War with the Marhattás
(1801-3)
“_We must get the upper hand, and if once we have that, we shall
keep it with ease, and shall certainly succeed._”
WELLINGTON.
That disappointments are frequently blessings in disguise had already
been proved by Arthur Wellesley. Unfortunately, it is easier to forget
such a precept than to practise it, and each apparent failure to climb
another rung of ambition’s ladder is apt to be regarded as a definite
set back. It was so with Wellesley, and a time of trial and perplexity
followed the campaign of Seringapatam and the defeat of Dhoondia.
He eventually weathered the storm of depression which pressed upon him,
as he weathered many another, but it must be admitted that he bent
before it. It came about in this way. The French army in Egypt was
still very active, although Napoleon had long since left it. He was
now First Consul, and gradually preparing himself and the nation for
the assumption of the Imperial crown. The Governor-General, henceforth
to be known as Marquis Wellesley,[11] was of opinion that a small
expedition should be sent either to Batavia or the Mauritius, or to
assist Sir Ralph Abercromby in his attempt to drive the French out of
Egypt.
With one of these desirable objects in view his brother Arthur was
given 5000 troops. He at once set off for Trincomalee, in the island
of Ceylon, the headquarters of the little army, intent on personally
superintending the arrangements. Shortly afterwards instructions came
to hand from the Home Government that 3000 men were to be sent to
Egypt. Colonel Wellesley was informed of this decision, and determined
to lose no time in forwarding the project. Without receiving official
word to do so, and still believing he held the premier post, he
embarked the men and sailed for Bombay, where he had ordered an ample
supply of provisions to be ready.
When off Cape Comorin, Wellesley received a letter from his brother,
stating that he had appointed Major-General Baird to the command of the
troops destined for the island of Batavia, which made it clear that the
Governor-General had not then received the dispatches of the Secretary
of State. Knowing that some at least of the troops on the transports
would be required for Egypt, he proceeded on his way, and wrote to
Baird of his intention. A little later a further letter came to hand
from another source; but the fleet was in want of water, some of the
troops had died, and “I was induced to adhere to my original plan.”
Baird, who, on arriving at Trincomalee, found “the cupboard was
bare,” was deeply incensed at Wellesley’s high-handed behaviour. The
“culprit’s” feelings as to the Governor-General’s new appointment were
also far from pacific. That he acted in perfect good faith is evident
from the preceding, which is borne out in a lengthy dispatch in which
he sought to justify his action in the eyes of his brother.
“I have not been guilty of robbery or murder,” he writes to Henry
Wellesley from Bombay on the 23rd March 1801, “and he has certainly
changed his mind; but the world, which is always good-natured towards
those whose affairs do not exactly prosper, will not, or rather does
not, fail to suspect that both, or worse, have been the occasion of my
being banished, like General Kray, to my estate in Hungary.[12] I did
not look, and did not wish, for the appointment which was given to me;
and I say that it would probably have been more proper to give it to
somebody else; but when it was given to me, and a circular written to
the governments upon the subject, it would have been fair to allow me
to hold it till I did something to deserve to lose it.
“I put private considerations out of the question, as they ought and
have had no weight in causing either my original appointment or my
supercession. I am not quite satisfied with the manner in which I have
been treated by Government upon the occasion. However, I have lost
neither my health, spirits, nor temper in consequence thereof. But it
is useless to write any more upon a subject of which I wish to retain
no remembrance whatever.”
Baird would have been scarcely human had he not felt hurt by finding
himself head of a force which had disappeared, especially as the
Colonel had already superseded him as Governor of Seringapatam. But
he forgave, if he did not forget, and so did Wellesley. Some thirty
years afterwards, when Baird’s days of active soldiering were over, he
remarked, during the course of a chat with Sir John Malcolm, who had
himself done good service in India: “Time’s are changed. No one knows
so well as you how severely I felt the preference given on several
occasions to your friend Wellesley, but now I see all these things from
a far different point of view. It is the highest pride of my life that
anybody should ever have dreamed of my being put in the balance with
him. His name is now to me joy, and I may almost say glory.”
