could secure a victory against such overwhelming numbe
rs, even if Stevenson came to his aid. Perhaps his appearance with cavalry was a feint to allow his infantry to slip away? But no, our, that is the Mahratta scouts, had seen his army also marching in this direction. But surely once he had seen what he was up against he would change his plan? My thoughts were interrupted by Pohlmann.

  “I agree with Mr Flashman. Vellesley will attack.” There were general shouts of disbelief at this, although the begum stayed silent, her dark eyes darting between Pohlmann and me. “He may be young but he is no fool, this general,” continued Pohlmann. “Despite the efforts of his guide I think he has already guessed there is a ford at Peepulgaon, and if he can, he will cross his men there. We will then fight him on the land between the rivers. It is no matter: while we will not be able to outflank him, his men will have no alternative but to march right into the mouths of our guns. They will be lucky if any actually reach the lines of infantry behind them. When they break, both the infantry and cavalry will share the spoils.”

  He walked over to a map table. “We will stay lined up on the river for now, but I want some of our lighter horse-drawn guns taken upriver to cover the ford at Peepulgaon. They can pound the British while they are vulnerable crossing the river, until they have too many men on this bank and then they can withdraw. Once they are committed to crossing at Peepulgaon we will redeploy our forces in a straight line between the two rivers.”

  He turned to the begum. “Lady, I would like you to command the left of our line with your men, anchoring it against the village of Assaye. I will command the centre and the right with Scindia’s forces.” The begum nodded her agreement and Pohlmann continued, “The plan of battle is simple. The cannon are to be spread out evenly in a straight line between the rivers and the infantry formed up behind the guns. Use solid ball in the guns to start and canister shot when they get close. If any survive the guns, the infantry can finish them off.”

  It was a brisk and efficient plan from the experienced Hanoverian. Its simplicity meant that there was less to go wrong. Try as I might, I could not see how it could fail. When Wellesley moved to explore the other ford, I had wondered if he had a chance, but now his prospects seemed as bleak as ever. For while a less organised army might be caught while redeploying from facing across the southern river to facing across the neck of land, Pohlmann was making sure that this was not going to happen to him. Already elephants and oxen were being allocated to each gun so they were ready to move. Officers were being detailed to mark where the guns were to go in our new front line and space for the various regiments was allocated. None moved yet in case the British found the ford too deep or were bluffing and were planning to swing back across the ford by the Mahratta camp.

  I could not think of anything to give me a glimmer of hope. If Wellesley managed to get his men across the river, he would find that they were all exposed to a lethal bombardment of one hundred guns. There would be nowhere for them to hide. I paced around, trying to keep out of the way, and after a while heard a cry that the British infantry were in sight. I managed to get a quick glimpse through one of the powerful telescopes and suddenly I knew the day was not yet lost.

  They had already marched over twenty miles that day, carrying their packs, muskets and ammunition. The last five miles had been in the heat of the noon-day sun. It was a march that would leave most men exhausted, and yet these soldiers, knowing that a battle waited for them at the end of the day, marched resolutely on. Despite seeing the huge host arrayed before them, they did not stop and falter in any way as they crested that final hill, but just kept on marching in. There were two British Highland regiments and four regiments of Indian sepoys. The Scots wore white breeches as the climate was too hot for thick woollen kilts. Apart from their officers who also wore breeches, the sepoy troops wore shorter white leggings that finished down their thighs. It seemed that these men were just going to work and their next customers were in front of them. Even from a mile and a half away they collectively exuded confidence and gave the impression that they did not for one moment consider that they could be beaten. For the first time I sensed a ripple of unease spreading through the Mahratta camp. They all saw the infantry coming and knew that the best-trained Mahratta infantry would probably have hesitated if they had seen the same massive odds facing them. Pohlmann sensed the disquiet, and even though the range was extreme for hitting infantry, he ordered the row of cannon to open fire on them.

  Commands were shouted and soon the guns began to fire with great plumes of smoke obscuring our view of the enemy. This was my first great land battle, but I had already seen sea battles and knew a little of gunnery. The Mahratta cannon were a very mixed bag covering all shapes, sizes and calibres from workmanlike artillery pieces to much more decorative guns that seemed to have been taken from palace courtyards. The standard of gunnery was similarly mixed. Because of the smoke I could not see what damage they were causing to the British, but it was clear that some of these guns were much easier to serve than others. Some of the large and decorative siege guns had crews of up to a dozen men who took nearly five minutes to sponge out, load and then position the gun again.

