The Wellesley Family: Historical Scandals

The Wellesley Family: Historical Scandals, arose from my long-time interest in Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington, who is a significant secondary character in the Peninsular War Saga.

During my books, we follow Wellington through his early career in India and then on through the long years of the war in Spain and Portugal. We also follow him through his elevation to a knighthood, then a series of peerages, to when he becomes Duke of Wellington. Through my novels so far, he has been known as Lord Wellington, and for simplicity, that is how I’ll refer to him in this post. To confuse matters further, the family changed their name from Wesley to Wellesley during Wellington’s younger years. I’m going to use the more familiar Wellesley during this post. I’m also going to call the rest of the siblings by their first names, to avoid having to keep changing their various titles as they are elevated through the peerage. Because the Wellesley boys did very well for themselves.

Wellington was unusual among military commanders, in that he did not go home to England throughout the six years of the Peninsular War. It was a matter of choice, because he could perfectly well have done so during winter quarters, but it was very typical of Wellington to assume that if he left the army for even a short time, they would never manage without him. Wellington took micro-management to a whole new level.

His dedication means that in fictional terms, I’ve never really had reason to spend any time with the rest of his family. There is a brief mention of his wife in Dublin in book one, and we meet one of his brothers, Henry, in a short story. But in general, the rest of the Wellesley brothers and sisters were off living their lives. There was a good deal of correspondence between the family, both professional and personal. Richard, the eldest brother was a politician who held office during those years while Henry was a diplomat at the temporary Spanish court in Cadiz. The Wellesley brothers had varied and interesting careers, but they also had varied and interesting personal lives. Given the amount of scandal which happened in this one family, I can’t help wondering what went awry in their early years to make it so difficult for them to maintain good relationships.

The Wellesleys were born into an aristocratic Anglo-Irish family. Their father was Garret Colley Wesley, 1st Earl of Mornington and their mother was the Hon. Anne Hill-Trevor. The marriage was reportedly happy, despite his lack of financial sense and the couple had nine children, most of whom have some historical significance. Mornington died at the age of only forty-six leaving his family in financial difficulties, which led them to sell most of their Irish estates.

Two of the Wellesley’s children, Arthur Gerald and Francis did not survive into adulthood. Another daughter, Mary Elizabeth died unmarried at the age of twenty-two. The rest went on to marry and to have generally successful public lives. Four of the five brothers were elevated to the peerage, and all married at least once. Not all of those marriages were successful, however. The story of the Wellesleys, with its scandals, divorces, and duels, would make an excellent soap opera.

Richard Wellesley, second Earl of Mornington

Richard Wellesley succeeded his father as Earl of Mornington but he did not make the traditional marriage expected of a Peer. Instead, he lived with a French actress called Hyacinthe-Gabrielle Roland. The couple had three sons and two daughters and Richard finally married her in 1794. Hyacinthe joined him in London, but the marriage was not a success. Hyacinthe was shunned by polite society because of her irregular union with Richard as well as her relatively humble origins. She never learned to speak English and was probably very lonely, and at some point during their marriage, the couple separated and lived apart.

Hyacinte Gabrielle Roland
https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=150197

In addition to Hyacinthe, Richard had a teenage mistress by the name of Elizabeth Johnston, with whom he had two children. One of them, Edward, was born in 1796 just two years after Richard’s marriage, and later became his father’s private secretary.

Hyacinthe died in 1816 and nine years later Richard, who was by then sixty-five years old, married a young widow by the name of Marianne Patterson who was thirty-seven. Marianne was the daughter of a wealthy American merchant and it is possible that her fortune was part of her appeal for Richard, who was always short of money. There were rumours that the couple were already lovers before the wedding, and there had also been gossip linking her name with Wellington. Certainly she and Wellington were close friends, and he tried to persuade her not to marry Richard. Despite this, the marriage seems to have worked well and Richard finally found marital peace in his later years.

