Arthur felt a surge of pride as he watched. The years of training and nurturing his men were paying off handsomely. There had been skirmishes before but this was their first pitched battle as part of an army, and suddenly he felt a thrill of pleasure and excitement that he had never experienced before. All those years of playing at being a soldier, and being painfully aware of it, fell away from him and at last Arthur truly felt that he belonged in uniform and that this was his calling.
There was a great roar from the crest of the hill and Arthur instantly abandoned his reverie as he saw a large mass of Tipoo’s men, perhaps as many as three thousand, surge forward down the slope, directly towards the men of the 33rd Foot.This was it then, he realised. The moment for which he had been preparing his men, and himself. The redcoats did not hesitate for an instant when they saw the wave of enemy warriors rushing towards them. Arthur was about to shout some words of encouragement to his men, but realised that none were needed.They knew their profession well enough to be above the influence of platitudes and homilies.Any words he offered would only be taken as a sign of his nervousness. Arthur smiled. He had no nerves, no fear in the slightest, just a desire to see the job done and done well.
The two sides closed on each other, andTipoo’s men came on with a heedless courage that Arthur could only admire. When they were no more than a hundred yards away Arthur reined Diomed in and shouted an order, straining his voice to be heard above the din of the charging enemy.
‘33rd! Halt! Make ready!’
On they came, now close enough for Arthur to make out individual features in the faces of the men gathering speed as they sprinted to close the distance with the thin line of redcoats.
‘Present!’
The glittering steel of the long barrels and the wicked spikes of the bayonets swept out towards the enemy. The lines were staggered so that the entire regiment would fire its volley as one. Just over sixty yards away the first of Tipoo’s soldiers missed a step as they eyed the wall of foreshortened musket barrels, and flinched before the imminent hail of lead shot.
‘Fire!’
The fizz from the priming pans was swallowed up in a great crash as flame stabbed from every musket in the regiment. Above the smoke, standing in his stirrups, Arthur saw the entire front of the enemy charge collapse as scores of men tumbled to the ground, or reeled back under the impact of the musket balls. So crushing was this first volley that the bodies of the dead and wounded formed a solid obstacle that stopped the charge in its tracks. More men slammed into the backs of those who had been forced to halt and knocked many more to the ground, in piles of tangled, struggling limbs.
‘Face front! . . . Advance!’
Arthur’s regiment marched forward, in step, towards the enemy, still trying to recover from the terrible effects of the volley fired at point-blank range. Now the relentless approach of the redcoats behind their gleaming bayonets proved to be too much for the nerves of the men who just a moment earlier had been charging towards the British line with such reckless exhilaration. Individuals, and then small groups, turned away and began to thrust back through the ranks of their comrades, fleeing up the slope. The sudden collapse in fighting spirit spread through the enemy like a wave and the entire formation broke and ran, many abandoning their weapons, and leaving their wounded comrades to their fate.
Arthur was about to order his men to charge when a pounding of hooves made him look to his right. Charging across the face of the slope was a brigade of cavalry from Harris’s column. Dragoons. Their sabres were out and flashing brilliantly in the sun as they charged home, tearing through Tipoo’s broken infantry and cutting them to pieces as they hacked and slashed at the men streaming up the hill.
‘33rd! Halt!’
With his regiment stilled, the rest of the units in the line caught up and took up their position on the flank. As the last of the cavalry continued the pursuit up the hill, Arthur turned his attention to the right flank. Baird’s brigade was still advancing and had pulled a short distance ahead of Arthur’s line.The centre regiment of the brigade, the King’s 74th Foot, was at the front of the line and as Arthur watched it broke into a trot as it neared the crest of the hill. Arthur frowned. The commander of the regiment was bound to get a roasting from Baird for letting his men disrupt the formation. Already, the tall figure of the brigade’s commander was visible galloping his mount forward to catch up with the 74th. But before Baird could reach them, the crest of the hill above was suddenly filled with horsemen as they poured forward, charging straight at the 74th. The regiment halted as one and just had time to loose off one volley before they were struck by the swarm of enemy cavalry. Arthur could just make out Baird as he reined in and took charge of his errant regiment. As the flanking regiments came forward they too were forced to halt and engage the enemy cavalry. The sounds of pistol and musket fire crackled across the slope of the hill and then Arthur saw that, behind the cavalry, a column of infantry had appeared. While their cavalry attacked the 74th they would have the chance to approach Baird’s infantry without coming under fire.Then it would be a question of hand to hand fighting in which the enemy would have a good chance of carrying off a victory against Baird’s men.
Arthur turned back to his regiment.‘The 33rd will advance at the double!’
The red line rippled forward, up the hill, a short distance from the struggle engulfing Baird’s brigade. As they advanced Arthur kept glancing to the side, gauging the distance between his men and the desperate melee away to his right. When the 33rd had advanced a quarter of a mile beyond Baird’s formation Arthur halted them and, leaving the light company to protect his flank, he wheeled the rest of the regiment to the right, in a line facing the enemy column hurriedly marching down the slope towards Baird’s brigade.With bayonets fixed there was risk of injury when loading and Arthur knew it was best that it was done before they closed on the enemy.
‘Reload!’
The men grounded their muskets and pulled out fresh cartridges, biting off the end with the ball and holding it in their teeth as they primed the pan and dropped the charge into the muzzle. Then they spat the balls in and rammed the lot home before taking the weapons back in both hands ready to advance again. As soon as the reloading was complete Arthur gave the order to advance, and the regiment moved along the slope towards the column of Tipoo’s infantry, already drawing near to Baird’s men who were still in close formation as they fought off the enemy cavalry. Some of Tipoo’s men closest to the 33rd were shouting and gesticulating towards the new threat but their officers drove them on, knowing that their one chance of achieving some measure of success in the battle lay in charging directly into the ranks of the redcoats.
Arthur hurried his men on at the double, their kit thudding up and down as they trotted forward. He did not halt them until they were no more than seventy yards from the flank of the enemy column and then the familiar sequence of orders rattled out again.