Jones of the 64th: A Tale of the Battles of Assaye and Laswaree

CHAPTER XIV
A Glorious Victory

Jogging along on his fine Mahratta horse, now showing some trace of the hard work it had done on this eventful day, with the troopers of his regiment behind him and Mulha somewhere near at hand, Owen passed with the army of Wellesley, if such a term could be given to the handful of men who formed the command, down the face of the Mahratta army. And like all his comrades, whether of the non-commissioned ranks or otherwise, he was filled with an indescribable feeling of elation. The chances of victory were small. Utter defeat seemed to face the gallant division marching to the banks of the Kaitna, and but for the stalwart figure of Wellesley at the head of the line confidence might well have been shaken. But not a man hung back. The soldiers in the ranks of the two Highland regiments following in the wake of the General displayed the utmost courage and coolness. They might have been marching to take their position on a parade ground, and not to hurl themselves against fifty-five thousand of the enemy. They joked, called loudly to one another, and laughed as they watched the hurried movements of Scindia's battalions.

"See you later, I hope," sang out Jack Simpson jovially as his Sepoy battalion filed past our hero.

"We've got a nut to crack to-day, old fellow, and we shall be lucky if we manage it. Look at the General!"

He laughed aloud as he pointed with his drawn sword to the figure of the commander, then in the very act of guiding his horse down the bank and into the river. "Ah! There go the guns! Well, good-bye for the present, and mind you and those boys of yours make the most of your horses."

He was gone with another wave of his sword and a shout of farewell, and very soon Owen saw the gallant young fellow wading through the river. By then the guns of the enemy had opened with a rapid and fierce fire which began to have its effect, for men and animals were falling. Some of the shot even reached the ranks of the cavalry where they were drawn up beside the entrance to the ford, and Owen felt a sudden thrill of fear and pity as a trooper a few paces to his right tottered and fell, a shapeless mass, from his saddle.

"War! That's war, my lad," said the Adjutant, who happened to ride up to him a moment before. "You or I might have the same happen to us at any moment. A soldier has to expect such things. It is part of his life and his duty. Look at Scindia's men. They are changing front and making ready to oppose us. 'Pon my word, if we win to-day it will be the greatest battle ever fought in India. We are a mere handful compared with those battalions over there. Hah! That's better. There go the guns!"

It was indeed a glad sound to listen to when the British guns, some seventeen in number, having been dragged into position by their bullock-teams, opened against the enemy, vainly attempting to keep down the storm of shot issuing from the hundred huge brass pieces owned by Scindia. Owen fixed his eyes upon the guns, watching the flashes belching from the muzzles, the recoil of the weapons, and the fervid and furious haste of the gunners as they threw themselves upon the discharged piece, sponged it out, and ran in another charge.

"It's our turn now, Jones," said the Adjutant. "Bear in mind the fact that our infantry are the backbone of this little army, but that victory can hardly be complete without a force of cavalry. When we charge, charge home, through and through them. Lead your men at any number. Take no notice of odds, and you will find that the troopers will follow. They believe in their officers, and will ride with you anywhere. There! In a few hours perhaps we shall be rejoicing."

He jerked his rein and went off down the front of the cavalry, merry and confident. But the very fate which had befallen one of the troopers was soon to be his, for as the cavalry arm of the division trotted down to the ford, to the accompaniment of the booming of cannon, there was a crash at his feet, a blinding flash, and when the dense smoke had blown away, the jovial Adjutant of the 7th native cavalry lay dead, mangled by the shot of the enemy. Owen felt sad as he passed, and reverently uncovered his head. But his thoughts were soon distracted, for shot passed him every minute, and ere he had gained the far bank four of his men had fallen.

"Now we shall be in the middle of it," he thought. "The General has placed his men, and, hurrah! they are advancing!"

Was there ever such a bold venture undertaken by a British force! Wellesley had very coolly placed his force in two lines, the first comprising the 78th Highlanders and two Sepoy battalions, with advanced pickets to the right, while his second line comprised the 74th Highlanders and also two Sepoy battalions, while in rear of all were the 19th Light Dragoons and three slender cavalry regiments, of which Owen's corps formed one. As for the guns, they had by now practically ceased fire, for the enemy's pieces dominated the place, and had already shot down the majority of the draught teams. In addition, they were plying our thin lines with shell and grape, which were having a terrible effect. It looked as if all would be swept away. Then, too, Scindia had made arrangements to meet the move of his opponents. Seeing that it was his left which was threatened, he swung his battalions and guns round till they faced in a line drawn south and north, looking towards the junction of the two rivers, while a second line was at right angles to this and took up position on the south bank of the river Juah.

