marched on Delhi. The British forces consisted of about 22,000 men in
two equal divisions, one under Lake and the other under Wellesley, but
the Mahrattas outnumbered this little force by seven to one.
The first event of the war was the attack on the fortress of Aligati
by Lake. Here our men had a foretaste of the nature of "wild Mahratta
battle" and of the terrible valour of the enemy. History records that
the Mahrattas "fought like lions," and it was not until 2,000 of their
number were slain that they finally surrendered. During the following
week came the fall of Delhi, after a most determined conflict raged in
sight of its minarets--a conflict in which the enemy lost 3,000 killed
and wounded and 68 guns. A month later the famous stronghold of Agra
was taken. This was an important victory, as in those days Agra was
practically the key to Northern India.
In this campaign it was fully recognised that the Mahrattas were men
of good fighting quality. At the battle of Leswarree, when Lake was
outnumbered and forced to retire to wait for his infantry and guns
to come up, the prowess of the Mahrattas came as a surprise to him.
When some reinforcements arrived he attacked again with still greater
determination. On this occasion his horse was shot under him, and
his son, dismounting to offer his own horse, was severely wounded.
At the same moment, Lake, turning as his son fell, felt a shot pass
between his arm and his chest, which, if he had not moved, would have
found its way through his heart. But Lake was a man of cool judgment
and imperturbable courage. Mounting his son's horse, he surveyed the
field of battle and quickly made up his mind to decide matters by the
bayonet. Our troops greeted the word of command with a hearty cheer,
and immediately the 76th, admirably supported by the Native Infantry
Corps, swept down upon the enemy in a furious charge. But Lake's
generalship was matched by that of the Mahratta Chief, who instantly
ordered his cavalry to charge. It was a tense moment, and it was
rendered dramatic by the sudden appearance of the British Dragoons
galloping to the relief. "Horse and foot," says a historian, "met in
one great shock of battle; sabre rang out against bayonet and musket
flashed against pistol and carbine. A short period of indescribable
_mêlée_ ensued, in which the fate of the day was decided."
The Mahrattas were defeated. They were a foe as worthy in those days of
our steel as they are now, our comrades-in-arms, worthy of the Empire
they defend.
Meanwhile Wellesley in the south was trying conclusions with Madhi
Scindia and the Rajah of Madhpur. In conjunction with Col. Stevenson
he had 7,000 men, who chased Scindia for three weeks, the wily chief
having decided to fight on chosen ground. At length, on September
23rd, 1803, Wellesley, after a fatiguing march, reached the bank of
the Kaitna River. He was waiting for Col. Stevenson, with whom he
had prearranged a plan, but when he discovered that the enemy was in
camp on the other side of the river, he concluded that his chance of
bringing Scindia to action was "now or never." Accordingly he resolved
not to wait for Stevenson, but to attack at once. This was a daring
decision, for Scindia's forces numbered 17,000 foot, of whom 10,500
were highly disciplined infantry; and his artillery, consisting of
the regular equipment supplemented by 115 guns, was far stronger than
that of the British. In addition to this his Mahratta Horse numbered
about 30,000. The little British army that was getting ready to defeat
this gigantic force numbered 4,520 men, of whom 1,170 (74th and
78th Regiments) were British Infantry, 2,000 Native Infantry, 1,200
Cavalry, and 150 Artillery. The Mahrattas saw this piece of audacity
and stood awhile in amazement, but, wise in their generation, they
forbore to call the force opposing them "contemptible." When the rest
of the world came to have something to say about it, Wellesley simply
remarked: "But had I not attacked them I must have been surrounded by
their superior cavalry, my troops had starved and I had nothing left
but to hang myself to my tent-pole." But it may be justly contended
that it was not wholly a case of Hobson's choice, for Wellesley, like
Nelson, knew when to be rash and how to be rash, and it might have been
said of him, in the words of the French Admiral about Nelson, that his
genius lay in the fact that he could rightly estimate every weakness of
his enemy.
The battle which followed was of a terrible and terrific nature, but it
ended eventually in a glorious victory for the British. From first to
last, Wellesley, having conspired with the luck of war, left no single
point to the luck of chance.
