The Generals

Chapter 38

‘Dead?’

‘Or as good as,’ General Harris continued. ‘The fool got himself into a duel over some business with his quartermaster. He was shot through the side.’

‘Is there any hope that he might live, sir?’

General Harris indicated the dispatch on the desk in front of Lord Clive.‘From what he says, it doesn’t seem likely. So you’re to take his place. Given our current relations with Tipoo we cannot afford to leave our troops on the frontier without a commander.’

‘What are my orders when I reach Arnee, sir?’

‘If Ashton is alive, send word of his condition. In any case, you will take charge of the equipping, training and disposition of our troops in the area. If Tipoo attacks you will hold him back for as long as possible and then conduct a fighting withdrawal to Madras. As for Ashton’s shooting, I want the culprit confined to quarters and you’re to see if we have enough evidence to warrant a court martial. I will not have any more duelling amongst the officers in my command. A man’s honour is one thing, but if upholding it compromises his obligations to his country, then his honour must go and hang. Make sure they all understand that, Wellesley. There’s to be no more of it!’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Very well then. Now find a horse and go.’

Arthur rode alone through the night. Fortunately the moon was showing enough of its pallid face to light his way and he spurred his mount along the track from Madras towards the field headquarters of the army at Arnee. He rode through sleeping villages, silent and dark, and only the occasional sullen barking of a woken dog heralded his passing.

He reached Arnee early the next morning. Entering the army camp outside the town, Arthur made for the cluster of large tents that marked the headquarters and dismounted. A staff officer emerged from the nearest tent at the sound of his arrival.

‘Where’s Colonel Ashton?’ Arthur demanded.

‘This way, sir.’ The lieutenant beckoned and as Arthur followed him inside he continued,‘Have you come from Madras, sir?’

‘I’ve been sent to assume command. How’s the Colonel?’

‘Difficult to say, sir. He seems calm enough to me, but the surgeon’s concerned that the wound will go bad. If that happens he’ll be gone in a matter of days.’

‘Sounds like an optimistic fellow, your surgeon.’

The lieutenant turned and managed a grim smile. ‘Despair comes naturally to him, sir. He’s from Scotland.’

As Arthur entered his tent, Ashton struggled to prop himself up on his camp bed, and smiled weakly as he reached out a trembling hand. ‘Really . . . you shouldn’t have.’

‘Don’t be a bloody fool.’ Arthur shook the hand and found his friend’s flesh hot and sweaty. The fever was already taking hold then, he thought sadly. ‘Rest yourself, Henry.’

‘Rest?’ Ashton chuckled and then winced, gritting his teeth as he fought off a wave of agony. It passed and he looked up at Arthur, his face pale and glistening with perspiration. There was a dressing strapped round his stomach, on which a dark stain showed over his side. ‘I rather think I’ll be resting peacefully enough quite soon.’

‘Rubbish!’ Arthur said loudly. ‘You’ll be on your feet in a few days. I’m well enough acquainted with you to know that you simply will not be able to resist the urge to be back on your feet committing further mischief.’

‘Ah, is it possible that I am so transparent?’

‘Evidently.’

They exchanged a smile, and then Arthur continued quietly. ‘I’ve been sent here by Harris to take over from you and to investigate the incident. What happened, Henry?’

‘It was Major Allen. He took offence at my letter to him, and called me out soon after I arrived here.’

‘I warned you.’

‘You did, Arthur. I am sorry I paid you no heed. It was foolish of me.’

‘Yes, it was. But continue. He called you out. Why did you accept?’

Ashton looked surprised. ‘It was a matter of honour. There was no question of avoiding the issue. Allen fired first and hit me. I shot into the air.’

‘Why?’

‘He had wounded me. If it proves fatal what would it profit me to have killed him? The army would have lost two officers instead of one.’

Arthur stared at him for a moment and then shook his head. ‘Madness. That’s what it is, pure madness.’

‘You may be right, Arthur, but what’s done is done.’

‘Where is Allen now?’

