Sharpe's Triumph s-2

by Bernard Cornwell

  "Scotch bastard," he said, then stepped through the doorway and knelt to the body which he searched for gold. "And if any one of you three says a bleeding word," he threatened his men, "you'll join him in heaven. If he's gone there, which I doubt, on account of God not wanting to clutter paradise with Scotchmen. Says so in the scriptures." He found gold in McCandless's sporran and turned to show the coins to his men. "You want it?" he asked. "Then you keeps silent about it."

  They nodded. They wanted gold. Hakeswill tossed them the coins, then led them deeper into the house to see if there was anything worth plundering in its rooms.

  "And once we're done," he said, "we'll find the General, we will, and have him give us Sharpie. We're almost there, lads. It's been a long road, it has, and hard in places, but we're almost there."

  * * *

  Sharpe searched the village for Colonel McCandless, but could not find him in any of the alleys. He took Simone with him as he searched some of the larger houses and, from one high window, he found himself staring down into the courtyard where Pohlmann's great elephant was penned, but there was no sign of McCandless and Sharpe decided he was wasting his time.

  "I reckon we'll give up, love," he told Simone. "He'll look for me, like enough, probably down by the river."

  They walked back to the ford. Pohlmann had vanished and Dodd's men had long disappeared. The sun was at the horizon now and the farmlands north of the Juah were stained black by long shadows. The men who had captured the village were filling their canteens from the river, and the first few campfires glittered in the dusk as men boiled water to make themselves tea. Simone clung to him and kept talking of her husband.

  She felt guilty because she had not loved him, yet he had died because he had gone back into the village to find her, and Sharpe did not know how to console her.

  "He was a soldier, love," he told her, "and he died in battle."

  "But I killed him!"

  "No, you didn't," Sharpe said, and he heard hooves behind him and he turned, hoping to see Colonel McCandless, but instead it was General Wellesley and Colonel Wallace and a score of aides riding up to the ford. He straightened to attention.

  "Sergeant Sharpe," Wellesley said, sounding embarrassed.

  "Sir," Sharpe said woodenly.

  The General slid from his saddle. His face was red, and Sharpe supposed that was the effect of the sun.

  "I have been remiss, Sergeant," the General said awkwardly, "for I believe I owe you my life."

  Sharpe felt himself blushing and was glad that the sun was low and the roadway where he stood was in deep shadow.

  "Just did my best, sir," he muttered. "This is Madame Joubert, sir. Her husband was killed, sir, fighting for Colonel Pohlmann."

  The General took off his hat and bowed to Simone.

  "My commiserations, Madam"," he said, then looked back to Sharpe whose long black hair still spilled over his collar.

  "Do you know where Colonel McCandless is?" he asked.

  "No, sir. I've been looking for him, sir."

  Wellesley fidgeted with his hat, paused to take a deep breath, then nodded.

  "Colonel McCandless managed to have a long talk with Colonel Wallace this afternoon," the General said. "How they found time to have a conversation in battle, I don't know!"

  This was evidently a jest, for the General smiled, though Sharpe stayed straight-faced, and his lack of reaction disconcerted Wellesley.

  "I have to reward you, Sharpe," Wellesley said curtly.

  "For what, sir?"

  "For my life," the General said in a tone of irritation.

  "I'm just glad I was there, sir," Sharpe said, feeling as awkward as Wellesley himself evidently felt.

  "I'm rather glad you were there too," the General said, then took a step forward and held out his hand. "Thank you, Mister Sharpe."

  Sharpe hesitated, astonished at the gesture, then made himself shake the General's hand. It was only then that he noticed what Wellesley had said.

  "Mister, sir?" he asked.

  "It is customary in this army, Mister Sharpe, to reward uncommon bravery with uncommon promotion. Wallace tells me you desire a commission, and he has vacancies in the 74th. God knows he has too many vacancies, so if you're agreeable, Sharpe, you can join the Colonel's regiment as an ensign."