From an elevated plain he could see the whole Mahratta force encamped
on the north side of the Kaitna, where the banks of that river were
very steep. Their right, consisting of cavalry, extended to Bokerdon;
their left, consisting of infantry, with ninety pieces of artillery,
lay near the village of Assaye, which has given its name to the
memorable battle.
Wellesley resolved to attack the infantry on its left and rear, and for
that purpose he moved his little army to a ford beyond the enemy's
left, leaving the Mysore and other irregular cavalry to watch the
Mahratta cavalry, and crossing the river only with his regular horse
and infantry. He passed the ford, ascended the steep bank, and formed
his men in three lines--two of infantry, and the third of horse. This
was effected under a brisk cannonade from the enemy's artillery.
Scindia, or the European officer who directed his movements, promptly
made a corresponding change in his line, giving a new front to his
infantry, which was now made to rest its right on the river and its
left upon the village of Assaye and the Juah stream, which flowed in a
parallel direction with the Kaitna. Scindia's numerous and well-served
cannon did terrible execution among Wellesley's advancing lines,
killing men and bullocks, and drowning the weak sound of his scanty
artillery. At one moment such a gap was made by cannon-ball in the
English right that some of the Mahratta cavalry attempted to charge
through it; but the British cavalry in the third line came up and
drove the Mahrattas back with great slaughter. Finding his artillery
of little or no use (the guns could not be brought up for lack of
bullocks), Wellesley gave orders to leave it in the rear, and bade the
infantry charge with the bayonet.
His steady, resolute advance in the teeth of their guns had already
awed the Mahrattas, who would not stand to meet the collision of
the English steel: their infantry gave way, and abandoned the guns.
One body of them formed again, and presented a bold front; but
Lieutenant-Colonel Maxwell charged them with the British cavalry,
broke and dispersed them, and was killed in the moment of victory.
Wellesley's Sepoys having proceeded too far in pursuit, many of
Scindia's artillerymen, who had thrown themselves down among the
carriages of their guns as though they were dead, got to their feet
again, and turned their pieces against the rear of the advancing
Sepoys; and at the same time the Mahratta cavalry, which had been
hovering round throughout the battle, were still near. But Maxwell's
charge soon silenced the desultory artillery fire, and Scindia's
disciplined infantry went off and left ninety pieces of cannon, nearly
all brass and of the proper calibres, in the hands of the victors.
Wellesley led the 78th British infantry in person against the village
of Assaye, which was not cleared without a desperate combat.
Assaye cost Wellesley twenty-two officers and 386 men killed, and
fifty-seven officers and 1,526 wounded. Excluding the regular cavalry
which had remained on the other side of the river and had not been
engaged, the total number of killed and wounded amounted to nearly
one-third of his force. The general himself had two horses killed under
him, one shot and the other piked; every one of his staff officers had
one or two horses killed, and his orderly's head was swept off by
a cannon-ball as he rode close by his side. The enemy, who had fled
towards the Adjuntee Ghat, through which they had poured into the
Dekhan, left 1,200 dead, and a great number badly wounded on the field
of battle.
THE MAHRATTA COMPANY REGIMENTS, WITH THEIR BATTLE HONOURS
Although there are no Class Regiments composed wholly of Mahrattas,
they form in Company Regiments the bulk of the following bodies of
Infantry:--
103RD MAHRATTA LIGHT INFANTRY. Raised 1768.
4 companies Dekhani Mahrattas, 2 companies Konkani Mahrattas, 2
companies Dekhani Mussalmans.
BATTLE HONOURS.--"Mysore," "Seedaseer," "Seringapatam," "Beni Boo
Alli," "Punjab," "Mooltan," "Goojerat," "Abyssinia."
UNIFORM.--_Scarlet_, facings _black_.
105TH MAHRATTA LIGHT INFANTRY. Raised 1788.
4 companies Dekhani Mahrattas, two companies Konkani Mahrattas, 2
companies Dekhani Mussalmans.
BATTLE HONOURS.--"Mysore," "Seedaseer," "Seringapatam," "Beni Boo
Alli," "Kahun," "China 1860/62," "Afghanistan 1879/80," "Burma 1885/87."
UNIFORM.--_Scarlet_, facings _black_.
110TH MAHRATTA LIGHT INFANTRY. Raised 1797.