William Wellesley-Pole, third Earl of Mornington and first Baron Maryborough

William was the second of the surviving Wellesley brothers and served in the Royal Navy. In 1781 he inherited the estates of his godfather, William Pole on the condition that he change his name. William later inherited the Earldom when his elder brother died with no legitimate son.

William was married in 1784 to Katherine Elizabeth Forbes, the daughter of an admiral. The couple had four children and were said to have the only happy marriage of the four brothers.

Lady Anne Wellesley

Anne was first married at the age of twenty-two to Henry FitzRoy, son of the first Baron Southampton. The couple had two daughters and FitzRoy sadly died after only four years of marriage, in Lisbon of consumption. When Anne’s brother Henry came to Lisbon to escort Anne back home after the death of her husband, their ship was captured by the French and Anne and Henry were prisoners until Anne was released and Henry escaped the following year.

Four years later Anne made a second marriage to Charles Culling Smith, a politician and courtier, with whom she had two more children.

Anne was First Lady of the Bedchamber to the Duchess of York. There is a story that the Duke of York came home to Oatlands unexpectedly one day to find his wife and Charles Culling Smith in bed together. There was no public scandal, because the King insisted that the matter be hushed up. There was contemporary gossip about the affair, but it would seem that if it happened, it was very successfully hushed up indeed. Personally, I am doubtful about this one.

Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington

Wellington was the third of the Wellesley brothers, and apparently in his youth was the least promising. His mother could see no hope of great things from her son and encouraged a career in the army as the best she could do.

Wellington was a young and impecunious officer when he met the Honourable Catherine ‘Kitty’ Pakenham in Dublin. The couple apparently fell in love, but her family rejected his proposal on the grounds that he was the third son of a large family with limited prospects. Wellington withdrew and became absorbed in an increasingly successful military career, while Kitty became engaged to Galbraith Lowry Cole, the second son of the Earl of Enniskillen.

The couple did not meet again for ten years. During that time a lot had changed. Wellington had intimated that he still felt his attachment to Kitty, and that may have been the reason she broke off her engagement to Cole. She was also ill during this period and by the time she and Wellington met again, she was thin, pale and in poor health which was apparently a considerable shock to him. Nevertheless, the couple married in 1806 and had two sons.

The marriage was not a success. Kitty tried hard to please her sharp-witted, decisive husband, but was unable to do so. They had little in common and very quickly began to live separate lives. Kitty doted on her sons and adopted children while Wellington pursued his career. He went to the Peninsula in 1808 and then again in 1809 and did not return until 1814. By then, the gap between them had widened still further. Kitty’s interests were all domestic; Wellington was a public figure.

This did not mean that Wellington was without female company. There were rumours of flirtations and possible more with several married women during his time in India. Back in England, he conducted an affair with a famous London courtesan by the name of Harriette Wilson, whose later attempt to blackmail him apparently brought the very typical Wellington response of “Publish and be damned.”

Little is known of Wellington’s love life during his time in the Peninsula, although rumours suggested that he kept a mistress at headquarters during 1810. Possibly the gossip arising from that either taught him to avoid such relationships or to be more circumspect about them, because there do not seem to be any other such rumours through the rest of the war.

At the end of the war in 1814, Wellington was appointed ambassador to France and moved to Paris. During this time, he apparently had affairs with two women who had previously been lovers of Napoleon, an actress called Marguerite Georges and an opera singer named Giuseppina Grassini. Kitty joined him for a time but returned to London while Wellington attended the Congress of Vienna. After Napoleon’s escape brought war again in 1815, Wellington moved to Brussels to command the Allied forces.

There was a lively social scene in Brussels in the run-up to Waterloo, and scandal once again followed Wellington although much of this was probably no more than gossip. Lady Capel complained that Wellington “has not improved the morality of our society” due to his tendency to invite ladies of doubtful character to his parties. There was a reputed affair with Lady Frances Wedderburn-Webster, but she and her husband later brought a successful libel action against the St James Chronicle for printing the story. Wellington also developed a close friendship with Lady Georgiana Lennox, who was the twenty year old daughter of the Duchess of Richmond.