‘I sent him to Vellore. He can train the men there until this blows over.’

‘I have orders to arrest him and prepare for a court martial.’

Ashton reached over and grasped Arthur’s hand. ‘No, I will not have Allen tried for this. He’s a good officer, and we need such men at the moment. He just needs to curb his temper, that’s all.’

‘Henry, I have my orders,’ Arthur said gently.

‘And I have my honour. Major Allen and I have had our satisfaction and the matter is closed. I pray you, do not pursue this any further.’ He stared at Arthur with blazing intensity and at length Arthur nodded.

‘Very well.’

He left the tent and found the lieutenant waiting outside. ‘Assemble the officers. I have an announcement to make.’

Arthur set to work on his new command at once. There were nearly twenty thousand men in the area surrounding Arnee, four thousand European troops and the rest made up from East India Company soldiers.The Company’s men had grown used to being dispersed on garrison duties across the territories ruled by Madras. Now they had been concentrated in their battalions and needed to be trained to fight and march in large formations. Ashton had begun the task and Arthur saw to it that his regimen continued to be carried out, and then turned his attention to the issue of supplying the army in the coming campaign. He sent word to every brinjarri chief in the south of India, inviting them to Arnee to bid for contracts to carry the army’s food and equipment.

He saw Ashton every spare moment. Any hope of the colonel’s recovering from his wound faded a few days after Arthur’s arrival. The army’s chief surgeon had done all that he could to save Ashton’s life, but the wound became inflamed and a foul-smelling pus had begun to exude from the puckered flesh where the ball had penetrated his side. Ashton’s agonies increased steadily and Arthur sat helplessly by as his friend’s pallid skin turned waxen and his breathing became more and more laboured.Two days before Christmas Arthur saw him at first light, before the day’s duties began. Ashton was no longer even able to raise his head and his eyes rolled towards Arthur when he entered the tent and pulled up a stool beside the bed. The sickening stench from the wound filled the air and Arthur had to fight off the nausea it induced in his stomach.

He made himself smile. ‘How are you today, Henry?’

‘Dying, as usual.’ Ashton’s lips flickered into a grin for an instant. ‘Arthur, it’s too bad. There was still so much I wanted to do . . . so much.’ His hand slithered across the sheet and reached for Arthur’s. ‘Don’t waste your life, Arthur.’

‘I’ll try not to.’

‘Good. I have one last favour I would ask of you.’

‘Anything.’

‘My horse, Diomed, she’s a fine Arab. Best mount in the whole of India. Take care of her for me. She deserves only the finest of riders. I’d hate to think of her being sold to some fat, rich Company official after I’m gone.’

‘I’ll look after Diomed.’

A bugle sounded morning parade and Arthur glanced to the sliver of light piercing the tent flap. ‘I have to go. I’ll see you this evening.’>

‘Yes . . . I’ll look forward to it.’

Arthur stood up and replaced the stool at the end of the bed before making for the entrance to the tent.

‘Arthur!’

He paused and turned back.With a great effort Ashton raised a hand and pointed a trembling finger at his friend. ‘Remember, whatever else you do, I beg of you, don’t waste your life.’

‘I have no intention of wasting it.’ Arthur smiled at him, and ducked outside into the fresh dawn air, relieved to be free from the cloying, sickly-sweet stench inside Ashton’s tent. He went straight to the army commander’s administration tent and sat at his desk. The morning passed slowly as he worked through the terms of the contracts he would offer the brinjarris. As far as possible they were to operate independently of the army, policing themselves and maintaining their stocks of food. In exchange Arthur promised to protect them from the enemy and to pay them in staged cash sums for each phase of the army’s advance into Mysore. The contracts were guaranteed to run until the onset of the monsoon season, whether the campaign was over by then or not. Just after noon he set his pen down and read over the draft with a critical eye. The terms were more than fair and he could not see how the brinjarris could turn down the opportunity presented by such a favourable deal. He smiled with satisfaction, and looking up he saw through the entrance to the tent the surgeon approaching across the parade ground. Their eyes met and Arthur knew at once what the man’s presence portended. He stood slowly and met the surgeon at the threshold to the tent.

