Текст книги "The Generals"

Автор книги: Simon Scarrow

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Chapter 58

As Arthur had anticipated, Dhoondiah Waugh divided his army into three smaller forces, each one to fend for itself while trying to evade the British pursuit. But with the hircarrahscouts scouring the landscape looking for signs of the brigands it was only a matter of time before they were discovered.The first of the forces was surprised as it camped for the night and was annihilated by a column led by Colonel Stevenson. Arthur posted a thirty thousand rupee reward for information leading to the death or capture of Dhoondiah Waugh and within days a report on the precise location of the enemy was received. The rebel chief was leading the larger of his surviving columns away from Stevenson. On his present line of march he would be passing across the open ground at Conaghull – a mere ten miles from the main British column.

It was shortly after noon, and Arthur’s mind raced as he grasped the opportunity that lay before him. As well as the bulk of the infantry and artillery he still had two regiments of King’s cavalry and two native mounted regiments, nearly fourteen hundred horsemen in all.‘Fitzroy, I want the cavalry ready to ride at once. They are to leave their kit behind. All they will need is one day’s rations and their weapons.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Hurry, man! We must move quickly.’

Within half an hour, the cavalry column had left the main body and was riding hard across the landscape in the direction of Conaghull. Just over two hours after he had first received the report, Arthur spotted a dense cloud of dust a few miles distant and he felt relief wash through his heart. At last, they had pinned Dhoondiah Waugh down. He indicated the haze to Fitzroy and called out, ‘We’ll attack as soon as we reach them.’

‘Yes, sir. If you think that’s wise.’

They rode on, until they were no more than a mile from the enemy force, now visible through gaps in the clumps of trees that dotted the plain. As the enemy drew into sight, Arthur halted his men and with Fitzroy rode over to a small hummock for a better sighting of the ground ahead.

From the crest they had a fine view across the plain. Fitzroy’s expression steadily became more concerned as his eyes took in the mass of men and horses moving across the landscape. ‘Sir, there must be nearly . . . five thousand men over there.’

Arthur nodded as he squinted through his field telescope. ‘At least. But no more than half are mounted.’

‘They still outnumber us, sir.’

‘Yes. But, as ever, this is is a test of quality over quantity, and the superiority of our men has not failed us yet.’

‘There’s always a first time, sir,’ Fitzroy responded quietly.

Arthur lowered his telescope and turned to his aide with a smile. ‘And that time is not now.’ He turned back towards the enemy army and pointed to an open stretch of ground. ‘That’s where we’ll take them. We’ll form a single line parallel to the enemy and charge.’

‘A single line? No reserves, sir?’

‘No. We need to strike with maximum impact. If we don’t succeed with the first charge there will be no need for a reserve. It’s all or nothing, Fitzroy.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Then let’s go!’ He wheeled Diomed round and galloped back down the slope to the long column of mounted men waiting impatiently in the harsh glare of the afternoon sun. They moved off at a tangent to the enemy and had closed to within half a mile by the time they reached the position Arthur had indicated. As they caught sight of their pursuers, Dhoondiah Waugh’s warriors halted and prepared to fight for their lives. Arthur drew his men up in one long line.The two King’s regiments were in the centre while the native cavalry formed up on the flanks.

It was a brave sight, Arthur reflected as he glanced either side at his cavalrymen. He loosened the straps on his saddle holster, checked his stirrups were secure, and then drew his sword and bellowed the order, ‘Draw sabres!’

The order was relayed down the line and the air was thick with the rasp of blades scraping from their scabbards. When the noise had died away, Arthur raised his blade high and then swept it forward towards the enemy to signal the advance.

He nudged his heels in and Diomed paced forward. On either side the line rippled into motion as the horses began to cross the open ground, half a mile from the waiting enemy.The officers and their sergeants kept shouting orders to keep the line dressed, and Arthur noted with professional satisfaction that the men were maintaining their positions almost as well as if they had been on an exercise at Horseguards.

Ahead he could see the enemy infantry raising their muskets, no more than four hundred yards away.

‘At the trot!’

The line lurched forward, slightly more uneven now as the pace increased. Ahead, the first of the enemy opened fire, flashes and puffs of smoke pricking out along the face of the mass of men awaiting the British cavalry. At that range Arthur knew the chances of any ball hitting a target were remote, but he felt his pulse quicken none the less, and as soon as they had closed to within three hundred yards he raised his sword again.

