Part 6

This year, 1907, has witnessed the coming round of the hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the establishment of British rule in India. It has recalled to memory too, among some of us at any rate, the name of one of the great Englishmen of history, Clive, and how he set his hand to the work which, in its ultimate outcome, placed the realms of the Great Mogul beneath the sovereignty of the British flag. The part that the Royal Navy took side by side with Clive and his soldiers is perhaps hardly as fully recognized as it should be, considering all that it meant. For that reason, among others, the fine story of what took place, of the help that our bluejackets of that time gave when the situation was most critical, finds its place here. The navy had its own _rôle_ to take in the stirring drama, and it fulfilled it—completely, faultlessly, resistlessly. Without the navy—the squadron then on duty in Indian waters—Clive would have been powerless, and the golden hour for England, with its opportunities, would have had to be let go by.

In the summer of 1757 the British East Indies Squadron had not long arrived in the Bay of Bengal. It had come out from England four or five months previously in anticipation of the outbreak of a war with France. After carrying out operations against the pirate strongholds of the Malabar coast, it had gone round to take post off Madras, at that time the most important of the British settlements in the East. It was in the neighbourhood of Fort St. George when, absolutely as a bolt from the blue, came the news of the catastrophe at Calcutta, which led to the tragedy of the Black Hole.

At that moment news was expected by every ship from England that war had been declared with France, and part of the British squadron was on the watch down the coast, off St. David’s. It seemed quite possible, indeed, that the first intelligence of war might be the appearance on the scene of a French squadron from Mauritius, cleared for action. All were keenly on the alert, almost from the first arrival of the British force on the coast. There was no means of knowing whether the French were not already on their way, and every precaution was taken against surprise. A daily masthead look-out was kept for six weeks, the ships being maintained in readiness every night to clear for action at short notice.

So little was trouble from the north expected, that month of July, 1757, that an expeditionary force under Clive to assist the Subahdar of Hyderabad in his quarrel with M. Bussy was on the point of setting out.

To help the Subahdar a force of three hundred European soldiers and fifteen hundred Sepoys of the Madras army was told off, and to counteract the consequent weakening of the garrison of Madras, Admiral Watson, the Commander-in-Chief of the East Indies Squadron, was requested to bring his squadron higher up the coast so as to keep guard in the immediate vicinity of Fort St. George.

The Admiral did as he was asked, after which, just as the Hyderabad column was on the point of marching off, the blow from Bengal fell.

In the second week of July a letter came from Governor Drake at Calcutta with the news that the new Nawab-Vizier of Bengal, Suraj-u-daulah, had seized the Honourable East India Company’s factory at Cossimbazar and made the officials there prisoners. There was great anxiety at Madras, and Major Kilpatrick, of the East India Company’s service, with three companies of European troops, was at once sent north, on board a Company’s ship, to render what assistance he could. The Bengal military establishment at that time comprised only five hundred men—two hundred Europeans and three hundred Sepoys. The dispatch of the soldiers for Calcutta delayed the start of the expedition for Hyderabad; and then, just as marching orders were about to be given for the second time, on the 5th of August, a second letter from Bengal arrived.

To the amazement and consternation of all, they learnt that Calcutta had fallen. Suraj-u-daulah had swooped down on the settlement with seventy thousand men, with cannon and four hundred elephants, and had captured Fort William. Governor Drake sent the message from a place called Fulta, a riverside village in the Sunderbunds, some forty miles below Calcutta. The garrison of Fort William, he said, had made a defence for five days, after which, ammunition failing, he and the higher officials had taken refuge on board what ships there were in the Hooghly and retreated with them to Fulta. The women were safe on board the ships, said the Governor, but all were in the utmost distress and great danger. They appealed for help at the earliest possible moment. Not a word was said of any one being left behind in Fort William; not a syllable about the tragedy of the Black Hole. News of that apparently had not yet reached Fulta. But without the crowning tragedy, the news, as it reached Madras, was bad enough. It came with stunning effect: “A blow as filled us all with inexpressible consternation,” to use the words of Dr. Ives, the surgeon of Admiral Watson’s flagship, the _Kent_.