During the years following Waterloo, gossip continued to follow Wellington. His name was linked at different times with Lady Frances Shelley, Lady Caroline Lamb, Lady Charlotte Greville and his future sister-in-law, Marianne Patterson. It is impossible to know how many of these, if any, were actual affairs and how many were close and affectionate friendships. What is certain is that Wellington was capable of both. He seemed to be a man who liked the company of women, particularly intelligent and attractive women.

Mrs Harriet Arbuthnot was typical of this. Harriet was married to Charles Arbuthnot, a politician more than twenty years older than her, and was previously a close friend of Lord Castlereagh before he committed suicide in 1822. Harriet and Charles were Tories, and both became close to Wellington. Harriet and Wellington exchanged letters on a regular basis, and she frequently acted as his hostess and social secretary, particularly after Kitty’s death in 1831. Harriet was a diarist, and her observations have contributed greatly to our knowledge of Wellington as a man. Wellington was devastated at her early death of cholera in 1834. He and Charles Arbuthnot remained close, and Charles went to live with Wellington after Harriet’s death. There were undoubtedly rumours about Harriet’s relationship with Wellington, but these do not seem to have been taken seriously and very few people believe that they were anything more than close and devoted friends.

In his later years, Wellington continued the tradition of having close female friends, but he gave no sign of wanting to remarry, and took care, on the whole, to be circumspect about his relationships. He was close to Angela Burdett-Coutts, who apparently wanted to marry him, but Wellington seemed to prefer friendship to scandal. If there were liaisons, he kept them very quiet.

The Revd and Hon. Gerald Valerian Wellesley

The next of the Wellesley siblings was a churchman, who became Rector of St Luke’s, Chelsea and a prebendary of Westminster Abbey. In 1802 he married Lady Emily Cadogan and the couple had two children.

By 1818 however, the marriage had gone badly wrong. Emily is said to have had an affair initially with the Marquess of Anglesey and then to have discarded him for Lord Wallscourt, who was still in his teens and half her age. There is some doubt as to the exact date of the ending of Gerald’s marriage, and possibly because of his position in the church, he did not formally seek a divorce. It seems likely, however, that the scandal did not help Gerald’s repeated unsuccessful attempts to become a bishop.

The Hon. Henry Wellesley later first Baron Cowley

The Cadogan family was also involved in the marital scandal of the final Wellesley brother’s marriage. Henry Wellesley had a successful diplomatic career, but he was as unfortunate as the rest of his family in matters of the heart.

In 1803 Henry married Lady Charlotte Cadogan, who was the sister of Lady Emily Cadogan, the wife of his brother Gerald. The couple had three sons and a daughter. However, in 1808, Charlotte began an affair with Lord Paget. He was forty and she was twenty-seven. When Henry Wellesley became suspicious and confronted his wife in 1809, Charlotte left her family and placed herself under Paget’s protection.

The scandal was huge. Both couples were divorced, with Henry being awarded £20,000 in damages from Paget, a step which seems bizarre to us, but was common at the time. Paget and Charlotte were married in 1810 and Paget’s former wife Caroline soon married the Duke of Argyll.

The scandal blighted Paget’s career for some years. He was a talented cavalry officer but was unable to serve in the Peninsula under Wellington because of bad blood between the two families. His younger brother, Sir Edward Paget did, however, even acting as Wellington’s second-in-command. By the time of Waterloo, Wellington was obliged to accept him as cavalry commander. By then Paget had succeeded to the title of Lord Uxbridge and lost his leg during the engagement.

As mentioned above, Uxbridge apparently went on to have an affair with Emily Wellesley, wife of Gerald Wellesley. The date of this is unclear, but Emily was his wife’s sister, and was married to the brother of the man he had cuckolded in 1809 which makes the whole thing extraordinarily tacky.

In March 1809, Charlotte’s brother Henry Cadogan challenged Paget to a duel, accusing him of having dishonoured his sister. The two men fought on Wimbledon Common. Paget deliberately fired wide, and honour was considered satisfied. By the time Paget embarked on an affair which helped to ruin his other sister’s marriage, Cadogan was dead, fighting bravely under Wellington at Vitoria.