  For nearly a quarter of an hour the guns blazed away, creating a huge pall of gun smoke that was slow to drift away in the light winds. I suspect that they did not do much damage as most of the gunners were firing almost blindly into the smoke. Pohlmann, unable to see anything, mounted his horse and rode along the bank towards Peepulgaon to see how the British were progressing. His officers and staff called for their own horses to follow, and as the begum mounted up one of my sowar escorts passed the reins of another horse for me. We all galloped down the river bank after Pohlmann, and by the time we reached the end of the Mahratta’s main line of guns I could see that the infantry were nearly at the Peepulgaon ford. Some of the British cavalry were also now approaching the ford, but roughly half remained on the high ground opposite the initial Mahratta position. They were mostly lancers and could charge down into the flanks of the near twenty thousand Mahratta cavalry who were still on the British side of the river if they attempted to interfere with the crossing. Lancers always terrify other cavalry, especially from the flanks, as there is nothing you can do until you are past the point. More than once I have been chased by them and dreaded the white-hot pain of a steel lance point slicing through my back. Clearly the Mahratta horse, many of them pindaree, were content to let the guns and the infantry do the hard work. The Mahratta cavalry was saving itself for attacking the British when they fled back across the river in defeat.

  We rode on towards the small group of light horse-drawn guns that had been set up on a rise covering the ford at Peepulgaon. They were two-pounders firing with a sharp cracking sound and with a small escort of regular cavalry amongst which Pohlmann was now standing. We drew up with them and stared across at the ford. Men were now streaming across. I saw Wellesley on our side of the river with a knot of officers encouraging the men across. The group proved a tempting target for the gunners and there was a puff of dirt just in front of them where a ball pitched into the ground and then bounced into the air over them. Then I saw that it had partially decapitated one of the dragoons riding next to Wellesley; I discovered later it was his orderly. The man’s horse reared in panic as it smelt the blood but the body stayed in the saddle, held there by map cases and other accoutrements. The men around tried to catch at the horse’s reins but it reared again and this time the corpse fell directly under the horse’s falling hooves. The horse continued to plunge about, and while we were too far away to see, we could imagine the blood and brains being spattered about by the way the other officers moved away in disgust. Wellesley was ordering his officers forward to survey the space between the two rivers and one disturbed a fox that now ran in our direction.

  “Ah, they are committed,” said Pohlmann, watching as the first infantry reached the opposite shore of the ford. He turned to the begum. “It is time to redeploy our forces, Lady. I know I can rely on you to hold our left.”

  “You
can indeed, General,” replied the begum, “and I wish you good fortune this day. It is a shame our lord is not here to witness his victory, but perhaps better that the battle is left to professionals.” They laughed at what seemed to be a private joke between them and then the begum wheeled her horse about and we rode towards Assaye.

  Chapter 20

  It took an hour for the British to cross the river and get ready to attack. It seemed that their original plan had been to march in strength in a double line of infantry along the bank of the Kaitna and catch the Mahratta in the flank. But when they saw how quickly the Mahratta had redeployed they were forced to change their own disposition. The Mahratta frontline now stretched nearly a mile from one river to the other and was thickly manned with guns and men. Wellesley only had enough men to attack half of it, with just a single line of infantry.

  I positioned myself on the flat roof of a house in the village of Assaye which was the begum’s command post. One of the brass telescopes that Pohlmann had been using was placed on the tiles and, combined with our elevation, gave an excellent view. Pohlmann had the other large telescope with him on an elephant in the middle of the Mahratta line. The begum’s men had turned the village into a small fortress with barricades across the ends of streets and all of the windows and roofs lined with men. The line of Mahratta guns started in front of the village and stretched away to our right and they were already inflicting a terrible punishment on the British.

  Wellesley had sent the cavalry who had crossed the river to the rear to act as a reserve. The British had managed to get a dozen small cannon across the river and they started an artillery duel with the Mahratta guns. The British guns were outnumbered and much smaller than many of those against them. A hail of fire from the Mahratta lines soon saw the British guns dismounted and many of the men and oxen that had been bringing the ammunition killed. More fire rained on the infantry, who were being organised into lines. Cannon balls would whip through files of men and leave holes of flesh and gore before the sergeants shouted for the men to close up. Wellesley had to order the attack straight away or his men would have been slaughtered where they stood.