Chapter 37

but, where all do well, gains as much glory as the rest.

Leaving Mr. Toley to bring the Good Intent up to Calcutta, Desmond hurried back in advance and remained in the town just long enough to inform Mr. Merriman of the happy result of his adventure and to change into his own clothes, and then returned to Chandernagore on horseback, as he had come. He found Clive encamped two miles to the west of the fort. No reply having reached him from Monsieur Renault, Clive had read the declaration of war as he had threatened, and opened hostilities by an attack on an outpost.

"You've no need to tell me you've succeeded, Burke," he said when Desmond presented himself. "I see it in your eyes. But I've no time to hear your story now. It must wait until we have seen the result of the day's fighting. Not that I expect much of it in this quarter. We can't take the place with the land force only, and I won't throw away life till the admiral has tried the effect of his guns."

The French in Chandernagore were not well prepared to stand a determined siege. The governor, Monsieur Renault, had none of the military genius of a Dupleix or a Bussy. With him were only some eight hundred fighting men, of whom perhaps half were Europeans. Instead of concentrating his defense on the fort, he scattered his men about the town, leaving the weakest part of his defenses, the eastern curtain, insufficiently manned.

He believed that Admiral Watson would find it impossible to bring his biggest ships within gunshot, and fancied that by sinking some vessels at the narrowest part of the river he would keep the whole British fleet unemployed--a mistake that was to cost him dear.

By the night of March fourteenth Clive had driven in the outposts. The immediate effect of this was the desertion of two thousand Moors sent to Renault's assistance by Nandkumar the faujdar of Hugli. A continuous bombardment was kept up until the nineteenth, when Admiral Watson arrived from Calcutta with the Kent, the Tyger, and the Salisbury.

Next morning an officer was despatched in a boat to summon Renault once more to surrender. Rowing between the sunken vessels, whose masts showed above water, he took soundings and found that with careful handling the men-o'-war might safely pass. Once more Renault refused to surrender. His offer to ransom the fort was declined by the admiral, who the same night sent the master of the Kent to buoy the channel. Two nights later, in pitch darkness, several English boats were rowed with muffled oars to the sunken vessels. Their crews fixed lanterns to the masts of these in such a way that the light, while guiding the warships, would be invisible from the fort.

Early next morning Clive captured the battery commanding the river passage, and the three British ships ran up with the tide. The Kent and Tyger opened fire on the southeast and northeast bastions, and these two vessels bore the brunt of a tremendous cannonade from the fort. The French artillery was well served, doing fearful damage on board the British vessels. On the Kent, save the admiral himself and one lieutenant, every officer was killed or wounded. One shot struck down Captain Speke and shattered the leg of his son, a brave boy of sixteen, who refused to allow his wound to be examined until his father had been attended to, and then bore the pain of the rough amputation of those days without a murmur.

Meanwhile Clive's men had climbed to the roofs of houses near the fort, which commanded the French batteries; and his musketeers poured in a galling fire and shot down the gunners at their work. As the walls of the barracks and fort were shattered by the guns from the ships, the Sepoys crept closer and closer, awaiting the word to storm.

The morning drew on. Admiral Watson began to fear that when the tide fell his big guns would be at too low a level to do further execution. There was always considerable rivalry between himself and Clive, fed by the stupid jealousy of some of the Calcutta Council. While Clive, foreseeing even more serious work later, was anxious to spare his men, Watson was equally eager to reap all possible credit for a victory over the French.

As it happened, neither had to go to the last extremity, for about half-past nine a white flag was seen flying from the fort. Lieutenant Brereton of the Kent and Captain Eyre Coote from the land force were sent to arrange the surrender, and a little later the articles of capitulation were signed by Admirals Watson and Pocock, and by Clive.

Desmond was by no means satisfied with the part he played in the fight. In command of a company of Sepoys he was one of the first to rush the shore battery and take post under the walls of the barracks in readiness to lead a storming party. But, as he complained afterward to his friend Captain Latham of the Tyger, the fleet had the honors of the day.