In 1816 Henry married again, this time to Lady Georgiana Cecil, daughter of the Marquess of Salisbury. The two families were already close, and Henry’s second marriage appears to have been happy.

The Wellesleys were not the only family in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century to become embroiled in scandal, but they do seem to have been unusually prone to it. While only one of them was formally divorced, all but William seem to have been unhappy one way or another. Richard and Wellington lived apart from their wives for many years and conducted extra-marital affairs very openly. Henry went through a painful divorce. Gerald was never formally divorced but was separated from his unfaithful wife. Anne’s second husband was rumoured to have been unfaithful with a member of the royal family.

It is hard not to speculate why the Wellesleys found marriage so difficult. Their parents apparently had a reasonable happy union, but their father died early, when Richard was only 21 and Henry was 8. Possibly the ensuing financial hardship made the boys focus on success and money, which gave them less time for their wives. Perhaps they were simply unfortunate in the choices they made. Or perhaps there was something in the Wellesley temperament, which made them impatient, critical, and difficult to live with. Certainly in the case of Wellington there is some evidence of that.

Whole books have been written about the life and loves of the Duke of Wellington. His brothers and sister are less well known to popular history, but were significant characters in their era. This post is a light-hearted look at the best-known scandals surrounding the Wellesley family, but there was a great deal more to them than that, and I recommend any of the books below for people wanting to know more. From the point of view of a historical novelist, the Wellesleys were an interesting family and definitely one with enough historical scandals to fill a novel or two in their own right.

Bibliography:

Wellington: the path to victory Rory Muir (Yale, 2013)

Wellington: Waterloo and the fortunes of peace (Yale 2015)

Wellington: the years of the sword Elizabeth Longford (Smithmark, 1996)

Wellington: pillar of state Elizabeth Longford (Harper 1972)

The Duke of Wellington and Women by Shannon Selin

There is a book entitled Architects of Empire: the Duke of Wellington and his brothers by John Severn (University of Oklahoma Press, 2007) which I didn’t manage to get hold of in time to write this post, although it is mentioned in some of my other sources and I would like to read it at some point.

I’ve given a specific link to a blog post by Shannon Selin about the Duke of Wellington and his relationships with women, but I highly recommend reading some of her other posts about Wellington, because they are all excellent.

23rd September 201823rd September 2018

The Battle of Assaye

The Battle of Assaye was fought on 23rd September 1803 and was a major victory for Arthur Wellesley, then a relatively young and inexperienced general. He was later to claim it as one of his most impressive victories. In the Peninsular War Saga, it is Paul van Daan’s first major battle at the head of the 110th light company and the start of a long association with the man who was to become the Duke of Wellington. This is an excerpt from An Unconventional Officer.

