The redcoat on the wall slashed at the flag’s halyard and Wellesley watched as the green and gold banner fluttered down. Then the redcoat turned and shouted to someone inside the fortress.
Wellesley spurred his horse. Just as he and his aides came into the shadow of the gatehouse, the great gates began to open, hauled back by dirty-looking redcoats with stained faces and broad grins. An officer stood just beyond the arch and, as the General rode into sight, the officer brought his sword up in salute.
Wellesley returned the salute. The officer was drenched in blood, and the General hoped that was not a reflection of the army’s casualties. Then he recognized the man. “Mr. Sharpe?” He sounded puzzled.
“Welcome to Gawilghur, sir,” Sharpe said.
“I thought you’d been captured?”
“I escaped, sir. Managed to join the attack.”
“So I see.” Wellesley glanced ahead. The fort seethed with jubilant redcoats and he knew it would take till nightfall to restore order. “You should see a surgeon, Mr. Sharpe. I fear you’re going to carry a scar on your face.” He remembered the telescope, but decided he would give it to Sharpe later and so, with a curt nod, he rode on.
Sharpe stood and watched the 74th march in. They had not wanted him, because he was not a gentleman. But, by God, he was a soldier, and he had opened the fort for them. He caught Urquhart’s eye, and Urquhart looked at the blood on Sharpe’s face and at the crusting scabs on Sharpe’s sword, then looked away. “Good afternoon, Urquhart,” Sharpe said loudly.
Urquhart spurred his horse.
“Good afternoon, Sergeant Colquhoun,” Sharpe said.
Colquhoun marched doggedly on.
Sharpe smiled. He had proved whatever he had set out to prove, and what was that? That he was a soldier, but he had always known that. He was a soldier, and he would stay a soldier, and if that meant wearing a green jacket instead of a red, then so be it. But he was a soldier, and he had proved it in the heat and blood of Gawilghur. It was the fastness in the sky, the stronghold that could not fall, and now it was Sharpe’s fortress.
Historical Note
I have done the 94th, sometimes known as the Scotch Brigade, and their Light Company which was led by Captain Campbell, a great disservice, for it was they, and not Sharpe, who found the route up the side of the ravine and then across the Inner Fort’s wall at Gawilghur, and who then assailed the gatehouse from the inside and, by opening the succession of gates, allowed the rest of the attacking force into the fortress. Fictional heroes steal other men’s thunder, and I trust the Scots will forgive Sharpe. The Captain Campbell whose initiative broke Gawilghur’s defense was not the same Campbell who was one of Wellesley’s aides (and who had been the hero at Ahmednuggur).
The 33rd’s Light Company was not at Gawilghur; indeed the only British infantry there were Scottish regiments, the same Scotsmen who shocked Scindia’s army into rout at Assaye and took the brunt of the Arab attack at Argaum. Wellesley’s war against the Mahrattas, which ended in complete victory at Gawilghur, was thus won by Madrassi sepoys and Scottish Highlanders, and it was an extraordinary victory.
The battle of Assaye, described in Sharpe’s Triumph, was the engagement which destroyed the cohesion of the Mahratta Confederation. Scindia, the most powerful of the princes, was so shocked by the defeat that he sued for peace, while the Rajah of Berar’s troops, deserted by their allies, fought on. Undoubtedly their best strategy would have been an immediate retreat to Gawilghur, but Manu Bappoo must have decided that he could stop the British and so decided to make his stand at Argaum. The battle happened much as described in this novel; it began with an apparent Mahratta advantage when the sepoys on the right of Wellesley’s line panicked, but the General calmed them, brought them back, then launched his line to victory. The Scots, just as they had been at Assaye, were his shock troops, and they destroyed the Arab regiment that was the best of Bappoo’s infantry. There were no Cobras in Bappoo’s army, and though William Dodd existed, and was a renegade fugitive from the East India Company army, there is no record of his having served Berar. The survivors of Argaum retreated north to Gawilghur.
