Sharpe's Triumph

by Bernard Cornwell

  "The best damned infantry on earth," he said to one of his aides.

  "Sahib?"

  "Watch them! You'll not see better fighting men while you live,"

  Pohlmann said bitterly, then sheathed his sword as he gazed at the Scots who were once again being battered by cannon fire, but still their two lines kept marching forward. Pohlmann knew he should go west to encourage Saleur's men, but instead he was thinking of the gold he had left behind in Assaye. These last ten years had been a fine adventure, but the Mahratta Confederation was dying before his eyes and Anthony Pohlmann did not wish to die with it. The rest of the Mahratta princedoms might fight on, but Pohlmann had decided it was time to take his gold and run.

  Saleur's compoo was already edging backwards. Some of the men from the rearward ranks were not even waiting for the Scots to arrive, but were running back to the River Juah and wading through its muddy water that came up to their chests. The rest of the regiments began to waver.

  Pohlmann watched. He had thought these three compoos were as fine as any infantry in the world, but they had proved to be brittle. The British fired a volley and Pohlmann heard the heavy balls thump into his infantry and he heard the cheer from the redcoats as they charged forward with the bayonet, and suddenly there was no army opposing them, just a mass of men fleeing to the river.

  Pohlmann took off his gaudily plumed hat that would mark him as a prize capture and threw it away, then stripped off his sash and coat and tossed them after the hat as he spurred towards Assaye. He had a few minutes, he reckoned, and those minutes should be enough to secure his money and get away. The battle was lost and, for Pohlmann, the war with it. It was time to retire.

  Chapter 12

  Assaye alone remained in enemy hands for the rest of Pohlmann's army had simply disintegrated. The great majority of the Mahratta horsemen had spent the afternoon as spectators, but now they turned and spurred west towards Borkardan while to the north, beyond the Juah, the remnants of Pohlmann's three compoos fled in panic, pursued by a handful of British and Company cavalry on tired horses. Great banks of gunsmoke lay like fog across the field where men of both armies groaned and died. Diomed gave a great shudder, lifted his head a final time, then rolled his eyes and went still. The sepoy trooper, charged with guarding the horse, stayed at his post and waved the flies away from the dead Diomed's face.

  The sun reddened the layers of gunsmoke. There was an hour of daylight left, a few moments of dusk, and then it would be night, and Wellesley used the last of the light to turn his victorious infantry towards the mud walls of Assaye. He summoned gunners and had them haul captured enemy cannon towards the village.

  "They won't stand," he told his aides.

  "A handful of round shot and the sight of some bayonets will send them packing."

  The village still held a small army. The Rajah of Berar's twenty thousand men were behind its thick walls, and Major Dodd had succeeded in marching his own regiment into the village. He had seen the remainder of the Mahratta line crumple, he had watched Anthony Pohlmann discard his hat and coat as he fled to the village and, rather than let the panic infect his own men, Dodd had turned them eastwards, ordered the regiment's cumbersome guns to be abandoned, then followed his commanding officer into the tangle of Assaye's narrow alleys. Beny Singh, the Rajah of Berar's warlord and the kill adar of the village's garrison, was glad to see the European.

  "What do we do?" he asked Dodd.

  "Do? We get out, of course. The battle's lost."

  Beny Singh blinked at him.

  "We just go?"

  Dodd dismounted from his horse and steered Beny Singh away from his aides.

  "Who are your best troops?" he asked.

  "The Arabs."

  "Tell them you're going to fetch reinforcements, tell them to defend the village, and promise that if they can hold the place till nightfall then help will come in the morning."

  "But it won't," Beny Singh protested.

  "But if they hold," Dodd said, 'they cover your escape, sahib." He smiled ingratiatingly, knowing that men like Beny Singh could yet play a part in his future.

  "The British will pounce on any fugitives leaving the village," Dodd explained, 'but they won't dare attack men who are well drilled and well commanded. I proved that at Ahmednuggur. So you're most welcome to march north with my men, sahib. I promise they won't be broken like the rest." He climbed back into his saddle and rode back to his Cobras and ordered them to join Captain Joubert at the ford.