In the dim light of Wellesley’s briefing room, the following morning, Paul was aware that he was the youngest and by far the least experienced of the officers present, but he knew that the previous day’s action had earned him his place there. His chief called on him, and Paul stood up and walked to the front where Wellesley’s aide had pinned a sketch map of the area. Briefly Paul outlined the events of the previous day and pointed out the troop locations he had seen.
“Thank you, Captain van Daan. Gentlemen, we’re going to make a fight of it,” General Wellesley said calmly. “Here, on the edge of Assaye.”
There was a stunned silence around the briefing room. “Sir – what about Colonel Stevenson?” Maxwell said. There was no sign of the raging hangover he deserved. “Shouldn’t we wait for him? Our force is split in two.”
Wellesley fixed Colonel Maxwell with an arctic gaze. “Surprisingly, Colonel, I am aware of that,” he snapped. “Two of our scouts went out last night. They report that it is possible that the Maratha army may be pulling out. I don’t want to lose this opportunity. We have the element of surprise. I’d intended to join up with Stevenson at Borkadan but I’m not waiting for him, he’ll join us when he can, I’ve sent a message.” He motioned to his aide who picked up another sketch map and pinned it to the wall. “Gentlemen, my plan of battle.”
“It’s suicide!” John Wheeler said later, as Paul outlined the general’s orders to his officers in his tent.
“Not necessarily,” Paul said. “Wellesley is ambitious but he’s not stupid. If we wait for Stevenson this campaign could drag on for months. He’s fairly sure that the irregular forces won’t stand for long. Scindia’s infantry probably will, but with good discipline we can take them.”
“Where does he want us?” Carl asked.
“At the rear initially, with the 19th and the Madras cavalry. He’s leaving half a battalion of sepoys here to guard the baggage and the camp. The other half will fight under us while Johnstone takes the rest of the 110th. Wellesley wants fast manoeuvrable troops ready to move in and plug any gaps. He’s going ahead with a cavalry escort to reconnoitre the Maratha position. The rest of us follow. We have about two hours, gentlemen, get them ready.”
The Maratha chiefs had positioned their army in a strong defensive position along a tongue of land stretching east from Borkadan between the Kailna River and its tributary the Juah. Their army was commanded by a Hanoverian mercenary by the name of Anthony Pohlmann, apparently a former East India Company sergeant, who had positioned his infantry to the east of the Maratha camp in the plains around Assaye on the southern bank of the Juah. As Wellesley approached with his cavalry escort in the late morning it was clear that he was facing the entire combined army.
The weather was clear. It had rained during the night, and the day was cooler than average, although out on the river plain with his men, watching the Maratha and Wellesley easing their troops into position, Paul was already hot enough. Mosquitoes, the permanent irritation of India, were particularly prevalent towards the end of the monsoon season and up and down the line Paul could see his men swatting irritably at the creatures.
Pohlmann was deploying his infantry battalions in a line facing southwards behind the steep banks of the Kailna with his cannon arrayed directly in front. The great mass of Maratha cavalry was kept on the right flank leaving the irregular infantry to garrison the village of Assaye to the rear. The only obvious crossing point over the river was a small ford directly ahead of the Maratha position, and it appeared that Pohlmann was hoping to funnel the British and Madras troops across the ford into the mouth of his cannon, and then on to the massed infantry and cavalry behind. The local guides assured the general that no other ford existed nearby, but any frontal assault would have been suicide. While reconnoitring, Wellesley had noticed two unguarded villages on each bank of the Kaitna beyond the Maratha left, and it became obvious that there was a second ford. Wellesley led his army east to the crossing in an attempt to launch an attack on Pohlmann’s left flank.
At around three o’clock the British crossed to the northern bank of the Kaitna unopposed apart from a distant fire from the Maratha cannon. Once across, Wellesley ordered his six infantry battalions including most of the 110th to form into two lines, with his cavalry as a reserve in a third along with Paul’s light company and sepoy infantry. His Mysore cavalry were ordered to remain south of the Kaitna to keep an eye on a group of Maratha cavalry, which hovered around the rear.
“He’s not going to let us get away with that,” Carl commented, studying the distant Maratha troops through a small telescope. “See, he’s already swinging around to create a new line.”