‘Gallop!’

Beneath him the ground shook as the iron-shod hooves thundered over the baked soil. The air was alive with flashes of sunlight glinting off blades and buttons and buckles. Before them the enemy line disappeared behind a curtain of gunfire and out of the corner of his eye Arthur saw a horse pitch forward as blood burst from a wound in its skull. Then it was gone, and Arthur guessed that they must be within a hundred paces of the enemy.

‘Charge!’

As soon as he gave the order, the trumpeter at his shoulder blasted out the notes and the signal was echoed down the line as the men let out a roar and spurred their horses on.The stench of gunpowder filled Arthur’s nostrils, and the world was swallowed by a thick swirl of pallid smoke, before a figure on horseback leaped into view almost in front of him. Arthur’s sword had been poised, point forward, and he just had time to flex his arm and swing a cut as Diomed ploughed into the enemy’s mount with a panicked whinny, knocking the smaller horse aside. The blade swished through the air, the tip slicing across the bridge of the man’s nose, severing the bottom section. As he recovered and lifted the blade for the next cut, Arthur jerked the reins to the left, swerving Diomed towards half a dozen foot soldiers who scattered. Arthur swung at the nearest, who threw up a round shield just in time to deflect the blow into the arm of one of his comrades. The sabre cut through bare flesh and bone. The man with the shield thrust out his sword, aiming the blow at Arthur’s side, and he just had time to throw himself back in his saddle so the blade stabbed past his stomach, tearing through the leather cuff of the glove that held the reins. Arthur swept his blade up in a desperate unorthodox blow that smashed into his foe’s elbow, and the sword clattered to one side.

For a moment, he was clear of the fight and no one faced him. Snatching a glance around him, Arthur saw that his men had shattered the enemy line completely, and were engaged in personal duels with other riders in a loose melee that stretched out for nearly a mile across the plain. Most of Dhoondiah Waugh’s foot soldiers had already broken and were streaming away from the fight, run down here and there by some of Arthur’s men who had cut their way right through the enemy line. A short distance away he saw a party of enemy horsemen gathered round a standard and realised he must be looking at Dhoondiah Waugh and his bodyguard.

‘Follow me!’ Arthur called out, waving his sword overhead to draw attention. ‘On me!’

Several dragoons immediately rallied to the call and spurred their mounts to the colonel’s side. As soon as he had a score of men ready Arthur pointed his sword at the enemy horsemen. ‘That’s Dhoondiah Waugh, boys! He must not escape. Charge!’

Diomed burst forward, with Arthur rising up in his stirrups as he leaned forward, sword raised. He sensed the men charging just behind him on either side and was lost in the mad thrill of the action. All the long weeks of marching under a hot sun, the razing of enemy strongholds, and the constant stream of intelligence reports and redeployment of forces – all that vanished from his mind as he charged straight through the melee at Dhoondiah Waugh and his bodyguards, heedless of any danger as his heart thudded in his breast.

The British mounts were far heavier than the native horses, and the charge of the small party of redcoats crashed into the enemy warriors, knocking three from their saddles and scattering the rest before the air resounded with the clang, clatter and scrape of blades. Arthur found no foe to his immediate front and saw that he was cut off from the fight by some of his own men who had swept past him. Over the back of a horse he caught sight of a tall enemy warrior in fine silk robes. His light brown beard was streaked with red and Arthur knew at once who it must be. Quickly he sheathed his sword and drew one of his pistols, thumbed back the cock, and raised it, taking careful aim on his foe. At the last moment Dhoondiah Waugh turned and saw the muzzle pointing straight at him over the back of a riderless horse, and his eyes widened.

Arthur pulled the trigger.There was a spark from the frizzen, a flash from the pan and then the charge exploded in the barrel with a gout of flame and smoke. He saw his target reel back in the saddle as Dhoondiah Waugh grimaced and clutched a hand to the shoulder of his sword arm. The blade dropped from his fingers. Arthur holstered the pistol and reached for his second, but the men who had charged with him now swarmed round Dhoondiah Waugh and the last of his bodyguard, obscuring the enemy leader. Their blades flashed in the dusty air, hacking and chopping at the enemy, and then it was over.