‘Ashton’s dead.’

‘Yes, sir. I’m afraid so.’

‘When did it happen?’

‘A moment ago. He lost consciousness an hour or so earlier.’

‘Thank God.’ Arthur lowered his head to conceal the grief that theatened to break down his calm expression. ‘Thank you. I’m grateful to you for doing what you could for him. I’ll give the orders to prepare for his burial.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Now please go.’ Arthur waved him away, then went back to his desk and covered his face with his hands. Ashton had died needlessly . . . pointlessly. His promise had been evident to all who knew him. One day he might have been a great general. Instead he had died for no better reason than hurting a man’s pride. It was too cruel, especially at a time when his country needed its finest officers more than ever. Arthur swore to himself that, as far as it was in his power to make it so, he would never permit such a waste of life and potential to occur again while he held a military command.

As the new year of 1799 dawned, Arthur received news that Richard and Henry had arrived in Madras to oversee the preparations for the war with Tipoo and to be ready to respond to any military or diplomatic emergency that might occur. Even though Richard had instructed Lord Clive to continue running the presidency as if Richard was still in Calcutta, he sent a coded message to Arthur to see what his younger brother felt about the idea of Richard’s accompanying General Harris on the coming campaign, in an advisory role.Arthur read the letter with a sinking heart. Much as he respected Richard’s administrative abilities, his brother was no soldier, and had little appreciation of the niceties of etiquette as regarded the military hierarchy. Harris would need to concentrate all his efforts on manoeuvring his army and fixing and destroying Tipoo’s forces. The last thing the general needed was a civilian official looking over his shoulder and offering helpful suggestions.

He picked up a pen and flicked open the cap of his inkwell, and paused. How should he phrase his response to Richard? Then he smiled to himself. Richard was family, and deserved to be addressed as such. He neatly wrote a brief note:

My dear Richard, all I can say is that if I were Harris, and you joined the army, I should quit it!

There, he thought, that summed it up nicely. He folded the paper, sealed it and added the letter to the correspondence to be sent back to Madras the following day.

Throughout January Arthur continued to drill his troops regularly and gave instructions that the men were to practise live firing. This at once drew down the wrath of the Military Board in Madras who fired off an angry complaint, copied to Lord Clive and General Harris, about his wanton profligacy with the property of the East India Company. With more than a hint of delight in the poetic justice of the situation, Harris wrote to Arthur to tell him that Richard had referred the matter back to Parliament and the Company’s board of directors for a decision.

Richard made one last attempt to negotiate with Tipoo, and sent him a letter warning him of the perils of being allied to France and earnestly entreating him to keep peace with England and the East India Company.There was no reply and the army of Madras continued to prepare for war throughout January. At the end of the month General Harris arrived in Arnee to take command of the army, and relieve Arthur.

‘No officer could have done more to prepare his men in so little time,’ he concluded after Arthur had briefed him on the measures he had taken to ensure that the army was ready to march against Tipoo.

‘Thank you, sir.’ Arthur was proud of his achievement, but now that Harris and his staff had arrived Arthur was seventh in seniority amongst the higher-ranking officers and it galled him that others would take credit for his labours. Worse still, he was now commanding only the men of his regiment, once again. A lowly line officer far removed from the direction of the war.

General Harris was watching him closely, and could not help smiling.‘You will have your chance to win recognition,Wellesley. Sooner than you think. I will not say any more at present, for fear that it might cause bad feeling amongst some of the other officers.’

‘I don’t understand, sir.’

‘You will. But you must be patient for just a little longer.’

Two days later General Harris summoned his senior officers to his headquarters. When all were present he produced a dispatch from inside his jacket.

‘Gentlemen, I have today received orders from the Governor General. The army is to break camp tomorrow and march on Seringapatam. The war has begun.’