And now our first line was advancing, with the great Wellesley at its head – advancing against a force more than five times its own strength, for this portion of the Mahratta army was at least of that number. It was an amazing sight, and it is not to be wondered at that the French-trained battalions of Scindia gasped, that their officers were thunder-struck at such audacity, while Scindia felt sudden doubts. But whatever their thoughts, our men gave them little time to indulge in them. There was a flash along that stubborn little line as the bayonets came down to the charge. It was to be war this time with the cold steel, and the ominous sight caused a disturbance in the ranks of the enemy. The little force of attackers looked weirdly dangerous – its silence, the grim coolness of its leader and his men, struck dismay now into the hearts of the dusky Mahrattas. But for very shame they could not flee. They stood their ground, then hesitated ere the bayonets reached them, and gave way; this finely disciplined French-trained army shuddered at the sight of a kilted line of born fighters with their Sepoy comrades, and fled! And after them, plunging in amongst them with many a wild Highland yell, or with the high-pitched bellow of excitement to which the native gives vent, went the gallant fellows, slaying, dashing defiant groups aside, pouring with irresistible impetus over guns and crumpling up the advanced lines of the enemy. Not then did they pause, for there was still work to be done and they were eager for it. The fierce hail of cannon-shot and grape to which they had been subjected, and under which they had suffered severely, had left its sting in the ranks, and our men fought to conquer, laughing at the enormous odds – fought perhaps as they never fought before. They drove the first line back upon the second, stationed along the south bank of the Juah, and, heedless of the fact that their opponents were now increased, hurled themselves upon the doubled line, smashing it, sending it in utter rout across the river, where later our slender cavalry came upon the fleeing troops and completed the work. It was magnificent, if terrible. Chaos now reigned supreme in the neighbourhood of Assaye, and on every hand were fleeing men, cavalry and foot, stampeding horses and camels, bellowing oxen, and the thunder of guns. For the latter had opened again. All that had been accomplished had not been achieved in the space of a minute. Some time had passed since our men threw themselves upon the Mahratta main body; and as they swept on and drove the whole of the infantry force over the Juah, the gunners on the Mahratta side, practising a favourite trick, had thrown themselves beneath their guns as if they were slain. Once the troops had passed on, however, they sprang to their feet, and slewing the cannon round poured shot and shell into the victors. It was as if the contest had begun all over again, and the sight brought consternation for a moment to the minds of the British. Not for long, however. Wellesley, who seemed to be everywhere, placed himself at the head of the Ross-shire Highlanders, while Owen and his regiment galloped up to help. Then they retraced their steps under a murderous fire, and after a great struggle captured the guns. It was here perhaps that they met with the fiercest opposition, for the gunners and the infantry attached as their escort clung to their pieces manfully, while the former showed themselves to be skilled artillerists. However, they were swept aside, and the field was ours. The battle of Assaye was fought and won, and once again was British pluck and endurance successful.

When the whole tale came to be unfolded, it was hard to say which arm of our service had behaved the best. But that each had done their duty there could be little doubt. In any case, the cavalry came out of the conflict with added glory, for the 19th Dragoons, finding a huge force of Mahratta cavalry about to charge down upon the second line, composed of the 74th and Sepoys, who had suffered very severely under the fire of the enemy, hurled themselves headlong against the mass, turned the ranks of the horsemen, and drove the whole force into the river with frightful slaughter.

We had been engaged in deadly strife for upwards of three hours, and after the march which they had previously accomplished, one of twenty miles, in the heat of the sun too, it can be imagined that our fine fellows were exhausted. But they had much to compensate them, for they had thrashed a magnificent force greatly outnumbering them, and equipped in a manner which aroused the envy of all our officers. They had captured ninety-eight guns, the camp of the enemy, and numerous animals, not to mention seven standards and a huge mass of stores. And this victory had cost us more than a third of our force in killed and wounded, while the enemy left almost as many dead on the field, the countryside being covered in all directions with their wounded. Thus was Scindia's power checked, and the reader will not feel surprise to read that this chief soon showed a wish to make peace with the British.

Cornet Jones of the 7th native cavalry bore his part manfully in the various phases of the strenuous fight, and for the first time in his life learned what it was to charge home with a handful of men into the clustered ranks of a mounted enemy charging in the opposite direction. At an early hour in the struggle he and his troopers, following the other troops of the regiment, had splashed through the Juah and had spread out into line, when they had dashed through and through the fleeing foot-soldiers of Scindia. That had been simple work, though it wanted a good horseman to sit his animal and use his weapon effectively; and on one occasion the charge of the troop to which our hero was attached had almost proved its last, for of a sudden, having burst through a mass of footmen, it found itself confronted by a battalion of soldiers which had faced round and, encouraged by their officers and helped by their French training, were preparing to mow them down with their fire. There was not an instant to be lost, and the captain of the troop rode on without hesitation.

