Sword of Fortune

by Christopher Nicole

  Amongst the dead were several Frenchmen, but not Peyraud. Nor was Tippoo to be found; the green tent had disappeared.

  ‘Well, General,’ Stuart said, his face alight with elation. ‘We have dealt the rascals a severe blow, have we not?’

  ‘You are to be congratulated, sir,’ Richard agreed. ‘Now, let us advance as rapidly as we may while Tippoo’s people are in a state of confusion.’

  ‘Advance, sir?’ Stuart was horrified. ‘That cannot be. I have my dead to bury, my wounded to attend to, my forces to concentrate. Who ever heard of advancing on the morrow of a victory? My word, sir, it would not do.’

  With an effort Richard refrained from hitting the man.

  ‘How long will you require for this concentration?’ he inquired.

  ‘Why, hardly less than five days,’ Stuart said.

  ‘Five days,’ Richard said, grimly. ‘In five days Tippoo will have rallied his men. Why, sir, if you do not advance now he may as well claim today as a victory.’

  ‘That is unimportant, General Bryant. We know it was not a victory.’

  ‘But what of the world? What of General Harris and his army? Must they not be informed of the true facts?’

  ‘They will be, in due course. Have no fear of that.’

  ‘Sooner were better than later,’ Richard said.

  ‘It is not possible to inform him, at this moment.’

  ‘I will undertake that task.’

  Richard’s sole purpose now was to abandon Stuart to his careful preparations, which could no longer entail a surprise assault on Seringapatam, and join the force which would have to carry out the attack.

  Stuart was astonished. ‘You, sir? There is no way I can permit that. It will mean passing through enemy country. You could well be killed.’

  ‘I am an advisor, not a subordinate, General,’ Richard reminded him. ‘I am no longer in a position to give you any advice whatsoever. I intend to take myself to where I can be of some use to this campaign. Good day to you, sir.’

  *

  Stuart was aghast, but could do nothing about it; Richard was technically his superior officer.

  Richard took Soliman and two other sepoy volunteers. He discarded his uniform, wrapped a dhoti round his waist—he was so sun-browned that he could pass for an Indian—and made his way into the jungle.

  They carried five days’ supply of food, and relied upon the various streams they had to cross for water.

  Richard had no apprehension about what he was doing. He was confident in his years of experience of both the jungle and campaigning. He carried with him his claymore and his pistols and his bag of powder and shot.

  And he was going to rescue Caty and Michael. That had been his dream, almost his sole purpose, for so long he could hardly believe it was at last on the point of fulfilment.

  It took him and his small band a fortnight to traverse the peninsula, as they had to avoid groups of Marathas. In fact, the enemy was thin on the ground, as Tippoo was concentrating all his people in front of Seringapatam for the decisive action, but as Richard had predicted, the tribesmen had been told that the action at Sedaseer had been a great victory, that a huge Company force had been checked and hurled back in disarray, and that the same fate would overtake the eastern force whenever it dared to give battle to Tippoo’s veterans.

  That Tippoo certainly intended to fight well east of his capital city was obvious from the preparations Richard observed as he and his small party crept through the gradually thinning jungle into hill country; bands of warriors were marching upon the Maratha encampment from every direction.

  What perturbed Richard was the total absence of any sign of Harris’s army. Tippoo, having checked Stuart’s brigade, was able to move his troops in good time to the east to meet the second invasion of his territory. Richard had read all about the advantages of manoeuvring on interior lines, but this smacked of the ridiculous. It was not until the middle of March that he came upon advanced pickets of the 33rd Regiment of Foot. An hour later he was drinking coffee with Arthur Wellesley.

  ‘It’s the damndest business you ever saw,’ Wellesley told him. ‘This army marches at the rate of one mile a day, if that. It is all the business of these camp-followers. Every damned subaltern has to have a dozen servants, and at least half of them are women to warm his blanket at night.’

  Richard observed that even the colonel was attended by several servants, although none of them appeared to be female.

