“I told them to stay clear of the village, did I not?” he demanded of his aides, but before anyone could answer, new cannon fire sounded from the south.
“What the devil?” Wellesley said, turning to see what the gunfire meant.
The remaining infantry of the Mahratta line were pulling back, taking their guns with them, but the artillery which had stood in front of the enemy’s defeated right wing, the same guns that had been overrun by the red-coated infantry, were now coming alive again. The weapons had been turned and were crashing back on their trails and jetting smoke from their muzzles, and behind the guns was a mass of enemy cavalry ready to protect the gunners who were flaying the five battalions that had defeated the enemy infantry.
“Barclay?” Wellesley called.
“Sir?” The aide spurred forward.
“Can you reach Colonel Harness?”
The aide looked at the southern part of the battlefield. A moment before it had been thick with Mahratta horsemen, but those men had now withdrawn behind the revived guns and there was a space in front of those guns, a horribly narrow space, but the only area of the battlefield that was now free of enemy cavalry. If Barclay was to reach Harness then he would have to risk that narrow passage and, if he was very lucky, he might even survive the canister. And dead or alive, Barclay thought, he would win the lottery of bullet holes in his coat. The aide took a deep breath.
“Yes, sir.”
“My compliments to Colonel Harness, and ask him to retake the guns with his Highlanders. The rest of his brigade will stay where they are to keep the cavalry at bay.” The General was referring to the mass of cavalry that still threatened from the west, none of which had yet entered the battle.
“And my compliments to Colonel Wallace,” the General went on, ‘and his sepoy battalions are to move northwards, but are not to engage the enemy until I reach them. Go!” He waved Barclay away, then twisted in his saddle.
“Campbell?”
“Sir?”
“Who’s that?” The General pointed eastwards to where one single cavalry unit had been left out of the charge that had rescued the 74th, presumably in case the dragoons had galloped into disaster and needed a rescue.
Campbell peered at the distant unit, ‘yth Native Cavalry, sir.”
“Fetch them. Quick now!” The General drew his sword as Campbell galloped away.
“Well, gentlemen,” he said to his remaining aides, ‘time to earn our keep, I think. Harness can drive the wretches away from the southernmost guns, but we shall have to take care of the nearer ones.”
For a moment Sharpe thought the General planned to charge the guns with just the handful of men who remained with him, then he realized Wellesley was waiting for the yth Native Cavalry to arrive. For a few seconds Wellesley had considered summoning the survivors of the 74th, but those men, who had retreated back across the gully, were still recovering from their ordeal. They were collecting their wounded, taking the roll call and reorganizing ten broken companies into six. The Native Cavalry would have to beat down the guns and Campbell brought them across the battlefield, then led their commanding officer, a red-faced major with a bristling moustache, to Wellesley’s side. ‘I need to reach our infantry, Major,” the General explained, ‘and you’re going to escort me to them, and the quickest way is through their gun line.”
The Major gaped at the guns with their crowd of attendant cavalry.
“Yes, sir,” he said nervously.
“Two lines, if you please,” the General ordered brusquely.
“You will command the first line and drive off the cavalry. I shall ride in the second and kill the gunners.”
“You’ll kill the gunners, sir?” the Major asked, as though he found that idea novel, then he realized his question was dangerously close to insubordination.
“Yes, sir,” he said hurriedly, ‘of course, sir.” The Major stared at the gun line again. He would be charging the line’s flank, so at least no gun would be pointing at his men. The greater danger was the mass of Mahratta cavalry that had gathered behind the guns and which far outnumbered his troopers, but then, sensing Wellesley’s impatience, he spurred his horse back to his men and shouted at his troopers.