Gawilghur is still a mightily impressive fortress, sprawling over its vast headland high above the Deccan Plain. It is deserted now, and was never again to be used as a stronghold after the storming on 15 December 1803. The fort was returned to the Mahrattas after they made peace with the British, and they never repaired the breaches which are still there, and, though much overgrown, capable of being climbed. No such breaches remain in Europe, and it was instructive to discover just how steep they are, and how difficult to negotiate, even unencumbered by a musket or sword. The great iron gun which killed five of the attackers with a single shot still lies on its emplacement in the Inner Fort, though its carriage has long decayed and the barrel is disfigured with graffiti. Most of the buildings in the Inner Fort have vanished, or else are so overgrown as to be invisible. There is, alas, no snake pit there. The major gatehouses are still intact, without their gates, and a visitor can only marvel at the suicidal bravery of the men who climbed from the ravine to enter the twisting deathtrap of the Inner port’s northern gate. Defeat would surely have been their reward, had not Campbell and his Light Company found a way up the side of the ravine and, with the help of a ladder, scaled the wall and so attacked the gates from the inside. By then Beny Singh, the Killadar, had already poisoned his wives, lovers and daughters. He died, like Manu Bappoo, with his sword in his hand. Manu Bappoo almost certainly died in the breaches and not, as the novel says, in the ravine, though that was where most of his men died, trapped between the attackers who had captured the Outer Fort and the 78th who were climbing the road from the plain. They should have found refuge within the Inner Fort, and bolstered its defenses, but for reasons that have never been explained, the Inner Fort’s gates were fast shut against the survivors of the Outer Fort’s garrison.
Elizabeth Longford, in Wellington, The Tears of the Sword, quotes the late Jac Weller as saying of Gawilghur, “three reasonably effective troops of Boy Scouts armed with rocks could have kept out several times their number of professional soldiers.” It is difficult to disagree. Manu Bappoo and Beny Singh made no effort to protect the Outer Fort’s walls with a glacis, which was their primary mistake, but their real stronghold was the Inner Fort, and it fell far too swiftly. The supposition is that the defenders were thoroughly demoralized, and the few British casualties (about 150), most of them killed or wounded in the assault on the gatehouse, testify to the swiftness of the victory. A hundred and fifty sounds like a small “butcher’s bill,” and so it is, but that should not hide the horror of the fight for the Inner Fort’s gatehouse where Kenny died. That fight occurred in a very small space and, for a brief while, must have been as ghastly as, say, the struggle for Badajoz’s breaches nine years later. Campbell’s escalade up the precipice saved an enormous number of lives and cut a nasty fight blessedly short. Indeed, the victory was so quick, and so cheaply gained, that a recent biography of the Duke of Wellington (in 1803 he was still Sir Arthur Wellesley) accords the siege less than three lines, yet to the redcoat who was sweating up the hill to the plateau and who was expected to carry his firelock and bayonet across the rocky isthmus to the breaches in the double walls it was a significant place and his victory remarkable.
The real significance of Gawilghur lay in the future. Sir Arthur Wellesley had now witnessed the assault of the breach at Seringapatam, had escaladed the walls of Ahmednuggur and swept over the great defenses of Gawilghur. In Portugal and Spain, confronted by even greater defenses manned by determined French soldiers, it is claimed that he underestimated the difficulties of siege work, having been lulled into complacency by the ease of his Indian victories. There may be truth in that, and at Ciudad Rodrigo, Badajoz, Burgos and San Sebastian he took dreadful casualties. My own suspicion is that he did not so much underestimate the ability of defenses to withstand him, as overestimate the capacity of British troops to get through tho
se defenses and, astonishingly, they usually lived up to his expectations. And it was Scotsmen who gave him those high expectations: the Scots who used four ladders to capture a city at Ahmednuggur and one ladder to bring down the great fortress of Gawilghur. Their bravery helped disguise the fact that sieges were terrible work, so terrible that the troops, regardless of their commander’s wishes, regarded a captured stronghold as their own property, to destroy and violate as they wished. This was their revenge for the horrors that the defenders had inflicted on them, and there was undoubtedly a vast slaughter inside Gawilghur once the victory was gained. Many of the defenders must have escaped down the steep cliffs, but perhaps half of the seven or eight thousand died in an orgy of revenge.
