Saturday Snippet: With the East India Company's troops

 

We've met Andrew Wareham in these pages on several occasions.  He's a prolific writer who puts out books and series of books on a very frequent basis, publishing only on Amazon.com.  I enjoy his work.

For this morning, I've chosen the third in his "Colonial Warrior" series, this one titled "Billy Bacon and John Company’s Armies".

The blurb reads:

Billy Bacon has become a major at a young age and has joined the Company’s Army in Madras. There he does his best to become respectable, as a major must. He achieves a nabob’s daughter as fiancée and goes off to war, where he is involved in fierce fighting and comes out as a hero – very conveniently.

Married, rich and respected, he is sent back to England to become a senior officer of the Training College for Company Officers, which is in the process of creation. As he is conveniently available when another mission arises, Billy is to leave England quite rapidly again.

Here's an excerpt covering a war with a local potentate and his armies.

Noon the next day saw the battalion camped half a mile from the walls of a large town, presumably Chittenoor, and wondering if they had maybe invited themselves to a fight they could not win.

The town was walled, more or less rectangular and with a face of more than a quarter of a mile and stretching back at least twice that distance. It was located close to a river, on a bank above the flood plain, and had roads coming in from east, west and north as well as the south where they were.

“Those walls run at the better part of twenty feet tall, Bacon. Stone, as well. Looks like a fortified palace inside. Manned - I can see bodies on the walls - but not perhaps too heavily. Possible that they have sent some of the garrison off to the wars.”

“Big gates, sir.”

“Heavy. Thick one must imagine. A double flap under a solid stone archway. Fifteen feet high and twenty or more wide. Barred and chained behind, almost of a certainty. Gunports to either side at ground level as well as some crenellations along the wall itself. Those ports are rather large, made for big old brass guns – I wonder what they have inside them. Nothing run out just now. Take them at dawn, do you think, Bacon?”

“Call them to open up this afternoon, sir? They shut the gates as they saw us coming up the road. Perhaps they will be debating that now. Might be the gate commander acted on his own initiative and that his superiors could be minded to overrule him.”

They sent a party under Captain Dornford to the gate, under a white flag. A single soldier appeared and shouted at them, presumably to go away. None came to translate and the gates remained firm closed. Dornford returned to say that at least they had not shot at him.

Captain Paget took his horse down to the river, circling the town and then back around the southern face, reported nothing to be seen.

“No boats on the river and no sign of activity, sir. They are shut up in their walls and waiting for us to do something about it.”

“How does the northern road cross the river, Paget?”

“A ford, sir. The river is no more than twenty yards wide and shallow enough. It seems to narrow significantly to the west, sir.”

“Well seen. Take your horse and make your way west to a crossing point, then come back and hold the ford. Place yourself out of sight and able to charge down on any forces retreating from the town. I shall set a company to west and east gates and we shall storm the town from the south at first light.”

The plan had the merit of simplicity, Billy thought.

“Gunpowder barrels, sir? Four men, each to carry a quarter barrel – twenty-eight pounds is not too great a load, I believe. Piled at the gate with a short fuse, the men to flatten themselves against the wall on either side. The battalion behind them to press forward and rake the walls with volley fire. It should not be impossible. I shall lead them, of course, sir. Young Ensign Partridge may have the honour of accompanying me, just to show him that he is not in bad odour for his little mistake in the Mess.”

“The odour of brandy, was it not, Bacon?”

“It was, sir. Damned young fool – but who has not done something equally silly at that age?”

“Who indeed? Go at first light, Bacon. Should you not ask for volunteers to take the lead rather than go yourself?”

“Next time, sir. This is my first opportunity to let the men know who and what I am. I should go, sir.”

* * *

“Could be a bad one, sir.”

“Might be, Freeman. All the more reason for me to be up front.”

“Sword and two pistols, sir. I carry six and the big sword. Leave Vickery behind – he too old. What you reckon for the attack?”

“Lead Partridge and his men to the gate to drop the gunpowder charges. We keep an eye to the pair of embrasures. As soon as they run cannon out, we fire at the gunners. With luck, we can get close enough to drop their layers.”

“Worth a try, sir. The battalion to fire at the top of the walls while we run in?”

“I’ll ask the Colonel to keep one company loaded at all times, Freeman. Just in case – might be horse hidden out of sight and able to make a charge. These Marathas have a lot of cavalry, so they say. Hopefully, they will have sent their garrison down south to the main war – there might be no more than a hundred or two holding the walls.”

“Maybe, sir. Don’t take a lot of men to hold a twenty foot wall when you ain’t got guns to knock it down.”

