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

"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."

CHAPTER XV

Holkar the Treacherous

"The sahib's coffee. In an hour it will be light."

Mulha, the faithful Mahratta who acted as servant to Owen, kneeled at the feet of the figure rolled in a blanket beside the fire, and wakened his master with a gentle touch of the hand. "Chota hazree, sahib," he said. "Rise and warm yourself before the fire. In a little while it will be time to be starting."

Owen yawned and sat up lazily. Then he opened his eyes with a start, and remembering where he was, leaped to his feet, throwing off the blanket which covered him.

"I had forgotten. I was dreaming," he said. "Are the men up?"

"See them, sahib. They have groomed and fed the horses. They are now eating, and within half an hour will be ready to mount. It will still be dark then."

"And we must be off again as soon as we can see. Good coffee, Mulha. You're a capital fellow! One wants something really hot on a morning like this, for it must be nearly freezing."

Owen paced up and down as he ate his little breakfast, the cup of coffee and the piece of cake or toast with which Europeans in the East are wont to commence the day. He stamped his feet to restore the circulation, and shivered, for the chill air before the rising of the sun bit keenly. And as he paced to and fro his eye went ever and anon to the busy scene about him. Some twenty native troopers, for the most part still swathed in their blankets, for the native feels the chill air even more than does the European, were bustling round and about the half-dozen fires which blazed amongst the trees. Some were grooming their horses, while others had already performed that duty and were settling saddles and kit in right position. Stalwart and soldierly-looking were these men, and as our hero inspected them he felt proud – proud that he was part of the regiment to which they belonged, and prouder still that he, Cornet Jones, of the 7th native cavalry, was in full command of them. It was a red-letter day in his life, and he was determined to make the most of his opportunity. For reward had come his way, as the colonel of his corps had prophesied, and a special mission, of some gravity, had been entrusted to him. It was on the second morning following the magnificent victory at Assaye, when the camp and surroundings were beginning to assume an orderly appearance, that a trooper, one of the General's bodyguard, rode over to the lines of the 7th, and wending his way in amongst the horses and the tents, finally drew up in front of the tent allocated for orderly-room work.

"From the General," he said, as he handed in a note.

The Colonel tore it open as he lifted his eyebrows in surprise, for it was somewhat early for a message from headquarters, and there was little stirring after the victory, Scindia and his men having taken themselves away. Then he called loudly for his own orderly and gave him a message.

"Call the sahib, Cornet Jones," he said shortly, "and send him to me." Ten minutes later our hero found himself outside the tent occupied by General Wellesley, standing before that redoubtable officer and two members of his staff. And once again Owen was filled with that indescribable feeling approaching fear. For the General seemed to read him as if he were a book, and before this man, whose name was destined to become a household one throughout the civilised world, a humble cornet, however high his spirits, was apt to feel immeasurably small and insignificant. However, he managed to return the glance of the General with his accustomed frankness, and a moment later was listening to his words.

"We have to thank you, Mr. Jones, for the very valuable discovery which you and your men made for us in locating Scindia," said the General slowly. "But for that information, reaching me as it did in convenient time, this campaign might have been greatly extended in this area. I am informed also that you handled a troop of the 7th very well. In fact, that you took them through one of the French-trained battalions, and afterwards against a large force of horsemen. I note those acts while telling you that such behaviour is only what I expect of every officer, and indeed there is little doubt that at Assaye all under my command behaved nobly. But your name has now been brought to me on more than one occasion, and I must take some notice of that. You are young, but, I understand, quite an old soldier now. It is too early for you to receive the promotion which is your due, and I have therefore sent your name forward in my despatches, recommending that you be gazetted to the rank of captain, such gazette to date from the time when the despatch reaches the Governor-General."

Owen breathed heavily. A mist rose in front of his eyes, while one of his legs would insist on twitching, so that he had the utmost difficulty in remaining strictly at attention. The General and his officers, as they looked keenly at him, noticed that Cornet Jones's colour had suddenly heightened, and that there was a little movement at the corner of his sensitive mouth. They guessed that the information just imparted had somewhat upset our hero. But they did not know that in the mist still hanging before his eyes appeared the figure of the fine sergeant who had fought for him when a boy, stalwart and gallant, the upholder of all that was right, manly, and honourable, and beside his red tunic the elegant form of Mr. Halbut, the powerful Director, his friend, who had lifted him from the gutter, and who, standing aside to watch how he fared, was ever ready with his encouragement. In a flash his words occurred to Owen: "Let the lad rise by his own exertions. I will use no personal interest, sergeant. If there is stuff in him, let him prove it to us."