  For a second Sharpe did not really comprehend what was being said, then he suddenly did and he smiled. There were tears in his eyes, but he reckoned that must be because of the powder smoke that lingered in the village.

  "Thank you, sir," he said warmly, "thank you."

  "There, that's done," Wellesley said with relief. "My congratulations, Sharpe, and my sincere thanks." His aides were all smiling at Sharpe, not Sergeant Sharpe any longer, but Ensign Sharpe of the King's 74th.

  Captain Campbell even climbed down from his saddle and offered his hand to Sharpe who was still smiling as he shook it.

  "It'll turn out badly, of course," Wellesley said to Campbell as he turned away. "It always does. We promote them beyond their station and they inevitably take to drink."

  "He's a good man, sir," Campbell said loyally.

  "I doubt that too. But he's a good soldier, I'll say that. He's all yours now, Wallace, all yours!" The General pulled himself into his saddle, then turned to Simone. "Madame? I can offer you very little but if you care to join me for supper I would be honoured. Captain Campbell will escort you."

  Campbell held his hand out to Simone. She looked at Sharpe, who nodded at her, and she shyly accepted Campbell's arm and followed the General back up the street. Colonel Wallace paused to lean down from his horse and shake Sharpe's hand.

  "I'll give you a few minutes to clean yourself up, Sharpe, and to get those stripes off your arm. You might like to chop off some of that hair, while you're about it. And I hate to suggest it, but if you walk a few paces east of the village you'll find plenty of red sashes on corpses. Pick one, help yourself to a sword, then come and meet your fellow officers. They're few enough now, I fear, so you'll surely be welcome. Even the men might be glad of you, despite your being English." Wallace smiled.

  "I'm very grateful to you, sir," Sharpe said. He was still scarcely able to believe what had happened. He was Mister Sharpe! Mister!

  "And what do you want?" Wallace suddenly asked in an icy tone, and Sharpe saw that his new Colonel was staring at Obadiah Hakeswill.

  "Him, sir," Hakeswill said, pointing at Sharpe. "Sergeant Sharpe, sir, what is under arrest."

  Wallace smiled.

  "You may arrest Sergeant Sharpe, Sergeant, but you will certainly not arrest Ensign Sharpe."

  "Ensign?" Hakeswill said, going pale.

  "Mister Sharpe is a commissioned officer, Sergeant," Wallace said crisply, "and you will treat him as such. Good day." Wallace touched his hat to Sharpe, then turned his horse and rode away.

  Hakeswill gaped at Sharpe.

  "You, Sharpie," he said, "an officer?"

  Sharpe walked closer to the Sergeant.

  "That's not how you address a King's officer, Obadiah, and you know it."

  "You?" Hakeswill's face twitched. "You?" he asked again in horror and amazement.

  Sharpe thumped him in the belly, doubling him over.

  "You call me "sir", Obadiah," he said.

  "I won't call you 'sir'," Hakeswill said between gasps for breath. "Not till hell freezes, Sharpie, and not even then."

  Sharpe hit him again. Hakeswill's three men watched, but did nothing.

  "You call me "sir"," Sharpe said.

  "You ain't an officer, Sharpie," Hakeswill said, then yelped because Sharpe had seized his hair and was dragging him up the street. The three men started to follow, but Sharpe snarled at them to stay where they were, and all three obeyed.

  "You'll call me 'sir'", Sergeant," Sharpe said, "just you watch."

  And he pulled Hakeswill up the street, going back to the house from where he had seen the elephant. He dragged Hakeswill through the door and up the stairs. The Sergeant screa
med at him, beat at him, but Hakeswill had never been a match for Sharpe who now snatched the musket from Hakeswill's hand, threw it away, then took him to the window that opened just one floor above the courtyard.

  "See that elephant, Obadiah?" he asked, holding the Sergeant's face in the open window. "I watched it trample a man to death not long ago."

  "You won't dare, Sharpie," Hakeswill squealed, then yelped as Sharpe took hold of the seat of his pants.