As soon as the enemy’s standard toppled into the dust, the rest of them turned and ran for their lives, chased down by the jubilant British cavalry. Arthur let them continue their pursuit as he surveyed the battlefield. Bodies littered the ground in a long strip spread across the plain. The vast majority of them were brigands, and their riderless horses dotted the dried earth. Arthur nudged Diomed with his knees, steering his mount towards the spot where the rebel leader had fallen. Dhoondiah Waugh lay curled up on his side. His turban had been flicked off his head by the tip of a dragoon sabre and his body was covered with sword cuts. Around him lay half a dozen of his bodyguards, also hacked to death in the last furious assault by the men Arthur had led towards them. He stared at the bodies for a moment, taking in the realisation that the struggle to bring peace to Mysore was over at last.

Chapter 59

When news of the death of Dhoondiah Waugh reached the Peshwa of the Mahratta federation he immediately sent a message of gratitude to Arthur, for avenging the death of Goklah. At once Arthur saw the opportunity to improve British relations with the Mahrattas, and as his column was crossing the southern stretch of their lands he sent word asking if the Peshwa might resupply his men since they had grown short of rations in the last weeks of the pursuit of Dhoondiah Waugh. As Arthur hoped, the Peshwa saw a similar opportunity and threw open the doors of his nearest fortified town, Moodgul, and bade his British ally take whatever food was needed, and rest there as long as he liked.

It was only a few days after the column had arrived, and while it was still enjoying the hospitality of the local Mahratta warlord, that the Peshwa himself – Bajee Rao – arrived at Moodgul to greet his ally. The local warlord, Holkar, was given little warning of the arrival of the Peshwa and hurried to prepare the town to greet him. Arthur gave orders that the dragoons were to make ready to parade before the ruler of the confederation, and horses were hurriedly groomed, saddles and equipment polished and buffed and uniforms cleaned so that the regiment would look its best. Even though the Peshwa was accompanied by only a small retinue and a regiment of his cavalry, his entrance through the town gate took on the ambience of a state procession as the Mahratta people cheered and bowed as he passed by. He made his way through the town to Arthur’s camp on the far side, and the moment he was sighted the officers and sergeants hurriedly inspected the ranks of mounted men drawn up in squadrons.

Arthur and Fitzroy were in full uniform and sat uncomfortably in the stifling heat as the Peshwa and his entourage walked their horses slowly across the large clear area lined by tents and horse lines. Arthur nodded to the colonel of the dragoons who drew a deep breath and bellowed the order, ‘Present!’

The dragoons drew their sabres and rested them smartly on their shoulders, guards held out so that there was a right angle between upper and lower arms. It was a spectacular display and one that Arthur hoped would impress his host.

The Peshwa was a young man with a ready smile and he bowed his head in response to Arthur’s salute, then reined his horse in.

‘Colonel Wellesley.’ He spoke softly with a slight lisp. ‘I am delighted to meet the man responsible for the defeat of Dhoondiah Waugh.’

Before one of his courtiers could translate Arthur replied in Hindoostani. ‘The pleasure is mine, sir.’

The Peshwa’s expression revealed his surprise and he smiled again. ‘You speak our tongue well, Colonel.’

‘You are very kind, sir.’

‘No, it is you who are kind, Colonel. Not many of the white men in India have made an effort to learn the local tongues.’ He laughed. ‘They just speak louder in the hope that volume will compensate for clarity.’

Now it was Arthur’s turn to laugh. ‘You have the measure of my people, sir. It is a peculiarity of the British that they find it hard to speak other languages.’

‘And yet you do, Colonel.’

‘I try to make up for the shortcomings of others, sir.’

‘How admirable of you. But I wonder, can one such as you make up for the depredations of so many of your fellow countrymen? Or at least the Honourable East India Company?’

‘I can assure you that British affairs in India are no longer the sole responsibility of the Company. The world is changing, sir.’

‘Yes, it is,’ the Peshwa replied thoughfully.

Arthur gestured to the dragoons, still waiting in their squadrons. ‘Would you care to inspect my men, sir?’

‘Indeed.’

The Peshwa rode down each line of horsemen and surveyed them with a genuinely curious expression. At the end he turned to Arthur. ‘Thank you, Colonel. A fine body of men. I only wish I had such soldiers in my army.’