It is satisfactory to know that Arthur Wellesley was not foolish enough
to allow the iron to enter into his soul to such an extent as to
prevent him from co-operating with Baird, into whose hands he placed a
“Memorandum on the Operations in the Red Sea,” accompanied by a letter
acknowledging “the kind, candid, and handsome manner in which you have
behaved towards me.” When the expedition was ready, Arthur Wellesley
was laid low with a fever, consequently the Commander-in-Chief
was obliged to sail without his lieutenant, not altogether to his
discomfiture one would surmise.
An attack of the dreaded Malabar itch did not tend to a speedy recovery
of the invalid, but he was sufficiently well in May 1801 to resume his
former duties at Seringapatam, where he had been reinstated by his
brother. By living moderately, drinking little or no wine, avoiding
much medicine, taking exercise, and keeping his mind employed, he
eventually recovered. As Baird saw no fighting, his rival lost nothing
by remaining in India.
Sir Herbert Maxwell[13] assumes that Arthur Wellesley’s fever
was caused by disappointment, but as the latter expressly states
that Baird’s “conduct towards me has by no means occasioned this
determination (namely, to resign the appointment), but that it has
been perfectly satisfactory,”[14] the statement is obviously based on
a surmise that the Colonel was diplomatically lying. Everybody fully
appreciates the influence of mind over matter, and thwarted desire may
have weakened Wellesley’s health, but surely the facts of the case
scarcely justify so definite an assertion.
Colonel Wellesley remained in Mysore for nearly two years, during
which he did his work both wisely and well, showing favour to none and
justice to all. It was in February 1803 that the future Wellington,
now a Major-General, received news that he was required for active
service against the Marhattás. The war-like intentions of this powerful
confederacy, which alone could challenge British supremacy, had not
escaped the notice of Government. The nominal head of the five native
princes who constituted it was Baji Rao, the Peshwá of Poona, the
others being Daulat Rao, Sindhia of Gwalior; Jeswant Rao, Holkar of
Indore; the Gaikwár of Baroda, and the Bhonsla Rájá of Berar. Sindhia
was the most powerful, and possessed a fine army drilled by French
officers and commanded by Perron, a deserter from the French Marine.
Holkar had at his disposal no fewer than 80,000 splendidly-equipped
men, mostly cavalry, likewise organized by European soldiers. Intense
rivalry existed between these princes, and when, in October 1802, the
latter invaded Poona, the armies of Sindhia and the Peshwá met with
disaster. The Peshwá sought refuge with the British, and forthwith
entered into an offensive and defensive alliance with Lord Wellesley
as the only means of saving his territory. The chief clauses were that
6000 British troops should be kept at Poona, the expense being met by
the assignment to the East India Company of certain territory; that the
Peshwá would not make war with the other princes or allow them to prey
on each other without the consent of Government; and that he should be
reinstated in his capital. This arrangement, known as the Subsidiary
Treaty of Bassein, soon had the effect of drawing together the
remaining members of the Marhattá confederacy, cementing a friendship
between Sindhia and Holkar, and an alliance between Sindhia and the
Bhonsla Rájá. It is clear that the continued acknowledgment of the
Peshwá as head of the confederacy, now that he was under the ægis of
the British, would have been to admit the supremacy of the conquering
Power they so much resented. Lord Wellesley had already signed a
defensive alliance with the Gaikwár of Baroda, and in order to be ready
for eventualities, men from the armies of the three Presidencies,
namely, Madras, Bombay, and Calcutta, were concentrated at various
points, the first for operation on the north-west frontier of Mysore,
the second for action about Surat and Broach, and the third for the
occupation of Cuttack. A large force was also ordered to assemble at
Cawnpore under General Lake, the Commander-in-Chief in India, while
three corps were held in reserve. Major-General Wellesley was placed in
command of a detachment of some 10,600 troops, to which must be added
the Nizám’s contingent of 8400 men under Colonel Stevenson, making
19,000 in all. His orders were to secure Poona, now held by a small
garrison of Holkar’s soldiers totalling not more than 1500. He was
already on the march when he heard of the intention of the Governor,
acting on Holkar’s instructions, to burn the town on the approach of
the British.
