Authors: Simon Scarrow
THE GENERALS (93 page)
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 an 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.’
‘Balderdash.’
The doctor smiled kindly. ‘India has broken your health, sir. You must accept that and return home, or you will die here. Now, as you are back with us, I’ll see to it that you’re started on a diet of good broth. I’ll see you again later, sir.’
Once the doctor had left the room Arthur closed his eyes for a moment. There was no denying how his body felt. How his mind felt, for that matter. He found it an effort to merely think, let alone talk.
‘Sir?’
‘Yes, Stevenson.’
‘Is there anything I can do for you?’
‘Not now. I need sleep. But when I wake, I’ll need you to take down a letter for me, to my brother Richard . . .’
As he slowly recovered and gradually resumed his duties, Arthur waited for a response to his request. But none came, and it was not until he had sent a second letter that a reply came, late in May, summoning him to Calcutta. Before he quit his army, Arthur made sure that it was amply provisioned and carefully deployed to counter any attacks by Holkar, and then set off in a palanquin with a small cavalry escort. He reached Fort William in August and immediately made his way to the office of the Governor General.
Richard was in a meeting with senior officials from the East India Company and Arthur was kept waiting in the anteroom for almost an hour. At times there were heated exchanges from the Governor General’s office but Arthur sat and stared out of the window heedlessly. Below the ramparts the sprawl of Calcutta teemed with life and industry. It was over five years since Arthur had last seen this view and much had already changed. The increasing control that Britain had over India had brought further commercial expansion in its wake and scores of new houses had been built for Company employees, merchants and native traders, clear proof of the success of the enterprise of Richard and his brothers.Yet as Arthur gazed out over the thriving city he recalled the men he had known and fought alongside, who had died to make this possible.
At length the door to the Governor General’s office swung open and a half dozen civilians trooped out, barely acknowledging his presence. Then Richard was standing at the door. Five years had marked his face with more lines, yet Arthur noted the look of anxiety that flitted across his brother’s expression when he saw him. It came as no surprise. He had seen his gaunt expression every day in his shaving mirror, and knew all too well how exhausted and ill he appeared.
‘Arthur . . . God, you’re thin. I had no idea . . .’
‘It’s good to see you too, Richard.’ Arthur smiled.‘I take it you did not read my letter. Letters I should say.’
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