* * *

They came together in the darkness before the dawn – Ensign Partridge with a naik and eight men at his side, four carrying powder kegs, the others with linstocks, slow match firmly attached and burning. Each of the sepoys carried a bayonet at his waist and no other weapon. Partridge had his official pattern sword and a pistol on the other hip while the naik carried his musket, as was correct.

Billy noted that the corporal was more concerned to do what was right than to burden himself lightly; it told him much of the men’s spirit, of their dedication and commitment to the regiment and its ways.

“We shall aim to stack the barrels to the left side of the gate, all four together, lighting the fuse on my call. Keep at least ten yards back down the wall to protect yourselves from the explosion.”

The naik translated the orders and presumably added explanation of his own.

Colonel McNeill called the battalion to advance and the forlorn hope moved to their front. Billy drew his sword and rested it on his shoulder, stepped two places clear of Partridge and the naik.

Partridge moved towards Billy’s side, hesitated as he saw Freeman shake his head.

“That where the Major belong, sir. Him first and me at his shoulder, where I stay. Then comes you and the rest. That what is proper, sir, in Major Bacon’s battalion.”

Ensigns did not argue with the Major’s man, not if they were wise.

“Ah… Very good. Thank you. Do you always carry six pistols, soldier?”

“Except when the Major have them, sir. He wants the sword today, so I has his pistols at his back.  He don’t buy them – he take them all in the field, sir.”

Freeman suppressed the grin as Partridge’s face showed his instant determination to match the heroic major’s achievement. It would do the boy no harm to model himself on the Major, unless it killed him, and death could come to any soldier, was part of the game.

First shots came from the walls, the battalion more than a hundred yards distant and the forlorn hope still just a couple of paces to the front.

“Windy, Partridge!”

“Do what, sir?” The ensign had not noticed any gale.

“The defenders, man! Shooting far too soon, well before practical range. Ready?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Forlorn Hope will advance at the double! March!”

Billy stretched out, his pace somewhat more than the regulation double. He heard the naik muttering the cadence behind him, keeping the eight men together.

There was another scattering of shots, none seeming to come at all close. Billy looked up to the top of the wall, expecting to see a line of men coming to the aim, readying a volley. There were only a few defenders there, some of them slowly reloading, more clearly wavering, on the verge of running. He heard Colonel McNeill behind him bringing the battalion to a halt and ordering the leading companies to form line and commence fire; it was early but he also must have seen the chance to drive the half-hearted garrison into flight from the open walls.

Thirty yards and the first volley crashed over their heads and was followed by the rattle of balls hitting the stonework.

“Forlorn Hope! Run!”

Billy sprinted, seeing the shape of the nearer gunport change as a barrel was thrust forward, a little gun, not the great siege cannon the port had been designed for. He could just see figures behind the gun, pulled his pistol left-handed and shot, reholstering and clumsily grabbing at the second from his right hip and snapping off a second round. He heard the ball hit the barrel and ricochet away. There was a scream and a sudden flurry among the gun crew, presumably one of them hit.

Freeman stepped to the side and fired his pistols, all six within seconds, less concerned with precise aim than with frightening the already shaken gunners. He thought that two or three of his shots actually entered the port. He watched as his master ran directly at the gun and then vaulted across the barrel, through the wall and, luckily, onto his feet on the other side, swiping out with his sword. Freeman followed, spotted a standing gunner and slashed at him, putting him down in a bloody mess.

“Grab the trail, Freeman! Swing it across!”

The gun was a small four pound galloper, Freeman saw, could be handled easily by a pair of reasonably strong men. Between them they hauled the gun to point across the gate and directly at its pair, twenty yards away. Billy grabbed the lit linstock that the gunners had dropped, yelled Freeman to stand clear and put the match to the touchhole.

“Loaded ball, silly sods! They should have used cannister, Freeman!”

The ball had hit the gun carriage and thoroughly wrecked it, scattering teak splinters through the gunners and the party of infantry standing gate guard.

Partridge appeared at their side, the naik behind him with his men.

“Get the gate open!”

They knocked three big wooden bars away from the gate, found no chains, and heaved the two flaps open.

“Better than wasting gunpowder, Mr Partridge!”

The boy nodded, awestruck.

“Lucky again, sir!”

“It worked, Freeman! Change me drawers later, man!”

They laughed and placed themselves at the head of the first company, Captain Newton’s, to come through the gates and led them off to secure the town.