"I was saying that the gazette would date from the time of the despatches reaching the Governor," said the General, after a little pause, for he saw that Owen was distressed. "I also added that if His Excellency were so minded – and I fully recommended the course – the gazette might with fairness be antedated to the very day of Assaye. It will be a matter of some three months perhaps before we have an answer, and by then, Mr. Jones, you will be more experienced and able to bear promotion. And now, I have something else to say."

He turned to his staff officer and took a map from him, which he placed so that Owen could see it plainly. "This is Indore, Mr. Jones," he continued. "That is where Holkar has his headquarters. No doubt you have heard of him as a powerful chieftain, and robber, I might almost add. We have fears that he will raid the possessions of the Company at any time, and we desire to have information of his movements. You will obtain a despatch from this office, and will ride to Indore. There you will see this Mahratta chief, and amplify what I have said in the despatches. You will be able to tell all that there is to say about the battle of Assaye, and the sweeping defeat suffered by Scindia. When that task is done you will ride on to General Lake, who is in the neighbourhood of the city of Delhi, and will acquaint him with the progress of these operations. That will do, thank you, Mr. Jones."

Owen followed the course of his journey on the map, saluted, and was about to turn when the General arrested him with a movement of his hand.

"You will understand that the mission is a difficult and delicate one," he said, still in the same even tones, as if speaking of an everyday occurrence. "This Holkar is not to be trusted. He might murder an envoy instead of welcoming him, and you will therefore carry your life in your hands. I have chosen you for certain reasons, and because you speak the Mahratta tongue. You may decline the task if you wish, for I could not give a definite order for such a dangerous mission."

He turned on his heel, curtly acknowledging Owen's salute. But this kind-hearted and brilliant general was an astute leader, as he had already proved, and he knew to a nicety the gallant feelings which filled Cornet Jones's breast, ay, and that of every officer in his command. The mission was a dangerous one, and Owen had been selected partly because of the reputation he had so early won and partly because of his facility with the language. The General knew well enough that this young officer, overrunning with zeal and enthusiasm, would have accepted the most forlorn of forlorn hopes with eagerness.

"You say that the lad has shown shrewdness?" he asked his staff officer as they entered the tent. "You have heard that said of him?"

"I have, sir," was the answer. "The Major who came out from home with him told me of his little adventure in Sumatra, and of his well-devised plan of escape. The lad started young, sir, and has seen much for his age. A hard life when he was a mere boy sharpened his wits, and now there is something more to spur him on and keep him up to the mark. He has a friend at home whose commendation is more to him even than yours, and you will see his object is to rise."

That was why Owen was away from the camp, and why the fires which he and his men had lit were now out of sight of the army at Assaye. He had twenty men and Mulha, and they were already beyond the reach of their friends and traversing a country which was undoubtedly still occupied by large bodies of the enemy. And their destination was Indore in the first place, and afterwards the army under General Lake.

"Time to move," he said at last, as he walked to the edge of the wide tope of trees and looked out into the open. "There comes the light, and we want to make the utmost of it. To horse there. Mount!"

In a compact little body, their lances carried in the rest and their pennons blowing out bravely in the breeze, the little force kept on its way all that day, trotting a few miles and then walking their horses, and halting to slacken girths every three hours, for to obtain the best work from a horse he needs as much and more consideration than does the rider. Owen was as yet somewhat strange to the management of horses, but his men were masters with the animals, and thanks to their teaching he had already commenced to learn that a careful rider is as mindful of his mount's comfort as of his own. He will see that the bit fits well, neither too tight nor too loose, that the saddle sits well down and does not rest upon the prominent portions of the back, and if possible that some sort of ventilation is obtained beneath the saddle. In a hot country, too, where linings are apt to become saturated with use, and where ridges and lumps are prone to form in consequence, the horseman does well to inspect such matters constantly.

"It will take us a week to get to Indore, I calculate," said Owen that evening as they made their camp in another convenient tope of trees, for it was their aim and object to avoid observation. "That is, of course, if we are not molested. I believe the General is of opinion that Scindia will be anxious to make a truce. In fact, some of his vakeels were in the camp the day after Assaye. But meanwhile we might be pounced upon, and then we should be in a sorry plight if the enemy were very numerous."

And so each night, as darkness closed down upon them, sentries were posted at the edge of the trees, and Owen made a point of visiting them twice at least during the night. At length, however, they arrived within a few miles of Indore, and now that concealment was no longer necessary they rode well in the open, and gaining a side road, turned from it into a main thoroughfare which led to the city.

"There are horsemen, sahib," said Mulha suddenly, pointing towards the city. "They are issuing from one of the gates, and I do not like their manners. They would seem to be prepared to give us trouble."

"Then we shall have to ride on the alert," was Owen's answer. "I have an important message for this Holkar, and it is very necessary that there should be no blows between the horsemen and ourselves; for though they are Mahrattas, they are not yet at war with us. We will tie a cloth to one of the lances, and raise it as they get nearer."