Wearing British clothes as a second-generation aristocrat

The long and tedious transoceanic voyage continues.

The HMS Victory cleaved through the deep blue surface of the Atlantic Ocean, sailing southward.

The days at sea were monotonous and dull. During the day, there were endless waves and scorching sun, and at night, there was only the rocking of the ship, the dull sea breeze, and the monotonous sound of the lights-out signal.

Ordinary soldiers huddled in cramped ship cabins, eating dry, hard black bread and moldy cured meat every day, drinking murky, foul-smelling water, their lives filled with misery.

Only Dugan and Arthur Wellesley lived a particularly comfortable life.

After learning that the other party was the future Duke of Wellington, Dugan's attitude changed somewhat, but based on his old-fashioned aristocratic genes, Dugan's attitude towards Arthur Wellesley remained neither humble nor arrogant.

He knew that this future legendary marshal was pragmatic and unconcerned with formalities, so it was better to maintain a relaxed relationship than to be obsequious.

Dugan took a lot of money with him when he left, plus money given to him by his cronies when they saw him off, so he's quite well-off now.

Dugan secretly approached the head chef of the Victory and bribed him with a small sum of money.

The head chef, who served the officers and soldiers on warships year-round and was used to the coarse food every day, had long been accustomed to the ways of the world.

Seeing Dugan's generosity, he immediately understood and secretly used the supplies stored in the ship's kitchen to improve Dugan and Arthur Wellesley's meals.

Every day, Dugan would prepare an extra portion of each of the three meals and deliver it to Arthur's cabin next door.

Tender roast beef, flaky meat pies, smoked bacon, buttered roasted beans, and occasionally pickled fruit and ale. On a warship where everyone ate hard bread and rotten meat, such meals were a luxury.

Arthur initially hesitated, unwilling to take advantage, but who could resist a hot, juicy, and high-quality meat dish?

Even the future Duke of Wellington wouldn't be up to the task!

Inside the enclosed cabin, the aroma of slowly roasted beef fills the air. The outer skin is slightly charred and crispy from the butter, while the inside is tender and juicy, with the juices locked inside. Paired with a rich meat pie and a secret sauce, the taste is incredibly mellow.

One evening, the two sat facing each other and had a drink. Arthur cut open the roast beef on the plate and looked at the meat, which was crispy on the outside and tender on the inside with even marbling, and couldn't help but be a little lost in thought.

"This method of wrapping and baking the whole piece of beef locks in the juices, resulting in a crispy outer skin and a tender inside, which is unprecedented."

Arthur chewed slowly, praising it sincerely.

Arthur Wellesley spent most of his time in the army, where the food was plentiful and filling, so he wasn't particularly picky about food. However, the roast beef that Dugan had improved was unique in its preparation and had an excellent flavor, leaving a deep impression on him.

The Wellington steak that would later sweep across the peninsula and become famous throughout Europe was thus conceived on this warship bound for India.

Food is the best way to bring people closer.

They could enjoy a drink and chat over drinks every day, and their tacit understanding from previous tactical discussions led to a rapid warming of their friendship.

Without the rigid hierarchical barriers between superiors and subordinates, and without the deliberate aloofness of aristocratic families, one is calm and experienced with profound insights, while the other has a forward-thinking vision and extraordinary eloquence. Putting aside their military ranks and family backgrounds, they are more like close friends who feel they have known each other for a long time.

In their spare time, the two would stroll together on the deck, chatting about the colonial situation, the French military tactics, and interesting anecdotes from London, occasionally reminiscing about their youth.

After spending several months together, Wellesley had completely let go of his prejudices and put aside the rumors about Dugan's dissolute lifestyle, and wholeheartedly accepted the second young master of the Connaught family.

Dugan also let go of his reserve in front of top figures, and the two got along casually and comfortably, almost to the point of calling each other brothers.

Dugen thought to himself, "Some public intellectuals in later generations always boast that foreigners have no social skills, but in reality, wherever there are people, there are social skills. If you can't feel them, it just means you're not at a high level."

