Текст книги "The Generals"
Автор книги: Simon Scarrow
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Текущая страница: 42 (всего у книги 45 страниц)
‘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 pettahescape 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 begin?’
‘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 pettahwalls.
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 pettahgatehouse. 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.
He pulled out his watch and glanced at the hands. It was barely twenty minutes since the attack had begun and already the town had fallen. The enemy had suffered hundreds of casualties, and there would be many British wounded as well. But if, as Arthur intended, the swift and decisive assault served to discourage the defenders of the fortress, then a greater number of lives could be saved in the long run. It was a peculiar train of thought and he wondered if other generals indulged in such moral computations to justify their decisions. Now that the action was over, a familiar weariness settled on him and with a sigh he turned his mind to the capture of the fortress as he descended the stairs inside the bastion.
Over the next two nights a battery was constructed three hundred yards from the fortress. Arthur and his engineers had examined the fortifications in some detail through their telescopes before settling on a section where the masonry appeared to be weak and crumbling in places. The killadarcommanding the fortress was clearly unversed in modern siege warfare, or had chosen to ignore the advice of the French officers serving under him. There was no attempt to fire on the British engineers and by dawn on the second day the battery was complete and guns, powder and ammunition had been hauled into position. As soon as there was enough light to gauge the fall of shot Arthur gave the order to open fire. There was a rolling crash as the twelve-pounders belched flame and smoke while Arthur stood to one side and squinted through his telescope at the fortress. He saw the iron balls strike home and chips of masonry explode from the face of the wall. Lowering his telescope he nodded to the officer in command of the battery.
‘The range is good. Keep firing, but don’t rush the job. The guns must be loaded carefully. I don’t want a single shot wasted, understand?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Arthur returned the officer’s salute and returned to his tent for breakfast. Once he had eaten, he turned his attention to the latest intelligence reports that had come in from the hircarrahagents. Here in the northern part of India they could not hope to pass through the Mahratta camps unnoticed, and had to report on enemy movements from a distance. Already it was quite clear that they had little ability to judge the size of enemy formations and Scindia was reported to be in command of anything between fifty and a hundred and fifty thousand men. By contrast, Arthur knew exactly how many men he had in his army. In addition to two and a half thousand regulars there were another seven thousand sepoys and four thousand Mysore cavalry. Colonel Stevenson’s slightly smaller force was already marching to join them. Combined, they should be a match for Scindia’s horde.
All day the guns boomed out in a slow rhythm and by early afternoon there were signs that the walls were beginning to crumble as each impact brought a shower of mortar and rubble tumbling down into the outer ditch. The bombardment continued the following morning and a breach finally opened. More shot widened the gap until finally the ammunition gave out late in the afternoon.
The chief engineer returned Arthur’s telescope to him and pursed his lips for a moment before he gave his judgement. ‘I’d say that the breach was practical, sir. We could fire a few rounds of case shot in to clear away the enemy before our boys go in. Do you wish to make the assault today, sir?’
‘Of course.’
‘Then I’ll have the guns made ready.’
‘Very well,’ Arthur agreed. ‘See to it.’
As the sun dipped towards the horizon, burnishing the landscape in a fiery glow and casting long dark shadows, Arthur formed the bulk of his army up opposite the breach. Only the leading battalions would make the actual assault, but he had calculated the impression such a show would make on his enemies and shortly before the attack was due to begin a white flag appeared on the nearest bastion, hurriedly waved from side to side to attract the attention of the British.Arthur went forward and met the killadar’s representatives in front of the battery. In addition to a man bearing a makeshift white flag, there was a Mahratta official and a French officer.The latter saluted Arthur as they approached. Arthur spoke first, in French.
‘If you wish to spare yourself from my men, then the fort must be surrendered at once.’
‘My commander, the killadar, wishes to know what terms you will offer.’
‘I’ve already stated my terms,’ Arthur replied. ‘Surrender now, or perish.’
There was a brief exchange between the Mahratta and the Frenchman before the latter continued. ‘The killadarwishes to negotiate.’
‘The negotiations are over. I will not permit the killadarto play for time. I will give him ten minutes to make his decision, from the moment we finish speaking. You may tell him that he and his men will be permitted to quit the fort and I will give them two days’ grace before I advance from Ahmadnagar.’
‘That is a generous offer,’ the French officer conceded. ‘I will do my best to see that it is accepted, sir.’
