The Generals

‘Yes, sir.’ The Company officer saluted and turned to urge his contractors to goad the bullocks forward at a faster pace as the guns bumped across the uneven ground behind the limber. Once they were in position the crews quickly unhitched the trails, manhandled the guns round towards the advancing enemy horsemen and loaded with grapeshot. The first gun fired with a loud crack and the ground close to the nearest body of Mahratta horsemen was torn up. At once they stopped, wheeled their mounts round and galloped away until they were well out of range.

But even as Arthur began to feel that victory was firmly in his grasp the air reverberated with a sudden furious barrage of cannon fire from the direction of Assaye. His stomach clenched in anxiety. His orders had been clear enough: the place was to be avoided, yet there was no mistaking the direction of the cannonade. He spurred Diomed forward and rode to the sound of the guns.To his left the officers of the Company battalions had finally reined in their men and were forming them up to wait for new orders. In front and to the right of Arthur the ground was strewn with the bodies of Scindia’s men, together with a sprinkling of redcoats, a clear sign that Arthur’s confidence in the training, discipline and courage of his troops was not misplaced. He smiled as he took a moment’s pride in what had been achieved. Then his expression hardened as he reached the right flank of the British line and came across scores of redcoats sprawled across the bloodied ground; torn to pieces by grape and chain shot from the guns around Assaye.

It was clear what had happened. Some fool had blundered towards the village instead of closing on the main body of Scindia’s troops. With a sinking sensation he recalled Orrock’s appearance a little earlier on, when he had given the man his orders. It was too late to berate the man now; the damage was done. Looking around Arthur realised that hundreds of men had been cut down before the village. The survivors of Orrock’s pickets, and the 74th, which had been following him, had formed a square to protect them from the Mahratta cavalry that had charged from the enemy positions around Assaye, emboldened by the carnage their gunners had wrought on the British formations. The redcoats had held their own, firing volleys into the horsemen that swirled around them, all the time adding to the bodies of men and horses heaped about them. But already the Mahratta commanders were trying to gather their men in, ready to advance against the British flank from the direction of Assaye. Arthur saw the danger at once.

Five hundred yards behind the 74th’s square Maxwell’s cavalry stood formed and ready to charge. Arthur saw that Maxwell and his staff were advanced a hundred yards ahead of their men.There was not a moment to lose. Arthur snatched his hat from his head and waved it frantically from side to side to attract Maxwell’s attention. Then one of the staff officers edged his mount alongside Maxwell and pointed in Arthur’s direction. Arthur waited a moment until he was certain that his cavalry commander had seen him, and then drew his sabre and thrust it in the direction of the enemy forming up around Assaye. For a moment he was not sure that Maxwell had understood, and then the shrill notes of a trumpet carried across the battlefield and the dragoons and native cavalry eased forward into a trot, slowly gathering pace as they swept across the ground, bypassing the cheering men of the 74th, and then charged the horsemen and guns around Assaye. All along the line glinting steel glittered in the late afternoon sun as they drew their sabres and spurred their mounts into a full gallop to close the final gap between them and the Mahrattas. They were bigger men and far better mounted than their enemy, and the impetus of the charge shattered the Mahratta forces around Assaye. The men of Maxwell’s three regiments slashed about them as they carved a path through the enemy formations, striking down gunners, horsemen and the infantry at the other end of Scindia’s battle line.

It was an impressive enough sight, Arthur reflected, but he knew all too well that the same spirit that made men choose to join the cavalry made them live for precisely this moment: the mad gallop at the enemy, the shattering of his formations and then the thrill of the pursuit afterwards. Even as he watched, the British cavalry swept on through the flank of Scindia’s army, scattering their enemies who turned to flee across the Juah river. Maxwell and his men were carried away by their success and charged on after them, across the river, leaving the battlefield.

Arthur’s relief at the impact of their charge abruptly turned to frustration and anger. The army was small enough as it was without a significant part of it losing their heads and charging off when they were most needed by their general. As he rode up to the 74th his anger was interrupted by a distant cannon shot from the rear of the British position. He reined in and turned to look. Some of the enemy cannon had been recaptured by Mahratta gunners and they were now firing at the 74th.

‘How the hell . . .’ Arthur began before he realised they must have been feigning death when the British line swept over them. Some Mahratta horsemen had also managed to work their way round the right flank, no longer covered by Maxwell’s cavalry, and were helping to serve Scindia’s guns. As Arthur looked, another gun fired, and this time the shot was true and cut down two men at the corner of the square as it tore through their chests and flung the bloody remnants at the feet of their comrades.

There were only two formations ready for action, Arthur realised. The 78th and the 7th Native cavalry in the reserve. He turned Diomed about and galloped back across the field of bodies to Colonel Harness.

‘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.’