“We were within forty miles of the place”--Wellesley himself tells
the story[15]--“when this resolution of Holkar’s lieutenant was
communicated to me. My troops had marched twenty miles that day under
a burning sun, and the infantry could no more have gone five miles
farther than they would have flown. The cavalry, though not fresh,
were less knocked up, so I got together 400 of the best mounted among
them, and set off. We started after dark on the night of the 19th of
April, and in the afternoon of the 20th we got close to the place.
There was an awful uproar, and I expected to see the flames burst out,
but nothing of the kind occurred. Amrut Rao--that was the Marhattá’s
name--was too frightened to think of anything except providing for his
own safety, and I had the satisfaction of finding, when I rode into the
town, that he had gone off with his garrison by one gate as we went in
by another. We were too tired to follow, had it been worth while to do
so, which it was not. Poona was safe, and that was all I cared for.”
In the following month the Peshwá returned to his capital.
Sindhia and the Rájá of Berar now busied themselves with gathering a
large army at Burhanpur, ready to threaten the Deccan, Holkar retiring
to Indore. Wellesley was no less active at Poona; his experience in
Holland had taught him the all-important lesson that an efficient
organization is a powerful ally. In addition, he was busy endeavouring
to come to terms with Sindhia and the Rájá, for which purpose he had
been given chief command of the British forces in the Marhattá states,
with the fullest political authority. Similar powers were vested in
General Lake in Northern India. After wasting as much time as possible
in the negotiations so as to gain it for military preparations,
Wellesley anticipated the inevitable. “I offered you peace on terms
of equality,” he writes on the 6th August 1803, “and honourable
to all parties: you have chosen war, and are responsible for all
consequences.” On the following day hostilities were declared against
Sindhia and the Rájá of Berar.
The stone-built fortress of Ahmednuggur, the capture of which would
safeguard his communications with Poona and Bombay and prevent
reinforcements from Southern India reaching the enemy, was his first
object of attack. The main body of Sindhia’s men was threatening
Hyderabad, but the place was well garrisoned and so solidly constructed
that it looked as though it would defy whatever artillery could be
brought to bear on it. Wellesley said that with the exception of
Vellore, in the Carnatic, it was the strongest country fort he had
ever seen. However, he began operations against the outworks on the
8th, after having made proposals for its surrender without favourable
result. “The Arabs,” we are told, “defended their posts with the
utmost obstinacy,” but towards evening were forced to quit the wall.
On the following day the ground in the neighbourhood of the fort was
reconnoitred and a commanding position seized, on which a battery
of four guns was constructed for use during the attack. The first
shots were fired on the 10th at dawn, and the storming party speedily
began its work. Three times an officer ascended a scaling ladder
propped against one of the walls, and thrice he was hurled down by the
defenders. The fourth attempt was successful, and, followed by some of
his men, the gallant soldier literally hewed a way into the town. The
remaining troops, pressing on, took the place of those who fell. At
length the Commander of the enemy’s forces surrendered, “on condition
that he should be allowed to depart with his garrison, and that he
should have his private property.” His fourteen hundred men marched out
of the fort, and Wellesley’s troops took possession.
[Illustration: “He was hurled down by the defenders”
Thomas Maybank]
On the 23rd September the General found himself and his small
contingent of some 8000 soldiers face to face with the whole combined
army of Sindhia and the Rájá of Berar, a state of affairs brought
about by unreliable information, causing the separation of Wellesley
and Stevenson. At least 50,000 of the enemy were posted in a strong
position behind the river Kaitna, near the village of Assaye. As
Wellesley had received no reinforcements, and had only 17 guns compared
with 128 commanded by skilful French officers at the disposal of the
Marhattás, the disproportion of the forces was sufficiently obvious.
To a general less experienced or daring the situation would have been
considered sufficient cause for an instant retreat; even he called
the attack “desperate.” The problem for him to settle was, should he
wait a few hours for Stevenson, or begin immediately with the scanty
resources at his disposal? Although only 1500 of his men were British,
the Commander-in-Chief decided on the latter alternative, ignoring the
information vouchsafed by his guides that the river was absolutely
impassable. Yet it was only by crossing the stream that he could take
advantage of the opportunity to attack. Here Wellesley’s native wit
and acute intelligence--he himself called it “common sense”--assisted
him. His telescope merely revealed a village on either side of the
stream. This fact suggested the probability of a neighbouring ford.
