THE GENERALS

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘We have enemy to the rear!’Arthur gestured back towards the guns.

  ‘I wondered what the noise was.’ Harness frowned. ‘But those guns were taken, sir.’

  ‘Evidently not. We’ll have to do the job again. Get your men back there as quickly as possible.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Arthur left the colonel to bellow his new orders and galloped back across the rear of his re-forming infantry battalions to the cavalry reserve, still behind the rise that the rest of the army had crossed just over an hour earlier. Explaining the situation to the regiment’s colonel, Arthur took over the command and ordered the regiment to form a line. As the manoeuvre was complete he ordered the men forward. They crested the rise and Arthur saw the 78th marching towards them. In between the two British forces Scindia’s men were firing their guns with the same dedicated efficiency as they had before, bombarding the remains of the 74th as that regiment fell back towards Assaye.

  Drawing his sabre, Arthur indicated the guns and gave the order to increase pace to a trot as they flowed down the gentle slope towards the Mahrattas. They were spotted at once and the horsemen abandoned their guns and ran for their mounts, leaving the gunners to snatch up whatever weapons they could as the British converged on them. Once they had closed to within the last three hundred yards of the line of guns, Arthur shouted the order to charge. Diomed’s hooves drummed on the baked ground beneath him and her mane flickered in the wind and Arthur felt his heart pounding like a hammer as the cavalry thundered towards the enemy.

  They smashed through the loose mass of Scindia’s horsemen, hacking and slashing with their sabres. The crude tulwars of the Mahratta horsemen were no match for the well-forged steel of the English blades, often shattering under the impact. Arthur saw a man to his side and made a cut to the head with all his strength. The edge of the blade struck the man on his turban, cutting through some layers of cloth and knocking him cold. He grunted and slipped from his saddle, while Arthur recovered his sword and rested it against his shoulder as he slowed Diomed and looked round. The enemy horsemen were already routed, riding their small beasts away from the melee as swiftly as they could as they raced for the safety of the Juah river.

  ‘Keep moving!’ Arthur called out. ‘Go for the guns!’

  He urged Diomed forward and the native cavalry followed, charging in amongst Scindia’s artillery crews, who had finally ceased firing and were preparing to make their final stand. Arthur’s eye fixed on a richly dressed officer and with a twitch of the reins he steered Diomed towards the man, extending the tip of his sabre as he spurred the mare into a canter. The Maharatta officer saw him coming, and snatched up a handspike from the nearest gun and held it ready, as if it was a spear. At the last moment, Arthur swerved slightly and made a cut with his sabre. But the officer was too swift and dodged aside and at the same time rammed the handspike into Diomed’s chest with all his might.

  A shrill whinny of agony and terror burst from the mare’s muzzle and she reared up so abruptly that Arthur was nearly unseated. He clamped his thighs round Diomed’s girth and threw his weight forward. The horse dropped to four feet again, the shaft of the handspike protruding from the bloody wound. The Mahratta officer had drawn his tulwar and darted forward to attack the British general. Arthur parried the blow, flicked his sword and cut at an angle into the man’s neck, severing muscles and arteries before the blade cut into the bone. The enemy officer had a startled expression on his face as the blood gushed from his wound in thick jets, then, as Arthur yanked the blade free, he toppled to the ground. Diomed was staggering dangerously, and Arthur sheathed his blade and slipped down from the saddle.

  ‘Easy, girl,’ he said softly as he worked his way forward to her head. ‘Easy.’

  The handspike was lodged solidly in her chest and flecks of blood sprayed from her muzzle as her nostrils flared. She had been piked through a lung, Arthur realised.There was nothing he could do for her now. Such a wound was usually fatal, in which case the merciful thing to do was end the animal’s agony. Arthur drew a pistol from the saddle and his lips pressed into a thin line as he eased the muzzle to the side of the horse’s head and pulled the trigger. Diomed bucked to one side, legs tensing briefly before she died.

  Arthur stared at Diomed for a moment before he took one of the few mounts that had been made available by the loss of its rider during the skirmish. From the saddle he saw the last of the gunners being shot down by Harness as they tried to flee towards the bank of the Kaitna. Arthur’s third mount of the day was a poor replacement for his previous horses and was badly blown by the long marches it had endured over the course of the day and the previous night.

  By the time Arthur reached the infantry line every battalion had formed up in a line that ran across the spit of land. Ahead of them the remains of Scindia’s army formed their third line of defence for the day, with their backs to the Juah river. Most of Maxwell’s cavalry had drifted back across the river and was re-forming to the east of the British line, just outside Assaye.

  Arthur steered his new mount towards Maxwell and his tired, but elated, troopers.

  ‘One last task for you today.’ Arthur forced himself to smile, aware that their initial exchange would be overheard by the nearest men.

  ‘Name it, sir.’ Maxwell was grinning, clearly having the time of his life. ‘Did you see my boys charge, sir? We tore them to pieces, by God! Would have chased them all the way to the Himalayas if the lads had had their way.’