  "Call me 'sir'," Sharpe said.

  "Never! You ain't an officer!"

  "But I am, Obadiah, I am. I'm Mister Sharpe. I'll wear a sword and a sash and you'll have to salute me."

  "Never!"

  Sharpe heaved Hakeswill onto the window ledge.

  "If you ask me to put you down," he said, "and if you call me 'sir', I'll let you go."

  "You ain't an officer," Hakeswill protested. "You can't be!"

  "But I am, Obadiah," Sharpe said, and he heaved the Sergeant over the ledge.

  The Sergeant screamed as he fell into the straw below, and the elephant, made curious by this strange irruption into this already strange day, plodded over to inspect him. Hakeswill beat feebly at the animal which had him cornered.

  "Goodbye, Obadiah," Sharpe called, then he used the words he remembered Pohlmann shouting when Dodd's sepoy had been trampled to death.

  "Haddah!" Sharpe snapped. "Haddah!"

  "Get the bastard off me!" Hakeswill screamed as the elephant moved still closer and raised a forefoot.

  "That won't do, Obadiah," Sharpe said.

  "Sir!" Hakeswill called. "Please, sir! Get it off me!"

  "What did you say?" Sharpe asked, cupping a hand to his ear.

  "Sir! Sir! Please, sir! Mister Sharpe, sir!"

  "Rot in hell, Obadiah," Sharpe called down, and walked away.

  The sun was gone, the village was stinking with powder smoke, and two armies lay in ragged ruin on the bloody fields outside Assaye, but that great victory was not Sharpe's. It was the voice calling from the courtyard, calling frantically as Sharpe ran down the wooden stairs and walked down the alleyway.

  "Sir! Sir!" Hakeswill shouted, and Sharpe listened and smiled, for that, he reckoned, was his real victory. It was Mister Sharpe's triumph.

  Historical Note

  The background events to Sharpe's Triumph, the siege of Ahmednuggur and the battle of Assaye, both happened much as described in the novel, just as many of the characters in the story existed. Not just the obvious characters, like Wellesley, but men like Colin Campbell, who was the first man over the wall at Ahmednuggur, and Anthony Pohlmann who truly was once a sergeant in the East India Company, but who commanded the Mahratta forces at Assaye. What happened to Pohlmann after the battle is something of a mystery, but there is some evidence that he rejoined the East India Company army again, only this time as an officer. Colonel Gore, Colonel Wallace and Colonel Harness all existed, and poor Harness was losing his wits and would need to retire soon after the battle. The massacre at Chasalgaon is a complete invention, though there was a Lieutenant William Dodd who did defect to the Mahrattas just before the campaign rather than face a civilian trial for the death of the goldsmith he had ordered beaten.

  Dodd had been sentenced to six months' loss of pay and Wellesley, enraged by the leniency of the court martial, persuaded the East India Company to impose a new sentence, that of dismissal from their army, and planned to have Dodd tried for murder in a civilian court. Dodd, hearing of the decision, fled, though I doubt that he took any sepoys with him. Nevertheless desertion was a problem for the Company at that time, for many sepoys knew that the Indian states would pay well for British-trained troops. They would pay even more for competent European (or American) officers, and many such made their fortunes in those years.

  The city of Ahmednuggur has grown so much that most traces of its wall have now been swallowed by new building, but the adjacent fortress remains and is still a formidable stronghold. Today the fort is a depot of the Indian Army, and something of a shrine to Indians for it was within the vast circuit of its red stone ramparts that the leaders of Indian independence were imprisoned by the British during the Second World War. Visitors are welcome to explore the ramparts with their impressive bastions and concealed galleries. The height of the fort's wall was slightly greater than the city's defences and the fort, unlike the city, had a protective ditch, but the ramparts still offer an idea of the obstacle Wellesley's men faced when they launched their surprise escalade on the morning of 8 August 1803. It was a brave decision, and a calculated one, for Wellesley knew he would be heavily outnumbered in the Mahratta War and must have decided that a display of arrogant confidence would abrade his enemy's morale. The success of the attack certainly impressed some Indians. Goklah, a Mahratta leader who allied himself with the British, said of the capture of Ahmednuggur, "These English are a strange people, and their General a wonderful man. They came here in the morning, looked at the pettah wall, walked over it, killed all the garrison, and returned to breakfast! What can withstand them?" Goklah's tribute was apt, except that it was Scotsmen who 'walked over the wall' and not Englishmen, and the celerity of their victory helped establish Wellesley's reputation for invincibility. Lieutenant Colin Campbell of the 78th was rewarded for his bravery with a promotion and a place on Wellesley's staff. He eventually became Sir Colin Campbell, governor of Ceylon.