He was right, Paul saw. Pohlmann swung his infantry and guns through 90 degrees to establish a new line spread across the isthmus with his right flank on the Kaitna and the left on Assaye. It was a good defensive move, which would protect his flanks, Paul thought, but it negated some of the advantage of his superior numbers. “They’re moving fast,” he said, watching the enemy’s redeployment with appreciation. “Hookey needs to get a move on or we’ll be outflanked.”
The same thought had obviously occurred to the general who immediately extended his front to avoid the danger. A battalion of pickets and the 74th Highlanders, which formed the right of the first and second lines, were ordered to move to the right. This allowed the 78th Highlanders to cover the left flank and the four Madras infantry battalions plus the rest of the 110th foot to form the centre of the British line.
The Maratha cannonade was intensifying and beginning to do some damage. Initially Wellesley ordered his own artillery forward to counter the attack but it was not powerful enough to be effective. The guns were turned onto the infantry, pounding them with canister, grape and round shot and Paul moved his horse forward restlessly, feeling powerless as the guns punched into the British lines. It was infuriating to be so far back with no part to play in the battle.
It was impossible from the rear to see everything that was going on, although occasionally messages would come through via horsemen. Wellesley was a commander who liked to move freely around the battlefield in person, relaying orders to his various commanders, but he could not be everywhere. A young ensign from the 78th had been sent back out of harms way with a badly wounded arm. He slid from his horse, blood dripping, and Paul and Carl both ran forward to assist him. Carl eased him out of his coat and Paul staunched the flow of blood, and sent O’Reilly running for bandages.
“What’s happening?”
“The infantry has advanced with bayonets,” the ensign said. “We’ve taken heavy fire, but we’re holding our own and moving forward. I got this when we charged the gunners. It’s going well but we’re taking losses. The sepoys are a bit wild; two of the Madras battalions took off in pursuit but we got them back. I want to get back there.”
“Well, you can’t, lad, not when you can’t hold a musket or a sword,” O’Reilly said, winding a bandage carefully around the wound. “Sit down, drink some water and take a breath. You’ve done your share.”
Paul was conscious of rising sounds of battle coming from the English right. He ran back to his horse and swung himself into the saddle, reaching for his telescope. The other officers and some of the men began to cluster around him.
“What in God’s name is happening?” Paul said. He was watching the steady advance of the pickets ahead of the 74th and it was clear that something was going badly wrong on the right. While he had been dealing with the injured ensign, Colonel Orrock had begun his advance in charge of the pickets who were to clear the way for the 74th Highlanders heading towards the right. It was clear now that he had either misunderstood his orders or mistaken his way, because he was marching too far to the right in direct line with the guns in and around Assaye. The King’s 74th had followed their pickets, and under the appalled gaze of the 110th light company they were being slaughtered on the field.
The pickets had already been almost completely annihilated. Even from this distance Paul could see their bloody bodies piled up, with the Highlanders scrambling over them to advance. Despite the horrific casualties, with iron and lead cutting into them they had reached as far as the low cactus hedge about a hundred yards out from the village but they could go no further. It was insanity and Paul felt a cold fury that nobody had realised the mistake and stopped the advance sooner.
“Maxwell!” Paul bellowed. He was too enraged to consider the proprieties of rank. “We need to charge, man, they’re being slaughtered over there.”
Colonel Maxwell rode up to join him. “Waiting for orders from Wellesley,” he said. His voice betrayed his anxiety. “They’ll come.”
“How the hell can you be sure? We need to go in now before they’re all dead!” Paul could not take his eyes from the horror unfolding before him. The 74th could go no further. They were rallying around their colours now, forming a square. He could see them pulling the bodies of their dead comrades to form a rough rampart around them. And then there was a yell, and the Maratha cavalry charged, followed closely by two of Pohlmann’s regular battalions, and the Highlanders were fighting with bayonet, fighting for their lives. Paul felt sick. He looked at the colonel.
“I’m not waiting,” he said, and raised his voice. “Light Company, to me! Form line! Native third battalion, fall in behind!”
The men had been waiting for the order. Paul dismounted, handed the reins of his horse to his orderly and drew his sword. The light company fell into rank with the precision of a clockwork toy with the sepoys lined up behind them as they set out at a steady pace across the battlefield. Paul scanned the battle, picking out the crumbling lines of the highlanders.