During the voyage, the fleet passed through the British-controlled Cape Town colony and was ordered to make a brief stop to replenish fresh water, food, ammunition and medicine, and to repair the ships.

During a break at the port, Dugan wrote a letter home at the port post office.

The letter was written in a gentle tone. He informed his mother, Maria, that the voyage was smooth and the food and lodging were fine, so she should not worry. He briefly reported the itinerary to his father, Oris, indicating that he was safely with the army and would faithfully perform his duties and train diligently. He also sent his regards to his brother, Megan, who was far away in Calcutta, and informed him that he would soon be landing in India.

In just a few words, he avoided describing the tedium and potential dangers at sea, only reporting good news and not bad, to reassure his family in London.

The letter was sealed and stamped, and handed over to the colonial postman to be sent back to England. Duggan then returned to the ship to continue waiting for departure.

After a brief resupply, the HMS Victory weighed anchor again and set sail into the depths of the Indian Ocean.

The sea breeze grew increasingly hot and dry, and huge waves frequently surged on the sea surface, causing the ship to rock violently. Many soldiers suffered from seasickness, vomiting, and lethargy. Only Dugan and Wellesley, thanks to ample food and a secure single room, remained in stable condition throughout the journey.

The sun and moon rise and fall, the tides ebb and flow.

The tedious months-long ocean voyage slowly came to an end amidst the waves and sea breeze.

1803, April 7.

As the rising sun pierced the horizon, golden rays spilled across the sea, and the distant coastline finally came into view.

Lush tropical rainforests, humid monsoons, and low-rise buildings with exotic styles, all carrying the unique aromas of spices and earth, come into view.

The long voyage has finally reached its destination.

The Victory gradually slowed down, lowered its anchor, and came to a steady stop outside the port of Mengorol in the Mysore region of southern India.

On the dock, British military sentries stood in rows, and colonial soldiers in red uniforms patrolled back and forth.

Local dark-skinned porters, vendors, and indigenous residents bustled about, the harbor was filled with masts, and merchant ships and warships crisscrossed, presenting a bustling scene of a colonial port.

The officers and soldiers on the deck and in the cabins all gazed at this unfamiliar foreign land, some with trepidation and others with bewilderment.

Dugan leaned against the gunwale, gazing down at the hot, chaotic, and war-torn Indian subcontinent.

After months of sailing, far from his homeland and across thousands of miles of ocean, he finally set foot on this war-torn colony.

Beside him, Arthur Wellesley stood with his hands behind his back, his gaze calmly fixed on the port of Mengorol.

"Dughan, we've arrived."

The anchor sank, the waves gently lapped against the ship's hull, and the landing planks of the Victory were slowly lowered.

The shore was already heavily guarded.

Although the port of Mengorol was located behind the Mysore theater, British fortifications and watchtowers still stood along the river, with red-coated infantrymen lined up and guarding the area, muskets slung across their shoulders, their eyes scanning the crowds at the dock with vigilance.

Colonial laborers, local merchants, and indigenous civilians all made way for each other, leaving the central passage clear for the military dignitaries who had traveled from afar.

A troop of neatly uniformed cavalrymen waited early in the center of the dock. At the head of the troop was a middle-aged officer with a burly build and a rugged face. He carried the rank of colonel on his shoulder, stood straight, and had sharp eyes. His whole being exuded the iron-blooded aura of someone who had served in the military for many years.

It was Colonel Carl Stevenson, the supreme commander of the 94th Infantry Regiment.

He was Major General Arthur Wellesley's first adjutant, the core commander in charge of coordinating local troops and the Mysore campaign, and also Dugan's nominal direct superior.

Colonel Stevenson was ordered to come specifically to welcome Major General Wellesley, who was in charge of the Indian Army's operations, upon his landing.

He had originally planned that the Major General should travel alone or be accompanied by his personal guards when he disembarked.

Unexpectedly, of the two who stepped off the gangway first, Wellesley walked with ease and looked relaxed, accompanied by a young officer.

The young officer was a handsome, pale-faced man; judging from the shoulder insignia on his uniform, he was a major.