And then the place was forgotten. The Mahrattas were defeated, and even more of India came under British rule or influence. But Sir Arthur Wellesley was done with India, it was time to sail home and look for advancement against the more dangerous and nearer enemy, France. It will be four years before he sails from England to Portugal and to the campaign that will raise him to a dukedom. Sharpe will also go home, to a green instead of a red jacket, and he too will sail to Portugal and march from there into France, but he has a snare or two waiting on his path before he reaches the peninsula. So Sharpe will march again.
About the Author
Bernard Cornwell is the author of the acclaimed and bestselling Richard Sharpe series; the Grail Quest series, featuring The Archer’s Tale, Vagabond, and Heretic; the Nathaniel Starbuck Chronicles; the Warlord Trilogy; and many other novels, including The Last Kingdom, Redcoat, Stonehenge 2000 B.C., and the Gallows Thief. He lives with his wife on Cape Cod. www.bernardcornwell.com
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Books by Bernard Cornwell
The Sharpe Novels
(in chronological order)
SHARPE’S TIGER* • SHARPE’S TRIUMPH*
SHARPE’S FORTRESS* • SHARPE’S TRAFALGAR*
SHARPE’S PREY* • SHARPE’S RIFLES • SHARPE’S HAVOC*
SHARPE’S EAGLE • SHARPE’S GOLD • SHARPE’S ESCAPE*
SHARPE’S BATTLE* • SHARPE’S COMPANY
SHARPE’S SWORD • SHARPE’S ENEMY
SHARPE’S HONOUR • SHARPE’S REGIMENT
SHARPE’S SIEGE • SHARPE’S REVENGE
SHARPE’S WATERLOO • SHARPE’S DEVIL*
The Nathaniel Starbuck Chronicles
REBEL* • COPPERHEAD* • BATTLE FLAG*
THE BLOODY GROUND*
The Grail Quest Series
THE ARCHER’S TALE* • VAGABOND*
HERETIC*
Other Novels
THE LAST KINGDOM* • A CROWNING MERCY*
SCOUNDREL* • REDCOAT* • GALLOWS THIEF*
STONEHENGE* • STORMCHILD*
*Published by HarperCollinsPublishers
Bernard Cornwell On:
I. The Origin of Richard Sharpe (Memo to the Sharpe Appreciation Society, http://www.southessex.co.uk)
Richard Sharpe was born on a winter’s night in 1980. It was in London, in a basement flat in Courtnell Street, not far from Westbourne Grove. I had decided to marry an American and, for a myriad of reasons, it was going to be easier if I lived in America, but I could not get a work permit and so, airily, I decided to earn a living as a writer. Love makes us into idiots.
But at least I knew what I wanted to write. It was going to be a land-based version of C.S. Forester’s Hornblower books. I wasted hours trying to find my hero’s name. I wanted a name as dramatic as Horatio Hornblower, but I couldn’t think of one (Trumpetwhistler? Cornetpuffer?), so eventually I decided to give him a temporary name and, once I had found his real name, I would simply go back and change it. So I named him after Richard Sharp, the great rugby player, and of course the name stuck. I added an “e” – that was all.
The book was finished in New Jersey. Now, eighteen years, innumerable battles and well over a million words later, he’s still going strong, and there are yet more books to write. I thought I had finished with Sharpe after Waterloo, but so many people wrote wanting more stories that he had to put on his green jacket and march again. Being a hero, of course, he has more lives than a basketful of cats, but maybe Sharpe’s greatest stroke of good fortune was meeting Sean Bean.
