It was a bolt out of the blue. Whatever his faults may have been, the

latter had spent his life for, and risked his whole fortune in, the

Company. He never recovered the blow, but went home, sought bare

justice by a lawsuit, and died ruined, broken-hearted, ere his case

was decided. So England has no monopoly in ingratitude to her public

servants.

Monsieur Godeheu was peaceful, painstaking, praiseworthy. He produced

an ill-considered but plausible treaty which rather knocked the wind

out of Clive's sails when he returned to Bombay in 1755 with Admiral

Watson's fleet, fully prepared to attack the Dekkan from the north. He

had to content himself with a campaign against the pirate-king of

Anghria, in the course of which a momentous quarrel arose between the

English and their Mahratta allies. The latter claimed a share of the

plunder, the former refused it, asserting with righteous indignation

that deliberate treachery had been proved up to the hilt against their

so-called allies, and that consequently they were entitled to nothing.

A sordid quarrel at best, which bore bitter fruit in years to come.

From this, Clive sailed to take up command at Madras, where he was met

by disastrous news from Calcutta.

Suraj-ud-daula, Nawab of Bengal, had seized on it, suffocated a

hundred and twenty-three of its inhabitants--many of them men in the

best positions--in the Black Hole, and had returned to Murshidabad,

whence he had issued orders for the destruction and confiscation of

all English property in his dominions. Such was the ineptitude of

England at that time in India, that two whole months elapsed ere

Clive, in a fever of impatience, was allowed to start for retaliation.

While we can imagine him fretting and fuming, we shall have time for a

glance back to see who Suraj-ud-daula was, and what was the cause of

his action.

Ali-Verdi-Khan, who, it will be remembered, had ceded Orissa to the

Mahrattas, had also snatched the Nawabship from his master's son; a

graceless youth, it must be admitted, while Ali-Verdi-Khan himself

was, despite many horrid acts, a fairly just ruler. During his

lifetime the English had no complaint; but at his death he committed a

gross injustice on every soul in his dominions by appointing as his

heir his grandson Suraj-ud-daula, a perfectly infamous young man. No

one, apparently, had a good word to say for him, except those amongst

whom he spent a vicious, depraved life.

His aunt, Ghasita Begum, at any rate, nourished no illusions

concerning him, and being an ambitious woman, anxious to preserve her

great fortune for future occasions of conspiracy, took immediate

precautions while Ali-Verdi lay dying against any confiscation of her

treasures. She employed one Kishen-das, a pretended pilgrim to

Juggernath, to carry them off in boats down the Ganges. Once on the

river, Kishen steered, not for the sea, but for Calcutta. It is

difficult to say whether the Governor and Council knew what they were

harbouring, but the fact remains that the treasures sought and found

British protection, one Omichand, a Hindu merchant, giving Kishen-das

hospitality.

Suraj-ud-daula took the business very badly. He made a scene at his

grandfather's death-bed, and accused the English of siding with the

faction that was against his succession. Yet, when that succession was

an accomplished fact, and the English agent appeared at his audience

to apologise in set terms for a so-called mistake in turning away, as

an impostor, from Calcutta, a spy who asserted he bore a letter from

Suraj-ud-daula, the latter kept a calm countenance and said

negligently that he had forgotten the incident. And yet it was no

slight one; for there is little doubt that the Council were not quite

satisfied with its own action.

The Nawab, however, was biding his time, and he soon found it. War was

on the point of breaking out once more in Europe between France and

England, and orders were, in consequence, sent out by the Directors of

the Company to overhaul fortifications. Repairs were at once

commenced. This was Suraj-ud-daula's opportunity. He first sent a

haughty enquiry as to why, without leave, the English were building a

new wall, and, pretending that the reply given was inadequate,

followed up his first communication by marching to Kossimbazaar with

his army, sending for Mr Watts the Governor, and with threats forcing

him to sign an engagement to destroy, within fifteen days, all new

works which had been begun at Calcutta, deliver up all the Nawab's

subjects he might call for, and refund any sums the Nawab might have

lost by passports of trade having been illegally granted.

Now, in dealing with these Indian disputes it is notoriously difficult

to read through the written lines of the formulated plaint and

counter-plaint, and reach the palimpsest below; that palimpsest of

fine, complicated motive which invariably underlies the simplest plea,

which makes even a petty debt case in India like an English A. B. C.

scrawled over a Babylonian brick, covered closely with fly-foot

stipplings. But here the stipulation regarding the Nawab's subjects

gives a clear clue. Whether Suraj-ud-daula had any just cause of

complaint or not, his real grievance was the loss of his aunt's

treasure.

This abject yielding of the English was fatal. Had any one of the

type of Clive or John Nicholson been on the spot, events might have

been very different; as it was, disaster and destruction followed.

Suraj-ud-daula marched on Calcutta, receiving by the way the gift of

two hundred barrels of gunpowder from our treaty-bound friends the

French at Chandanagore! Reading the record of these few fateful days

in June 1756 one knows not whether to laugh or to cry, to let pity or

righteous wrath prevail, as the history of silly delay and still

sillier activities unfolds itself. The feverish digging of absolutely

untenable trenches, the three weeks' delay without any preparation

whatever while letters were passing to and fro, the neglect to apply

for reinforcements to other presidencies, the imprisonment of

Omichand, the miserable fracas in his house, in which a Brahmin peon,

mad with rage and professing fear lest high-caste women should be

violated, rushed into his master's harem, killed a round dozen of

innocent ladies, and then stabbed himself, reminds one of nothing but

the fateful days of May a hundred years after, when Englishmen stood

by and watched the Mutiny grow from a chance by-blow to a giant

unrestrained. Calcutta was taken. Mr Drake, the governor, and Captain

Minchin, the commandant, ran away. The ships weighed anchor and sailed

out of gunshot, leaving one hundred and ninety deserted men in the

fort. But if cowardice showed unabashed, courage was not lacking, and

among those who showed it Mr Holwell deserves honourable mention. A

civilian himself, he locked the gates of the fort to prevent further

desertion, and final resistance being hopeless, did his best by

diplomacy to avert absolute destruction. A hard task, for he lost

twenty-five of his miserable garrison in one assault, and he lost the

aid of more by drunkenness: for the soldiers got at the _arrack_

store.

Still, he might have succeeded but for the fact that the Nawab lost

his temper on finding that the treasury only contained L5,000! And he

had imagined the English rich beyond dreams. He jumped to the

conclusion that there must be treasure concealed, and when none was

forthcoming, seems to have cared nothing for the personal safety he

had guaranteed to Mr Holwell and his following of a hundred and forty

men, women, and children.

The tale of the Black Hole of Calcutta is too well known to need

repetition. The unfortunate company were herded at nightfall into a

room eighteen feet square, and despite their agonising appeals for

deliverance, left to suffocate. By daybreak only three-and-twenty

remained alive.

And the ships which could have carried them off ere hostilities began,

which even afterwards might have rescued them, were sailing merrily

down the river, the full breeze of dawn bellying their sails.

It is an indelible disgrace!

Suraj-ud-daula, disappointed in plunder, retired to Murshidabad

fulminating vain thunders against all things British, as he abandoned

himself once more to infamous pleasures.

But Clive was on his track. Clive, filled-according to his

letters--"with grief, horror, and resentment"; determined that the

expedition should not "end with the retaking of Calcutta only, but

that the Company's estate in these parts shall be settled in a better

and more lasting condition than ever."

The story of his success is a long one, and is, unfortunately, marred

by more than one doubtful, almost inexcusable act. But that he should

utterly have escaped from the corruption of the whole atmosphere in

India at this time is more than any one has any right to expect, even

of a hero. He was but mortal, and from the time he was twenty, had had

to steer his way through a perfect network of intrigue. Again, his

complicity in much that happened is by no means assured, for we know

that he was surrounded by enemies amongst his own countrymen, who,

jealous of his success, angered with his blunt outspokenness, did

not hesitate to injure him. Let us consider for a moment what Clive

must have said to Captain Minchin, to Mr Drake, concerning their

pleasure-trip down the Hooghly while their friends were suffocating in

the Black Hole! We have his opinion of the "Bengal gentlemen" in his

letters, which runs thus:--

"The loss of private property and the means of recovering it are the

only objects which take up their attention. I would have you guard

against everything these gentlemen can say; for, believe me, they are

bad subjects and rotten at heart, and will stick at nothing to

prejudice you and the gentlemen of the Committee. Indeed, how should

they do otherwise when they have not spared one another? Their conduct

at Calcutta finds no excuse even amongst themselves; the riches of

Peru or Mexico should not induce me to dwell among them."

These are strong words, but they were written under strong emotion.