  ‘And then there is the matter of transport. You will never have seen such transport, Bryant. Do you know how many oxen have died on this march? Sixty thousand, by God! At least it keeps the army supplied with beef.’

  *

  Next day Richard was taken to see Harris himself, who he discovered to be a fussy little man with a high colour.

  ‘Well, sir!’ he snorted. ‘A fine mess you have got General Stuart into, eh? Causing him to lose a battle, by God. And what of myself? The prisoners we took the other day are cock-a-hoop. Twice the men they were before your hare-brained scheme.’

  ‘That, sir, is a result of your military methods,’ Richard pointed out, and told him of Stuart’s victory, and his consequent dilatoriness. ‘Which is but compounded by your own,’ he added. ‘My plan should have worked either way. Had you hastened your advance, you would have been outside the walls of Seringapatam while Tippoo’s men were still engaged on the coast.’

  ‘By God, sir,’ Harris said. ‘I cannot take offence at your words, as you are under the aegis of the Governor-General. And I understand and sympathise with your anxiety, as Lord Mornington has informed me of the unfortunate situation of your family. But I am damned if I wish any more of your advice. Good day to you, sir.’

  ‘But I am not going anywhere, sir,’ Richard told him. ‘My business is the capture of Seringapatam. I will serve with you, even if I do so as a common soldier.’

  ‘By God, sir!’ Harris exploded.

  The situation was rescued by Sir David Baird, a distinguished-looking man who had an equally distinguished service record.

  ‘General Bryant is welcome to serve on my staff, General,’ he said. ‘If he has the stomach for it.’

  ‘Ha ha,’ Harris shouted. ‘If he has the stomach for it! Yes, indeed. Sir David has claimed, and been awarded, the honour of leading the assault on the city, sir, as he has an old score to settle with Tippoo.’

  ‘I was imprisoned by the scoundrel during the last war,’ Baird explained, ‘in which also you had a hand, as I understand it, Mr Bryant, even if you did not serve.’

  ‘That is correct, sir. But as you gentlemen seem to be aware, I also have a score to settle with Tippoo, or at least his commanding general. It will be a pleasure to serve at your side, Sir David.’

  *

  The advance was resumed, at no more urgent pace than before, but a few days later the British and Hyderabad army came in sight of the mud fortress of Malavelly, only twenty-five miles from Seringapatam.

  The generals rode forward to survey the situation. The enemy lay athwart the road to the capital city, their left flank protected by a large, apparently artificial, lake. On the banks of this lake a considerable force of horsemen was milling about, sabres and lance-heads flashing in the sun.

  ‘Well, sir?’ Harris demanded of Richard. ‘What do they intend?’

  ‘I would say Tippoo means to charge your right, sir,’ Richard said. ‘The Marathas have always regarded their horsemen as their strongest arm. If he can throw you into confusion, he will then carry out the main assault with his centre and right.’

  ‘Ha ha,’ Harris commented. At least he seemed to double in energy and determination when actually in sight of his enemy. ‘General Floyd, you will take the Nizam’s infantry, and Colonel Wellesley the 33rd, and check those fellows. The rest of you gentlemen will stand firm to resist his right and centre, save the cavalry, who will prepare to counter-charge the moment the enemy left breaks, as I anticipate it will.’

  Delighted at the prospect o
f positive action, Richard rode across to join Wellesley, whom he found in calm control of his men, walking his horse slowly up and down the line, his adjutant and four subalterns to act as gallopers trailing behind him.

  ‘There won’t be much of an action,’ he told Richard. ‘Those fellows have not the stomach for it.’

  Richard studied the enemy position through his glass. He could make out the green tent and banner of Tippoo himself, and close by it a knot of blue-coated officers. His heartbeat quickened as he recognised Peyraud.

  He wondered if the Frenchman had any idea that his arch-enemy was with the British army? For them to get at each other a battle had to be fought, and it was about to commence.

  From the Maratha ranks there rose sudden plumes of smoke, and rockets came hissing through the air, like low-slung comets. They were terrifying to watch, and no doubt very useful against untrained or undisciplined troops; the Company ranks merely opened to allow the seething missiles through, and though one or two men were burned, there were none of the catastrophic wounds which could result from a cannonade.