There was a hint of feeling that went beyond politeness and Arthur felt his pulse quicken as he replied. ‘All India knows that the Mahratta people field the finest native soldiers in these lands.’

‘That is true, but some of my warlords abuse that advantage by waging war on each other, and occasionally on me. Sometimes, I fear, I am ruler of the Mahratta federation in name only.’

‘Then you might consider a more formal alliance with Britain, sir.’ It was a bold suggestion and Arthur feared that he might have overstepped the bounds of diplomacy. For a moment the Peshwa stared at him, and then he shook his head sadly.

‘An interesting thought, Colonel, but with so many Frenchmen advising the Maharatta warlords, I fear that I would not long survive such an alliance. But come now, we are not here to bewail the ways of the world. I am your host and you and your men are here to celebrate the end of Dhoondiah Waugh.’

While Colonel Stevenson led the column back to Mysore, Arthur and a small escort remained the guest of the Mahrattas for several more weeks. He took every opportunity to explore the lands and get to know the most prominent of the warlords. He entered notes of his observations in a small book in a private code he shared with his brothers. Then, in November, he returned to Seringapatam.

Now that the brigands had been defeated, the kingdom was enjoying newfound prosperity and the routes that linked the towns and cities flowed with merchandise and travellers. Arthur was greeted with respect and gratitude in every settlement he passed through and it seemed that the vision of the Wellesley brothers was at last taking root in Mysore.

He reached the capital just after sunset one night, and rode quietly round the walls of the city until he reached the Dowlut Baugh. There was sure to be a mass of paperwork and other duties awaiting his attention, but Arthur promised himself a good night’s rest before he resumed his duties as military governor.

There was one letter he did attend to. It was from Richard in his own hand and Arthur broke the seal and read it while a servant prepared a bath for him. Richard was delighted by his success against Dhoondiah Waugh. No one in India could now doubt Arthur’s potential as a military commander. He had brought peace to a land larger and more populous than all the islands of Britain. His return to Seringapatam was fine timing, since the need to mount an expedition to seize Java was more pressing than ever. Richard offered his brother the task of planning the operation, preparing the men and supplies required, and ultimately commanding the force. He concluded, in words that warmed Arthur’s heart:

I employ you because I rely on your good sense, discretion, activity and spirit. I cannot find all those qualities united in any other officer in India.

Arthur set the letter down and leaned back in his chair to gaze out of the window. Outside, the moon gleamed in the starry sky, bathing the ornate gardens of the palace in a silvery loom, and the Cauvery flowed like a black ribbon across the lush landscape of Mysore.The feeling of being at peace was overwhelming, and Arthur realised that, finally, he had achieved a recognition he could be satisfied with.

Chapter 60

Trincomalee, Ceylon, January 1801

Out in the harbour the transports lay at anchor, while around them the placid waters teemed with small craft from which the natives sold fruit, carvings, jewellery and jugs of spirits to the sailors and soldiers aboard the ships. Despite the fact that the ships had arrived in the harbour some weeks earlier trade was still thriving and at least it gave the men something to do while the preparations for the expedition continued. Arthur and his small staff had been obliged to make their headquarters in the offices of a burgher trader, since the Governor of Ceylon – the Honourable Frederick North – had declined to offer them accommodation at the fort. Indeed, his lack of hospitality and helpfulness was causing considerable delay in making Arthur’s small flotilla ready to sail.

There were over five thousand soldiers aboard the transports and North had refused to allow them permission to land, not even to carry out exercise and training. The reason he gave was that Ceylon had been in British hands for less than five years and the last thing the Governor needed was for some insensitive, or inebriated, soldier to cause offence to the natives or the local population of Dutch traders and their families. So the men remained crowded in the transports while Arthur did his best to complete the loading of supplies into the transports’ holds. There were still shortages of biscuit, salt beef, medicines, spirits and above all ammunition. Once again, the officials of the Company were proving reluctant to authorise the release of their stocks of powder. At first Arthur had tried to persuade North and his officials to see reason and co-operate with him, but after a week he gave in and sent a message to Calcutta, begging Richard to intercede and make it quite clear that Arthur should have unrestricted access to whatever resources he needed to prepare the expedition. It would take at least three weeks for a reply and Arthur had to resign himself to yet more delay.