  "You're to wait for me there," he told them, then shouted for his own sepoy company to follow him deeper into the village.

  The battle might be lost, but Dodd's men had not failed him and he was determined they should have a reward and so he led them to the house where Colonel Pohlmann had stored his treasure. Dodd knew that if he did not give his men gold then they would melt away to find another warlord who would reward them, but if he paid them they would stay under his command while he sought another prince as employer.

  He heard the sonorous bang of a great gun being fired beyond the village and he reckoned that the British had begun to pound Assaye's mud wall. Dodd knew that wall could not last long, for every shot would crumble the dried mud bricks and collapse the roof beams of the outermost houses so that in a few minutes there would be a wide breach leading into Assaye's heart. A moment later the redcoats would be ordered into the dusty breach and the village's alleys would be clogged by panic and filled with screams and bayonets.

  Dodd reached the alley leading to the courtyard where Pohlmann had placed his elephants and he saw, as he had expected, that the big gate was still shut. Pohlmann was undoubtedly inside the courtyard, readying to escape, but Dodd could not wait for the Hanoverian to throw open the gates, so instead he ordered his men to fight their way through the house. He left a dozen men to block the alley, gave one of those men his horse to hold, then led the rest of the sepoys towards the house. Pohlmann's bodyguard saw them coming and fired, but fired too early and Dodd survived the panicked volley and roared his men on.

  "Kill them!" he shouted as, sword in hand, he charged through the musket smoke. He kicked the house door open and plunged into a kitchen crowded with purple-coated men. He lunged with his sword, driving the defenders back, and then his sepoys arrived to carry their bayonets to Pohlmann's men.

  "Gopal!" Dodd shouted.

  "Sahib?" the Jemadar said, tugging his tulwar from the body of a dead man.

  "Find the gold! Make sure it's loaded on the elephants, then open the courtyard gate!" Dodd snapped the orders, then went on killing.

  He was consumed with a huge anger. How could any fool have lost this battle? How could a man, given a hundred thousand troops, be beaten by a handful of redcoats? It was Pohlmann's fault, all Pohlmann, and Dodd knew Pohlmann had to be somewhere in the house or courtyard and so he hunted him and vented his rage on Pohlmann's guards, pursuing them from room to room, slaughtering them mercilessly, and all the while the great guns hammered the sky with their noise and the round shot thumped into the village walls.

  Most of the Rajah of Berar's infantry fled. Those on the makeshift ramparts could see the redcoats massing beyond the smoke of the big cannon and they did not wait for that infantry to attack, but instead ran northwards. Only the Arab mercenaries stayed, and some of those men decided caution was better than bravery and so joined the other infantry that splashed through the ford where Captain Joubert waited with Dodd's regiment.

  Joubert was nervous. The village's defenders were fleeing, Dodd was missing, and Simone was still somewhere in the village. It was like Ahmednuggur all over again, he thought, only this time he was determined that his wife would not be left behind and so he kicked back his heels and urged his horse towards the house where she had taken refuge.

  That house was hard by the courtyard where Dodd was searching for Pohlmann, but the Hanoverian had vanished. His gold was all in its panniers, and Pohlmann's bodyguard had succeeded in strapping the panniers onto the two pac
k elephants before Dodd's men attacked,

  but there was no sign of Pohlmann himself. Dodd decided he would let the bastard live, and so, abandoning the hunt, he sheathed his sword then lifted the locking bar from the courtyard gates.

  "Where's my horse?" he shouted to the men he had left guarding the alley.

  "Dead, sahib," a man answered.

  Dodd ran down the alley to see that his precious new gelding had been struck by a bullet from the one volley fired by Pohlmann's bodyguard.

  The beast was not yet dead, but it was leaning against the alley wall with its head down, dulled eyes and blood dripping from its mouth. Dodd swore. The big guns were still firing beyond the village, showing that the redcoats were not advancing yet, but suddenly they went silent and Dodd knew he had only minutes left to make his escape, and just then he saw another horse turn into the alley. Captain Joubert was in the saddle, and Dodd ran to him.