Behind him Paul could hear Maxwell bellowing orders and he grinned. Within two minutes the colonel was riding up beside him.
“If Wellesley court martials me for this, I’m taking you down with me, you arrogant young bastard!” he told Paul, and gave the order to charge, his men overtaking the light company on both sides and thundering down towards the enemy.
The cavalry smashed into the rear of the Maratha lines and Paul waved to O’Reilly. “Michael, we’re going to cut across and plug the gap left between the 74th and the 10th. Don’t let them split our line any further. Let the dragoons do the slaughter. It’s our job to stand firm. And watch those bloody gunners, I don’t trust them as far as I can kick them. Get through to the Highlanders and protect their left.”
Covering the ground quickly, they arrived at the battle zone to discover fierce fighting between the dragoons and the Maratha light cavalry. The remains of the Highlanders were barely on their feet, and Paul could see none of their officers. Through the thick of the fighting the light company slashed their way with sword and bayonet, and under orders bellowed by the NCOs they formed a barrier between the cavalry and the beleaguered 74th. Paul was appalled at the number of casualties. The dead lay piled up, impeding their advance. The guns were deafening, and the smoke obscured friend from foe. Paul stabbed a sepoy who was charging him down, then swung around and slashed at two more. There were screams from the Maratha cavalry who were under savage attack from the dragoons.
The smell of blood and sweat and the acrid scent of fear hung heavy in the air. A horse screamed in pain, then the guns crashed again. Cries of agony told Paul that his right flank was hit.
“We need to shut these bastards up and let the cavalry do their job,” he said to Carl. “Sergeant, ten men and with me. Carl, Johnny, line them up and cut down anything that tries to get past you, I don’t want a sabre up my arse. Carl, when we’re through, try to bring the men up to secure the guns. It’ll give the dragoons the chance to do their work.”
Paul led his men through the fray at a cautious run. The gunners on the far right had no need to aim any more. The packed mass of advancing British presented an easy target. They were concentrating their fire on the advancing 110th and the remains of the Highlanders, avoiding the battle raging between the two lots of cavalry so that they did minimum damage to their own men. There were three guns in his sight. Paul crouched low behind a small clump of cacti. He felt O’Reilly’s hand on his arm.
“Easy, sir. Wait until they’re reloading. The timing is as reliable as our own men shooting a volley, I’ll count you in.”
Paul nodded. “On my mark,” he said over his shoulder. “Go for the gunners on the right first, then work across to the left.”
“Make sure every one of the bastards is dead,” the Irishman instructed. “They’re the devil for playing dead, and before you know it they’re shooting you in the arse. If in doubt, cut their throats. Hard to get up from that one. Watch for them hiding under the bodies. Now here we go. One, two three…”
The gunners were quick and efficient at loading, but Paul and his men were on them before they were halfway through the process. Each gun had a small group of sepoys defending it, but they were no match for the enraged light company, and the gun was silenced within five bloody minutes. Paul stood for a moment catching his breath, glancing around him. The ground was saturated with blood and eight gunners and their guards lay dead.
“Well done, sir,” his sergeant said. He was wiping blood from his hands down his tunic.
“All dead. Bryant, Smith, stay to guard it until the lads come up. Kill anything you don’t like the look of.”
“Aye, sir,” Smith said. He was a fearsome sight, covered in blood, his bayonet held in steady hands. “That include Bryant, sir, ‘cause he’s an ugly bastard?”
“After you’ve done with the Maratha,” Paul said with a grin. “Come on, Michael, let’s find ourselves another gun.”
The fight was harder now, as they were cutting through the remains of the Maratha infantry. The sepoys were fierce fighters, but they seemed leaderless and backed off from the savage assault of the light company bayonets more easily than expected. The second set of guns was in sight when Paul felt an agonising pain in his left thigh. He stumbled and fell, rolled over onto his back and slashed up at a sepoy who was lunging down at him with fixed bayonet. The man screamed and fell, blood spurting. Paul sat up and felt cautiously at his leg.
“Sir, you all right?” Private Cooper pulled up in his headlong run and offered his hand to Paul. Paul got up, nodding.
“Musket ball, I think,” he said, probing and wincing. “I’ll live. Let’s get moving.”