4 companies Dekhani Mahrattas, 2 companies Konkani Mahrattas, 2
companies Dekhani Mussalmans.
BATTLE HONOURS.--"Central India," "Abyssinia," "Afghanistan 1879/80."
UNIFORM.--_Scarlet_, facings _black_.
114TH MAHRATTA LIGHT INFANTRY.
4 companies Konkani Mahrattas, 2 companies Dekhani Mahrattas, 2
companies Dekhani Mussalmans.
UNIFORM.--_Scarlet_, facings _yellow_.
116TH MAHRATTA LIGHT INFANTRY. Raised 1800.
4 companies Konkani Mahrattas, 2 companies Dekhani Mahrattas, 2
companies Dekhani Mussalmans.
BATTLE HONOURS.--"Afghanistan 1879/80," "British East Africa 1901."
UNIFORM.--_Scarlet_, facings _yellow_.
117TH MAHRATTA LIGHT INFANTRY.
4 companies Konkani Mahrattas, 2 companies Dekhani Mahrattas, 2
companies Dekhani Mussalmans.
UNIFORM.--_Scarlet_, facings _yellow_.
There are companies of the Mahrattas also in the
107th Pioneers.
108th Infantry.
109th Infantry.
121st Pioneers.
128th Pioneers.
THE GURKHAS
The Gurkha is more closely a brother-in-arms to Tommy Atkins than is
any other native soldier. These brave little men swell with pride--and
their chest expansion is enormous--when they are referred to as the
"Highlanders of India." Their eyes twinkle and their white teeth gleam
in a smile of joy at this well-deserved honour bestowed upon them for
many a valiant fight. To stand by the side of their big brothers of
the Black Watch, the Seaforth, the Gordon, the Cameron, and the Argyll
and Sutherland Highlanders in glory and renown is their Nirvana of
bliss; and now, in the greatest conflict of Europe, to fight, and if
need be to die, in the same line with them for the great King-Emperor
(the Padisha), in the defence of the world against tyranny and wrong,
is absolutely the crowning moment in the history of this valiant
little man of Nepal. As the Gurkha marches to-day to the tune of The
Marseillaise, played on a weird collection of instruments approaching
as nearly as possible to the bagpipes, his cheerful spirit is glad
beyond words to be in line with the heroes who claim his special
admiration, and his one thought is "Shall we fight side by side with
the Gordons, as we did at Dargai, or with the Argyll and Sutherland
Highlanders, or with the Seaforths?"
But behind his cheerful countenance and jaunty way of carrying himself
lies a bulldog courage which, in turn, commands the admiration of his
big brothers-in-arms--the British Highlanders. Those gleaming teeth
are exposed in no kind of smile when he grips the deadly _kukri_ in a
hand-to-hand encounter, and there is no twinkle in the fierce black
eyes as he sets his face to the foe, with the cool determination "never
to go back," which is a tradition of his race.
On this point, Lt.-Col. Newnham-Davis, writing in "Town Topics,"
declares that "The Gurkha is the most thorough little man I have ever
met in campaigning; he will never go back. He tackles any job that is
given him like a bulldog, and he is never beaten. In manoeuvres, as in
action, one thing a Gurkha regiment will not do is to go back.
"I have seen the Chief Umpire and all his satellites vainly trying to
explain to the native officers of a Gurkha company on manoeuvres that
they were surrounded and outnumbered and out of action, and that they
must therefore retire from the mimic fight. The Gurkhas grinned and
stopped where they were, and it was only by sounding the 'cease fire'
and telling the little men to get back and cook their dinners that the
Chief Umpire moved them off the ground."
"In the spring," says the Colonel, writing on the Gurkha War, "the
little Gurkhas--jovial little fellows, broad-chested and big-limbed,
short in stature, with their Tartar eyes, noses like pugdogs, and great
good-natured gashes for mouths--flock down to enlist in our regiments.
Brave as lions, vain as peacocks, faithful as dogs, with few prejudices
in peace and none in war, the Gurkhas are the special friends and
companions of our men.
"The stately Sikh throws away his food if a white man's shadow falls
upon it, and between the Mahomedan and the Christian is always the bar
of religion, but on a campaign the Gurkha eats his food with as few
formalities as Tommy Atkins drinks his wine, and is good company at the
camp-fire."