  "Joubert!"

  Joubert ignored Dodd. Instead he cupped his hands and shouted up at the house where the wives had been sheltered during the fighting.

  "Simone!"

  "Give me your horse, Captain!" Dodd demanded.

  Joubert still ignored the Major.

  "Simone!" he called again, then spurred his horse on up the alley. Had she already gone? Was she north of thejuah?

  "Simone?" he shouted.

  "Captain!" Dodd screamed behind him.

  Joubert turned, summoned the courage to tell the Englishman to go to hell, but as he turned he saw that Dodd was holding a big pistol.

  "No!"Joubert protested.

  "Yes, Monsewer," Dodd said, and fired. The ball snatched Joubert back against the alley wall and he slid down to leave a trail of blood. A woman screamed from a window above the alley as Dodd pulled himself into the Frenchman's saddle. Gopal was already leading the first elephant out of the gate.

  "To the ford, Gopal!" Dodd shouted, then he spurred into the courtyard to make certain that the second elephant was ready to leave.

  While outside, in the alleys, there was a sudden silence. Most of the village's garrison had fled, the dust drifted from its broken walls, and then the order was given for the redcoats to advance. Assaye was doomed.

  Colonel McCandless had watched Dodd's men retreat into the village and he doubted that the traitor was leading his men to reinforce the doomed garrison.

  "Sevajee!" McCandless called.

  "Take your men to the far side!"

  "Across the river?" Sevajee asked.

  "Watch to see if he crosses the ford," McCandless said.

  "Where will you be, Colonel?"

  "In the village." McCandless slid from Aeolus's back and limped towards the captured guns that had started to fire at the mud walls.

  The shadows were long now, the daylight short and the battle ending, but there was still time for Dodd to be trapped. Let him be a hero, McCandless prayed, let him stay in the village just long enough to be caught.

  The big guns were only three hundred paces from the village's thick wall and each shot pulverized the mud bricks and started great clouds of red dust that billowed thick as gunsmoke. Wellesley summoned the survivors of the 74th and a Madrassi battalion and lined them both up behind the guns.

  "They won't stand, Wallace," Wellesley said to the 74th's commander.

  "We'll give them five minutes of artillery, then your fellows can take the place."

  "Allow me to congratulate you, sir," Wallace said, taking a hand from his reins and holding it towards the General.

  "Congratulate me?" Wellesley asked with a frown.

  "On a victory, sir."

  "I suppose it is a victory.

  "Pon my soul, so it is. Thank you, Wallace."

  The General leaned across and shook the Scotsman's hand.

  "A great victory," Wallace said heartily, then climbed out of his saddle so that he could lead the 74th into the village.

  McCandless joined him.

  "You don't mind if I come, Wallace?"

  "Glad of your company, McCandless. A great day, is it not?"

  "The Lord has been merciful to us," McCandless agreed.

  "Praise His name."

  The guns ceased, their smoke drifted northwards and the dying sun shone on the broken walls. There were no defenders visible, nothing but dust and fallen bricks and broken timbers.

  "Go, Wallace!" Wellesley called, and the 74th's lone piper hoisted his instrument and played the redcoats and the sepoys forward. The other battalions watched. Those other battalions had fought all afternoon, they had destroyed an army, and now they sprawled beside the Juah and drank its muddy water to slake their powder-induced thirst. None crossed the river, only a handful of cavalry splashed through the water to chase the laggard fugitives on the farther bank.

  Major Blackiston brought Wellesley a captured standard, one of a score that had been abandoned by the fleeing Mahrattas.

  "They left all their guns too, sir, every last one of them!"

  Wellesley acknowledged the standard with a smile.

  "I'd rather you brought me some water, Blackiston. Where are my canteens?"

  "Sergeant Sharpe still has them, sir," Campbell answered, holding his own canteen to the General.

  "Ah yes, Sharpe." The General frowned, knowing there was unfinished business there.

  "If you see him, bring him to me."

  "I will, sir."