To recover Calcutta and take vengeance on the Nawab were the thoughts uppermost in every one’s mind at Madras. A sloop-of-war, the _Kingfisher_, was hastily dispatched northward on the day after the receipt of the news to render assistance to the ships with the refugees on board, which would probably be found lying weather-bound in the Hooghly. The troops for Hyderabad were ordered to stand fast. An urgent message was sent to Fort St. David to summon Clive to the Presidency. Clive hurried to Madras, and with Governor Pigott and the Council discussed the situation.

Discussion, however, soon disclosed a difference of opinion as to what should be done. Some of the leading people at Madras were nervous for themselves. Certain members of the Council objected to any weakening of the garrison. War with France, they said, was imminent. It was quite possible indeed, according to late advices from Hyderabad, that the Subahdar and M. Bussy might settle their quarrel and combine against Madras. With that possibility before them, was it wise to strip Madras entirely of its garrison, now that the worst had already happened in Bengal? The Council met day after day, and adjourned without coming to any decision. Fortunately in the end the bolder spirits prevailed. By a majority the Council decided to equip an expedition and send help to Bengal as soon as the weather—it was the monsoon season—would let the expedition start.

It was agreed, after a consultation with Admiral Watson, that Colonel Adlercron’s regiment (39th Foot) and 1500 Sepoys should be shipped on board the men-of-war and some Indiamen then in the Roads, and proceed to Balasore, at the mouth of the Hooghly. There the vessels then housing the Calcutta refugees would transfer them on board the three larger men-of-war, the flagship _Kent_, the _Cumberland_, and the _Tyger_, which ships, it was held, drew too much water to cross the shoals at the mouth of the Hooghly. The Indiamen and the Calcutta ships would then transport the soldiers up the river and recapture Calcutta, escorted and assisted by three smaller men-of-war, the _Salisbury_, the _Bridgewater_, and the _Kingfisher_.

These arrangements had all been completed when something totally unexpected happened. A Bombay runner arrived with dispatches from the Admiralty, sent overland, recalling the whole of Admiral Watson’s squadron to England at once. “It was,” as Dr. Ives describes, “a terrible blow.” But the Admiral proved equal to the situation. He held an informal consultation in his cabin with his second in command, Rear-Admiral Pocock, and Flag-Captain Speke. Taking all responsibility on himself, the Admiral decided to postpone his departure until after the expedition to Bengal had been successfully carried through. An emergency had arisen, he wrote in his reply to England, which the Admiralty could not have foreseen, which imperatively required the continued presence of the squadron on the station. Then Admiral Watson went ashore to communicate his dispatches to the Governor in Council. His opening intimation that the men-of-war had been recalled created, in the words of Dr. Ives, “blank consternation.” It would mean, as the Council formally resolved, “the total ruin of the Company’s affairs in the Indies.” They expressed themselves as helpless without the Navy, and were overwhelmingly grateful when they learned that the Admiral had decided, on his own responsibility, to disobey his orders.

At the last moment, though, there was further delay; it was over a question of military etiquette. Who should command the expedition—Colonel Adlercron, a King’s officer, or Lieutenant-Colonel Clive, a Company’s officer, who had local rank as colonel? There was further wrangling over this matter, and valuable time was lost, until it was finally settled that the supreme command of both sea and land forces should be vested in Vice-Admiral Watson as senior commissioned officer in the East, with Clive in charge of the troops—both King’s and Company’s.

The expedition finally set sail on the 16th of October, two months and ten days after the news of the Black Hole first reached Madras. It comprised five men-of-war—the _Kent_, _Cumberland_, _Tyger_, _Salisbury_, _Bridgewater_, and the _Blaze_, a fireship; three Company’s Indiamen, and two country ships. All the ships carried soldiers and army stores.