"Charge!" he shouted in Hindustani. "Don't give them the opportunity to get loaded. Charge home with the lance."

Owen jammed his hat well down on his head, gripped his sabre, and edged his horse a little in advance, so as to line up with his leader, for he rode in front of the left half of the troop. There was a fierce shout, in which he joined, standing high in his stirrups, and then the pace of the horsemen increased suddenly. Spurs went to the flanks of the panting beasts, and the line, solid, swarthy, and unbroken, bore down upon the enemy like a tornado. Owen saw the flash as the bayonets of the men of the French-trained battalion came down to the charge, he watched the officers turn and address their men encouragingly, and noted that they slipped into the ranks, for to have stayed in front would have been to be killed to a certainty. Then there was a sudden silence, while a line of dusky faces and gleaming Mahratta eyes seemed to stare into his. A flash and a rolling volley followed, while bullets swept through the air, screeching past his ear. There was a thud near at hand, and turning he was just in time to see his captain pitch forward on his head and lie doubled up in the grass, with his horse, half-killed, lying partially on him.

"The captain sahib is down!" shouted the native officer attached to the troop. "Sahib, you command!"

Owen was the leader. The troop depended upon him for its actions. All eyes followed his figure. In a flash he realised his responsibilities, and took them with unbounded eagerness. The bayonets were almost touching him now. He rose in his stirrups again, waved his sabre, and then plunging spurs into the flanks of his Mahratta horse he burst into the ranks of the enemy – cutting, cutting, cutting and slashing to right and left; never parrying, so far as he could remember, but always cutting and slashing, dashing here and there, and ever moving forward. They were through! The battalion had disappeared almost completely, and on every hand Mahratta enemies were bolting for their lives. Guns and accoutrements strewed the ground, there was a horse here and there plunging madly, and as Owen pulled at his rein and holding up his sabre brought the troop, or what remained of it, to a halt, a horse came thundering past them, its rider dragging at the end of the stirrup, bumping over the grass and rough ground, frantically endeavouring to free himself. How often has such a thing occurred on the field of battle! How many gallant fellows have lost their lives in such a manner! Crash! A Highlander who sat on his knees some little way off, evidently wounded, lifted his weapon and fired at the animal, bringing it to the ground.

"That is one of the French officers," said Owen. "Send two men to release him from the stirrup and bring him here. And send back four men for our officer. What are our losses?"

He beckoned to the native officer, and spoke to him sharply.

"There are six down," was the answer, "and the captain sahib is badly hurt. He is stunned, perhaps worse, by the fall, for his horse was hit. What will your movements be now, sahib? You are in full command."

Owen looked about him, for he could not forget that he belonged to the 7th regiment of cavalry, and his duty was to rejoin at the first opportunity. And very soon he was trotting away towards them, at the head of his men, while his late leader was being conveyed back to the lines of the British. It was then that the troop, now with diminished numbers, learned that a mass of horsemen, fully a thousand strong, was bearing down upon them, sent to revenge the defeat of the battalion which Owen and his men had just broken. There was no escaping. To flee would be to set the worst example. Owen's mind was made up in a minute.

"Shout and bring your lances down when I lift my sabre," he called out, as he trotted up and down the lines of his troop. "Mind! Shout, and bring the pennons down with a swing."

An old cavalry soldier had given him that piece of advice some weeks before, and in the hour of difficulty he remembered it. Placing himself at the head of the troop, he set out to meet the advancing horsemen at a trot, which soon increased to a steady canter. And as he advanced it was clear that the courage of this small force was already having its effect upon the horsemen of Scindia. There was an air of irresolution about them, and men on the flanks broke away, and, turning, galloped out into the plain, while their leader, a swarthy native, dressed in brilliant uniform and turban, pulled his own animal back a little closer to the leading rank, sure sign that he too was not as eager as he had been.

"They will break if we charge! Shout!"

Owen swung his sabre over his head and bellowed at the top of his voice. Then singling out the Mahratta leader he put his horse full at him, and meeting him end on rode over him, throwing horse and rider to one side as if they were as light as a feather. And after him swarmed the troopers, infected with the fire and dash of their young leader, their eyes flashing and their nostrils distended. Excellent masters of their horses, they kept their seats steadily, and sitting very low, plunged into the already disheartened ranks of the enemy with a crash and a shout which could be heard afar off. And once more they were successful. The horsemen melted away, and when five minutes had gone the field was clear and the troop was lined up again, standing at their horses' heads to give the animals a breather.

"Mr. Jones, I think? Gallantly led, Mr. Jones. I watched you break up the Mahratta battalion and the cavalry. Go and report to your commander, and say that the General has discovered that the guns are still in the hands of the enemy, and that he is about to lead the Highlanders back to capture them. Your commanding officer is to support with his cavalry. Ride now, and fast."