The bulk of the garrison chose to leave in a hurry, clearly not committed to any fight. They dashed to the north gate and down to the river, four or five hundred men in a disorganised mob, not all of them armed and many of the rest unloaded. They met Captain Paget’s horse at full pelt as they came out of the ford, yelling excitedly as they charged, swords swinging; the survivors dropped everything and scattered into the hills, running hard and never to return.

Billy took his company towards the palace, a fortified dwelling, walled but without artillery, meant perhaps to overawe the townspeople rather than face attack by an army. The front was an open set of steps about eighty yards wide and five high. There was a guard lined up at the top, a dozen men in robes and armed with great swords and set in would-be martial posture; they looked brave and wholly untrained, erratically dangerous.

“Platoon volley, Captain Newton!”

The muskets crashed and the guards fell, just two remaining untouched. The pair dropped their swords in horror.

“Take them prisoner, poor sods!”

Billy felt guilty for ordering the shooting – but they could have killed some of his men and his duty was to care for his own.

“No more than servants, Newton!”

“Eunuchs, sir, or so I must imagine. They are the formal guard to the rajah’s private quarters, not soldiers. Bad luck. Their duty perhaps - they chose to stand against us.”

“They did, and have paid the price - poor, brave chaps. Perhaps they felt they had nothing more to lose!”

Captain Newton did not approve of such low wit; he scowled as they entered the main doors.

There was a large, high reception hall, or so Billy imagined it to be, with a throne at one end, perhaps a hundred feet from the doors. The hall was ornate, marble much on display and with silk hangings along the walls, including a very lifelike representation of a tiger. He had a vague idea that the tiger was important to the Marathas, was Tippoo Sahib’s emblem, perhaps; possibly the rajah was displaying his loyalty, or maybe it had been a gift.

There was a short and distinctly fat man sat on the throne, swathed in bright silks and wearing an amount of jewellery on his turban and about his person. He had a long, straight sword in his hand, the hilt glittering with stones. He was alone, his entourage gone, joined those leaving by the north gate presumably.

“Have you any of the language, Newton?”

“If he speaks Hindi, yes, sir. Odds are, he don’t.”

Newton spoke fluently, received a grunt of non-comprehension.

“He don’t, sir.”

The fat man stirred. “I speak English. Go away before my armies return to destroy you!”

Billy gave a short bow. “I am Major Bacon in the Company’s service. Surrender your town and lands and you will come to no further harm. The Company has taken this land to itself, sir, and will treat you kindly if you recognise their rule.”

The fat man bounced to his feet.

“Tippoo Sahib will extirpate the Company and all of your people. You will all die, slowly. Not one of the Franks will remain on our shores and the Marathas will rule the whole of the Deccan, as a first dominion. Within a few years, we shall have domain over all from the shores of China to the Middle Sea and shall build great armies that shall march to Muscovy and to England and throughout the whole of Africa. Then we shall cross the seas! There will be no limit to our empire and your piddling little Company shall be forgotten as the aberration it is.”

Captain Newton drew in a breath of horror. Billy laughed.

“May I congratulate you, sir, on your mastery of the English language? I suspect you know more words than I do. You are well taught and have been a good student. No doubt you learned from an Englishman. I expect he taught you about empires, as well. I am glad to hear that you know to imitate the English. Your Tippoo Sahib will not outlast the year. The armies of King and Company march to his destruction now. He will die and his dreams of empire will go with him. Now, sir, forswear these foolish ideas! You can remain here and accept the Company’s mastery, still retaining much of your rule, or you can be dismissed, sent off into exile. The choice is yours, sir. Your town is lost and your army fled. You should protect your people.”

“My people, as you call them, do as I bid. Their lives are mine. They exist to obey, and they are ordered to die before submitting to foreigners. I will do the same!”

The rajah made a valiant attempt to leap from his throne and cut Billy down, heaving his great sword high over his head. As a young man, he might have been a warrior, able to march at the head of victorious troops, but he had spent too much time at board and bed in the intervening twenty years and made a poor showing of his assault, tottering under the weight and momentum of his swinging sword. Billy knocked the blade to the side and then ran the little man through, finishing him with a cut to the throat as he fell.

“Brave – one must allow him that, Captain Newton. I had thought him to be a bag of wind, but he displayed well at the end. Tidy him up, Freeman.”

“At you command, sir!”

Freeman gave an exaggerated salute and bent to his task, rapidly relieving the corpse of the valuables it no longer needed and tucking the sword under his arm.

“Do not let the men set fires, Captain Newton, but give them free rein of the palace otherwise. We shall go out into the town to ensure that any sack does not get out of hand.”

A well-written action scene from an entertaining book.  I recommend the whole series, at present three books long, but with more to come.

Peter