Arthur nodded, and then drew out his fob watch and looked at it pointedly as he muttered, ‘Ten minutes, then.’
Just as the hands on the watch crept towards the deadline, the gates of the fortress were thrown open and the garrison began to file out, glancing nervously at the massed ranks of the British troops formed up in front of them. As the Mahrattas formed a makeshift column, a few hastily loaded wagons and carts trundled over the bridge across the ditch, and finally the killadarand his senior officers emerged. Accompanied by the French officer they approached Arthur and bowed their heads respectfully, before the killadarlooked at the British general in frank admiration and spoke briefly, pausing to allow his French officer to translate.
‘He says that there is no dishonour in surrender to an army that could make such short work of the pettahand its garrison . . . He says the British are a strange people. You came here in the morning, looked at the pettahwall, walked over it, killed all the defenders, and returned to breakfast. What enemy can withstand you?’
Arthur forced himself to keep his face expressionless, and the French officer laughed before he continued. ‘I doubt any native army has seen anything like it before. I can imagine the effect it will have on Scindia’s men when the killadartells the tale,’ he concluded shrewdly. ‘You are a formidable adversary, General. I fear we may meet again soon.’
‘Not if you leave India,’ Arthur replied firmly.
‘Even if I did, sir, I am sure that a man of your talent will be called back to fight in Europe and I fear for my countrymen.’
‘You are most generous in your praise, sir,’ Arthur replied tersely. ‘Now, if you would be so kind as to ask the killadarto move his column out, I have a fortress to occupy and a campaign to fight.’
The French officer saluted and then translated for the Mahratta commander before they strode off to join their column. The moment the Mahrattas shambled away to the north, Arthur led his men into the fortress of Ahmadnagar.
With a secure base to his rear, garrisoned by a battalion of Company soldiers, Arthur moved north across the Godavery river, while Colonel Stevenson marched towards him across the territory of Hyderabad. As the summer sun baked the landscape the two British columns marched deeper into enemy territory, closely following reports of the movement of Scindia’s army. Such was the heat during daytime that the army broke camp while it was still dark and covered as much ground as possible before late morning, when they made camp and rested in whatever shade they could find. Then, late in September, news came that Scindia was at the village of Borkardan, two days’ march away. Arthur hastily sent a message to Stevenson instructing him to join Arthur’s column there to confront the enemy and force a battle. As word spread through the ranks that the enemy was close to hand the sense of excitement and tension was palpable.
On the morning of the 23rd the army ended their march at the village of Naulniah. If their intelligence was good, the enemy was camped another day’s march away, but already the soldiers were scanning the surrounding landscape for any signs of enemy horsemen. While the dusty columns of infantry, gun limbers and cavalry tramped into the area marked out for the camp the usual cavalry pickets were sent out to cover the approaches to the camp.
Arthur had just retired to his tent for some refreshment when he saw through the tent flaps a patrol from the 19th Dragoons come galloping up to the array of tents that formed the army’s headquarters. Their cornet hurriedly dismounted and beckoned to a brinjarrimerchant riding with them. Arthur set down his cup of tea and rose to meet the dragoon officer.
‘What is it?’
‘Sir, this man ran into our patrol three miles from here. He says he was on his way to sell food to Scindia’s troops in their camp, nearby.’
Arthur’s attention snapped to the brinjarrimerchant. He questioned him in Hindoostani. ‘Where is Scindia?’
‘Two or three coosfrom here, sahib.’
No more than six miles, Arthur calculated, his pulse quickening.
‘How many men are in this camp?’ he asked, and then realised that there was no question of the merchant’s being able to judge the number accurately. He tried another tack. ‘How big is this camp, then?’
The merchant paused a moment before he replied, struggling to work out the scope of what he had seen. ‘Sahib, they are camped along the Kaitna river, for a stretch of three coos.’
‘Three coos?’ Arthur repeated, astonished. He made a quick estimate and felt his heart beat fast with excitement as he realised that the enemy force must be at least a hundred thousand men strong. He had found Scindia’s army. Better still, he had caught them in camp. Arthur looked over his army arriving to make camp for the night. They had already marched fourteen miles. Stevenson was still several miles distant and could not hope to reach the enemy camp before the end of the day. Yet there was not an instant’s hesitation as he made his decision. Turning back to the tent he called out to Fitzroy.
‘Pass the word. I want the battalion commanders to have their men stand to and prepare for battle.’
