THE GENERALS

by Simon Scarrow

  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 s
ervant 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 Suffolk was 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.