The Generals

For a moment, he was clear of the fight and no one faced him. Snatching a glance around him, Arthur saw that his men had shattered the enemy line completely, and were engaged in personal duels with other riders in a loose melee that stretched out for nearly a mile across the plain. Most of Dhoondiah Waugh’s foot soldiers had already broken and were streaming away from the fight, run down here and there by some of Arthur’s men who had cut their way right through the enemy line. A short distance away he saw a party of enemy horsemen gathered round a standard and realised he must be looking at Dhoondiah Waugh and his bodyguard.

‘Follow me!’ Arthur called out, waving his sword overhead to draw attention. ‘On me!’

Several dragoons immediately rallied to the call and spurred their mounts to the colonel’s side. As soon as he had a score of men ready Arthur pointed his sword at the enemy horsemen. ‘That’s Dhoondiah Waugh, boys! He must not escape. Charge!’

Diomed burst forward, with Arthur rising up in his stirrups as he leaned forward, sword raised. He sensed the men charging just behind him on either side and was lost in the mad thrill of the action. All the long weeks of marching under a hot sun, the razing of enemy strongholds, and the constant stream of intelligence reports and redeployment of forces - all that vanished from his mind as he charged straight through the melee at Dhoondiah Waugh and his bodyguards, heedless of any danger as his heart thudded in his breast.

The British mounts were far heavier than the native horses, and the charge of the small party of redcoats crashed into the enemy warriors, knocking three from their saddles and scattering the rest before the air resounded with the clang, clatter and scrape of blades. Arthur found no foe to his immediate front and saw that he was cut off from the fight by some of his own men who had swept past him. Over the back of a horse he caught sight of a tall enemy warrior in fine silk robes. His light brown beard was streaked with red and Arthur knew at once who it must be. Quickly he sheathed his sword and drew one of his pistols, thumbed back the cock, and raised it, taking careful aim on his foe. At the last moment Dhoondiah Waugh turned and saw the muzzle pointing straight at him over the back of a riderless horse, and his eyes widened.

Arthur pulled the trigger.There was a spark from the frizzen, a flash from the pan and then the charge exploded in the barrel with a gout of flame and smoke. He saw his target reel back in the saddle as Dhoondiah Waugh grimaced and clutched a hand to the shoulder of his sword arm. The blade dropped from his fingers. Arthur holstered the pistol and reached for his second, but the men who had charged with him now swarmed round Dhoondiah Waugh and the last of his bodyguard, obscuring the enemy leader. Their blades flashed in the dusty air, hacking and chopping at the enemy, and then it was over.

As soon as the enemy’s standard toppled into the dust, the rest of them turned and ran for their lives, chased down by the jubilant British cavalry. Arthur let them continue their pursuit as he surveyed the battlefield. Bodies littered the ground in a long strip spread across the plain. The vast majority of them were brigands, and their riderless horses dotted the dried earth. Arthur nudged Diomed with his knees, steering his mount towards the spot where the rebel leader had fallen. Dhoondiah Waugh lay curled up on his side. His turban had been flicked off his head by the tip of a dragoon sabre and his body was covered with sword cuts. Around him lay half a dozen of his bodyguards, also hacked to death in the last furious assault by the men Arthur had led towards them. He stared at the bodies for a moment, taking in the realisation that the struggle to bring peace to Mysore was over at last.

Chapter 59

When news of the death of Dhoondiah Waugh reached the Peshwa of the Mahratta federation he immediately sent a message of gratitude to Arthur, for avenging the death of Goklah. At once Arthur saw the opportunity to improve British relations with the Mahrattas, and as his column was crossing the southern stretch of their lands he sent word asking if the Peshwa might resupply his men since they had grown short of rations in the last weeks of the pursuit of Dhoondiah Waugh. As Arthur hoped, the Peshwa saw a similar opportunity and threw open the doors of his nearest fortified town, Moodgul, and bade his British ally take whatever food was needed, and rest there as long as he liked.

It was only a few days after the column had arrived, and while it was still enjoying the hospitality of the local Mahratta warlord, that the Peshwa himself - Bajee Rao - arrived at Moodgul to greet his ally. The local warlord, Holkar, was given little warning of the arrival of the Peshwa and hurried to prepare the town to greet him. Arthur gave orders that the dragoons were to make ready to parade before the ruler of the confederation, and horses were hurriedly groomed, saddles and equipment polished and buffed and uniforms cleaned so that the regiment would look its best. Even though the Peshwa was accompanied by only a small retinue and a regiment of his cavalry, his entrance through the town gate took on the ambience of a state procession as the Mahratta people cheered and bowed as he passed by. He made his way through the town to Arthur’s camp on the far side, and the moment he was sighted the officers and sergeants hurriedly inspected the ranks of mounted men drawn up in squadrons.

Arthur and Fitzroy were in full uniform and sat uncomfortably in the stifling heat as the Peshwa and his entourage walked their horses slowly across the large clear area lined by tents and horse lines. Arthur nodded to the colonel of the dragoons who drew a deep breath and bellowed the order, ‘Present!’

The dragoons drew their sabres and rested them smartly on their shoulders, guards held out so that there was a right angle between upper and lower arms. It was a spectacular display and one that Arthur hoped would impress his host.

The Peshwa was a young man with a ready smile and he bowed his head in response to Arthur’s salute, then reined his horse in.

‘Colonel Wellesley.’ He spoke softly with a slight lisp. ‘I am delighted to meet the man responsible for the defeat of Dhoondiah Waugh.’

Before one of his courtiers could translate Arthur replied in Hindoostani. ‘The pleasure is mine, sir.’

The Peshwa’s expression revealed his surprise and he smiled again. ‘You speak our tongue well, Colonel.’

‘You are very kind, sir.’

‘No, it is you who are kind, Colonel. Not many of the white men in India have made an effort to learn the local tongues.’ He laughed. ‘They just speak louder in the hope that volume will compensate for clarity.’

Now it was Arthur’s turn to laugh. ‘You have the measure of my people, sir. It is a peculiarity of the British that they find it hard to speak other languages.’

‘And yet you do, Colonel.’

‘I try to make up for the shortcomings of others, sir.’

‘How admirable of you. But I wonder, can one such as you make up for the depredations of so many of your fellow countrymen? Or at least the Honourable East India Company?’

‘I can assure you that British affairs in India are no longer the sole responsibility of the Company. The world is changing, sir.’

‘Yes, it is,’ the Peshwa replied thoughfully.

Arthur gestured to the dragoons, still waiting in their squadrons. ‘Would you care to inspect my men, sir?’

‘Indeed.’

The Peshwa rode down each line of horsemen and surveyed them with a genuinely curious expression. At the end he turned to Arthur. ‘Thank you, Colonel. A fine body of men. I only wish I had such soldiers in my army.’

There was a hint of feeling that went beyond politeness and Arthur felt his pulse quicken as he replied. ‘All India knows that the Mahratta people field the finest native soldiers in these lands.’