Clive, arriving at Calcutta, after a most fatiguing march of

skirmishes along the river, had been mortified by finding that Admiral

Watson, who had sailed up it and captured the town after two hours'

desultory cannonading, had already appointed a Captain Coote as

military governor. This post, naturally, was Clive's by every right,

and he objected strenuously. Matters went so far that the admiral

threatened to fire on the fort if Clive refused to leave it, and

though a compromise was effected, the affair shows the _animus_

against the young colonel.

He was hampered on all sides. We find him point-blank refusing to

place himself under the orders of the Committee.

"I do not intend," he writes, "to make use of my power for acting

separately from you, without you reduce me to the necessity for so

doing; but as far as concerns the means of executing these powers, you

will excuse me, gentlemen, if I refuse to give it up."

The very existence, therefore, of this friction makes caution

necessary in judging of Clive's actions, since, except from his own

admissions, we have nothing on which absolute reliance can be placed.

He seems to have felt himself overmatched in every way. Certainly he

proceeded with more caution than usual, except in regard to his attack

on Suraj-ud-daula's camp outside the very walls of Calcutta.

Deputies had been sent overnight to interview the Nawab with a view to

negotiation, and had returned in confusion, lightless, by secret

paths, convinced that they were to be assassinated. Huge eunuchs and

attendants, made still more terrific by stuffed coats and monstrous

turbans, had scowled at them--the Nawab had been superciliously

indifferent. Clive had about two thousand men under his command; the

enemy, under Mir-Jaffar, Suraj-ud-daula's general, mustered forty

thousand; but instant assault seemed necessary in face of that

contemptuous discourtesy.

It began at dawn, and though, owing to fog, it was not so decisive as

Clive had hoped, achieved its end, for the very next day the Nawab

proposed peace.

Now in this, again, we must read between the lines. The terms of peace

which was duly signed--Clive feeling himself far too weak to continue

war, for a time at any rate--were not acceptable to the Committee, for

Clive refused to allow the claims of "private individuals to stand in

the way of the interest of the Company." The treaty, in fact, was

singularly easy on the Nawab, but it must be remembered that Mr

Holwell, who had himself been in the Black Hole, had exculpated

Suraj-ud-daula from wilful participation in the ordering of it;

indeed, there seems little doubt that it was due to the reckless

indifference of subordinates. Thus we see here an honest endeavour on

Clive's part to deal with Suraj-ud-daula fairly and squarely. He

trusted him, disregarding Admiral Watson's warning that without a good

thrashing _first_, treaties with natives were of no avail.

His subsequent disgust at finding this warning had been correct must

be admitted in defence of his future actions. After endless

intriguing, difficult to follow, and still more difficult when

followed to understand--for the friction between Clive and his

environment seems to obscure everything--the young colonel (he was

but thirty) seems to have reverted to his desire to dislodge the

French, with which his services had begun, and, war between the

nations being opportunely declared, he attacked and took Chandanagore.

This brought about, however, a complete revelation of the perfidy of

Suraj-ud-daula, who in letters to the French governor (whom he calls

"_Zubat-ul-Tujar_," the "Essence of Merchants"), abuses "_Sabut-Jung_"

(the "Daring in War," by which name Clive is still known in India),

and promises his heart-whole support. "Be confident," he writes, "look

on my forces as your own."

Clive, conscious of having acted against general opinion in trusting

the man, resented this personally. Then Suraj-ud-daula was practically

a monster in human form. By twenty, his vices were hoary. So it may

well have been honest disgust which made Clive first consider the

possibility of deposing him in favour of Mir-Jaffar. Pages have been

written inveighing against the enormity of intriguing against a ruler

with whom you have a treaty of peace. And it is mean according to

Western ideals. Still, Clive did not shrink from it; his verdict is

brief: "I am persuaded there can be neither peace nor security while

such a monster reigns."

So he did not reign long. Mir-Jaffar was deliberately nominated; a

treaty, consisting of a preamble and thirteen articles, solemnly and

secretly drawn up. In this Omichand, merchant, moneylender, spy,

informer, a man of infinite influence at Murshidabad, was go-between.

As reward for his services and silence--for otherwise he threatened to

warn his real master Suraj-ud-daula--he insisted on receiving

L200,000. But, in truth, this treaty reads like a huge bill, for in

consideration of being made Nawab, Mir-Jaffar promised the Company to

pay, as damages for the sacking of Calcutta, L1,000,000, to the

English inhabitants thereof L500,000, to the natives L200,000, and to

the Armenians L70,000.

These were immense sums, but they were the result of absurdly

exaggerated estimates of the treasure in Murshidabad, which was

currently reported to be at least L24,000,000.

So the farce of friendship went on with the Nawab. It was a toss-up in

the end whether Mir-Jaffar would be faithful to his master or to the

treaty, and on the very eve of the battle of Plassey, that is to say,

23rd June 1757, Clive was still undetermined whether to attempt the

final blow or to refrain from it. His reputation would have benefited

if he had; for England would have won in the end without subterfuge.

Still, for all this excuse is to be found. Even the fact that Clive,

in common with half the army and navy, was to receive a stipulated

present--in his case a very large one--must not be counted, as it

appears to be at the first blush, bribery and corruption. There was no

law against the taking of douceurs; the employees of the Company,

indeed, were ill paid because of such perquisites, without which they

could not live. So, had he chosen to ask for a million of money, he

could only have been counted extortionate in his demands. But the

trick played upon Omichand with Clive's support and connivance

seems--at least--despicable. Briefly, it comes to this. Englishmen

were afraid of the scoundrel's blabbing, yet they were determined he

should not have the L200,000 for which he stipulated. They therefore

drew up two treaties, one with, one without, the stipulation. The one

they showed to Omichand was forged; the other was really signed.

It seems almost incredible this should have been done by plain English

gentlemen, let alone by one who in many ways was a hero; but so it

was.

To avoid paying L200,000 out of revenues which did not belong to us,

we resorted to fraud and forgery.

There is but one consolation in the case. Clive himself, the

arch-actor, never regretted the act. When arraigned on this charge

before the House of Commons he asserted proudly that he thought "it

warrantable in such a case, and would do it again a hundred times. I

had no interested motive in doing it, but did it with the design of

disappointing the expectations of a rapacious man, for I think both

art and policy warrantable in defeating the purposes of such a

villain."

But was Omichand "the greatest villain upon earth" that Clive held him

to be? Even this is doubtful, and our pity is his, no matter what he

was, as we read the story, as told by Orme the historian, of the

conference which was held the day after the battle.

"Clive and Scrafton went towards Omichand, who was waiting in full

assurance of hearing the glad tidings.... Scrafton said to him in the

Indostan language: 'Omichand! the red paper is a trick--you are to

have nothing.' The words overpowered him like a blast of sulphur; he

sank back fainting."

He did not recover the shock, but died a complete imbecile within the

year.

No! Whatever way we look at this incident it offends eye and taste.

For it was so needless. If Omichand was the double-dyed scoundrel he

is said to have been, what more easy than to tell him when all was

over: "Yes! the L200,000 is yours, but you shall not have it."

Clive, at any rate, was strong enough for that.

The incident prevents the remembrance of Plassey being a pure

pleasure. It was victory complete so far as it went, and by the treaty

with Mir-Jaffar Clive's hope "that the Company's estate in these parts

shall be settled in a better and more lasting condition than before"

was fully justified; for not only was Calcutta given to it freehold,

but also the land to the south of the town, as a _zemindari_ subject

to the payment of revenue.

England had a real hold on Indian soil at last, and Clive had given it

to her.

ROBERT CLIVE

A.D. 1757 TO A.D. 1767

It was in the year 1757, just one hundred years before the Mutiny,

that the battle of Plassey was fought, and that by the enthronement of

a Nawab who owed everything to English arms the East India Company

became practically lords paramount in Bengal, Behar, and Orissa.

It was in the same year that Upper India was once more disturbed by

the inroad of Ahmed-Shah, the Durrani king of Kandahar. Mahomed-Shah,

the Moghul emperor, had once repulsed him, and Ahmed-Shah, the

Afghan's namesake, son and successor of the Great Moghul, had, for the

six years of his reign, watched the north-western frontier nervously.

But he died in 1754 without signs of the dread invasion.

It came, however, in Alamgir the Second's time, through no fault of

that distressful puppet, but owing to the arrogance of Ghazi-ud-din,

Grand Vizier, and eldest son of the old fox Asaf-Jah. Heredity is

strong. In his lifetime there was not a political pie in all India

into which the latter's wily old finger did not dip, and now his

descendants carried on the same game. Salabut-Jung, his son, was

French nominee for the Nizamship; Muzaffar-Jung, grandson, for the

Nawabship of the Carnatic. Nazir-Jung, who perished miserably through

the treachery of Dupleix, had been another candidate, and at the

effete court of Delhi, Ghazi-ud-din was virtually king. He chose to

insult the widow of an Afghan governor of Lahore, and Ahmed-Shah,

Durrani, marched to avenge it.