Vice-Admiral Charles Watson, the Commander-in-Chief in the East Indies, was a capable and zealous leader. He was a naval officer of the very best type, and in addition, it was admitted on all hands, a noble-hearted, considerate English gentleman. He had been very seriously ill while on the way out from England—so ill indeed that, on learning soon after his first arrival at Bombay that there was a possibility of the expected war with the French not breaking out for some time, he had applied to go home again at once on sick leave. When he reached Madras he learnt officially that war was imminent, and he wrote off at once cancelling his application. If that were so there was no going home now for Admiral Watson. Ill as he was, he would stay out to fight the French once more. It was characteristic of the man—of the captain of the _Dragon_ in 1743—who, as the Navy of those days well remembered, when detached by Admiral Mathews from off Toulon, as a special favour to a smart officer, to cruise off Cadiz just when the treasure galleons from the Spanish Main were expected to arrive, with additional instructions to go on afterwards to Lisbon and carry the merchants’ treasure thence to England—the most lucrative employment a naval man could possibly look for—deliberately, on hearing at Gibraltar that a battle was likely to take place off Toulon, turned his back on a sum of prize-money that would have made him wealthy for life, saying, “He thought his ship would be wanted with the fleet.” The old heroic spirit of a captain who had been specially mentioned in dispatches for gallantry in every battle that he fought in—by Mathews off Toulon, and in 1747 by both Anson and Hawke—overcame the bodily weakness of an invalid.

It took six weeks to reach Balasore Roads, a distance of only seven hundred miles on a direct course. Owing to the delay at Madras they had, as the phrase went, “lost the passage.” With the south-west monsoon, which held from May to the middle of September, it took ordinarily from ten days to a fortnight to sail from Madras to Calcutta. Now they had the north-east monsoon to face—head winds all the way. It was not until the first week of December that the leading ships of the squadron were able to reach Balasore. They had sailed, with the wind, according to the flagship’s log, at west-north-west. Next day the wind shifted to north-east, dead against them. The strong current in the Bay of Bengal, which at that time of year sets down the Coromandel coast at one to five knots an hour, swept the squadron down until they came within sight of Point San Pedro, in Ceylon, thirteen leagues east of Trincomalee. On some days there were dead calms, when they barely made from three to five miles’ progress in twenty-four hours. Between the 28th of October and the 5th of November only six leagues’ advance was made altogether. Rough weather set in, during which the _Salisbury_ sprang a dangerous leak, and the whole squadron had to shorten sail and stand by for a whole day until the leak had been found and stopped. Finally, a storm scattered the squadron far and wide. The _Kent_ and _Tyger_, the two leading ships, arrived at Balasore Roads on the 3rd of December by themselves. The rest of the squadron were at that time miles astern, trying to weather Palmyras Point. Two of the ships, indeed, never got to Balasore at all; they had to bear away until they drifted right round Ceylon and anchored at Bombay.

At Balasore Admiral Watson got fresh news about what had been happening in Bengal. He now heard, for the first time, details of the taking of Fort William and of the grim tragedy of the Black Hole. Two English pilots who boarded the flagship told the story. The attack, said the men, opened on June 15th, Tuesday, and after a vain attempt to hold the gaol and Court House and a small redoubt in front of the city, the garrison had been driven into the fort. There it was found they had only ammunition for three days’ fighting. The women and children were thereupon sent on board the ships in the river, lying off the Maidan, and in the confusion that followed their departure, Governor Drake and most of the leading civilians—according to the pilots—deserted their posts, and stole off on board ship to join the women, after which they induced the skippers to weigh anchor and drop down the river, leaving the garrison cut off and without means of escape. These under Mr. Holwell, a member of the Council, had fought on gallantly, keeping the enemy off until the afternoon of Sunday the 20th, when, being at their last cartridge, they beat a parley. While they were talking from the walls, the enemy by treachery got possession of one of the fort gates (that in the rear), rushed the guard, and compelled the garrison to surrender at discretion. That night the prisoners, a hundred and seventy-five in number, were crammed all together into the Black Hole, whence next morning only sixteen were left alive. Of the sixteen, Mr. Holwell and Mr. Burdett, a writer, with two others, had been heavily ironed and sent to the Nawab’s camp. Such was the tale told to Admiral Watson.