The Gurkha has a merry wit and an equally happy conceit, as the
following incident will show. After the assault on Bhurtpore, where
the Gurkhas raced with the grenadiers of the 59th for the bridge, the
British soldiers praised them for their bravery. They returned the
compliment by the following characteristic remark: "The English are as
brave as lions; they are splendid Sepoys, and _very nearly_ equal to
us."
It may be seen from the above incident that the vanity of these little
men is colossal. Indeed, it is only exceeded by their loyalty and
gallantry, which can never be questioned, since Lord Roberts, the hero
of Kabul, has accorded them the highest and warmest praise.
When Col. Younghusband, travelling in the Pamirs with an expedition of
Gurkhas, met the great Russian explorer Gromschefski, a native officer
of the Gurkhas asked leave to speak to Younghusband. "Tell him," he
said, pointing to the big Russian, "that though _we_ are small men, all
the rest of our regiment are taller than he is."
The only ritual the Gurkha observes is that he washes his hands and
face and takes off his head-dress before cooking his meals. Any meat
that chances to come the Gurkhas' way they call _shika_ (game). It
is permitted by their religion to eat anything they have killed when
hunting, but in their native land they prefer a kind of food made
from rice. In the British service they take kindly but temperately to
anything that the canteen supplies.
The Gurkhas were originally protectors of the cows, and this in India
is a more or less Divine right. The Hindu regards the cow in the light
of his mother, and frequently the beef-eating habit of the Sahib is
pathetically reproached by the native in these terms: "What! would you
eat your mother?" It may be permissible to stretch the derivation of
their name in the present day and apply it to the fact that Britain is
now their mother, and that they flocked westward to assist her in her
great effort to uphold and ensure the integrity of the world.
The Gurkhas, or Gurkhalis, claim descent from the Ranas of Udaipur in
Rajputana. Long ago, when they were driven out of their own country by
the Mahomedan invasion, they sought refuge in the mountainous tracts
about Kumaon. From this point they gradually began to invade the
country to the eastward, as far as the city of Gurkha, Noakote, and
ultimately the valley of Nepal, and even Sikkim. It was only when they
attempted to force their way southwards that they were met and repulsed
by the British. The Treaty of Seganli, which put an end to the Gurkha
War of 1814, set a definite limit to their territorial expansion.
In general character the Gurkha is bold and self-reliant. On his
gentler side, while extremely independent and self-centred, he is
frank, faithful, and capable of fine, heroic loyalty. All his ideas of
war and sport are modelled on European ideas. Though resembling in many
ways the little Jap, he is built on far sturdier lines. As a humorist
once remarked of his race: "They are 5 feet high in some places, and 5
feet round in others." Their movements in attack resemble lightning
rapidity as nearly as anything human can. Essentially a phlegmatic
race, they are supposed to lack sentiment and emotion, but education
and touch with Western civilisation have proved to a great extent that
these qualities were potential. In many ways they have been brought
out as true sentiment and emotion of the steadier and more genuine
kind. This fact, with their natural gaiety of disposition and their
good-humoured carelessness of good or evil hap, is no doubt the reason
that they make such fine soldiers. There is no grumbling on the part of
the Gurkhas.
The Gurkha in battle is terrible, and almost weird in his methods. His
ways are the ways of no other living soldier. And this brings us to a
consideration of that remarkable weapon, the _kukri_. It is a heavy,
curved knife, as sharp as a razor, and its drawing cut, inflicted
with much skill and little force on anything in motion, has terrible
effects. For instance, the intrepid Gurkha will wait for the tiger of
the jungle to spring, and then, at the right moment, will step aside,
leaving his deadly knife to follow the movement of his arm across the
tiger's throat.
This wonderful knife, which the Gurkha loves as the British gunner
loves his gun, has a small hilt, such as is common to all Indian
swords. The blade is about nine inches long, and has a point as sharp
as a needle. Both the hilt and the blade are curved, so that the weapon
does equally well for the drawing cut or the thrust. Owing to the
extreme thickness of the broad blade the weapon is remarkably heavy--a
property devised obviously for the purpose of gaining the full force of
inertia when the _kukri_ is wielded by the dexterous hand and wrist of
the Gurkha. One authority on this weapon says that the weight of the
razor-edged blade would drive it half through a man's arm if it were
only allowed to fall from a little height. One can imagine, then, the
terrible effect if used for the drawing cut of the broad-sword. In the
Gurkha's experienced hand its sharp edge carves through both bone and
sinew, proving it to be a weapon as formidable as can be conceived. The
method of this little warrior with the _kukri_, then, may be described
as an inhibition of force and an exhibition of skill, for by means of
it he will quickly cut to pieces any man of gigantic strength and build
who does not understand his mode of attack.