  Then it was the turn of the cavalry, which numbered several thousand. The Mysore horse certainly made a brave show, as they galloped to and fro before forming ranks and walking their mounts forward. The walk became a trot, and then a canter. The entire field shook as the rival armies awaited the outcome of the charge.

  ‘Child’s play.’ Wellesley remarked. ‘Cavalry cannot charge unbroken disciplined infantry, with any hope of success. Steady the 33rd,’ he called. ‘Not a man is to fire until I give the word.’

  To his left the Nizam’s infantry were already firing sporadically, but the British troops remained in line, the first rank kneeling, the second rank standing, awaiting the orders of their commander.

  Richard realised, as the Maratha horsemen careered towards them, that he still had a great deal to learn about soldiering.

  ‘Steady,’ Wellesley said, and with his staff retired through the infantry ranks, still mounted, to take up a position immediately behind them. ‘Steady.’

  The distance could have been no more than sixty yards, when he gave the command.

  ‘Fire!’

  The volley, delivered by both ranks, crashed into the charging horsemen, and brought down a good hundred men and beasts.

  The rest checked, reining their horses but waving their swords, clearly about to resume their advance, even if they had lost their momentum.

  ‘Regiment will fix bayonets,’ Wellesley shouted.

  The afternoon was filled with the rasp of steel.

  Wellesley drew his sword; his staff did likewise.

  ‘I’m going to charge those fellows,’ the colonel explained. ‘Will you accompany me, Mr Bryant?’

  ‘Oh, indeed, sir.’

  Richard drew his claymore, and took his place at Wellesley’s shoulder.

  ‘Regiment will advance at the double,’ Wellesley called, and urged his horse to the front, his staff spreading to left and right.

  The infantry gave a cheer, and ran forward, fixed bayonets gleaming.

  The Maratha horsemen endeavoured to stand their ground before the advancing wall of steel. But at that moment Harris, brilliantly timing his manoeuvre, sent his cavalry thundering towards them.

  The Marathas hesitated, and the bayonets were into them. Richard saw a dark-visaged face in front of him and sent the man sprawling with a sweep of his claymore. A Maratha lying on the ground tried to hamstring his horse and screamed as Soliman thrust his lance through the man’s chest.

  Then the cheering cavalry were into them, and the Marathas broke and fled, following their entire army, which was streaming back towards Seringapatam.

  ‘Satisfactory,’ Wellesley said. ‘Satisfactory, by God.’ He raised his voice. ‘Thank you, the 33rd.’

  The regiment replied with a tremendous cheer.

  *

  Tippoo and his staff had fled with the rest of the Marathas; there remained only a litter of discarded equipment, and dead and dying men. Peyraud was running out of places to flee to; only Seringapatam remained. And Seringapatam was where Caty and Michael were.

  There was the usual delay while the army re-concentrated and the dead were buried, and it was some days before the advance was resumed. There was no longer the slightest doubt on the part of the British commanders that Seringapatam could now be assaulted, even if the besiegers might be outnumbered: they had taken the measure of the enemy.

  Tippoo had used his time well, to destroy the road leading to Seringapatam, and to drive away all the cattle and remove all possible sustenance.

  But Harris, who daily grew in Richard’s estimation, was not to be deflected from his purpose. Although oxen continued to die at a horrifying rate, he kept his men supplied, and instead of advancing along the road, as Cornwallis had apparently done in 1792 and as Tippoo certainly anticipated, swung to the left, and marched across country, guns and all, his men hacking their way through the bush and leaving only a masking force on the direct approach. By the end of March the Company army had reached the river Cauvary at the ford of Soorilly. To the consternation of the Marathas, who had not imagined such a manoeuvre possible for a large army, they forded the river, appearing on the south-west side of the city, while the main defences were directed to the north.

  Meanwhile, news was received that Stuart had resumed his advance, and had brushed aside a force sent to check him a second time.