  The story of Wellesley deducing the presence of the ford at Peepulgaon by observation and common sense is well attested. To use the ford was an enormously brave decision, for no one knew if it truly existed until Wellesley himself spurred into the river. His orderly, from the 78th Dragoons, was killed as he approached the River Kaitna and nowhere is it recorded who took his place, but some soldier must have picked up the dragoon's duties for Wellesley did have two horses killed beneath him that day and someone was close at hand on both occasions with a remount. Both horses died as described in the novel, the first during the 78this magnificent assault on Pohlmann's right, and Diomed, Welesley's favourite charger, during the scrappy fighting to retake the Mahratta gun line. It was during that fight that Wellesley was unhorsed and surrounded momentarily by enemies. He never told the tale in detail, though it is believed he was forced to use his sword to defend himself, and it was probably the closest he ever came to death in his long military career. Was his life saved by some unnamed soldier? Probably not, for Wellesley would surely have given credit for such an act that could well have resulted in a battlefield commission.

  Wellesley was notorious for disliking such promotions from the ranks ('they always take to drink'), though he did promote two men for conspicuous bravery on the evening of Assaye.

  Assaye is not the most famous of Arthur Wellesley's battles, but it was the one of which he was most proud. Years later, long after he had swept the French out of Portugal and Spain, and after he had defeated Napoleon at Waterloo, the Duke of Wellington (as Arthur Wellesley became) was asked what had been his finest battle. He did not hesitate.

  "Assaye," he answered, and so it surely was, for he out manoeuvred and outfought a much larger enemy, and did it swiftly, brutally and brilliantly.

  He did it, too, without Colonel Stevenson's help. Stevenson tried to reinforce Wellesley, but his local guide misled him as he hurried towards the sound of the guns, and Stevenson was so upset by the guide's error that he hanged the man.

  Assaye was one of the costliest of Wellesley's battles: "the bloodiest for the numbers that I ever saw," the Duke recalled in later life.

  Pohlmann's forces had 1200 killed and about 5000 wounded, while Wellesley suffered 456 dead (200 of them Scottish) and around 1200 wounded. All the enemy guns, 102 of them, were captured and many were discovered to be of such high quality that they were taken into British service, though others, mostly because their calibres did not match the British standard artillery weights, were double-shotted and blown up on the battlefield where some of their remnants still lie.

  The battlefield remains virtually unchanged
. No roads have been metal led the fords look as they did, and Assaye itself is scarcely larger now than it was in 1803. The outer walls of the houses are still ramparts of mud bricks, while bones and bullets are constantly ploughed out of the soil ('they were very big men', one farmer told me, indicating the ground where the 74th suffered so much). There is no memorial at Assaye, except for a painted map of the armies' dispositions on one village wall and the grave of a British officer which has had its bronze plate stolen, but the inhabitants know that history was made in their fields, are proud of it and proved remarkably welcoming when we visited. There ought to be some marker on the field, for the Scottish and Indian troops who fought at Assaye gained an astonishing victory. They were all extraordinarily brave men, and their campaign was not yet over, for some of the enemy have escaped and the war will go on as Wellesley and his small army pursue the remaining Mahrattas towards their great hill fastness at Gawilghur. Which means that Mister Sharpe must march again.

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