The vengeance was deep and bitter. Delhi was laid waste; the horrors

of Nadir-Shah being repeated and excelled, for the Durrani had

not the Persian's hold upon his troops. He also penetrated further

down-country than did Nadir, and harried the Gangetic plain as far as

Muttra. The news of his raid, indeed, was one of the many factors in

the problem of action or inaction which Clive had had to decide. But

the heat drove the hardy northmen back to their hills, and Upper India

reverted once more to its old peaceful life, Delhi to dreams. It was a

drugged city in those days, winking sleepily in the sunlight, enduring

ravishment patiently, returning when the stress was over to watch its

pageant king sitting on his pinchbeck peacock throne, pretending to be

all-powerful, looking out haughtily, with opium-dimmed eyes, upon a

subject world, that in reality cared not one jot for the so-called

descendants of the Great Moghul.

In Bengal the English had been king-makers without one reference to

the sovereign power. In the very Punjab itself, the Mahrattas, invited

to his aid by Ghazi-ud-din, came and mastered the length and breadth

of the land. In truth, their star was in its zenith. Even in the

Dekkan, despite the help of a French force under Monsieur Bussy-by far

the ablest commander France ever sent to the East--Salabut-Jung could

with difficulty keep in the field against them.

And France was beginning to find her hands full. War had been declared

in Europe between her and England, and in 1758 the Comte de Lally, a

man of great reputation, was sent out avowedly with the intention of

breaking the English power in the East.

A bit of a braggadocio was Lally, and all unversed in Oriental likes

and dislikes. He began ill by ousting Bussy, in whom the French allies

believed utterly, much as the English allies believed in Clive. The

secret of this belief may be evolved from the tale of the taking of

Bobbili. It was an old fort held by an old family of Rajputs, and

Bussy called on it to yield, assaulted it for three days, and finally,

on the third night, sounded "cease firing," and waited for the morning

to deliver his final blow.

Not a sound disturbed the silence of the night. The primrose dawn

showed pale, the old fort rising stern against it. But the gates were

open. Bussy entered with caution. The sentries at their posts were

dead, the streets were empty, but in the arcades men lay sleeping

their last sleep.

The palace doorkeepers were on duty--dead! As he and his staff hurried

through the narrow passages, they could see through dark archways

women lying huddled up in each other's arms--dead! The Hall of

Audience was reached at last; and there, each in his place, the

courtiers had drawn their last breath. But the chief was not on the

throne; that was occupied by a year-old boy-baby, the beloved heir,

playing unconcernedly with the heron's plume of his dead father, who,

with his sword through his heart, lay with his head at the feet of his

little son. Beside him was the only other living soul in Bobbili, the

oldest inhabitant of the town.

Youth and age! The lesson was not unlearnt by Bussy, and Bobbili

remains a chieftainship to this day.

Lally, however, was of different mettle. To him, surrounded by

well-born, fashionable French officers, all things Eastern were

beneath contempt. What was a Brahmin that he should not do what he was

told to do, even though the order involved his being yoked cart-fellow

with a sweeper?

It was not conducive to anything but discipline; and discipline in

India is limited, like all other things, by caste.

Small wonder, then, that, opposed to such a leader as Captain,

afterwards Sir Eyre Coote (for Clive could not leave Bengal), the

French fortunes gradually failed, until in 1761 all hold on India was

lost by the taking of Pondicherry. Poor Lally! He had pitted himself

against Orientalism, and he failed miserably. Yet, once again, he did

not deserve to be dragged to execution on a dung-cart for having been

"insolent to His Majesty King Louis XVth's other officers" (which was

a true count), "and for treason to His Majesty himself" (which was

false). Of how many reputations has not India unjustly been the grave?

Truly one can echo Lally's last words: "Tell my judges that God has

given me grace to pardon them: but if I were to see them again, that

grace might go."

It is a wonderfully human speech. One can forgive him much for it, but

one cannot forgive his judges as he did; deep down, their meanness,

their lack of wide outlook, rankles.

While Eyre Coote, however, was bringing the French power to its end

for ever, Clive was consolidating the British hold in Bengal; and

still under the stress of utterly uncongenial coadjutors.

"I cannot help feeling," he writes to the Select Committee, "that had

the expedition miscarried you would have laid the whole blame upon

me." And this was true.

The influx into Calcutta of close on L800,000, paid according to

treaty from Suraj-ud-daula's treasure chest--which after all only

contained, revenues counted, something under L7,000,000--seems to have

roused rapacity on all sides. It is worthy of note, however, that

Clive's part in the squabble which ensued is invariably on the side of

justice. When Admiral Watson claimed his share of the loot as an

actual, though not a formal member of the Select Committee, Clive at

once saw the reasonableness of the claim, and set an example--which

was not followed--of handing over his share of the additional portion

which had to be made up. He also fought strenuously, and overcame, an

attempt on the part of the military to exclude the navy from any share

in the plunder. Indeed, his reply to the "Remonstrance and Protest"

sent him by the soldiers is worthy of quotation.

"How comes it," he asks, "that a promise of money from the Nawab

_entirely negotiated by me_ can be deemed by you a matter of right and

property?... It is now in my power to return to the Nawab the money

already advanced, and leave it to his option whether he will perform

his promise or not. You have stormed no town and found no money there;

neither did you find it on the plain of Plassey. In short, gentlemen,

it pains me to remind you that what you are to receive is entirely

owing to the care I took of your interests."

So, after pointing out that, but for this care, the Company would only

have awarded them at the outside six months' pay, he finishes by

upbraiding them with their disrespect and ingratitude, and placing the

officers who brought him the remonstrance under arrest.

Now this letter, frank and straightforward, enables us to see the

position as Clive saw it. The army was purely a mercenary army. From

the day on which the English had sided with the Nawab of Arcot it

always had been mercenary. The natives had paid their allies. The

question as to the advisability of this did not come in; the fact

remained. Therefore, on the supposition that Suraj-ud-daula's wealth

was enormous, enormous fees had been asked.

Blame, therefore, could only be given for rapacity, not for the actual

taking of any fee. And the advantage to the Company of what had been

accomplished was so incalculable that no complaint from _it_ was

possible.

It had been an easy task to place Mir-Jaffar on the throne, but it

required all Clive's will-power to induce him to do as he was bid. The

spoliation of Suraj-ud-daula's treasury had left the former in

comparative poverty, and he resented being made by Clive to fulfil his

engagements under the treaty. Still, he could not afford to quarrel

with one who maintained the peace by crushing rebellion, apparently,

by his mere presence.

Just, however, as he was hesitating over an attempt at independence,

news came that the Wazir of Oude was marching upon Bengal, and at the

same time an envoy of the Mahrattas appeared, demanding L240,000

arrears of tribute. Fear threw him again into Clive's arms, who,

however, had by this time come to see that in choosing Mir-Jaffar as

Nawab, he had chosen one who would always be a thorn in the side of

good government.

"He has no talent," he writes, "for gaining the love and confidence of

his officers. His mismanagement of the country ... might have proved

fatal ... no less than three rebellions were on foot at one time."

Still, by unceasing efforts, Clive is able to report in 1758 that the

Nawab seems now "so well fixed in his government as to be able, with a

small degree of prudence, to maintain himself quietly in it." Under

better management, money was flowing in, and the general outlook

seemed bright. In the same year Clive was by popular acclaim appointed

Governor of Bengal.

The Directors in London had unaccountably overlooked him, possibly

because he ought really to have returned to Madras, but the Council in

India felt that, without his personal influence with Mir-Jaffar, their

position was critical. The whole English position was, in truth, at

this time dubious. The French had been at this period successful on

the Coromandel Coast, and the prince-royal of Delhi, having quarrelled

with his father, had left the court, and was on his way with a large

army to claim the viceroyalty of Bengal. Now, open defiance of the

claims of the Great Moghul family was rank sacrilege. Mir-Jaffar, with

a half-eye to ridding himself somehow of British influence, professed

horror. Clive's thumb, however, was over him, and escape impossible.

The prince-royal was curtly told that, as rebel to his father, he had

no authority, and when the Wazir of Oude arrived in support of the

claim, both he and the prince were as curtly and decidedly beaten.

Mir-Jaffar was now full of gratitude, and determined to give Clive

(who, as a recognised official of the Court, ought to have had one) a

_jaghir_, or grant of land for services done. No high official of any

native ruler is without one. But Mir-Jaffar was cunning. The

_zemindari_, or land subject to revenue, which, under pressure, he had

given to the Company was, he saw, really a screw which might be used

against him at any time by refusal to pay the just dues.