  Richard had to admire the slow but sure methods of the British commanders, who made certain of every step in their progress.

  No sooner was the British army in place then an envoy with a flag of truce approached. He bowed low as he spoke.

  ‘His Excellency, Tippoo Sahib, amazed and distressed at this unwarranted invasion of his territories by the force of the Honourable East India Company, wishes to ascertain from his friend and cousin, General Harris, the desires of the said Company, in order that a peace may be arranged, and that the senseless shedding of blood between two fraternal powers may cease.’

  Harris looked round at his assembled officers. ‘Well, gentlemen?’

  ‘He wishes to surrender,’ said General Floyd. ‘It will be easier than we thought.’

  ‘If we make terms with Tippoo, we are madmen,’ Baird declared. ‘He will agree to virtually anything, and break his word as soon as our forces are withdrawn.’

  ‘I agree with General Baird,’ Richard said.

  ‘But then, you both have a special interest in assaulting the city,’ Harris pointed out. ‘Nevertheless, I am inclined to agree with you. Tippoo must be finished, now and forever. However, it would go badly with us if the Directors and those misguided fellows in Parliament learned that we refused Tippoo’s offer to negotiate. He has asked for terms. We will offer terms.’ He gave a grim smile. ‘Terms he will hardly be able to accept. Do not fear, Mr Bryant, I have your interest in mind.’ He addressed the envoy in Hindustani. ‘As commanding general of the forces of the Honourable East India Company, representing the Government of Great Britain, I am disposed to agree with His Excellency’s request for terms, that this untimely war may end. After consultation with my officers, I have decided that the following concessions on the part of His Excellency will be acceptable to the Company:

  ‘That he shall relinquish all of his maritime provinces to the rule of the Company.

  ‘That he will relinquish one half of all his other possessions to the rule of the Company.

  ‘That he will pay as an indemnity towards the cost of this war two crore of rupees.’ A crore was one hundred thousand lakhs, the quite unimaginable sum of a hundred million rupees.

  ‘Further,’ Harris continued, ‘and as a necessary preliminary to any further negotiations, His Excellency will make an immediate payment of one crore of rupees, and in addition, will furnish hostages for the delivery of the rest. These hostages will consist of the eight principal commanders of his army, including his commander of cavalry, Seyed Ghofar, and his commander of infantry, Jacques Peyra
ud, and their families.’

  The envoy, whose face had been growing longer and longer as each one of the terms had been enunciated, gave a shriek of horror at this last one. Richard realised yet again how much he had misjudged Harris at his first meeting.

  ‘He will not, of course, agree.’ Harris told him. ‘He dare not. The loss of face would be so great he could hardly hope to survive. I am sorry, Mr Bryant, but to have singled out Peyraud alone would have given the game away, and probably led to the murder of your wife and son. Now, we must simply press on with the siege as rapidly as possible.’

  *

  The general was proved right; there was no reply from Tippoo. Instead, the British officers could see the defences being strengthened.

  ‘Tippoo Sahib’s last stand,’ Wellesley observed. ‘You must admit that he is a bold fellow, determined to fight to the end.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Richard muttered savagely. A fight to the last, taking the city by assault, with all the attendant horrors of a sack, was the last thing he wanted.

  The following day Stuart’s brigade appeared on the north bank of the Cauvary. Tippoo immediately launched a sortie against them to prevent himself from being entirely surrounded, but this was repulsed with heavy losses. While the battle was going on, Colonel Sherbrooke and Colonel Wellesley carried out an assault on the outworks lying south and west of the river, taking them at the point of the bayonet, and enabling the siege artillery and howitzers to be brought up to four hundred yards’ range, from which they mercilessly pounded the walls. Soon the city was on fire in several places.

  *

  On the morning of 3 April, Wellesley undertook a close reconnaissance of the walls, riding his horse into the river under fire from the defenders. He reported that in his opinion a sufficient breach had been made to enable a direct assault to be made.

  Instantly preparations were put in hand. During the night, two lieutenants, Farquhar and Lalor, waded into the stream and marked the shallowest crossing with stakes.