  ‘Then I’m thankful that they didn’t. I need you here and I need you now. When the final attack goes forward, you must charge their flank and break them. Once the flank goes their whole line will collapse. I’m sure of it.’

  ‘You can count on us, sir.’ Maxwell saluted.

  ‘I am counting on you.’ Arthur lowered his voice. ‘And this time I’d be obliged if you retained greater control over your men. There are tens of thousands of enemy horsemen still in the field and I need every damn trooper I can lay my hands on if this battle is to end well for us. Do I make myself clear, Maxwell?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Amply.’

  ‘Then you have your orders. Carry them out.’

  Once again, Arthur took a position beside the 78th and a peculiar stillness hung over the plain. The sun was sinking towards the horizon and a golden slanted light threw long shadows across the flattened and bloodstained grass of the battlefield. He drew a deep breath and raised his hat in the air.

  ‘The line will advance!’

  Harness bellowed the order to his men, and then it was repeated across each battalion as the redcoats marched towards the enemy, in echelon as before. On the far right of the line the shrill cry of cavalry trumpets sounded as Maxwell, at the head of his men, charged towards the men closest to Assaye, now held by the survivors of the 74th. In his excited state Maxwell had led his men at an oblique angle to the enemy line and before he could correct the direction his men instinctively edged away so that the whole force charged along the front of Scindia’s remaining battalions, under fire, before they reached open ground some distance beyond.

  Arthur cursed the man, but at least the cavalry had inadvertently covered the advance of the infantry and they emerged from the clouds of dust kicked up by the horses close enough to halt and deliver a crashing volley before the enemy could react. The shock was too much for Scindia’s men and before the British battalions could decide the final stage of the battle with the bayonet, the enemy turned and fled in a single mass, surging into the waters of the Juah. The redcoats pursued them to the water’s edge and halted, too tired to go any further and with their bloodlust finally sated after the day’s awful slaughter. Instead, they set down their weapons and drank greedily from the water, before refilling their canteens for the first time since the previous day.

  Arthur watched the fleeing enemy for a while longer as they disappeared into the twilight. Then he turned to survey the battlefield, strewn with bodies and abandoned guns. In the distance there was still a
n occasional explosion from the enemy’s ammunition tumbrils where some slow fuses had set fire to the gunpowder-laden vehicles abandoned by the enemy. Scindia’s army had lost every artillery piece. The trained battalions of regulars he had set so much store by had all been shattered and driven from the field.The victory was as complete as it could be, Arthur reflected. His men had proved their superiority over the enemy beyond any doubt, and word of this battle would soon reach every corner of India, and beyond. It took a moment for his exhausted mind to register that more than a battle had been won. Britain was now the undisputed master of the subcontinent.

  There was still much to do to cement the victory, to settle scores with the remnants of the Mahratta warlords still opposed to Britain, but the end was inevitable. As Arthur turned away from the river to give orders for the men to camp in the open near Assaye a leaden weariness settled on him. At last, long after night had fallen, he stumbled through long lines of slumbering and snoring men towards the small farmhouse he had chosen for his headquarters. The men’s sleep was far from peaceful and several times he heard voices cry out suddenly as men woke with a start, troubled by nightmare visions of the battle.

  By then Arthur had been given a provisional butcher’s bill. Over a quarter of his army had been killed or wounded, including Maxwell who had been shot from his saddle as he led his men in their final, poorly executed charge. Seldom had a victory been won with such a high proportion of losses, he reflected sadly as he finally settled down on some straw in a corner of the barn with the other senior officers. But then seldom had a new empire been created for the loss of so few men. For it was true. Between them, he and Richard had forged an empire from this vast expanse of land.When they had arrived, British possessions had been but small inroads on the map of the subcontinent. Now British influence, British trade, British law and British armies would cross India at will and bring peace and order on a scale to equal all the lands and peoples of Europe.

  It was a heady vision. Almost too great a success for Arthur to comprehend, and at length his weary mind slipped into a deep sleep even as he sat, leaning against the rough mud plaster wall. There Fitzroy found him a short while later, once he had completed the battle report in his notebook. Fitzroy gazed down at the tired face, and realised for the first time the great strain that the campaign had placed on his friend. He smiled as he took off his jacket and laid it gently over his commander.

  ‘Rest, my general,’ he said softly. ‘You have earned it.’

  Chapter 69

  Arthur allowed two days for his army to recover their strength. While the survivors rested, the injured - over a thousand men - were loaded on to carts and wagons and escorted back to a makeshift hospital at Naulniah. Soldiers scoured the battlefield to collect abandoned weapons and equipment. The engineers dug graves for the British dead outside Assaye.The enemy fallen were counted and then piled into great pits and covered over. Scindia’s artillery was examined and the best guns were incorporated into the British artillery train, while the rest were loaded with a double charge and wedged shots and then had their barrels burst after Arthur’s gunners lit delayed fuses and retired to a safe distance. On the third day Arthur formed the army up and set off in pursuit of Scindia.