"After all, you're better off than I am," grumbled the captain. "How would you like to have your laurels snatched away? Admiral Pocock ought to have remained on the Cumberland down the river and left the Tyger to me. But he didn't see the fun of being out of the fighting; and up he came posthaste and hoisted his flag on my ship, putting my nose badly out of joint, I can tell you. Still, one oughtn't to grumble. It doesn't matter much who gets the credit so long as we've done our job. 'Tis all in the day's work."

The victory at Chandernagore destroyed the French power in Bengal. But it turned out to be only the prelude to a greater event--an event which must be reckoned as the foundation stone of the British Empire in India. It sprang from the character of Sirajuddaula. That prince was a cruel despot, but weak-willed, vacillating, and totally unable to keep a friend. One day he would strut in some vainglorious semblance of dignity; the next he would engage in drunken revels with the meanest and most dissolute of his subjects. He insulted his commander-in-chief, Mir Jafar: he offended the Seths, wealthy bankers of Murshidabad who had helped him to his throne: he played fast and loose with everyone with whom he had dealings. His own people were weary of him, and at length a plot was hatched to dethrone him and set Mir Jafar in his place.

Mr. Watts, the British agent in Murshidabad, communicated this design to Clive and the Council of Calcutta, suggesting that they should cooperate in deposing the vicious Nawab. They agreed, on the grounds that his dishonesty and insolence showed that he had no real intention of abiding by the terms of his treaty, and that he was constantly interfering with the French. A treaty was accordingly drawn up with Mir Jafar, in which the prospective Subah agreed to all the terms formerly agreed to by Sirajuddaula. But Omichand, who was on bad terms with Mir Jafar and the Seths, threatened to reveal the whole plot to the Nawab and have Mr. Watts put to death, unless he were guaranteed in the treaty the payment of a sum of money equivalent to nearly four hundred thousand pounds.

Clive was so much disgusted with Omichand's double dealing that, though he was ready to make him fair compensation for his losses in Calcutta, he was not inclined to accede to his impudent demand. Yet it would be dangerous to refuse him point blank. He therefore descended to a trick which, whatever may be urged in its defense--the proved treachery of Omichand, the customs of the country, the utter want of scruple shown by the natives in their dealings--must ever remain a blot on a great man's fame.

Two treaties with Mir Jafar were drawn up; one on red paper, known as lal kagaz, containing a clause embodying Omichand's demand; the other on white, containing no such clause. Admiral Watson, with bluff honesty, refused to have anything to do with the sham treaty; it was dishonorable, he said, and to ask his signature was an affront. But his signature was necessary to satisfy Omichand. At Clive's request, it was forged by Mr. Lushington, a young writer of the Company's. The red treaty was shown to Omichand; it bought his silence; he suspected nothing.

The plot was now ripe. Omichand left Murshidabad; Mr. Watts slipped away; and the Nawab, on being informed of his flight, wrote to Clive and Watson, upbraiding them with breaking their treaty with him, and set out to join his army.

Clive left Chandernagore on June thirteenth, his guns, stores and European soldiers being towed up the river in two hundred boats, the Sepoys marching along the highway parallel with the right bank. Palti and Katwa were successively occupied by his advance guard under Eyre Coote. But a terrible rain storm on the eighteenth delayed his march, and next day he received from Mir Jafar a letter that gave him no little uneasiness.

Mir Jafar announced that he had pretended to patch up his quarrel with the Nawab and sworn to be loyal to him; but he added that the measures arranged with Clive were still to be carried out. This strange message suggested that Mir Jafar was playing off one against the other, or at best sitting on the fence until he was sure of the victor. It was serious enough to give pause to Clive. He was one hundred and fifty miles from his base at Calcutta; before him was an unfordable river watched by a vast hostile force. If Mir Jafar should elect to remain faithful to his master the English army would in all likelihood be annihilated. In these circumstances Clive wrote to the Committee of Council in Calcutta that he would not cross the river until he was definitely assured that Mir Jafar would join him.

His decision seemed to be justified next day when he received a letter from Mr. Watts at Khulna. On the day he left Murshidabad, said Mr. Watts, Mir Jafar had denounced him as a spy and sworn to repel any attempt of the English to cross the river. On receipt of this news Clive adopted a course unusual with him. He called a Council of War, for the first and last time in his career. Desmond was in Major Killpatrick's tent when the summons to attend the Council reached that officer.