He therefore hit on the happy idea of killing two birds with one

stone. He would give the quit-rent of this to Clive, and leave him and

his Company to fight it out between themselves! It really was very

ingenious, very acute, as the opposition the plan aroused in the

Council clearly proved. It is, in fact, amusing to read the many

arguments advanced against it; all of which are in reality founded on

the Company's inward determination to use the quit-rent as a set-off

against the Nawab.

He, however, had a perfect right to do as he did, and Clive himself is

not to be blamed for sticking to a bargain which gave him some hold of

his enemies and detractors. And yet when, after annihilating a Dutch

expedition, and forcing on the promoters as conditions of peace that

they should never again introduce or enlist troops or raise

fortifications in India, Clive announced his intention of going to

England on leave, the best part of Calcutta was on its knees to him

begging him to reconsider his resolution.

Without him Mir-Jaffar was a broken reed.

And the Nawab himself was as urgent in appeal. Without Clive's help,

how could he hope to keep the constant encroachments of the Company's

servants within bounds?

But Clive was obdurate. He was clear-sighted, and he saw beyond the

present. He saw, as he himself writes, that what the future might

bring "was too extensive for a mere mercantile company," and he was

eager to get home to impress England with his belief, and induce her

to stretch out her right hand and take the rich heritage which might

be hers. Whether in strict morality she had a right to do this is

another matter. Clive thought she had, and in determining the point

there can be no doubt whatever that (as he himself writes, "with a

thorough knowledge of this country's Government, and of the genius of

its people, acquired by two years' experience") one of the chief

factors which weighed with him was his conviction that the people

themselves "would rejoice in so happy an exchange as that of a mild

for a despotic Government."

And that the British Government would be mild was by every evidence

part of Clive's faith in himself and in his country. The natives loved

him. Nowhere in all his history is there one hint of cruelty in his

treatment of them, unless (as in the case of Omichand) hot anger at

treachery rose up in him.

"He was the greatest villain upon earth--I would do it again a hundred

times over."

Surely if ever Clive gains his deserved memorial, these words of his

should find some place upon it in palliation of the offence which

tarnished his reputation. An offence which, when all is said and done,

has something of the nature of an unreasoning, impish, boyish trick

about it which is reminiscent of other incidents in Clive's career,

notably the firing of Aurungzebe's old gun at Arcot, and the _detour_

to smash up the victory-pillar of Dupleix.

So Clive went home, and, arriving at an opportune moment of national

depression after a series of rebuffs abroad, was honoured as something

of which England could be proud. He was given an Irish barony. "I

could have bought an English one (which is usual), but that I was

above," he writes. And yet, apparently, he was not above holding his

tongue on many matters of national importance, because he was afraid

of irritating the Court of Directors who had the payment of his

_jaghir_ money. But Clive was ambitious, extraordinarily ambitious, at

this time of his career.

"We must be nabobs ourselves," is a phrase which occurs in one of his

letters; also this: "My future power, my future grandeur, all depend

upon the receipt of the _jaghir_ money."

What scheme lay hidden in his brain? One thing is certain. He scrupled

at little which would help him to its realisation. He failed, however,

in getting a majority in the Council of Directors, though to do so he

employed the discreditable tactics of his adversaries by manufacturing

votes. In his defence it must be remembered that he was fighting

single-handed against a corrupt monopoly, and that throughout the

whole quarrel he never flinched from his purpose.

He took the question of his _jaghir_, which the Company refused to

pay, into Chancery, but ere the case was investigated, news of so

serious a nature was received from India that a sudden and imperious

call for Clive to return arose on all sides. He had made our dominion

in the East. Only he could save it from destruction.

The story of what had happened during his four years' absence may be

briefly epitomised.

Alamgir II., emperor at Delhi, had been murdered by his minister

Ghazi-ud-din from fear of his intriguing with Ahmed-Shah, Durrani, who

was once more marching on the Punjab. Backed by his Mahrattas, the

minister thought himself secure; in this he was mistaken. True, the

Mahrattas were in the zenith of their power, their artillery surpassed

that of the Moghuls, the discipline of their army was better than it

had ever been before, but they had in consequence lost something of

their lightness, their alertness.

And they were too numerous. When they finally found themselves

entrenched on the old historic battle-plain of Paniput awaiting

Ahmed-Shah's advance, they numbered no less than three hundred

thousand. Excellent foragers though they were, supplies soon ran

short. On the other hand, Ahmed-Shah, with the confederacy of Mahomed

princes which had joined forces with him, mustered but a third of that

number. He saw his advantage, and waited, replying to his Indian

allies' importunities to attack: "This is a matter of war; leave it to

me." Night after night his small red tent was pitched in front of his

entrenchments, whence he watched his enemy. "Do you sleep," he would

say contemptuously to the Indian chiefs; "I will see no harm befalls

you."

So the day came at last when the Mahrattas were forced by hunger to

attack. They fought well; but by eventide two hundred thousand of them

lay dead in heaps on the Paniput plain. Nearly all the great chiefs

were slain or wounded, and Bala-ji, the Peishwa, himself died on the

way back to Poona, it is said from a broken heart. Ahmed-Shah,

Durrani, returned to Kandahar and did not again enter India.

In consequence of his father's murder the prince-royal, in natural

succession, became the Great Moghul. As such it became impossible to

further ignore his claims. But he could be, and was, again beaten,

together with his ally the Nawab of Oude. Matters at Murshidabad,

however, deprived of Clive's guidance, had gone from bad to worse. Mr

Vansittart, Clive's successor in the Governorship, seems to have been

weak, and in addition could count on no support in his council save

that of Warren Hastings. The end being that Mir-Jaffar was virtually

deposed for misgovernment, and his son-in-law Mir-Kassim placed on the

throne. It was not a clean business, and Mir-Jaffar, full of

resentment, retired to live in Calcutta on a pension.

Things, however, did not improve under Mir-Kassim, though the

Prince-Royal-Emperor, who was still hovering on the frontiers, was

interviewed by Mr Carnac (doubtless bearing a satisfactory present),

and an arrangement entered into by which, in consideration of being

confirmed in the Nawabship, Mir Kassim should pay an annual tribute of

L240,000. It is easy to be generous with other folks' money!

Thus secured from invasion, Mir-Kassim began to try and fill his

treasuries, and instantly complained, as Mir-Jaffar had complained, of

the injury done to him and his subjects by the rule which permitted

private trade to the servants of the Company, who, not satisfied with

using their public position to assist them, claimed the right to be

free of all duties, thus ousting the native trader from all markets.

It was manifest, gross injustice; but here again Mr Vansittart and

Warren Hastings were alone in condemning it.

Afraid to strike at the root of the evil, while continuing the

absolutely indefensible right to private trade, they agreed with the

Nawab that the usual duty should be paid.

This raised a storm in Calcutta, where a full meeting of Council

decided by ten to two that the agreement should not stand.

The Nawab retaliated in kind. Since the Council persisted in their

claim, he would extend its bearings to his own subjects. All could now

trade free, and let the devil take the hindmost!

It was a fair retort. They tried to intimidate him, but he had the bit

between his teeth. Diplomacy had had its day; it was now war to the

knife!

Within a month or two the massacre at Patna took place, in which two

hundred Englishmen lost their lives in cold blood; but not before the

Presidency troops had entered Murshidabad, deposed Mir-Kassim, who

fled, and reinstated Mir-Jaffar.

It was a tissue of mistakes from beginning to end, which Major

Munro's subsequent victory at Buxar over the combined forces of the

Prince-Royal-Emperor (who had not yet managed to recover his capital

Delhi), the Wazir of Oude, and Mir-Kassim did little to rectify. For

Mir-Jaffar died shortly after of old age, and the Council was left

without a Nawab to squeeze! After much discussion, however, they

decided on putting up Nujam-ad-daula, an illegitimate son of

Mir-Jaffar's.

Such was the state of affairs when Clive, to whom, in view of the

painful state of disorder in Bengal, absolute power had been given,

arrived in Calcutta on his second period of Governorship in the

beginning of May 1765.

His first act was to decline discussion.

"I was determined," he writes, "to do my duty to the public, though I

should incur the odium of the whole settlement. The welfare of the

Company required a vigorous exertion, and I took the resolution of

cleansing the Augean stable."

He began the work at once, and, undeterred by opposition, did not rest

till he had placed the Indian Civil Service on the upward path to its

present honoured and honourable position. Perquisites and presents

were swept away; unbiassed authority given in exchange.

The only real political work of the next two years was his treatment

of, and treaty with, the Prince-Royal-Emperor, Shah-Alam, who was more

than ever a puppet king after the victory at Buxar, when he had thrown

himself on the protection of the English. So anxious, indeed, was he

to secure this, that before the answer to his petition was received

from Calcutta, he encamped every night as close to the British army as

he could for safety!

