Brave, clear-sighted, of sound political views, thoroughly qualified to command, this little peasant had in him the stuff of which a leader is made, and so well did he distinguish himself that he was appointed general of Sindhia's troops. He was not going to remain long inactive, for the English, faithful to the astute tactics which they had adopted in the Indies, employed in turn the troops of Bengal, those of Bombay and those of Coromandel. In this way, the treaties of the one appeared not to bind the others and they escaped serious reverses, while profiting by their partial successes. Soon General Garderre, at the head of 15,000 sepoys of Bengal, invaded the Mahratta country. But Loustaunau was on the watch, and the enemy's army was completely routed. It was at the end of a murderous combat that a stray ball carried away Loustaunau's left hand. He had a silver hand carved for himself of ingenious workmanship. Clever idea, for the bonzes prostrated themselves as he passed along, whispering opportune prophecies announcing that "it was written in the Temple of Siva that the Mahrattas would attain their highest point of glory under a man who had come from far countries of the West, who would wear a silver hand and be invincible." Then he tasted the intoxicating joy of popularity and, what was better, the Imperial favours. He lived in a palace furnished in Eastern style, with thirty elephants, five hundred horses, and servants in profusion. Two colossal silver hands placed at his gate informed all the Hindus of his glorious titles.
But the tenacious English launched a third army under the command of General Camac. Loustaunau annihilated it, as he had the two others. In vain Camac tried to withstand him; the sepoys, terrified by the fearlessness of the Mahrattas and by the colossal silver hands which served them as banners, beat a retreat. Loustaunau had paid dearly for the victory; he had been wounded in the shoulder and in the foot. General Camac, charmed by his courage, sent him his own surgeon to operate on him. But Loustaunau declined his services, not wishing, said he, to owe anything to his enemies. The rajahs proclaimed him, "the Lion of the State and the Tiger in war." His renown extended rapidly through the Indies, and some Frenchmen who were serving in the English army deserted in order to go to him. The English sent an officer, Mr. Quipatrick, to demand the fugitives. Loustaunau refused to give them up. Sindhia sent him an order to obey. Then he proposed to Mr. Quipatrick to follow him into the camp of the Rohillas to receive the deserters. He ordered the signal to saddle to be sounded, and the Rohillas drew their sabres.
"They demand your brothers," said he, "and those whom a noble confidence has brought to you; are you willing to give them up?... As for me, so long as my right hand will be able to handle a sabre, never will I give up my countrymen to death."
The English officer was obliged to go back again with an empty bag.
However, a swarm of fellow-countrymen—the rumour of his fortune had reached Béarn—pounced down, one fine morning, upon his cake. He shared generously with them and found a place for them in brilliant affairs. Between two campaigns, he had married Mlle. Poulet, daughter of a French officer who had not been successful and was vegetating sadly in the Indies.
Loustaunau had, however, difficult times. Having aroused the jealousy of a vizier who refused him subsidies, he was obliged, during a war against the Prince of Lahore, to provide, at his own expense, the pay and the revictualling of his troops. To put an end to such abuses, he galloped so far as Delhi, threatened the vizier with his pistols and compelled him to sign an order for 4,500,000 rupees to reimburse him.
Sooner or later, the exile hears the call of country. Eighteen years of adventurous life had not made Loustaunau forget the sweetness of certain summer evenings in the valleys of the Pyrenees. Suddenly, he decided to return. In a few days he realised 8,000,000 rupees, which he had transferred to France, through the agency of M. Dewerines, a merchant at Chandernagore. To the Catholic church at Delhi he left lands which were worth a rental of 30,000 rupees and assured the fortune of all his comrades in glory. He took leave of Sindhia, who made him the most brilliant promises in order to retain him.
"Thy departure," said he, "means the triumph of the English, the ruin of thy new country; thine was ungrateful; it did not know thy worth, since thou didst arrive here poor. The Mahrattas will, moreover, do for thee four times more than they have done. Thou art as powerful as I am; I love thee as my father. Thus thou canst not think of leaving us."
But Loustaunau listened to no one; he took his departure, surrounded by an immense population, which gave vent to loud lamentations, for the protection of the bonzes had made of him a being almost divine.
Good fortune grew weary of following him and abandoned him on his departure from the Indies. Starting from that moment, checks and reverses will succeed to successes and triumphs with a mathematical precision. Bad passage of seven months. Arrival at Versailles. Loustaunau had truly chosen his hour well! The Revolution was scenting bankruptcy. And the beautiful millions of the East melted like snow in the sun. He was paid in assignats, and scarcely drew 200,000 francs from this fine financial operation. Without being discouraged, he established a foundry on the frontiers of Spain; but the wars ruined it completely. He dispersed gradually all the valuable jewels which he had brought back from the Indies and formed the vigorous resolution to start again for Delhi to seek the wreck of his fortune. He left at Tarbes five children, three sons and two daughters. A magnificent ruby, the last gift of Sindhia, which he had pawned at Paris, was to pay the expenses of the journey.