"Burke, my boy," he said, "'tis a mighty odd thing. Mr. Clive is not partial to Councils; has had enough of 'em at Madras first, and lately at Calcutta. D'you know, I don't understand Mr. Clive; I don't believe any one does. In the field he is as bold as a lion, fearless, quick to see what to do at the moment, never losing a chance. Yet more than once I've noticed, beforehand, a strange hesitation. He gets fits of the dumps, broods, wonders whether he is doing the right thing, and is as touchy as a bear with a sore head. Well, 'tis almost noon; I must be off; we'll see what the Council has to say."

Desmond watched the major almost with envy as he went off to this momentous meeting. How he wished he was a little older, a little higher in rank, so that he too might have the right to attend! He lay back in the tent wondering what the result of the Council would be.

"If they asked for my vote," he thought, "I'd say fight;" and then he laughed at himself for venturing to have an opinion.

By and by Major Killpatrick returned.

"Well, my boy," he said, "we've carried our point, twelve against seven."

"For fighting?"

"No, my young firebrand; against fighting. You needn't look so chop fallen. There'll be a fight before long; but we're going to run no risks. We'll wait till the monsoon is over and we can collect enough men to smash the Subah."

"Was that Colonel Clive's decision?"

"'Twas, indeed. But let me tell you, there was a comical thing to start with. Lieutenant Hayter, one of Watson's men, was bid to the Council, but the nincompoop was huffed because he wasn't allowed precedence of the Company's captains. These naval men's airs are vastly amusing. He took himself off. Then Mr. Clive put the case; fight at once, or wait. Against the custom, he himself voted first--against immediate action. Then he asked me and Grant in turn; we voted with him. 'Twas Eyre Coote's turn next; he voted t'other way, and gave his reasons--uncommonly well, I must admit. He said our men were in good spirits, and had been damped enough by the rains. The Frenchman Law might come up and join the Nawab, and then every froggy who entered our service after Chandernagore would desert and fight against us. We're so far from Calcutta 'twould be difficult to protect our communications. These were his reasons. I watched Clive while Coote was speaking; he stuck his lips together and stared at him; and, have you noticed? he squints a trifle when he looks hard. Well, the voting went on, and ended as I said--twelve against immediate action, seven for."

"How did the Bengal men vote?"

"I'm bound to say, for--except Le Beaume. 'Twas the Madras men who outvoted 'em."

"Well, with all respect, sir, I think the opinion of the Bengal men, who know the people and the country, ought to have outweighed the opinion of strangers. Still, it would be difficult to oppose Colonel Clive."

Further conversation was cut short by the arrival of a messenger summoning Desmond to attend the colonel.

"Where is he?" he asked.

"Under a clump of trees beyond the camp, sir. He's been there by himself an hour or more."

Desmond hurried off. On the way he met Major Coote.

"Hullo, Burke," cried the major; "you've heard the news?"

"Yes, and I'm sorry for it."

"All smoke, my dear boy, all smoke. Colonel Clive has been thinking it over, and has decided to disregard the decision of the Council and cross the river at sunrise tomorrow."

Desmond could not refrain from flinging up his hat and performing other antics expressive of delight; he was caught in the act by Clive himself, who was returning to his tent.

"You're a madcap, Burke," he said. "Come to my tent."

He employed Desmond during the next hour in writing orders to the officers of his force. This consisted of about nine hundred Europeans, two hundred Topasses, a few lascars, and some two thousand Sepoys. Eight six-pounders and two howitzers formed the whole of the artillery. Among the Europeans were about fifty sailors, some from the king's ships, some from merchantmen. Among the latter were Mr. Toley and Bulger, whose excellent service in capturing the Good Intent had enforced their request to be allowed to accompany the little army.

Shortly before dawn on June twenty-second Clive's men began to cross the river. The passage being made in safety, they rested during the hot hours, and resumed their march in the evening amid a heavy storm of rain, often having to wade waist-high the flooded fields. Soon after midnight the men, drenched to the skin, reached a mango grove somewhat north of the village of Plassey: and there, as they lay down in discomfort to snatch a brief sleep before dawn, they heard the sound of tom toms and trumpets from the Nawab's camp three miles away.