The treaty into which he then entered contained an important

stipulation that the Company should assist him to recover the

territories usurped by his late ally Sujah-daula, Wazir of Oude.

Hearing of this the Wazir immediately prepared for resistance by

joining forces with Ghazi-ud-din, the murderous minister at Delhi, and

with some bands of Rohillas and Mahrattas.

But they were poor allies, and Clive, coming to the problem with his

clear head, proceeded to settle it with a high hand. Sujah-daula was

left with his territories, save for the district around Allahabad,

which was ceded to Shah-Alam, the so-called emperor, who was also to

receive L260,000 a year as the revenue of Bengal. This was to be

payable, not as in the past, by the Nawab, but by the East India

Company itself, who thus became the real masters of the country, and

so responsible for its administration, its defences; the Nawab,

Nujam-ud-daula, reverting to the position of pensioner, a position

which he accepted gladly with the remark: "Thank God! I shall now have

as many dancing-girls as I please!"

That the bargains were hard all round none can deny, but it is

difficult to see, as has been stated, that Clive derived any pecuniary

benefit from them.

On the contrary, it may be observed that special precautions were

taken to ensure the legality of the compromise which Clive had entered

into with the Directors regarding his _jaghir_, when the public

interests, by recalling him to duty, had made some quicker settlement

of the question than that of a Chancery suit necessary. Now this

compromise, which gave him the revenues for ten years only, or till

his death, whichever was the shortest period, was not very favourable

to Clive. Its continuance, therefore, should not be urged, as it often

is, as proof of his rapacity.

The problem which next employed him was one of extreme difficulty. It

was an enquiry into the conduct of officers in regard to their new

covenants which prohibited the receiving of presents. As a result of

this, ten officials who were dismissed for corruption went naturally

to join the ranks of Clive's many enemies.

The question of private trade still remained, and was more difficult

of settlement. For the salary of a member of Council was but L350, and

he could not keep up the dignity of his position on less than L3,000.

Clive settled this in a somewhat makeshift way, but it is worthy of

note that though as governor his pay was largely enhanced by the new

scheme, he did not personally take one penny of it, for he had

declared his intention of not deriving any pecuniary advantage from

his position. The money was spent in augmenting the salaries of his

office. All this caused much indignation; many of the Council retired,

and to fill their places Clive had the temerity to import outsiders.

No sooner was this over than almost every officer of the army mutinied

over the withdrawal of double _batta_, or war allowances. No less than

two hundred commissions were resigned, and the outlook was black.

Clive set his teeth, and though one of the brigades sent in their

resignations _en bloc_ in the very face of an enemy, he won through by

indomitable firmness, unending patience. The officers of the European

regiment at Allahabad gave most trouble, but a battalion of sepoys,

marching 104 miles in fifty-four hours, brought them to reason

sharply.

So, when the fight was over, and the ringleaders--only six

officers--were tried and punished most leniently (the Mutiny Act of

the Company's service proving defective), Clive founded the military

fund which still goes by his name, and which has been, and is still, a

boon to many a poor widow. Its nucleus was Clive's gift of L63,000.

But his health was failing. His last act ere leaving for

England--never to return--in 1767 was to attend a conference between

Shah-Alam's representatives, Sujah-daula, now the Nawab of Oude, and

some Mahratta deputies. The question was a proposal to regain Delhi

for the emperor, with the aid of the Company's troops.

Clive at once negatived it. He saw the Mahrattas were now the only

possible enemies to peace from whom danger was to be apprehended, and

he declined to aid them in any way. On the contrary, he urged the

foundation of a confederacy to repel their incursions.

This was his last attempt at diplomacy. He left for England, to find

disgrace and disillusionment awaiting him. He had made hundreds,

almost thousands of enemies by his just reforms, and with a British

public ready, as ever, to be gulled, they had their opportunity. There

is no more pitiful and pitiable reading than these records--and in the

case of Burke's famous impeachment of Warren Hastings they run to

volumes--of these tortuous attempts to twist Western standards of

ethics to fit Oriental actions. Putting aside the _animus_, the

devilish desire for revenge which inspires most of them, the absolute

ignorance of what may be called the atmospheric conditions of India in

them remains appalling.

True, Clive had taken L180,000 as his share, when Mir-Jaffar was

enthroned. What then? It was a trifle in comparison with the _sunnuds_

gifted to _omrahs_ of the court by many a native principality and

power to those who served it well. And there was no rule against the

reception of honours or presents. Certainly, also, as one follows

Clive through all his great services, one can but say that rapacity

shows far less in him than in his compeers; one can but echo the words

in which the Company, at the time of his departure, summed up those

services.

"Your own example has been the principal means of restraining the

general rapaciousness and corruption which had brought our affairs to

the brink of ruin."

Now, however, by the machinations of those whom he had checked, he was

brought to plead for bare honour before the bar of the House of Lords.

"Before I sit down I have one request to make this Assembly, and that

is, that when they come to decide upon my honour they will not forget

their own."

So he appealed, and the appeal was not fruitless: England was spared

the disgrace which France had brought on herself by her treatment of

Labourdonnais, Dupleix, and Lally.

But the verdict, that "Robert, Lord Clive, as Commander-in-Chief, had

taken a sum of L280,000," but that "at the same time he had rendered

great and meritorious services to his country," was not one to satisfy

Robert Clive.

He was ill; he suffered from an excruciating disease which opium

alleviated, and he ended all his troubles by an overdose of the drug a

few months after the day when, with an intolerable sense of injustice

at his heart, he quitted the tribunal before which he had been so

maliciously arraigned.

For, as he said in his defence, sixteen long years had passed since

the offence--if offence there had been--was committed; sixteen long

years of silence, of confidence well repaid by faithful service.

HYDER-ALI ET ALIA

A.D. 1767 TO A.D. 1773

While Clive was laying the foundation-stones both of the Indian Empire

and the Indian Civil Service in Bengal, Madras had had its share of

wars and rumours of wars. It will be impossible, however, to treat of

them in detail. All that can be done is to pick out of the seething

mass of intrigue, of incident, those things which are necessary

to be known, in order that future events shall find their proper

pigeon-hole.

The Peace of Paris, signed in 1763, gave back to France her

possessions on the Coromandel Coast, and further stipulated that the

English nominee, Mahomed-Ali, Nawab of Arcot, should be recognised by

both parties as lawful Nawab of the Carnatic, and Salabut-Jung, the

French nominee, as Nizam of the Dekkan.

Regarding the latter, there is grim humour in the fact, that three

years before the Peace was signed poor Salabut had been ousted and

imprisoned by his brother Nizam-Ali, and that he was promptly murdered

by him the moment news of the treaty reached India! It is not always

safe to have the support of the ignorant!

But the Treaty of Paris did more mischief than the murder of the poor

prince. It put wind into Mahomed-Ali's head, embroiled him with the

Nizam, led to complications with the Madras Company, which in the year

1765 found itself in the unenviable position of having to pay L900,000

to the Nizam as tribute for the Northern Circars, instead of holding

them rent free from the Great Moghul, as arranged for by Lord Clive.

It was a gross piece of mismanagement, and carried with it the

perfectly monstrous provision that the Company should furnish troops

ready to "settle, in everything right and proper, the affairs of His

Highness's government." That is to say, the Nizam had the right to

call the tune without paying the piper!

[Map: India to A.D. 1757]

The very first thing he did was to involve England in a war with

Hyder-Ali, an adventurer _pur et simple_ who, beginning by being an

uncontrolled youth divided between licentious pleasure and life in the

woods, free, untamed as any wild creature, forced himself up from one

position to another till he held half the territories of the Rajah of

Mysore, and had usurped the whole government of that country. Lawless,

fierce, without any scruples of any kind, he sided first with one ally

then with another, until finally, in 1766, he found himself faced with

the fact that Mahdu Rao the Mahratta, the Nizam, and the Company, were

leagued together for his destruction. The latter had, some time

previously, tried to bribe him to proper behaviour, but had failed;

for he was, briefly, quite untamable.

Hyder-Ali set to work with his usual fierce energy. He first

deliberately bought off the Mahratta mercenaries by parting with

certain outlying portions of his stolen territories, and the gift of

L350,000 out of his bursting treasures. It was a big bribe, but

Hyder-Ali's finances could stand it; for he was a super-excellent

robber, with a well-organised army of free-lances for backers.

Meanwhile, the Nizam's forces and those of the Company under Colonel

Smith were approaching Mysore from different sides. It was agreed,

however, that the two armies should, when they reached fighting

distance, join forces in one camp, so as to show their inviolable

unity. But alas! when this happy consummation was reached, the English

troops had the mortification of seeing the Nizam's troops march out as

they marched in!