The light company reached the second set of guns and swarmed over the gunners in seconds. There was less noise now, although across to the left he could hear that the guns he had thought silenced by the advance of the 78th had started up again. He glanced at Michael, who shrugged.
“Told you,” he said. “Not dead enough.”
“They will be,” Paul said grimly. “Wellesley is over there; I can see him. He’ll shut them up. Are this lot done?”
“Aye, and it’ll get easier now. The heart is out of them. Can’t see any officers about either. Perhaps it was getting too dirty for their pretty French uniforms. Look here’s Smithy. Is the gun secure, lad, or have you run away from Bryant?”
“Bryant’s down. Some bastard cavalryman came through running scared and slashed him on the way.”
“Dead?” O’Reilly asked.
“Didn’t look good, Sarge. Poor bastard.” Smith glanced at Paul. “Mr Swanson and the lads are through, sir, sends his compliments and says you’re to get a bloody move on.”
Paul was trying not to think about Bryant’s laughing face only fifteen minutes earlier. “Come on then.”
“Are you all right, sir?” the sergeant said, indicating Paul’s leg.
“I’ll be fine.” Paul tested it. It hurt badly, but he had not lost strength and it was bleeding sluggishly. He had no idea of what damage had been done, but he did not need to stop now. He began to run. It was bearable. He was conscious of the Irishman keeping pace with him, making sure he did not fall, and shot an appreciative grin his way. O’Reilly’s thin face was grimly amused.
“You’re a hard young bastard,” he said.
“You’ve the navy to thank for that,” Paul replied, dodging a sepoy who was lying on the ground trying to stab upwards into his stomach. He despatched the man quickly and ran on.
They overran the guns more quickly now with no further casualties, and joined up with the 78th. A major Paul knew slightly saluted him, pulling out a canteen and gulping down water. “Captain van Daan. They’re quieter over on the right than they were, it seems. Would your ruffians have something to do with that?”
“Maybe, sir. We came in to support the 74th but the dragoons were doing a good job so we went for the guns.”
“Lose many?”
“I don’t know yet. One man down defending the first gun, but we took some heavy shooting to our right. We’ll not get out of it unscathed.”
“None of us will, laddie. They’re on the run now. Their French officers took off, no discipline left. Eyes right, the general is approaching.”
Wellesley reined in. He looked exhausted and the horse he was riding was not the one he had set out on that morning.
“Major McTavish, Captain van Daan.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well done, sirs. You’re hurt, Captain van Daan.”
“Not serious, sir.”
“Good, good. I sent a man over to send you into battle, but he couldn’t find you.”
Paul glanced up at him warily. “I was around, sir,” he said.
“Yes.” Wellesley studied him with thoughtful blue grey eyes. Finally, to Paul’s relief, his lips twitched slightly. “You anticipated correctly, Captain. You might not always be right, however. I prefer my officers to await orders.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did Colonel Maxwell…”
“No, sir,” Paul said definitely. We went in ahead of him, he waited for your orders, sir.”
Wellesley shook his head. “You’re a bloody liar, Captain, as you know very well. I’ve sent Wallace to rally the remains of the 74th and get them out of the range of those guns. Although they’re not doing much damage on this side, but they’ve started up again on the left, firing at our rear. Harness is taking the 78th back to recapture them. Captain, are your men able to join them?”
“Yes, sir.” Paul nodded to his sergeant who took off at a run to summon the rest of the light company.
“Good, let’s get those guns back. God knows what the cavalry are doing!”
Paul turned to follow his gaze and realised that having done their work, Maxwell’s troopers seemed to have gone out of control and crossed the Juah, with their colonel following them. “They all right over there, sir?”
“I sincerely hope so, I could rather do with them over here! What is wrong with officers of the cavalry, Captain? Why can they never follow a simple order?”
Despite himself, Paul grinned at the General’s exasperated tone. “I might not be the best person to ask that today, sir.”
The rest of the light company were approaching with Carl at their head. There were familiar faces missing in their ranks. With a sinking feeling Paul realised that he could not see Sergeant Stewart or Lieutenant Wheeler.
While the 78th and the 110th light company attacked from the West, Wellesley himself rode to the 7th native cavalry, the only mounted troops Maxwell had left on the field, and led them from the East. The attack was short and brutal, and for one sickening moment it looked as though the general himself was lost, as his horse went down under a pike. Shaken but undeterred, Wellesley was up again and mounted on his third horse of the day and the light company leaned against the carriages of the recovered guns and caught their breath…