It was one of the staff officers, and Owen hardly waited to salute with his sabre. He swung himself into his saddle and shouted the order to mount. Then, nicely gathered together, in case of unforeseen attack, he took his troop over to the spot where the 7th were now collecting, and delivered his message.

"Truly a young fire-eater," said the staff officer as he rode on. "There is stuff behind that young officer. He allows his excitement to work him up to a point where he would charge an army with a handful, and yet he does not neglect method and due precaution. On a field like this, where caution must not be practised, where dash is the only element likely to succeed, and where loss of success means annihilation that young chap is just the man. A regular young fighter!"

He pencilled a note in his despatch-book and turned his horse to the spot where the Highlanders were gathering. And very soon the General and he were leading the men back against the guns. As for Owen, he fell in with his regiment, and rode back with them to the field, their beasts all white with heat after their exertions. And in the hour that followed he faced as murderous a fire of shot and grape as ever in his after-life, and when the action ceased and the enemy were beaten, found himself still the junior cornet of his regiment, but promoted to a higher place for all that, for some of the officers had perished.

"And I prophesy promotion to higher rank, Mr. Jones," said the Colonel, drawing him aside that evening, as the troop dismounted in the lines assigned to them. "The staff officer who witnessed your charge has been over to ask about you and report your conduct. I am pleased. More than pleased, Mr. Jones. It is seldom that I have seen a young officer rise to distinction so rapidly. These are the times for action, when a young fellow who has courage and go and who has discretion also can carve a way for himself in the world. It would not surprise me to hear that the General was about to reward your very gallant services."

Never before in his life had our hero been able even to imagine a battlefield after hostilities had ceased, and on this evening, as he carried out the duties assigned to him, this time in the absence of all fervour and excitement, his kindly young heart was rent many a time. For war cannot be waged without misery – misery on the field of conflict, and perhaps worse misery and destitution in the homes of those who have fallen. On the battlefield, however, the sights are so numerous that in time the old campaigner becomes accustomed to them, though none the less pitiful. And here was Owen, surrounded by wounded and killed, helping to bring in the men of his own regiment, and carrying water and cheerful messages to any man upon whom his search-party happened to stumble. It was dark by now, and they worked with the aid of torches or any lamp obtainable. The stretcher-bearers of the various companies had long since proved too few, while some had been shot down. And the regimental surgeons had so many upon their hands that long lines of wounded awaited their offices. There were groaning soldiers beneath each waggon and tent, and here and there they encountered some wretched Mahratta, dragging himself along painfully, in the vain hope of getting beyond the camp, little thinking or believing that the British succoured friend and foe alike. Yes, it was all very sad and heart-rending, and very very impressive to a young fellow like our hero. And in time he and his search-party came to a group of Highlanders, all in their shirt sleeves, engaged in burying comrades who had fallen some four hours before under the murderous fire of the French-trained gunners. Owen looked into the trench, saw the poor fellows laid out side by side, and turned sick and faint. For with all his dash he was but a young soldier, who loved the fight but was horrified by the sight that followed; whose heart was tender, and who in his softer and ordinary moods would have shrunk from causing pain to any one.

"Come over and have something to eat," said one of his brother officers, meeting the party at that moment and seeing at a glance the condition of the last-joined cornet. "A dram of spirit and something to fill your stomach will make you look on matters differently in a little while. Wait though. We will stay till the end of the service."

They stood beside the rough trench while an officer of the Highlanders, his bonnet beneath his arm, and his voice all shaky, read the service for the dead. Then they went back to their lines, the officer talking cheerfully all the way and speaking of the victory. He took Owen by the shoulder and made him sit down on the edge of an ammunition-box, and there watched as he drank the spirit and ate some of the rations which had been issued.

"No one is likely to want you after this, youngster," he said, "and so you will turn in. No? No argument, if you please. That is an order. Your servant will see to you."

He was led off by Mulha, and thoroughly worn out with all that had happened – with his adventurous morning ride, his fortunate discovery of the enemy, and the fierce conflict which had been waged – he very soon fell into a deep sleep. As for the kindly officer who had taken him in hand, when he and the other officers were gathered round the camp-fire that night there was no name more often on his lips than that of Owen Jones.

"I found him almost fainting as he saw those gallant Highlanders laid in their grave," said the officer, "and I can tell you it did me good to watch the lad. You've all heard how he charged right home to-day, how he found the enemy, and practically gave us the opportunity for which we have so long sought. Well, isn't it a good thing to know that behind all the lad's courage and dash there is a finer feeling still, and that he is man enough not to be ashamed to show it?"

"He is a credit to us," was the Colonel's answer. "Owen Jones is a capital fellow."