Hyder had been successful with his money-bags once more, and after an

absurd and futile farce of palavering on the part of the Company,

Colonel Smith prepared to face the enemy's seventy thousand men and

one hundred and nine guns with his own meagre seven thousand and

sixteen guns. It is astonishing to think how he won his battle and

managed to retreat in safety, though he had against his poor thousand

of cavalry over forty-two thousand of mounted men, pure freebooters by

trade. He seems to have had mettle, this almost unheard-of Colonel

Smith, for immediately he received reinforcements he resumed the

offensive, and after a time completely defeated Hyder and the Nizam at

Trincomalee. Concerning this battle a nice little story is told. The

Nizam, as is the custom of Eastern potentates, had taken his favourite

women with him to the fight mounted on elephants, which stood in line

at the rear. The Nizam, seeing the tide of war going against him, gave

orders for the elephants to turn and retire, when from one howdah

arose a clear, scornful, feminine voice: "This elephant has not been

taught so to turn; he follows the standard of Empire."

And follow it he did, standing alone amid shot and shell, till the

royal standards, flying in hot haste, gave him the lead.

But not even this sort of thing could avail. And Hyder's money-bags

failed him also in an attempt to suborn an English commandant, who

replied to the second flag of truce sent in with a bribe, that if

Hyder-Ali wished to spare the lives of his ambassadors, he had better

refrain from sending more, as they would be hanged in his sight.

Still, bursting money-bags do much, and ever since the sacking of

Bednore, an ancient Hindu city where he had found treasures worth over

L12,000,000, Hyder had never been crippled by any lack of gold.

Nothing held him. He was here, there, everywhere. Recovering lost

territory one day, losing it the next, fighting everybody, even the

Mahrattas, like a wild cat, and inwardly raging at his failure to

crush the English, who had just entered into a new treaty with his

former ally the Nizam, by which the latter again acknowledged the

rights of the Company to the Northern Circars, and further ceded to

it, for the annual payment of L700,000, the whole district of Mysore.

Thus Madras gained its _diwani_ as well as Bengal.

There is something almost ludicrous in the ease with which territory

changed hands in those days, and we are left with the picture in our

mind's eye of a be-jewelled potentate and a be-stocked officer

hobnobbing over bags of rupees, silk-paper documents, and large seals.

This treaty was a bitter pill to Hyder, who retaliated in every

possible way, until one day, by deft stratagem, he took his enemies in

the rear, appeared by forced marches before the very walls of Madras,

so, with the pleasure-gardens and houses of the councillors at his

mercy, almost compelled a treaty of mutual aid and defence.

A _volte face_ indeed! Small wonder that the Directors at home, who

had been complaining ineffectively of the expenses of the war, became

bewildered by the sudden change of _venue_. The general public also,

seeing the price of East India stock go down 60 per cent., became

uneasy; there is nothing like a drop in Trust-Securities for rousing

the national conscience! Dividends were declining, debts were

increasing, the glorious hopes of unbounded riches from India had

faded; actuaries, nicely balancing debit and credit against the

Company, discovered that no less than one and a quarter million of the

original stock of four and a quarter of millions had gone,

disappeared!

Fateful disclosures these! Public outcry rose loud; voices that had

kept discreet silence while profit seemed the certain result of wars,

and treaties, and giftings, were now uplifted against rapacity,

misconduct, corruption; in the midst of which the alarming discovery

was made that the Company required a loan of L1,000,000 from this same

public in order to carry on the business. Yet, unless the business was

carried on, how could the yearly payments of L400,000 to the royal

exchequer, on which the public had insisted, be continued?

Could mismanagement further go?

So three supervisors, vested with full powers, were appointed, and set

sail for India in one of His Majesty's frigates. But Fate intervened.

They passed the Cape in safety, but were never heard of again.

This was too much. A victim must be found. Therefore Clive was

arraigned. That story has already been told, so we can pass on to the

mutual recriminations in Parliament, the growing determination on the

part of John Bull, honest and dishonest, that something must be done,

which found fruit in the first Regulating Act "for the better

management of the affairs of the East India Company as well in India

as in Europe." By this Act a governor-generalship with a salary of

L25,000 was created, together with four councillorships of L8,000.

Bombay and Madras were made subordinate to Calcutta, and a Supreme

Court of Judicature, appointed by the Crown, was established at the

latter place. All the other appointments were to be subject to the

confirmation of Parliament, and all the holders of these offices were

excluded from commercial pursuits.

The scheme sounded well, but it provided very little aid in reforming

the abuses which undoubtedly existed.

It increased the charges upon revenues already overburdened, and the

attempt to introduce English ideas of law was calculated to produce

more injustice, more oppression, and rouse more alarm and distrust

than the previous absence of it had done.

But the dividend for the year 1773 had sunk to 6 per cent.

It was manifestly time to be up and doing--something!

WARREN HASTINGS

A.D. 1773 TO A.D. 1784

It will be remembered that Warren Hastings was the only Member of

Council who supported Clive in his decision that all servants of the

Company engaging in private trade were bound to pay duty.

Thus, undoubtedly, Clive's enemies must have been his enemies. He had,

however, risen with reputation through the various stages of his

Indian career; in 1772 he was made President-of-the-Council in Bengal,

and immediately set to work to remedy the existing abuses in the

collection of the revenue and the whole general administration;

a task which was not likely to bring him an addition of friends.

While this great revolution in system, which involved the letting of

land by public auction, was in full swing, the native potentates

beyond Bengal were as usual in a seething state of intrigue. The

Prince-Royal-Emperor Shah-Alam had at last succeeded in getting the

Mahrattas to aid him in recovering Delhi, though he had had to pay a

huge price for their help, amongst other things the cession to them of

his grant from the English of Allahabad. Consequently, the rich

country of the Rohillas (an Afghan race who had settled in India),

which reached up from the Delhi plains to the Sivalik hills, attracted

him as a means of again filling his treasury. The Mahrattas were,

naturally, nothing loth; so the combined forces marched on Rohilkund,

despite the fact that its people were friendly. In the general

catch-who-catch-can of India in these days, friendship, honour, truth,

counted for nothing it is to be feared, neither with East nor West.

For the tall price of L400,000 the Nawab of Oude promised to rid the

Rohillas of the Mahratta hordes; but being recalled southward by

internal dissensions, the Mahrattas, it is said, left of their own

accord, and the Rohillas repudiated the bargain. Nothing had been

done, they averred, therefore nothing was to be paid.

This gave the Nawab Sujah-ud-daula an excellent pretext for war. He

had long been anxious to annex Rohilkund, but he needed help to cope

with its warlike race. He naturally turned to the English, who had

come to aid him (for they were--and small wonder--incensed at the

thought of a Mahratta garrison at Allahabad) in repelling a threatened

invasion of the Emperor and his allies. So the Treaty of Benares came

to be signed, in which, for a payment of L500,000 yearly, Allahabad

was once more ceded by the Company (who had promptly repudiated its

cession to the Mahrattas) to its original and rightful owner, the

Nawab of Oude. It was also agreed that for a sum of L21,000 a month

the said Nawab should have the right to the services of a British

brigade.

So much is certain. Beyond this, unreliability invades the whole

business of the Rohilla war. It has been so distorted, by both sides,

in the controversy which arose out of the famous impeachment of Warren

Hastings, that the truth is now beyond reach.

Undoubtedly, the British troops were mercenaries; but so they had been

from the very beginning, and the exchequer of the Company was at the

time very low, whilst behind everything was the great company of

British shareholders clamouring for a dividend. Blame may be poured as

vitriol on the reputations of many men, but the great offender was the

general greed of gold _in England_.

Hastings, however, was already on his defence for this apparently

unnecessary war (which yet brought in grist to the mill) when he was

appointed the first Governor-General of India under the New Act.

This same Act, however, brought out from England his and Clive's

bitterest enemy, Philip, afterwards Sir Philip Francis, as one of the

four councillors.

So, from the very beginning, Hastings' hands were tied, for General

Clavering and Mr Monson had come out in the same ship with Mr Francis,

and were led by the nose by him, leaving only Mr Barwell to form an

ineffectual minority with the Governor-General.

It was as if the desire at home had been to stultify reform, since

quarrel began at once. Warren Hastings declined even to consider the

recall of the Resident in Oude, who had been appointed by him under

the old rules. The Triumvirate not only recalled him--a man of whom

they knew nothing good, bad, or indifferent--by their majority of one,

but appointed in his stead a Colonel Champion of whom they knew less,

save that he was the author of various highly-coloured, sensational,

almost hysterical letters on the iniquities of the Rohilla war; the

appointment, therefore, tells its own tale of bias. The instructions

given to the Colonel were incredibly foolish. He was to call for

instant payment (within fourteen days) of the L400,000 the Nawab had

promised to pay on the conclusion of the war, failing which he was to

withdraw the brigade at all costs. Anything more unscrupulous than

this demand for what the Triumvirate was pleased to call "blood

money," while appearances were to be saved by, possibly, withdrawing

aid at a critical moment, could not be imagined. But despite Warren

Hastings' vehement opposition, the instructions were issued, though

Fate intervened in the cause of common-sense ere they could be carried

out, by the news that the war was over!