  Sharpe was not far away. He had walked north through the litter of the Mahratta battle line, going to where the guns fired on the village and, just as they stopped, so he saw McCandless walking behind the 74th as it advanced on the village. He hurried to catch up with the Colonel and was rewarded with a warm smile from McCandless.

  "Thought I'd lost you, Sharpe."

  "Almost did, sir."

  "The General released you, did he?"

  "He did, sir, in a manner of speaking. We ran out of horses, sir. He had two killed."

  "Two! An expensive day for him! It sounds as if you had an eventful time!"

  "Not really, sir," Sharpe said.

  "Bit confusing, really."

  The Colonel frowned at the blood staining the light infantry insignia on Sharpe's left shoulder.

  "You're wounded, Sharpe."

  "A scratch, sir. Bastard with sorry, sir man with a tulwar tried to tickle me."

  "But you're all right?" McCandless asked anxiously.

  "Fine, sir." He raised his left arm to show that the wound was not serious.

  "The day's not over yet," McCandless said, then gestured at the village.

  "Dodd's there, Sharpe, or he was. I'm glad you're here. He'll doubtless try to escape, but Sevajee's on the far side of the river and between us we might yet trap the rogue."

  Sergeant Obadiah Hakeswill was a hundred paces behind McCandless.

  He too had seen the Colonel following the 74th and now Hakeswill followed McCandless, for if McCandless wrote his letter, then Hakeswill knew his sergeantcy was imperilled.

  "It ain't that I like doing it," he said to his men as he stalked after the Colonel, 'but he ain't giving me a choice. No choice at all. His own fault. His own fault." Three of his men were following him, the others had refused to come.

  A musket fired from Assaye's rooftops, showing that not all the defenders had fled. The ball fluttered over Wallace's head and the Colonel, not wanting to expose his men to any other fire that might come from the village, shouted at his men to double.

  "Just get in among the houses, boys," he called.

  "Get in and hunt them down! Quick now!"

  More muskets fired from the houses, but the 74th were running now, and cheering as they ran. The first men scrambled over the makeshift breach blown by the big guns, while others hauled aside a cart that blocked an alleyway and, with that entrance opened, a twin stream of Scotsmen and sepoys hurried into the village. The Arab defenders fired their last shots, then retreated ahead of the redcoat rush. A few were trapped in houses and died under Scottish or Indian bayonets.


  "You go ahead, Sharpe," McCandless said, for his wounded leg was making him limp and he was now far behind the Highlanders.

  "See if you can spot the man," McCandless suggested, though he doubted Sharpe would. Dodd would be long gone by now, but there was always a chance he had waited until the end and, if men of the 74th had trapped Dodd, then Sharpe could at least try and make sure that the wretch was taken alive.

  "Go, Sharpe," the Colonel ordered, 'hurry!"

  Sharpe dutifully ran on ahead. He clambered up the dust of the breach and jumped down into the pitiful wreckage of a room. He pushed through the house, stepped over a dead Arab sprawled in the outer door, edged about a dung heap in the courtyard, then plunged into an alleyway.

  Shots sounded from the river and so he headed that way past houses that were being looted of what little remained after the Mahratta occupation. A sepoy emerged from one house with a broken pot while a Highlander had found a broken brass weighing-scale, but the plunder was nothing like the riches that had been taken in Ahmednuggur. Another volley sounded ahead and Sharpe broke into a run, turned a corner and then stopped above the village's ford.

  Dodd's regiment was on the far side of the river where two white coated companies had formed a rear guard It was just like Ahmednuggur, where Dodd had guarded his escape route with volley fire, and now the Major had done it again. He was safely over the river with

  Pohlmann's two elephants, and his men had been firing at any redcoats who dared show on the ford's southern bank, but then, just as Sharpe arrived at the ford, the rear guard about turned and marched north.

  "He got away," a man said, 'the bastard got clean away," and Sharpe looked at the speaker and saw an East India Company sergeant in a doorway a few yards away. The man was smoking a cheroot and appeared to be standing guard over a group of prisoners in the house behind him.