"'Tis a real comfort, that there noise," remarked Bulger as he stirred his campfire with his hook. Desmond had come to bid him good night. "Ay, true comfort to a sea-goin' man like me. For why? 'Cos it makes me feel at home. Why, I don't sleep easy if there en't some sort o' hullabaloo--wind or wave, or, if ashore, cats a-caterwaulin'. No, Mr. Subah, Nawab, or whatsomdever you call yourself, you won't frighten Bill Bulger with your tum-tum-tumin'. I may be wrong, Mr. Burke, which I never am, but there'll be tum-tum-tum of another sort tomorrer."

The grove held by Clive's troops was known as the Laksha Bagh--the grove of a hundred thousand trees. It was nearly half a mile long and three hundred yards broad. A high embankment ran all round it, and beyond this a weedy ditch formed an additional protection against assault. A little north of the grove, on the bank of the river Cossimbazar, stood a stone hunting box belonging to Sirajuddaula. Still farther north, near the river, was a quadrangular tank, and beyond this a redoubt and a mound of earth. The river there makes a loop somewhat like a horseshoe in shape, and in the neck of land between the curves of the stream the Nawab had placed his intrenched camp.

His army numbered nearly seventy thousand men, of whom fifty thousand were infantry, armed with matchlocks, bows and arrows, pikes and swords. He had in all fifty-three guns, mounted on platforms drawn by elephants and oxen. The most efficient part of his artillery was commanded by Monsieur Sinfray, who had under him some fifty Frenchmen from Chandernagore. The Nawab's vanguard consisted of fifteen thousand men under his most trusty lieutenants, including Manik Chand and Mir Madan. Rai Durlabh, the captor of Cossimbazar, and two other officers commanded separate divisions.

Dawn had hardly broken on June twenty-third, King George's birthday, when Mir Madan with a body of picked troops, seven thousand foot, five thousand horse, and Sinfray's artillery, moved out to the attack with great clamor of trumpets and drums. The remainder of the Nawab's army formed a wide arc about the north and east of the English position. Nearest to the grove was Mir Jafar's detachment.

The English were arranged in four divisions, under Majors Killpatrick, Grant and Coote, and Captain Gaupp. These had taken position in front of the embankment, the guns on the left, the Europeans in the center, the Sepoys on the right. Sinfray's gunners occupied an eminence near the tank about two hundred yards in advance of the grove, and made such good play that Clive, directing operations from the Nawab's hunting box, deemed it prudent to withdraw his men into the grove, where they were sheltered from the enemy's fire. The Nawab's troops hailed this movement with loud shouts of exultation, and, throwing their guns forward, opened a still more vigorous cannonade, which, however, did little damage.

If Mir Madan had had the courage and dash to order a combined assault, there is very little doubt that he must have overwhelmed Clive's army by sheer weight of numbers. But he let the opportunity slip. Meanwhile Clive had sent forward his two howitzers and two large guns to check Sinfray's fire.

Midday came, and save for the cannonading no fighting had taken place. Clive left the hunting box, called his officers together, and gave orders that they were to hold their positions during the rest of the day and prepare to storm the Nawab's camp at midnight. He was still talking to them when a heavy shower descended, the rain falling in torrents for an hour. Wet through, Clive hastened to the hunting lodge to change his clothes.

Scarcely had he departed when the enemy's fire slackened. Their ammunition, having been left exposed, had been rendered almost entirely useless by the rain. Fancying that the English gunners had been equally careless, Mir Madan ordered his horse to charge; but the Englishmen had kept their powder dry and received the cavalry with a deadly fire that sent them headlong back. At this moment Mir Madan himself was killed by a cannonball, and his followers, dismayed at his loss, began a precipitate retreat to their intrenchments.

Clive was still absent. The sight of the enemy retreating was too much for Major Killpatrick. Forgetting the order to maintain his position, he thought the moment opportune for a general advance. He turned to Desmond, who had remained at his side all the morning, and said:

"Burke, run off to Mr. Clive, and tell him the Moors are retreating, and I am following up."