The dissensions in the Council soon became notorious; the

natives--time-servers by nature, and quick to seize on any opportunity

of ingratiating themselves with those who have the whiphand--lost no

time in trumping up charges against Warren Hastings. These, even one

which alleged that out of a bribe of L90,000, only L1,500 fell to the

Governor-General's share--a charge which refutes itself by sheer

absurdity--were enquired into with reckless, indecent animosity.

Finally, the complaint of one Rajah Nuncomar brought matters to a

crisis. In this matter it is almost impossible to blame sufficiently

the conduct of the Triumvirate, who used their wretched majority of

one, not for any public purpose, but simply to gratify private spite.

Small wonder was it that, confronted with such absolutely unscrupulous

animosity, Warren Hastings took up the glove and fought fairly enough,

but with every weapon he could lay his hands upon.

There was a Supreme Court in Calcutta, and Nuncomar had, amongst other

and many villainies (for he was known to be a desperate and

unprincipled intriguer), a bad habit of forgery.

He had been on trial for this once before, and Hastings had interfered

for his release. Now he let the law take its course, and Rajah

Nuncomar, duly tried and sentenced, suffered the extreme penalty, for

forgery was then in England a hanging matter.

The execution had immediate effect. The crowd of native informers

ready to pour their lies into the ears of the Triumvirate disappeared

as if by magic, but the animosity remained; and in the years to come

the death of Nuncomar was used with immense effect in the great

impeachment.

Meanwhile, the Nawab of Oude had died, and his son reigned in his

stead. Out of this arose fresh disputes on the Council. The

Triumvirate being all for imposing exceedingly harsh terms on the new

Nawab, Asaf-daula; Mr Hastings refusing to sanction what was "no

equitable construction of the treaty with the late Nawab," and was

indeed an extortion which the new ruler had "no power to fulfil."

The Directors at home, however, continuing their career of persistent

greed, after first refusing to agree with the Triumvirate on the

ground that "their treaties with Oude did not expire with the death of

Sujah-daula," suddenly changed their opinion when they realised the

immense pecuniary advantage to be derived from the new arrangement.

The extortion, therefore, was carried out, Mr Hastings protesting. And

now two new problems arose: one in Madras, one in Bombay, both

presidencies being subordinate to that of Calcutta. The first

concerned the re-installing of the Rajah of Tanjore, which country had

been made over to the Nawab of the Carnatic. This was a quarrel which,

like a snowball, grew as it went along, and ended in most

extraordinary fashion, by the arrest and imprisonment of Lord Pigot,

the Governor of Madras, at the hands of a vice-admiral of the Fleet!

The bewildering complexity of complication in the whole case would

take pages to unravel, and the result--the death of one poor old man

(for Lord Pigot succumbed to the ignominious treatment meted out to

him)--would no doubt, in the opinion of the Directors, scarcely

justify the expenditure of so much pen and paper.

The trouble in Bombay arose out of the taking of Salsette, and

involved conflict with the Mahrattas, who had persisted in refusing

possession of it to the English.

The state of affairs amongst the Mahrattas was at this time confusion

itself. Ragonath-Rao had been made regent by Baji-Rao, who, it will be

remembered, had died during his son's minority of grief, after the

fatal day of Panipat. The boy Peishwa had since been murdered;

conspirators had declared that his wife had borne a son; claims and

counterclaims, intrigue and counter-intrigue, had reduced the Mahratta

Government to an invertebrate condition, which the Bombay Council

considered favourable to their earnest desire to keep the Portuguese

from again acquiring the peninsula (or island) of Salsette, which

virtually commands the harbour at Bombay. They therefore temporarily

annexed Salsette, and made its cession the foundation of an offer to

aid Ragonath-Rao (commonly called Ragoba), who was then in very low

water, against the opposite faction. The temptation was great; a

treaty was signed, by which the East India Company, in addition to

gaining Salsette and Bassein, were to be paid L225,000.

But here the Supreme Council at Calcutta intervened--why, it is

impossible to say--declared in one breath that the treaty with Ragoba

was "unpolitic, unreasonable, unjust, and unauthorised," and advised

one with the opposite faction.

The quarrel, as usual, becomes complicated in the extreme, and is

rendered more confused than it need have been, even in those days of

bewilderment, by the double interference from Calcutta and from

England. Considering that about six months was necessary to secure a

reply from the former place, and about two years from the latter, it

is marvellous how any action at all could be decided upon. In the end,

however, a treaty was signed with Ragoba's enemies, which raised great

indignation in Bombay, not because it involved any breach of honour,

but because it brought in less to the Treasury.

Warren Hastings, however, was now busy over financial reforms, and

despite the quibbling and captious criticism of the Triumvirate,

evolved a scheme which showed real grip of the problem at issue, as

indeed might have been expected from a man of his intelligence and

vast Indian experience. It was, however, rejected by the Three, who at

the same time excused themselves from suggesting any other scheme,

because they were not "sufficiently qualified by local observation and

experience to undertake so difficult a task."

Surely fatuousness could no farther go? We have here men who consider

themselves qualified to criticise, while they admit total ignorance of

the subject criticised!

Stung, no doubt, by this obvious retort, Mr Francis finally produced a

scheme--a scheme which, containing as it does the very first inception

of the "Great Mistake" which has dogged the footsteps of England in

her dealings with India, had better have been hanged like a millstone

round its promulgator's neck, and he drowned in the sea, than that it

should ever have seen the light.

For amid quotations, no doubt, from Adam Smith and Mirabeau--the

latter in French, after his usual wont--Philip Francis, mastertype of

the self-satisfied Western mind--the mind which degenerates so easily

into that of the crank, the faddist--started the cardinal error of all

errors in India; that is, the statement that the property of the land

is not vested in the Sovereign power, but belonged to the people.

Looking down the years, seeing the manifold evils which this

pernicious engrafting of Western ideals on Eastern actions has

produced; the alienation of the land, the hopeless slavery of the

cultivator to the money-lender, the harsh evictions rendered necessary

by the loss of the tenant's credit (which had ever been due to his

_unalterable_ hold on the land, combined with his _inability to sell

it_), one can but wish that the millstone had done its work!

The evil, however, was scotched for the moment. Colonel Monson died,

and Warren Hastings, by his casting vote as Governor, now ceased to be

in the minority.

He immediately used his newly-acquired ascendency to appoint what was

practically the first Settlement Commission in India. That is to say,

a body of tried and experienced officers, who should "furnish accurate

statements of the values of lands, uniform in design, and of authority

in the execution," which should serve as a basis for revenue, and

would also "assure the ryots (peasants) against arbitrary exactions,"

and "give them perpetual and undisturbed possessions of their lands."

"This," he goes on to say in his Minute, "is not to be done by

proclamations and edicts, nor by indulgences to _zemindars_ (large

proprietors) or farmers. The former will not be obeyed unless enforced

by regulations so framed as to produce their own effect without

requiring the hand of Government to interpose its support; and the

latter, though they may feed the luxury of the _zemindars_ or the

rapacity of the farmers, will prove no relief to the cultivator,

_whose welfare ought to be the immediate and primary care of

Government_."

Bravo, Warren Hastings! If there was anything to forgive, one would

forgive much for the sake of such a creed.

His success spread consternation amongst his enemies. Something must

be done, and done quickly.

One Colonel Macleane had gone home, arriving in February 1776. In a

moment of great depression in the previous year, Warren Hastings had

entrusted him with a letter of instruction to be conveyed to the

Directors, in which he declared that he "would not continue in the

Government of Bengal unless certain conditions" were accepted.

No use was made of this letter till the 10th October, when, after a

stormy attempt on the part of the Company to oust Warren Hastings,

Colonel Macleane wrote announcing that he held the Governor-General's

resignation!

These are the bald facts. Eager to catch at any excuse for the removal

of an opponent, the resignation, absolutely unauthorised, wholly

tentative, was accepted without any discussion of the conditions, and

a Mr Wheler appointed as successor.

The English mail of the 19th of June 1777 which conveyed this

astounding piece of news to Calcutta took almost every one by

surprise; except, apparently, General Clavering and Mr Francis. At any

rate, on the very next day the former boldly issued orders signed

"Clavering, Governor-General," and requested delivery from Mr Hastings

of the keys.

