Sharpe’s Fortress [181-011-4.2] By: Bernard Cornwell

deployed, and Wellesley knew those columns could never hope to break

into Gawilghur. Their job was to spread the defenders thin, and to

block off the garrison’s escape routes while Colonel Stevenson’s men

did the bloody work.

“You’ll have to establish Stevenson’s batteries,” Wellesley told

Stokes.

“Major Blackiston’s seen the ground’ he indicated his aide ‘and he

reckons two eighteens and three iron twelves should suffice. Major

Blackiston, of course, will give you whatever advice he can.”

“No glacis?” Stokes directed the question to Blackiston.

“Not when I was there,” Blackiston said, ‘though of course they could

have made one since. I just saw curtain walls with a few bastions.

Ancient work, by the look of it.”

“Fifteenth-century work,” Wellesley put in and, when he saw that the

two engineers were impressed by his knowledge, he shrugged.

“Syud Sevajee claims as much, anyway.”

“Old walls break fastest,” Stokes said cheerfully. The two big guns,

with the three smaller cannon, would batter the wall head on to crumble

the ancient stone that was probably unprotected by a glacis of embanked

earth to soak up the force of the bombardment, and the Major had yet to

find a fortress wall in India that could resist the strike of an

eighteen-pounder shot travelling half a mile every two seconds.

“But you’ll want some enfilading fire,” he warned Wellesley.

“I’ll send you some more twelves,” Wellesley promised.

“A battery of twelves and an howitzer,” Stokes suggested.

“I’d like to drop some nasties over the wall. There’s nothing like an

howitzer for spreading gloom.”

“I’ll send an howitzer,” Wellesley promised. The enfilading batteries

would fire at an angle through the growing breaches to keep the enemy

from making repairs, and the howitzer, which fired high in the air so

that its shells dropped steeply down, could bombard the repair parties

behind the fortress ramparts.

“And I want the batteries established quickly,” Wellesley said.

“No dallying, Major.”

“I’m not a man to dally, Sir Arthur,” Stokes said cheerfully. The

Major was leading the General and his staff up a particularly steep

patch of road where an elephant, supplemented by over sixty sweating

sepoys, forced an eighteen-pounder gun up the twisting road. The

officers dodged the sepoys, then climbed a knoll from where they could

stare across at Gawilghur.

By now they were nearly as high as the stronghold itself and the

profile of the twin forts stood clear against the bright sky beyond. It

formed a double hump. The narrow neck of land led from the plateau to

the first, lower hump on which the Outer Fortress stood. It was that

fortress which would receive Stokes’s breaching fire, and that fortress

which would be assailed by Stevenson’s men, but beyond it the ground

dropped into a deep ravine, then climbed steeply to the much larger

second hump on which the Inner Fortress with its palace and its lakes

and its houses stood. Sir Arthur spent a long time staring through his

glass, but said nothing.

“I’ll warrant I can get you into the smaller fortress,” Stokes said,

‘but how do you cross the central ravine into the main stronghold?”

It was that question that Wellesley had yet to answer in his own mind,

and he suspected there was no simple solution. He hoped that the

attackers would simply surge across the ravine and flood up the second

slope like an irresistible wave that had broken through one barrier and

would now overcome everything in its path, but he dared not admit to

such impractical optimism. He dared not confess that he was condemning

his men to an attack on an Inner Fortress that would have unbreached

walls and well-prepared defenders.

“If we can’t take it by escalade,” he said curtly, collapsing his

glass, ‘we’ll have to dig breaching batteries in the Outer Fortress and

do it the hard way.”

In other words, Stokes thought, Sir Arthur had no idea how it was to be

done. Only that it must be done. By escalade or by breach, and by

God’s mercy, if they were lucky, for once they were into the central

ravine the attackers would be in the devil’s hands.

It was a hot December day, but Stokes shivered, for he feared for the

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