Wellington: A Personal History. Christopher Hibbert

such a reprimand for bad management as might have induced him in disgust to have resigned His Majesty’s service.’¹⁸

      The next morning when the advance to Seringapatam was resumed Colonel Wellesley was late in starting off because of a message which failed to reach him. General Harris, accordingly, told another officer to lead the attack instead. This officer was Major-General David Baird, a tough, blunt Scotsman, twelve years Wellesley’s senior. He had never been an even-tempered man. As a young captain in the 73rd Highlanders on a previous campaign he had been wounded, taken prisoner and held captive by Tippu Sultan for three years and eight months; and, with the bullet still in his wound, he had been chained to a fellow prisoner. When the news reached his mother in Scotland that her son was treated in this way, she acknowledged the fact of his savage temper in an observation of maternal percipience. ‘God help,’ she said, ‘the puir child chained to our Davie.’¹⁹

      Age had not mellowed him. ‘He is,’ one of his officers declared, ‘a bloody old bad tempered Scotchman.’ He had no reason to regard Colonel Wellesley with benevolence. He considered that he should have been offered the command of the expedition to Manila which it had seemed likely at one time would be given to the far junior Colonel the Hon. Arthur Wesley; he also thought that he should have been given command of the Nizam of Hyderabad’s troops which had been assigned instead to the well-connected young Colonel and, in his disappointment, he had unwisely sent General Harris ‘a strong remonstrance’. Even so, according to his biographer, he demurred when the offer of superseding Wellesley was made to him. ‘Don’t you think, Sir,’ he said to Harris, ‘it would be but fair to give Wellesley an opportunity of retrieving the misfortune of last night.’*²⁰

      So Colonel Wellesley was given his chance; and over the next few days, his knee less painful, he made amends for the débâcle of that miserable night. Having driven the Sultan’s men from the wood, he successfully attacked one of Seringapatam’s defensive works, as the army settled down to the formalities of a siege. He was not, however, to lead the final assault, for this duty was assigned to General Baird so that he might take revenge for the privations and ignominy of his long captivity. Waving his sword and shouting, ‘Forward, my lads, my brave fellows, follow me and prove yourselves worthy of the name of British soldiers!’, he led his men over the walls and into Seringapatam where Tippu Sultan – having put to death as oblations various animals, including two buffaloes, a goat, a bullock and an elephant, as well as, so it was said, various women of his court – was found dead, shot through the temple.²¹

6 The Governor of Mysore

       1799

       ‘I must say that I was the fit person to be selected.’

      GENERAL BAIRD expected to be placed in command of the captured city in which much treasure had to be guarded and a terrified populace reassured. But he was not considered a suitable officer for the task. ‘He had no talent, no tact,’ Colonel Wellesley said later, while acknowledging his bravery and the regard in which he was held by his men. ‘He had strong prejudices against the natives, and was peculiarly disqualified from his manner, habits and temper for the management of them. Having been Tippoo’s prisoner for years, he had a strong feeling of the bad usage which he had received during his captivity.’ ‘I must say,’ Wellesley added, ‘that I was the fit person to be selected. I had commanded the Nizam’s army during the campaign, and had given universal satisfaction. I was liked by the natives.’¹ General Harris, who had not forgiven Baird for his ‘strong remonstrance’ over the command of the Nizam of Hyderabad’s troops, accepted that this was the case.

      So, while Baird and his staff were having breakfast in the Sultan’s palace, news that he was not to be left in command at Seringapatam was broken to him by the Colonel himself who displayed on the occasion just that want of tact of which he accused the bluff Scotsman.

      ‘General Baird,’ he said to him, ‘I am appointed to the command of Seringapatam, and here is the order of General Harris.’

      ‘Come gentlemen,’ replied Baird, rising angrily from the table and ignoring Colonel Wellesley, ‘we have no longer any business here.’

      ‘Oh, pray,’ said the Colonel. ‘Finish your breakfast.’²

      Baird stormed from the palace and sat down to write a furious letter to General Harris which elicited another reprimand for once more displaying ‘a total want of discretion and respect’. Baird was told to go back to Madras. He stormed out of Seringapatam; but Colonel Wellesley had not yet seen the last of him.³

      As it happened it was just as well that Wellesley not Baird was appointed to command in Seringapatam; for the situation demanded talents and insights that the brave, blunt Scotsman did not possess. At first there was much looting and frantic selling of treasures and gold bars stolen from the late Sultan’s palace before order was restored by the hanging of four men and the flogging of others. Even then, the Colonel thought it would be best if most troops were withdrawn from the town since their presence, and their insatiable taste for plunder, occasioned ‘great terror and confusion among the inhabitants’, tending not only to obstruct the ‘settlement of the country’ but also to destroy the confidence which, he was pleased to say, the people reposed in him.

      He had no particular affection for the Indian peoples in general. Indeed, not long after his arrival in Calcutta he had decided that the climate and the natives combined to make India a ‘miserable country to live in’, and he came to the conclusion that a man might well deserve some of the wealth that was brought home as a reward ‘for having spent his life here’.⁴ The natives were ‘the most mischievous, deceitful race of people [he had] ever seen or read of. ‘I have not yet met with a Hindoo who had one good quality,’ he added, ‘and the Mussulmans are worse than they are. Their meekness and mildness do not exist.’⁵ When he was offered two half-caste officers for the 33rd, he replied that they might well be ‘as good as others’, but he had been told that they were ‘as black as my hat’ and he declined to have them.⁶ And when he heard that the Resident of Hyderabad was openly living with an Indian princess he delivered himself of the outraged opinion that it was ‘a disgrace to the British name and nation’. Yet he was well aware how unwise it would be to offend against Indian customs and susceptibilities, and was determined not to tolerate in Mysore any of the ‘dirty things’ which he had been told, soon after his arrival in India, were ‘done in some of the commands’.⁷ On being informed that the Commander-in-Chief had issued an order for a search of the Sultan’s zenana for hidden treasure, he strongly disapproved of it and, in carrying out his instructions, took ‘every precaution to render the search as decent and as little injurious to the feelings of the ladies as possible’.* In the same way, when the Abbé Dubois, who was making a vain attempt to convert Hindus to Roman Catholicism under the auspices of the Missions Etrangères, asked for the return of two hundred Christian women from the zenana, the Colonel, having satisfied himself that they were not ill-treated there, refused the request on the grounds that it was ‘not proper that anything should be done which can disgrace [the East India Company] in the eyes of the Indian world, or which can in the most remote degree cast a shade upon the dead, or violate the feelings of those who are alive’.⁸

      Throughout his administration in Mysore he displayed this concern for Indian feelings. He asked the headquarters in Madras for a chaplain for the British garrison; but the people of Seringapatam were to be left free to practise their religion in their own way, and to be governed by their own laws in separate Muslim and Hindu courts.

      While the tenor of Indian life in Seringapatam was allowed to continue undisturbed, there was much for the British Governor to do. There were the Sultan’s tigers to care for; there was the reconstruction of buildings damaged during the siege and assault; there was the surrounding country to pacify; there were forts to inspect, punitive expeditions to control and punishments to ameliorate. There was advice to be