He casually carried Wellesley's suitcase and the briefcase containing his combat documents, his manner familiar and relaxed, without any of the formality or distance between superiors and subordinates.

This scene, witnessed by Carl Stevenson, instantly stirred something within him.

For Major General Wellesley, known for his strict and disciplined nature, to tacitly allow them to travel together and even personally help with their luggage, was a treatment rarely afforded to ordinary subordinates. The two walked side by side, chatting and laughing in hushed tones, their relaxed demeanor suggesting that they had already forged a close personal relationship during the long voyage.

Stevenson strode forward, raised his hand in a salute, and spoke in a loud and steady voice:

"Major General Wellesley, you have had a long and arduous journey. Commander Carl Stevenson of the 94th Infantry Regiment has been ordered to come and welcome you upon your landing. The defense and troop deployment in the area are all ready and await your orders."

Arthur Wellesley nodded slightly, raised his hand in return, and looked calm.

"Thank you for your hard work, Colonel Stevenson. The sea voyage was tedious and long, but I've finally arrived safely."

As soon as he finished speaking, Wellesley stepped to the side and pulled Dugan in front of him to formally introduce them.

"Stevenson, let me introduce you. This is Dugan Connby, the second son of Earl Connby. He has been transferred to your command as a major staff officer in the 94th Infantry Regiment, and will be participating in the Mysore theater of operations."

After speaking, he looked at Dugan again, his tone casual and natural:

"Dugan, this is Colonel Carl Stevenson, your direct superior and my first adjutant. You serve as his staff officer."

Dugan immediately straightened his posture, flexed his body, and respectfully raised his hand in a military salute.

"Colonel Stevenson, Major Staff Officer of the 94th Infantry Regiment, reporting for duty."

Colonel Stevenson was so used to hearing that name that he was practically sick of it.

In recent months, people from all walks of life in London, including the upper echelons of the government, high-ranking military officials, the East India Company, and even military and political circles in the colonies, have been making inquiries about this name.

Colonel Stevenson originally thought of him as a noble young master who had gained prestige through family connections, someone with a military rank but no real ability, someone who only needed to be treated well and perfunctorily according to personal relationships.

But right now, Dugan can walk side by side with Major General Wellesley, chatting and laughing all the way, and can even naturally carry the major general's luggage, showing a level of closeness far exceeding that of ordinary superiors and subordinates.

At that moment, Stevenson finally understood that Major Connby was not an ordinary playboy who needed passive protection, but a special person whom even his superiors valued highly and with whom he had a close personal relationship.

Colonel Stevenson was old-fashioned, but not stupid. He returned Dugan's salute and said, "The 94th Infantry Regiment is a unit with a glorious tradition, and I hope your arrival will make it even more glorious."

"I will do my best," Dugan replied solemnly.

Carl Stevenson then led the way while giving Wellesley a brief report on the current situation in Mysore:

The deployment of the Indian coalition forces trained by French military advisors, the wavering stance of the indigenous kings, the deployment of frontline outposts, and the progress of stockpiling food and ammunition.

Dugan stood quietly by his side, silently recording some data in his mind.

Suddenly, Wellesley turned to Dugan and asked, "What was that French consultant's name? I can't remember right now."

Colonel Carl Stevenson remained silent, watching Dugan in quiet contemplation.

Dugan thought to himself, "Well, this is a surprise attack. Luckily, I've taken notes."

"Sir, the colonel just said that our opponent is the Cynthia, the prince of Maratha. Twenty years ago, French officer Berenice began training the Cynthia to European standards, later taken over by another French officer, Pierre-London. With their help, the Cynthia organized four brigades totaling 15,000 regular troops, all trained and organized in a European style, equipped with European firearms, and employing some French, Portuguese, and even British officers. The overall commander of the regular army is Hanoverian officer Pullman. In addition to this regular army, the Cynthia also has over 20,000 cavalry and over 20,000 irregular troops."

Then Dugan saluted Wellesley and Stevenson, "Report complete, sir."

Wellesley glanced at Stevenson, who nodded in satisfaction.