Many years ago, during the conquests on which we founded our Eastern
Empire, our men frequently came into clash with the Gurkhas. In those
days they were, as enemies, as formidable as they are to-day invaluable
as brothers-in-arms. Here is a description of one battle incident in
which we suffered severely at their hands: "Brave as lions, active
as monkeys, fierce as tigers, the wiry little men came leaping over
the ground to the attack, moving so quickly and keeping so far apart
from each other that rifle fire was of little use against them. When
they came near our soldiers they suddenly crouched and dived under
the bayonets, striking upwards at our men with their _kukris_ and
ripping them open with a single blow, then darting off as rapidly as
they came." Until our men learnt this mode of attack they were greatly
discomfited by their little opponents, who got under their weapons,
cutting or slashing with knives as sharp as razors, and often escaping
unhurt from the midst of the bayonets.
In all the history of invasion and conquests, of floating dynasties and
mushroom empires in the East, the most sanguinary chapters deal with
the British subjugation of the Gurkhas.
At a time when the Gurkhas were only some twelve thousand strong their
reputation as fighters stood high. Many a time and oft had they raided
neighbouring territory, carried off cattle, and even extorted tribute,
so that at length the British authorities realised that there was only
one course to take, and the message was sent to the bold Gurkha Chief:
"Keep within your own territory or beware of the consequences." But
this ultimatum was treated with scorn by the Gurkhas. Their haughty
spirit could not brook such a demand. Hot blood seethed in their
veins, and hot words were spoken at their council meetings. Their
natural warlike spirit rose to the occasion and they declared war.
That war of 1813-14, and that conquest of a truly warlike race, form a
record of one of the most heroic achievements of the British Army.
Nepal, the home of the Gurkhas, is situated on the slopes of the
Himalayas. Its natural barricade on the north is a mighty line of
peaks soaring against the sides of heaven up to the roof of the world,
covered with everlasting snow. In front and to the south dense forests
protect it from the approach of an invading host. Terrible were the
difficulties and hardships of our men in these forests. Despair
almost drove them back, while the prospect of utter failure seemed to
stare them in the face. But, as if in a forlorn hope, our men went
on, toiling and moiling towards the borders of Nepal; and, with the
tenacity that saves every hopeless situation, gained at length the
walls of Kalanga.
The fort held out for a long time, but fell at length, though not
until the heroic garrison of six hundred had been reduced to seventy.
It was here that brave General Gillespie fell as he was cheering his
men forward to a fruitless attack. At the outset he had reckoned
upon an easy conquest, but owing to the staunch resistance of the
Gurkhas, reinforced by their natural advantages, he found the greatest
difficulty.
There are many incidents recorded of the Gurkhas in this war, but
perhaps the following is characteristic. When a party of our troops
were searching for the enemy's outposts, they happened to fall in with
a band of Gurkhas. The fierce little men raised a yell and produced
their deadly _kukris_; then, after a brief consultation, their leader
strode forward into the open and challenged the English officer in
command to a settlement by single combat. His challenge was no sooner
offered than it was accepted, and Captain Showers advanced to meet
him. A short, sharp fight then took place on the plain separating the
two opposing forces; steel met steel, and, after a quick passage, the
Gurkha's blood ran crimson in the snow. He had met one who knew his
methods.
This war dragged slowly and wearily to a close. Finally there came a
time when the Gurkhas were compelled to sue for peace. By the treaty
drawn up at the conclusion of hostilities large tracts of territory
were ceded to the British; but, as this treaty had to be sent to the
Governor-General for approval and signature, there was a delay, and
during that delay the bold spirit of the Gurkhas rose against this
admission of defeat, and when the treaty was returned they flatly
refused to sign it. At this hostilities were resumed, and the British
again proceeded to attack.