He has also been outrageously lucky in his other friends who, collectively, are the Sharpe Appreciation Society. He would not think there was that much to appreciate (“Bloody daft, really”), but on his behalf, I can thank you for being his friends and assure you that, so long as I have anything to do with him, he will not let you down.
And, finally, time for confession: Years and years ago I was a journalist in Belfast and I remember a night just before Christmas when a group of us were sitting in a city-centre pub getting drunk and maudlin, and discussing, as journalists are wont to do, how much easier life would be if only we were novelists. No more hard work, just storytelling, and somehow we invented the name of an author and a bet was laid. The bet was a bottle of Jameson Whiskey from everyone about the table to be given to whichever one of us first wrote the book with the author’s name. Years later I collected the winnings (long drunk) which is why, in second-hand shops, you might find the following: A Crowning Mercy; The Fallen Angels; Coat of Arms – all by Bernard Cornwell, writing as Susannah Kells.
II. Sharpe’s Adventures
I thought, when I began writing Sharpe, that there could not possibly be more than ten novels in him, but there are now eighteen and more are on the way.
So who and what is he?
Richard Sharpe is a soldier, one of the thousands of Britons who fought against Revolutionary and Napoleonic France between 1793 and 1815. He shadows the career of Sir Arthur Wellesley, who becomes the first Duke of Wellington, and in so doing he takes part in some of the most extraordinary exploits of the era – from the storming of Seringapatam in 1799 to the bloodbath at Waterloo in 1815.
By 1814, when Napoleon is first defeated and sent into exile, the Duke of Wellington leads what is arguably the finest army that Britain ever raised. About one in twenty of its officers had come up from the ranks, and Richard Sharpe is one of them. Is he real? No, there was no Rifle officer called Sharpe, though there was a cavalryman whose rise from trooper to Lieutenant Colonel took the same amount of time that it takes Sharpe to be promoted from private to Lieutenant Colonel. Sharpe is also a Rifleman, a new breed of soldier in the British army who fought, not with a smoothbore musket, but with the much more accurate rifle. Above everything, though, Sharpe has adventures. That is the point of the poor man’s existence.
— Bernard Cornwell
(Material culled from http://www.bernardcornwellbooks.com and from The Sharpe Appreciation Society website, http://www.southessex.co.uk.)
The Sharpe Appreciation Society
The Sharpe Appreciation Society was formed in 1996 amid growing demands from fans wanting more information about the books, television series, the people involved in making the series, the Napoleonic period, weaponry – in fact anything remotely connected with Sharpe.
After finding there was no central point of contact for fans, Chris Clarke, now secretary, made contact with Richard Rutherford-Moore (historical and technical advisor to the television series) and wrote to the author Bernard Cornwell as well as to Malcolm Craddock, one of the producers.
With Richard Moore’s help, Chris started the fan club in July 1996, expecting fifty to 100 fans to join her. We now have over 1,500 fans across the world and they are still joining! In May 1998, we held our first convention, where we were joined by Bernard Cornwell, Malcolm Craddock, Muir Sutherland and some of the actors involved in bringing the world of Sharpe to life.
We are the official fan club, approved by the author, producers, Carlton Television and Central Television. For more information, please write to Chris who will be pleased to send you an application form.
The Sharpe Appreciation Society
P.O. Bo
x 14
Lowdham
Nottingham
NG14 7HU
England
Sharpe Query Line:
Tel: 0(044) 115 966 5405
Secretary: Christine Clarke
[email protected]
http://www.southessex.co.uk
About the Publisher
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Contents
Sharpe’s Tiger
Contents
Maps
Sharpe 3-Book Collection 1: Sharpe's Tiger, Sharpe's Triumph, Sharpe's Fortress Page 109