  The route the warlord had taken was marked by a wide trail of abandoned equipment and baggage carts, and the bodies of those who had died from injuries taken at Assaye. There were more casualties inflicted by the villagers lining the route who had endured many years of raids at the hands of the Mahrattas, and now took their bloody revenge on the stragglers who fell behind what was left of Scindia’s army. As the enemy fell back, Scindia divided his force in two, sending a large body of men to defend his fortress at Gawilghur while the remainder finally turned to face the British once again on the plains of Argaum.

  The redcoats formed lines and moved forward with their artillery in close support, pausing at close range to blast gaping holes in the dense mass of Mahratta troops, and then charging home with the bayonet. The experience of Assaye had badly shaken them, and now their resolve crumbled completely and the army of Scindia was shattered for ever. Gawilghur was taken in December and then, at the end of the month, Scindia’s envoys signed a peace treaty. His army was to be dissolved and a garrison of several Company battalions was to be established at his capital. Large expanses of Mahratta territory were ceded to Britain and henceforth Scindia was obliged to accept British arbitration over any disputes that might arise between him and the rulers of neighbouring states.

  As Arthur composed his report to Richard there was little emotion left in him to celebrate the end of the war. There was no doubt, even in his mind - so resolved to underplay his achievements - that the victories his army had won were as great as any achieved by any British army in India, or beyond. But Arthur was wise enough to realise that when word of Assaye reached London the newspapers there would scarcely believe that such a victory could be achieved against such great odds. Therefore he took great care that his report did not seem boastful or in any way vain. Besides, Arthur felt that there was little to celebrate when so many good men had been killed and mutilated in order to defeat Scindia’s host. At length he completed his account, sealed the document and placed it in the hands of Captain Fitzroy to convey to the Governor General at Calcutta.

  While the defeat of Scindia had left Britain the virtual master of the subcontinent, there were still a number of minor threats to deal with. With Scindia out of the way, Holkar assumed the mantle of the handful of rulers still opposed to British rule and he at once demanded that Arthur hand over Scindia’s lands to him. It was a bold threat, but one that Arthur knew he could counter with ease. Such was his reputation, and that of his men, that no Mahratta force dared face them in battle and the conflict with Holkar was marked by a wearying series of small raids and skirmishes that dragged on into the early months of the new year.

  Then, early in spring, as Arthur was inspecting one of his sepoy battalions in the glare of the sun, his head began to spin, and his legs buckled under him. He lost consciousness so swiftly as he collapsed on the ground that he had no recollection of it when he came round.

  His eyes flickered open and for a moment Arthur’s mind was hazy as he struggled to understand what had happened to him, and even where he was. The room was shaded and overhead a punkah swayed from side to side and stirred the air over his face.

  ‘Ah, awake at last.’

  Arthur turned his head and saw Colonel Stevenson smiling at him from a chair beside the bed. Arthur swallowed and spoke softly. ‘At last? How long have I been here?’

  ‘Three days.’

  ‘Three days!’ Arthur repeated in horror. ‘And where is here exactly?’

  ‘Our supply base at Dimlah, sir.You’re in the hospital.’

  Arthur frowned. ‘Was I injured?’

  ‘No, sir. Bless you, you collapsed. On the parade ground. Surely you recall?’

  Arthur shook his head, furious with himself, and ashamed. He struggled to rise and found that it required all his strength merely to prop himself up on his elbows.

  Stevenson looked concerned. ‘Sir, please lie back. I sent for the doctor the moment you began to stir. He will be here any moment. Just rest.’

  For a moment Arthur was determined that rest was the last thing he would do, especially since he had been out of action for over three days.Then his strength gave out and he slumped back on the bed, breathing hard. He waited a moment until he had recovered and then turned his head to Stevenson.

  ‘What’s happened since I was brought here?’

  ‘Nothing, sir. There’s been no news of any raids, and the frontier with Holkar is holding fast, as far as I know. He’s given us little trouble for nearly a month now. I think the danger from that quarter has passed. For now, at least.’

  ‘Thank God,’ Arthur replied quietly. ‘I think I am about done in this country. One more campaign would break me.’

  The door to the room opened, admitting a shaft of light that
made Arthur squint, before the new arrival closed it and strode across to his bed.

  ‘Ah, so you’re with us again, sir?’ The doctor leaned over the bed, grasped Arthur’s hand in a powerful grip and pumped it.‘I’m Hollingsworth, a Company surgeon. You’re probably a bit too dazed to recall me, eh?’

  Arthur nodded. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘No matter.’ The doctor straightened up. ‘Have to say I was very worried about you when they brought you in, sir. Looked like you was in a bloody coma.’

  ‘What is wrong with me?’

  ‘Same thing that’s wrong with most men who have served in this land for long enough. Exhaustion, that’s what. It’s time for you to quit India. While you still can.You need a long rest and a change of climate, sir.’

  ‘I just need a rest. A few days and then I’ll be back on duty.’

  ‘Ah, no, sir. Not at all. I know the symptoms. Trust me, you either take my advice and take the first ship you can back to Britain, or have yourself measured up for a coffin.’