In the meantime, he did his best to repair relations with the Governor and his staff by hosting a dinner aboard his ship for the senior officers of his command, those of the garrison at Trincomalee and Admiral Rainier and the captains of the squadron assigned to support the expedition. The warships were anchored slightly further offshore where they would be free to put to sea in the event that any French vessels appeared on the horizon. Arthur was aware that there was a strong animosity between the Governor and the admiral, but he braced himself to doing his best to repair relations all round. It frequently surprised Arthur how often personal differences of opinion were permitted to stand in the way of the vital interests of the state, as if such men felt that they were more important than the nation they professed to serve.

On the morning of the appointed date, Arthur’s mood was not improved by the receipt of a private message from Richard, which had crossed the letter he had sent to Calcutta. Once he had decoded the message Arthur’s brow creased into a frown. There was a possibility that the Java expedition would once again have to be cancelled. The situation in the Mediterranean was such that the expeditionary force might be enlarged and redeployed to Egypt instead. Arthur was told to make the force ready to sail either to the east, towards Java, or west, towards the Red Sea. The final decision would be communicated to him as soon as possible.

The message made Arthur uneasy. The last news he had had of the situation in Egypt was that the French still had a considerable army there. If Arthur and his men were sent to Egypt they would be outnumbered and would have to face a well-trained and well-armed enemy. Arthur did not doubt that his men were a match for any French soldiers that lived, and he was confident enough in his abilities to confront them, but a campaign in Egypt was a more uncertain prospect than the capture of Java, and it would have to be tackled with great care. He could not help but be scornful of the politicians back in London who could redirect thousands of men from one theatre of war to another on a whim.

The air in the great cabin of the East India Company ship Suffolkwas hot and humid, despite the attempt to create a through draught by using windscoops over the skylights and opening all the stern windows. The officers of the army and Navy were in their best uniforms and the Company officials in their best coats, and everyone attempted to endure the heat with stolid indifference. A long table had been laid with spotless cloths and gleaming silverware and cut glasses, and the odours of the cooking wafted through from the captain’s galley.

‘What’s that, Wellesley?’ Admiral Rainier sniffed.

‘A saddle of mutton, sir. My steward, Vingetty, cooks it in a rich sauce and serves it with a salad. Accompanied by a Madeira.’

‘Salad?’ Rainier frowned. ‘I don’t know about a salad. Mutton deserves something more wholesome, like boiled vegetables.’

Arthur stopped himself from wincing at the idea. He nodded tactfully. ‘Of course, sir, but Vingetty makes a better salad than he boils a vegetable, so there we are.’

‘Hmmm. Well, needs must.’

‘Yes, sir. Now would you care to take your seat?’

As the guests took their places Arthur made sure that the Governor was seated at the head of the table with Rainier on one side while Arthur sat opposite. Frederick North was a stout, sour-faced man with a pale complexion despite the years he had served in Ceylon. Once everyone was seated he picked up a soup spoon and rapped the table until the other diners fell silent.

‘Grace . . .’ North clasped his hands and shut his eyes and some of the others followed suit. Rainier caught Arthur’s eye and looked to the heavens with an exasperated expression, but said not a word as North began.

‘Divine Lord, who watches over us all, bless us here today that we might serve our King and country well, and prosper by the fruits of our own efforts. Amen.’

‘Amen,’ echoed round the table, as North picked up his napkin and tucked it into his neck cloth.

‘An interesting grace,’ said Rainier. ‘One of your own?’

‘Yes. And suitable to the occasion, given that you and Colonel Wellesley will soon be sailing off to war.’

‘If ever the order comes,’ Rainier grumbled. ‘Been telling ’em for years that we have to take Java.’

‘I know,’ North replied tartly. ‘As you keep telling me. And as I keep telling you, we should be concentrating our efforts on Mauritius. As your superior, I would expect you to carry out my orders.’

Admiral Rainier shrugged his shoulders wearily and Arthur realised that this had long been a bone of contention between the two men. Rainier replied in a bored tone,‘You are the senior civil authority with power over all forces stationed here, but the moment the squadron leaves these waters control of the vessels reverts to me. I will only carry out operations against Mauritius under Admiralty orders.’

‘Which I am certain are on the way. Assuming my powers of persuasion have made their lordships see reason.’

