Life of Being a Crown Prince in France

Not far to the north, an Indian palanquin slowly made its way toward the British encampment—now Seringapatam was all waterlogged and muddy, making it difficult for even horses to move about, so people had to rely on human-borne palanquins to get anywhere.

Then Wellesley saw the very Governor-General of India, Cornwallis, whom he had been pondering, hop down from the palanquin, stepping on the back of a palanquin bearer. Despite the mat spread out on the ground by servants, he still splashed a great deal of mud around, soiling his legs.

“I was just about to send someone to inquire about the situation with your supplies, and it so happens you’ve come to us,” Wellesley removed his gloves and advanced to embrace the Governor, “I hope you bring good news.”

“One piece of good news and one bad.”

Cornwallis, with a look of disgust, flicked the mud from his boots and glanced at a chair set outside the command tent, “Do you mind if I sit here?”

“Of course not. This was prepared for you.” Wellesley gestured for the Attendant to bring another chair from inside the tent and sat opposite the Governor, “Now, please, tell me the bad news first.”

Cornwallis lifted his leg to let a servant wipe the mud spots from his trousers, gesturing at the teapot on the table: “Would you pour me a cup as well? This damnable weather… Oh, I would like to start with the good news, after all it’s quick to tell.”

“Very well, that’s your prerogative. Although this sounds like a bad piece of news to me.”

“Savanur has brought us dried meat and rice. Yes, cursed rice again—hardly any wheat, hence no bread.” Cornwallis said, “However, these provisions should last the army until October.”

Savanur, a southern province of Maratha, bordered Mysore. Currently, the British Army’s logistical supplies were blocked at the Port of Malabar, with the only relief coming from Maratha. But what the Indian Princely States could supply was merely food, while weapons, medicine, wine, military horses, and even tents had to be brought by England from Europe.

Cornwallis picked up his teacup, his expression darkening: “The bad news is, the four transport ships that arrived at the Port of Malabar the month before last will be the last.

“The board of directors of the East India Company has decided not to invest any more funds in the Far Eastern theater. In fact, the Company’s negotiating representatives should be almost to North Karnataka by now.”

Wellesley didn’t seem too shocked and looked at the Governor: “So you’re saying our chances to organize an attack are running out?”

He had already learned that the East India Company had invested 3.2 million British Pounds in military expenditure in Mysore, exceeding the domestic taxes paid annually to the British Government by the Company.

This had rendered the Company almost profitless for the year, with the next year expected to be significantly affected, so much so that shares had reportedly plummeted in value.

Thus, the board’s decision to cut losses was anticipated.

Cornwallis nodded: “By the end of this year at the latest, the expeditionary army will have to return home, or else there will be no military pay left.”

“I understand. Then we shall wait for the heavy cannon to arrive before proceeding to the final battle.”

A month and a half later.

Sultan Tipu, peering through the misty rain, tilted his head to ask the Guard Captain, “Is the position confirmed?”

“Yes, great Sultan, the British cannons are 2 miles ahead of us.”

Sultan Tipu nodded, turned around, and drew his sword, raising his voice to address the 1,700 Imperial Guard soldiers around him: “Those heathens have killed our relatives and friends and thrown innocent children into pots to boil!”

“Now they’re trying to invade Seringapatam, we absolutely can’t let this happen!

“If you want to keep your families safe, keep your children from becoming food for the British, then follow me and use your swords to send them back to hell!”

After the earlier propaganda by the Mysorean consul Salah, the devilish image of the British had been deeply entrenched in the hearts of the Mysoreans, universally believing that every British soldier needed to eat one child a week to maintain their bravery.

This rumor had even spread to places like Hyderabad and Carnatic, territories under British control. Three months ago, there was an incident where the Udayagiri People, fearing their children would be taken away and eaten, killed two passing British soldiers.

So now the Mysoreans were united in their hatred and ready to risk their lives fighting the British Army. Stay tuned for updates on My Virtual Library Empire

The rain had stopped.

The Marquess of Wellesley waited until the ground had dried a bit, then immediately ordered the 5,000 British troops at the core to oversee the advance of 30,000 Maratha troops toward Seringapatam.

At the same time, the 4,000 British troops of the Cornwallis Corps from the north side also launched an attack with over 30,000 soldiers from the Indian Princely States, forming a pincer movement around Seringapatam.

The British 12-pounder cannons began to roar. Seven cannons fired at maximum rate, using intense barrages to suppress the Mysorean cannons located about a kilometer away. The latter only had 10 eight-pounders, which had to be spread out in an external defensive formation, and the rest were four-pounders, with a range far less than the British heavy guns.

Around 4 p.m., Sultan Tipu led nearly 2,000 Mysorean soldiers in a sudden emergence from behind and to the side of the British artillery position, pouncing on the wildly firing cannons.

The British infantry responsible for protection was clearly taken aback by the surprise attack, hurriedly beating drums to organize their formation.

Sultan Tipu had taken advantage of the rain to slip through the gap between the British and Maratha forces to this position. Because he was extremely familiar with the terrain and the use of telescopes was impossible in the heavy rain, no one had discovered their trails.

Sultan Tipu led the charge, not using muskets but brandishing a scimitar and charging head-on into the British infantry lines.

These 1,700 plus men were his most elite Imperial Guard, fearsome beyond measure. They braved the three volleys fired by the 400 or so British infantry in front of them, finally closing in on their right flank—fortunately, their attack was so sudden that the British formation was ragged, reducing the effectiveness of their volleys.

After sustaining nearly 300 casualties, the Mysoreans scattered the British infantry line, then sent over a thousand men to block the arriving Maratha auxiliary forces, while the others spiked the cannons’ touchholes with iron nails.

Simultaneously, Nawaz, the eldest son of Sultan Tipu, was leading the 50,000-strong main Mysorean force in fierce combat with the British in the front lines.

These soldiers, trained by Lafayette earlier on, were far superior in formation and discipline compared to the armies of other states in India.

Hence, as long as they weren’t facing the British “Lobster Soldiers” head-on, the Mysorean lines were solid as a rock and could even launch counter-attacks in some areas.

Once the British engaged, they would exchange a few rounds of fire and then quickly move, using subsequent groups to continue the delay—there were more than ten miles of wide ground outside of Seringapatam, with many mountains that could be used for defensive positions.

After Sultan Tipu had destroyed six 12-pounder cannons and a large number of other artillery pieces, the reinforcements dispatched by Wellesley finally arrived.

Sultan Tipu glanced at the dimming sky and immediately ordered a retreat.

His combat style was just like that, fond of extreme risks, favoring surprise attacks with reckless abandon. In history, it was with these tactics that he had contended with the world’s leading power, England, for several years.