Desmond hurried away, and reached the hunting box just as Clive had completed his change of clothes. He delivered his message. Then for the first time he saw Clive's temper at full blaze. With a passionate imprecation he rushed from the lodge, and came upon the gallant major just as he was about to lead his men to the assault.

"What the deuce do you mean, sir, by disobeying my orders? Take your men back to the grove, and be quick about it."

His tone stung like a whip. But Killpatrick had the courage of his opinions, and Desmond admired the frank manner in which he replied.

"I beg a thousand pardons, Mr. Clive, for my breach of orders, but I thought 'twas what you yourself, sir, would have done, had you been on the spot. If we can drive the Frenchmen from that eminence yonder we command the field, sir, and--"

"You're right, sir," said Clive, his rage subsiding as easily as it had arisen. "You're too far forward to retire now. I'll lead your companies. Bring up the rest of the men from the grove."

Placing himself at the head of two companies of grenadiers he continued the advance. Sinfray did not await the assault. He hastily evacuated his position, retiring on the redoubt near the Nawab's intrenchments. It was apparent to Clive that the main body of the enemy was by this time much demoralized, and he was eager to make a vigorous attack upon them while in this state. But two circumstances gave him pause. To advance upon the intrenchments would bring him under a crossfire from the redoubt, and he had sufficient respect for the Frenchmen to hesitate to risk losses among his small body of men. Further, the movements of the enemy's detachments on his right caused him some uneasiness. He suspected that they were the troops of Mir Jafar and Rai Durlabh, but he had no certain information on that point, nor had he received a message from them. He knew that Mir Jafar was untrustworthy, therefore he was unwilling to risk a general assault until assured that the troops on his flank were not hostile to him.

The doubt was suddenly resolved when he saw them check their movement, retire, and draw apart from the remainder of the Nawab's army. Giving the word at once to advance, he led his men to storm the redoubt and the mound on its right. For a short time Sinfray and his gallant Frenchmen showed a bold front; but the vigorous onslaught of the English struck fear into the hearts of his native allies; the news that the Nawab had fled completed their panic; and then began a wild and disorderly flight; horsemen galloping from the field; infantry scampering this way and that; elephants trumpeting; camels screaming, as they charged through the rabble. With British cheers and native yells Clive's men poured into the Nawab's camp, some dashing on in pursuit of the enemy, others delaying to plunder the baggage and stores, of which immense quantities lay open to their hand.

By half-past five on that memorable twenty-third of June the battle was over--the battle that gave Britain immediately the wealthiest province of India and, indirectly, the mastery of the whole of that vast Empire. The loss to the British was only twenty-three killed and fifty wounded.

Clive rested for a while in Sirajuddaula's tent, where he found on his inkstand a list of thirteen courtiers whom, even in that moment of dire extremity, he had condemned to death. From a prisoner it was learned that the Nawab had escaped on a camel with two thousand horsemen, fleeing toward Murshidabad. All day he had been in a state of terror and agitation. Deprived of his bravest officer Mir Madan, betrayed by his own relatives, the wretched youth had not waited for the critical moment. Himself carried to his capital the news of his defeat.

Orders were given to push on that night to Daudpur, six miles north of Plassey. But some time was occupied by Clive's commissariat in replacing their exhausted bullocks with teams captured in the Nawab's camp. Meanwhile Clive sent Eyre Coote forward with a small detachment to keep the enemy on the run. Among those who accompanied him was Desmond, with Bulger and Mr. Toley. Desmond hoped that he might overtake and capture Monsieur Sinfray, from whom he thought it likely he might wrest information about Mrs. Merriman and her daughter. Diggle had made use of Sinfray's house; it was not improbable that the Frenchmen knew something about the ladies. As for the seamen, they were so much disgusted at the tameness of the enemy's resistance that they were eager for anything that promised activity and adventure. Their eagerness was no whit diminished when Desmond mentioned what he had in his mind.

"By thunder, sir," said Bulger, "give me the chanst and I'll learn the mounseer the why and wherefore of it. And as for Diggle--well, I may be wrong, but I'll lay my share o' the prize money out o' the Good Intent that he's hatchin' mischief, and not far off neither. Show a leg, mateys."