There was a dull clatter from beyond the timbers and then they began to swing inwards. Arthur had a glimpse of armed men under the gate tower, then the sergeant swept his portfire down on to the paper cone of the fuse. Even as it flared briefly, Arthur felt a cold fist clench in his stomach, but it was too late to do anything. The gun went off with a boom as a jet of flame and smoke gushed through the pettah gatehouse. Colonel Wallace thrust his sword out and shouted to his men. ‘Forward! Forward, you devils!’
Arthur dismounted and pushed his way through the men and under the gatehouse. The cannon had gone off right in the faces of some of Vesey’s sepoys. One man, who must have been directly in front of the muzzle, had been torn in two and his head, chest and shoulders lay several feet from his pelvis and buckled legs. In between, his guts and pools of blood lay spashed across the ground. Several more men were injured and were staggering out of the way of Wallace’s soldiers as they charged into the town. Beyond them Arthur caught a glimpse of a handful of the Arab mercenaries disappearing into one of the narrow streets.Then he saw Vesey and indicated the injured men.
‘Have them taken back to our lines to get their wounds tended.’
‘Yes, sir.’Vesey saluted.
‘By the way, Captain.’ Arthur clapped him on the shoulder. ‘That was fine work.’
‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.’
Arthur drew his sword and entered the base of the gatehouse. He stepped over several enemy bodies on the stairs as he made his way up and emerged on to the paved top of the bastion where the grenadier officer had carved a path through his enemies. The small area was littered with the bodies of the mercenaries, all killed by savage sword blows or thrusts from the bayonet. Amongst the dead were two of the grenadiers, and a third, injured, man was slumped against the inside of the rampart clasping his hands over a wound to his stomach. As he saw his general he raised a bloodied hand to salute. For an instant, Arthur felt a compulsion to tend to the man, but compassion was a luxury a commander could not afford until after the battle. So Arthur returned the salute and made his way to the breastwork to look over the town.
British troops were pouring through the tangle of streets pursuing small bands of the enemy, some of whom still had enough of their wits about them to turn and fire occasional shots. A few had already emerged from the far gate and were desperately running for the cover of the nearest topes to escape the groups of cavalry that encircled the town ready to ride down any Mahratta warriors that came their way. Once he was satisfied that only a handful had managed to reach the fort Arthur turned away from the scene. The grenadier leaning against the parapet was staring at him with a frozen expression of agony. Arthur leaned over him and touched his shoulder.There was no reaction and he realised that death had claimed him only a few moments earlier. Arthur straightened up and gazed sadly at the man. An hour ago he had been marching towards this small unregarded town, no doubt swapping tall tales and jokes with his companions; an earthy vibrant being, perhaps with a wife or sweetheart waiting for him back in Scotland. Now, thanks to an order from Arthur, he was dead.
He pulled out his watch and glanced at the hands. It was barely twenty minutes since the attack had begun and already the town had fallen. The enemy had suffered hundreds of casualties, and there would be many British wounded as well. But if, as Arthur intended, the swift and decisive assault served to discourage the defenders of the fortress, then a greater number of lives could be saved in the long run. It was a peculiar train of thought and he wondered if other generals indulged in such moral computations to justify their decisions. Now that the action was over, a familiar weariness settled on him and with a sigh he turned his mind to the capture of the fortress as he descended the stairs inside the bastion.
Over the next two nights a battery was constructed three hundred yards from the fortress. Arthur and his engineers had examined the fortifications in some detail through their telescopes before settling on a section where the masonry appeared to be weak and crumbling in places. The killadar commanding the fortress was clearly unversed in modern siege warfare, or had chosen to ignore the advice of the French officers serving under him. There was no attempt to fire on the British engineers and by dawn on the second day the battery was complete and guns, powder and ammunition had been hauled into position. As soon as there was enough light to gauge the fall of shot Arthur gave the order to open fire. There was a rolling crash as the twelve-pounders belched flame and smoke while Arthur stood to one side and squinted through his telescope at the fortress. He saw the iron balls strike home and chips of masonry explode from the face of the wall. Lowering his telescope he nodded to the officer in command of the battery.
‘The range is good. Keep firing, but don’t rush the job. The guns must be loaded carefully. I don’t want a single shot wasted, understand?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Arthur returned the officer’s salute and returned to his tent for breakfast. Once he had eaten, he turned his attention to the latest intelligence reports that had come in from the hircarrah agents. Here in the northern part of India they could not hope to pass through the Mahratta camps unnoticed, and had to report on enemy movements from a distance. Already it was quite clear that they had little ability to judge the size of enemy formations and Scindia was reported to be in command of anything between fifty and a hundred and fifty thousand men. By contrast, Arthur knew exactly how many men he had in his army. In addition to two and a half thousand regulars there were another seven thousand sepoys and four thousand Mysore cavalry. Colonel Stevenson’s slightly smaller force was already marching to join them. Combined, they should be a match for Scindia’s horde.
All day the guns boomed out in a slow rhythm and by early afternoon there were signs that the walls were beginning to crumble as each impact brought a shower of mortar and rubble tumbling down into the outer ditch. The bombardment continued the following morning and a breach finally opened. More shot widened the gap until finally the ammunition gave out late in the afternoon.
The chief engineer returned Arthur’s telescope to him and pursed his lips for a moment before he gave his judgement. ‘I’d say that the breach was practical, sir. We could fire a few rounds of case shot in to clear away the enemy before our boys go in. Do you wish to make the assault today, sir?’
‘Of course.’
‘Then I’ll have the guns made ready.’
‘Very well,’ Arthur agreed. ‘See to it.’
As the sun dipped towards the horizon, burnishing the landscape in a fiery glow and casting long dark shadows, Arthur formed the bulk of his army up opposite the breach. Only the leading battalions would make the actual assault, but he had calculated the impression such a show would make on his enemies and shortly before the attack was due to begin a white flag appeared on the nearest bastion, hurriedly waved from side to side to attract the attention of the British.Arthur went forward and met the killadar’s representatives in front of the battery. In addition to a man bearing a makeshift white flag, there was a Mahratta official and a French officer.The latter saluted Arthur as they approached. Arthur spoke first, in French.
‘If you wish to spare yourself from my men, then the fort must be surrendered at once.’