‘We shall have to wait and see, won’t we?’ Rainier smiled, then looked across the table at Arthur. ‘What’s the first course?’

‘Turtle soup.’

‘Fish, or as near as.’ Rainier wrinkled his nose.

‘I’d have thought a sailor would be fond of fish, sir.’

‘And I’d have thought a soldier would be fond of bloody boiled vegetables. Especially a man from Ireland. That is where your family is from, ain’t it?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Once again Arthur felt the implied slight, and wondered if the family would ever shake off its history.

‘That’s right,’ North added. ‘And I am sure that your brother must be delighted with the peerage conferred on him following the victory in Mysore. But I forgot, the news reached here only yesterday. He will not know yet.’

‘A peerage, sir?’ Arthur felt his breast lift with pride for his brother, and at the same time there was a tinge of jealousy that no reward had come his way.

‘Oh, yes. He has been given a title, in the Irish peerage.’ North spoke the last words with emphasis and some relish. ‘But still, a peerage is a peerage, eh? I am sure your brother will be delighted with the honour.’

Arthur knew that Richard would see the reward as a very poor second to the British peerage he aspired to, but he smiled at North. ‘Of course, sir. Delighted.’

‘And I imagine that you look forward to emulating his triumph. Though I dare say you will admit that your path to success is being smoothed by having a brother who is the highest authority in India.’

Arthur felt his cheeks flush at the naked accusation that he was benefiting from nepotism. It was a charge that he knew had been levied against him in the past by other officers, and no doubt was still bandied about to explain his various appointments. But had he not proved worthy of every task that had been assigned to him? He had ably commanded one wing of General Harris’s army. He had brought peace and prosperity to Mysore, and thanks to his system of supplying his forces in the field he had led his forces further into the heart of India, and marched faster, than any British commander before him. And still his accomplishments were written off as the product of family connections. Good God, when will this end, he thought furiously. He forced himself to keep a calm exterior as he turned to North.

‘I can assure you, sir, that the Governor General would never put his family above the needs of his nation. Nor would I actively seek preferment on such a basis.’

‘Of course not.’ North nodded. ‘Your achievement is a credit to you, young man. To have assumed such a command as your present one, while still only a colonel, is tribute enough to your talent. I can only imagine how many officers of superior rank serving in India must regard you as something of a prodigy and toast your continued success. However, experience would suggest that there might be some resentment at the positions of authority that have come your way.’

Admiral Rainier coughed. ‘Steady on, North.You go too far. I have it on good authority that Wellesley is the right man for the job. Of course there will be some old soaks who grumble about his success. There always are.’

‘Some?’

‘Enough of this!’ Rainier blustered, grabbing his glass. ‘It’s time for the toasts! Gentlemen! To His Royal Majesty, King George III!’

‘The King!’ the others responded.

‘I give you one more toast,’ Rainier continued. ‘To our good host, Colonel Wellesley, and may glorious victory attend him . . . wherever the bloody government decides to send him in the end!’

A few days later another message arrived from Richard. The situation in Calcutta was becoming more vexed, his brother told him. He had decided that if the expedition was to be sent to Egypt then it would need to be reinforced, in which case it would be extremely difficult for Richard to justify maintaining an officer of Arthur’s rank in command of so large a force.Worse still, Richard wrote, it seemed that General Baird had designs on securing the command for himself and had been busy canvassing all the senior military officers in India to support his application. Indeed, the Commander in Chief of the forces at Calcutta, Sir Alured Clarke, had strongly urged Richard to give the command to Baird. Arthur must prepare himself for the possibility that he would be required to hand over the command to a superior officer.

As Arthur read this, a sense of bitter betrayal entered his soul. Had not Richard himself told him that he prized Arthur above all officers in India? Now, here he was, buckling under the pressure of opinion from men motivated by little more than professional jealousy, and, in the case of Baird, a more personal rivalry. The same evening Arthur sat down to write a reply with a heavy heart. He told Richard that he must make a clear and final decision on the matter. Either he must confirm Arthur’s command of the expeditionary force, or he must choose another officer. Any doubts about his ultimate authority would only serve to hamper Arthur’s attempts to collect the supplies he required, and undermine his standing with subordinate officers. He asked Richard to respond as soon as possible and resolve the matter.