The refugees at Fulta, added the pilots, were in a deplorable state; fever-stricken and short of food; in terror of their lives; living, some in tents on shore, some on board the ships in the river. The Nawab, it was reported, had withdrawn to Moorshedabad, but his general, Manikchand, was at Calcutta with nearly four thousand men. He was busy throwing up batteries at various points along the river bank to bar any approach by ships.

Admiral Watson, on hearing that, made up his mind to try and get up the Hooghly to Fulta with the _Kent_ at once, without waiting for the rest of the squadron or the troops.

The pilots, however, made objection to carrying the flagship into the river. It was impossible, they said, to get so big a ship over the Braces, the belt of shoals across the mouth of the Hooghly on the Balasore side, with the tides as they were. They doubted, indeed, if it could be done at all, even at spring tides. On the usual “crossing track” over the Western Brace, the deepest channel, they said, was only three fathoms. But Admiral Watson had made up his mind to try. On the pilots finally declining to assist in taking the flagship into the river Captain Speke, the captain of the _Kent_, volunteered to make the attempt. He had been up the Hooghly once before, and he could, he believed, find a channel deep enough to carry the _Kent_ over the Braces. The _Tyger_ was to remain behind to bring on the rest of the squadron on their arrival.

The flagship set out, after a week’s further detention at Balasore owing to strong north easterly winds, her boats towing her. Captain Speke navigated the ship, and with such success that a channel was found through the Western Brace that gave four fathoms of water at half-tide. It proved sufficient to float the ship over safely. On the 12th of December, they were at anchor off Kedgeree (Khichri), sixty-seven miles from Fort William by water. After this the wind changed to westerly and the _Kent_ was able to work up the estuary under sail.

Fulta was reached on the 15th, and the rescue of the fugitives from Calcutta effected. Major Kilpatrick and his men were found there, and the _Kingfisher_. The flagship herself had on board two hundred and fifty men of the 39th Foot under Captain Eyre Coote, afterwards the celebrated General Sir Eyre Coote. There was also a detachment of Sepoys, who had arrived two days before by the _Protector_, a Bombay cruiser, which had touched at Madras just after the squadron left there, and had since got ahead of them. At Fulta Governor Drake, the ex-Governor of Calcutta, came on board to see the Admiral.

The _Tyger_ reached Fulta on the 16th, and the _Salisbury_ and the rest of the men-of-war and the Indiamen with the troops on board, between then and the 26th. The _Cumberland_ and the _Marlborough_ Indiaman were still missing.

The tides, meanwhile, were too low to allow any of the ships to cross the sand-bar above Fulta and proceed further up the Hooghly until after the 27th.

Admiral Watson used the interval to send a letter to Suraj-u-daulah. He wrote courteously, but firmly, demanding the immediate restoration of Calcutta and compensation for property looted and destroyed. The letter was sent off on the 18th of December, but no reply came. None had arrived ten days later, when the forward movement up the river began. The _Kent_, _Tyger_, _Salisbury_, _Bridgewater_, and _Kingfisher_ comprised the ships told off for the recovery of Calcutta. They carried up with them eight hundred soldiers and twelve hundred Sepoys—all that were available in the absence of the detachments on board the belated ships.

The first fight took place at Baj-Baj, or Budge-Budge, as the name was spelled by the English, where a fort on the right bank of the Hooghly threatened to bar their passage. Owing to the narrow and tortuous channel the ships could only move up in line ahead. They sailed with the _Tyger_ leading, and the flagship next. The Nawab’s troops were reported to be in force at Budge-Budge, which mounted eighteen 24-pounders, and was built with bastions and curtains and a wet ditch.

Clive and his Sepoys were put ashore at Mayapore, ten miles below Budge-Budge, to act against Manikchand, whose army had taken post in the neighbourhood of the fort. Manikchand’s men, though, made only a poor stand, and fell back, their position being turned by the steady advance of the _Tyger_ and _Kent_.