On investigation such proved to be the case, and if the passage was
difficult the General was at least fortunate in being able to carry
out the operation without severe molestation by the enemy, who had
foolishly neglected to guard this point. They repaired the omission so
far as was possible by firing upon the oncoming army as it slowly waded
across, but the losses were comparatively trivial. “All the business of
war,” Wellesley once told Croker, “and indeed all the business of life,
is to endeavour to find out what you don’t know by what you do.”
The battle began well by the routing of some of the infantry and
artillery by the Highlanders and Sepoys. This advantage was almost
immediately counterbalanced by the mistaken zeal of the officer
commanding the pickets, supported by the 74th Regiment. He foolishly
led his men against the village, thereby exposing them to the
concentrated fire of the enemy’s artillery and musketry stationed
there. Had he taken a less direct route, this could not have happened,
but his enthusiasm overruled his caution. Men dropped down like
ninepins in a skittle-alley when the ball is thrown by a skilful
player. They fell by the dozen as they came within the zone of fire.
Their comrades filled up the tell-tale gaps and continued to push
on with a dogged tenacity entirely worthy their intrepid commander.
Meanwhile what few British guns remained pounded away, and were
silenced one by one as the men who worked them fell dead at their post.
The enemy’s cavalry then proceeded to decimate the already sorely
depleted ranks of the 74th.
At this moment the 19th Light Dragoons, under Colonel Maxwell, were
hurled at Sindhia’s troops. The charge turned the fate of the day.
What remained of the 74th rallied under the support thus given, and
when Wellesley led the 78th into action the village fell. An attempt
was made by the enemy to rally, but it was too late. Men who, with true
Oriental cunning, had fallen as though killed in order to avoid the
oncoming British cavalry as they charged, and had escaped the iron-shod
hoofs of the horses, rejoined the ranks, only to find that the day
had been lost. The whole body was soon flying helter-skelter from the
blood-stained field towards Burrampur, abandoning artillery, baggage,
ammunition--everything that precluded swift movement. Twelve hundred of
the Marhattás breathed their last on this memorable day.
In fighting this battle--“the hardest-fought affair that ever took
place in India”--o’er again in the twilight of his days, the Duke
of Wellington made light of the indiscretions of the officers at
Assaye and remembered only their bravery. “I lost an enormous number
of men: 170 officers were killed and wounded, and upwards of 2000
non-commissioned officers and privates;[16] but we carried all before
us. We took their guns, which were in the first line, and were fired
upon by the gunners afterwards, who threw themselves down, pretending
to be dead, and then rose up again after our men had passed; but they
paid dearly for the freak. The 19th cut them to pieces. Sindhia’s
infantry behaved admirably. They were in support of his cannon, and we
drove them off at the point of the bayonet. We pursued them as long as
daylight lasted and the exhausted state of the men and horses would
allow; and slept on the field.”[17]
Wellesley himself, although not wounded, lost two horses. An
eye-witness has recorded that he had never seen “a man so cool and
collected as he was the whole time.” Stevenson arrived on the
following evening, and set out almost immediately to follow the enemy,
Wellesley being forced to remain owing to his lack of transport for the
wounded, whom he refused to leave. The Colonel seconded Wellesley’s
magnificent victory by reducing the fortress of Burrampur on the
16th October, and that of Asseerghur on the 21st. Wellesley covered
Stevenson’s operations and defended the territories of the Nizám and
the Peshwá. “I have been like a man who fights with one hand and
defends himself with the other,” he notes on the 26th October. “I have
made some terrible marches, but I have been remarkably fortunate:
first, in stopping the enemy when they intended to press to the
southward, through the Casserbarry ghaut; and afterwards, by a rapid
march to the northward, in stopping Sindhia, when he was moving to
interrupt Colonel Stevenson’s operations against Asseerghur; in which
he would otherwise have undoubtedly succeeded.”