The ships anchored that night, and proceeded next morning, the enemy on shore at the same time falling back before them on Budge-Budge.

Between seven and eight o’clock, as the _Tyger_ and _Kent_ rounded into the reach in front of the fort, the Nawab’s gunners opened a brisk cannonade.

The two ships took no notice, beyond firing a few guns to cover their approach and shroud themselves in smoke, until they had come abreast of the ramparts. Then, at three minutes past eight by the _Kent’s_ log, both ships let go anchor, and as the _Kent_ ran up the red flag at the fore, the first broadside thundered out. The battle lasted for an hour and a half before the nearest ships astern, the _Salisbury_ and _Bridgewater_ could join in. About the same time Clive’s Sepoys got again into action with Manikchand’s troops on the further side of Budge-Budge. Captain Coote and men of the 39th Foot on board the _Kent_ were now landed to reinforce Clive, while the navy dealt with the fort, the key of the position. The Nawab’s gunners for their part fought their pieces bravely, and the tough chunam and brick of the walls of Budge-Budge stood four hours more hard battering. By half-past one, however, the breastwork rampart facing the river had been almost smashed down all along its length, and the guns there all either dismounted or disabled.

The Nawab’s troops on shore had by this time begun to draw off, and the action slackened down to a casual musketry fire here and there. The fort, however, still held out, and a sharp fusillade came from its walls. Apparently the garrison were looking for Manikchand’s return to their relief. Admiral Watson on that sent for Clive, and a Council of War was held on board the _Kent_. It was decided to storm Budge-Budge at daybreak next morning. Clive’s soldiers were given the afternoon to rest after their work of the past twenty-four hours. To assist in the storming a naval battalion, made up of an officer, two midshipmen, and forty men from each of the men-of-war, was landed, with two of the _Kent’s_ 9-pounders which were to batter in the main gate.

As things turned out there was no need of the storming party. That evening, while the troops were bivouacking before the fort, a sailor from the _Kent_ took Budge-Budge all by himself. The story is best told in the words of Dr. Ives, our correspondent on the spot:

“All was now quiet in the camp,” he begins, “and we on board the ships, which lay at their anchors but a small distance from the shore, had entertained thoughts of making use of this interval to refresh ourselves with an hour or two of sleep, but suddenly a loud and universal acclamation was heard from the shore, and soon afterwards an account was brought to the Admiral that the place had been taken by storm.”

Great was the astonishment on board at the news, and “great joy” as Dr. Ives relates, “the more so as it was quite unexpected.” Then, as it would seem, when they heard what had actually taken place, everybody affected to be scandalized rather than pleased. “When the particular circumstances that ushered in this success were related,” continues the worthy surgeon of the _Kent_, “our exultation was greatly abated, because we found that the rules so indispensably necessary in all military exploits had been disregarded in the present instance, and therefore could not help looking upon the person who had the principal hand in this victory rather as an object of chastisement than of applause.”

This, to resume with the Doctor, is how Budge-Budge fell:

“During the tranquil state of the camp, one Strahan, a common sailor, belonging to the _Kent_, having been just served with grog (arrack mixed with water), had his spirits too much elated to think of taking any rest: he therefore strayed by himself towards the fort, and imperceptibly got under the walls. Being advanced thus far without interruption, he took it into his head to scale it at a breach that had been made by the cannon of the ships, and having luckily gotten upon the bastion, he there discovered several Moors[6] sitting upon the platform, at whom he flourished his cutlass and fired his pistol, and then, after giving three loud huzzas, cried out—“The place is mine.” The Moorish soldiers immediately attacked him, and he defended himself with incomparable resolution, but in the rencounter had the misfortune to have the blade of his cutlass cut in two, about a foot from the hilt. This mischance, however, did not happen until he was near being supported by two or three other sailors who had accidentally straggled to the same part of the fort on which the other had mounted. They, hearing Strahan’s huzzas, immediately scaled the breach likewise, and echoing the triumphant sound roused the whole army, who, taking the alarm, presently fell on pell-mell, without orders and without discipline, following the example of the sailors.”