A free fight indeed! That day _two_ councils were held: one by General

Clavering, with Mr Francis as sole supporter; one by Warren Hastings

and the ever faithful Mr Barwell.

Could animosity, pitiful squabbling, disreputable intrigue, further

go?

Luckily, there was another power in Calcutta capable of deciding the

rival claims, and to it Mr Hastings, ever inclined to toleration,

appealed.

The Supreme Court decided unanimously in favour of Warren Hastings,

and so the matter ended for a time; Mr Wheler, who had come out to be

Governor-General, taking Colonel Monson's place, and, naturally,

restoring the Triumvirate, which, however, after a brief interval,

dwindled again by the death of General Clavering.

All this is very petty, very uninteresting, in the face of the vast

questions which were surging up for settlement all over India, but it

is instructive as showing the absolute futility of the India House in

its attempts at control, in its inept shilly-shallying between greed

of gold and its desire to implant Western ethics on the East. So the

quarrel went on, involving amongst other things a duel between Warren

Hastings and Mr Francis, in which the latter was badly wounded and had

to go home!

Meanwhile, the Mahrattas were more than ever at loggerheads amongst

themselves. Ragoba's claims were readmitted by a large number of the

faction who had formerly been against him, and with whom a treaty had

been made. They applied for help under that treaty (to reinstate

Ragoba this time!) and received it; no doubt all the more readily

because that gentleman had been the Bombay Council's original nominee.

Also because, about this time, the arrival of a French ship at Bombay

with a mission purporting to be from Louis XVI. to the Mahratta Court

at Poona caused some alarm. For hostilities seemed not far off in

Europe between France and England, and the chief member of the

so-called embassy was one Chevalier St Lubin, who was known to have

previously been with the Mahratta forces.

And here followeth a welter of confused incidents, claims, and

counterclaims, which pages would not suffice to unravel.

The Triumvirate, reduced to two, opposed help. Warren Hastings with

his casting vote carried it, but ere the brigade sent from Calcutta

arrived at the seat of war, Ragoba's half of the Poona court had

whacked the other half, and having gained ascendency, proposed to do

without their candidate!

Here was an _impasse_ for people whose Western minds could not follow

such mental somersaults. To add to their confusion, war had been again

declared between France and England, and before the Council had had

time to recover from their surprise, the victorious Poona party had

been again overthrown, and the now ascendant one of Nuna Furnavese was

known to harbour Chevalier St Lubin, and to have French proclivities!

There seemed to be nothing for it now save once more to make Ragoba a

figurehead.

In truth, as one follows in the maelstrom of Indian intrigue, even as

briefly as is possible here, the efforts of these harassed, distracted

Western diplomatists to keep their honour above water, one is filled

with pity for them. It would have been better not to fight at all, if

their code of ethics forbade them the full use of the weapons used

against them.

So the weary Mahratta war dragged on and on, backed at first by the

hearty approval of the Court of Directors, who pointed out "the

necessity of counteracting the views of the French at Poona."

This same war was full of incident. Scindiah and Holkar flash over its

horizon, now in alliance, now in defiance; territories and towns were

taken, and lost, and retaken; the whole wide, central plain of India

and all the western coast-line was perambulated by soldiery; and in

the end, in 1782, a treaty was entered into at Salbai which was

utterly disadvantageous to the English, and which wrung from the

Bombay presidency the despairing cry that it must "henceforward

require from the Bengal treasury a large and annual supply of money"

to carry on the concern.

Meanwhile, in Madras, affairs had not been much more happy. During the

war with France, Pondicherry had been assaulted and had capitulated

with the honours of war, but in all other ways success was absent.

Friction arose between the presidency and the Nizam over the question

of a French garrison, and though the matter was outwardly smoothed

over and friendly alliance continued, it formed the basis of a

confederation between the Mahrattas, Hyder-Ali, and the Nizam, having

for object the _total expulsion of the English from India_.

Hyder-Ali, whose sword had been rusting in its scabbard since the

Peace of 1763, had his own private grievance of help promised by

treaty and withheld, because the object for which it was asked was

deemed unworthy. This was a constant cause of the endless dissensions

between the British and the native princes, and shows clearly the

absolute folly of attempting, as the Company did, to run with the hare

and hunt with the hounds; that is to say, to compound a treaty on one

ethical basis, and carry it out on another.

He instantly commenced operations in the Carnatic, and, though the

Nizam was bought off by the conciliatory measures of the Bengal

Council, continued his attack with unhesitating ferocity. He was,

frankly, a murderous madman, who, as the phrase runs, "saw red" on the

slightest provocation. But even _his_ excesses were no warrant for

Edmund Burke's blatant rhetoric in his celebrated impeachment, where

"menacing meteors blacken horizons," and "burst to pour down contents

(?) on peaceful plains" (?). Where "storms of universal fire blast

every field," and "fleeing from their flaming villages, miserable

inhabitants are swept by whirlwinds of cavalry into captivity in

unknown and hostile lands."

What dictionary did Burke use, one wonders, and how comes it that his

cheap rhodomontade passes for eloquence?

Hyder-Ali, however, made himself very disagreeable, and in the short

space of twenty-nine days brought one disaster after another to the

British arms. They began to look on defeat as their portion.

Madras being, apparently, unable to grapple with its enemy, Sir Eyre

Coote was sent from Bengal to take command. But he found every

military equipment faulty. The commissariat was beneath contempt, and

for months the British force was kept stationary, unable to close with

Hyder, who, aided by French officers, flashed here and there at his

pleasure. But the day of reckoning came on the 1st July 1781, when

Hyder-Ali lost ten thousand men, and the English but three hundred and

sixty.

Though fortune continued to waver between the combatants, this was

practically the turning-point in the war. France, it is true, sent a

fleet to interfere on the native side; England sent one to checkmate

it; but it was death which finally intervened--death who conquered

wild, untamable, almost irresponsible Hyder. He died suddenly, at the

age of eighty, from a carbuncle on the neck.

He left a worthy tiger cub behind him, and Tippoo-Sultan continued his

father's fierce fighting with unvarying ferocity and varying success,

helped in all ways by the French, so long as that nation continued at

war with England. When that ended, he fought still, off his own bat,

and the war, which completely crippled Madras, dragged on with

markedly increasing arrogance on the one side, and increasing

submission on the other, until in 1784, in spite of Tippoo-Sultan's

many vile crimes, his shameless murderings of English officers, his

still more terrible offences towards women and children, peace was

concluded with him; a peace, certainly, without honour. To the minds

of some it may seem the most indelible stain on the reputation of the

British in India.

Warren Hastings, at the time the treaty was signed by the other

members of the Supreme Council, was in Lucknow, whither he had gone by

way of Benares.

The Rajah of this place had in 1775, it will be remembered, found

British protection by the treaty with Asaf-daula, Nawab of Oude, which

Warren Hastings had condemned as unfair, and of which one of the

articles was the cession of Benares. As usual, an immediate dispute

arose as to what revenue and charges were to be paid; a dispute which

waxed and waned until 1781. There can be no doubt but that on the

English side increasing impecuniosity prompted growing demands, while

on the Rajah's side was as constant a desire for the evasion even of

just claims.

That Warren Hastings considered his position unassailable is evidenced

by the fact that, when, in 1781, on his way to Oude he paused at

Benares, he placed the Rajah (who, it may be said, was a man of no

family whatever) under arrest in his palace to await further

explanations, in the charge of some companies of sepoys who did not

even _carry_ ball-cartridge. Palpably, therefore, no violence was

intended. It could not have been, since Hastings had but a small

escort. Rescue, however, was immediately resolved on by the populace;

a general rush was made for the palace, the sepoys were cut to pieces,

and the Rajah made good his escape. Almost immediately afterwards, in

consequence of the annihilation of a small British relief force from

Mirzapore, the whole countryside rose in the Rajah's interest, and

some time elapsed ere a force sufficient to cope with the insurrection

could be gathered together. Finally, the Rajah (who had throughout

protested his desire for peace, even while preparing at all points for

war) fled to a fort, whither he had previously conveyed most of his

treasures. Warren Hastings, therefore, at once began to form a new

Government. A grandson was selected as successor, the tribute payable

was increased, and the whole criminal jurisdiction of the province

(which had been wretchedly administered) vested in Bengal. After this

the late Rajah was pursued to his fort, whence he fled, leaving his

women behind. His mother attempted defence, but finally capitulated on

the promise of personal safety and freedom from search; the latter

stipulation was, however, undoubtedly violated, as the payment of "10

rupees each to the four female searchers" occurs in the accounts of

the incident. But this in no way implicates Warren Hastings, who

asserts his great regret that the breach of faith should have

occurred. It may be mentioned that some L300,000 was found in the

fort, which, with the amount that the Rajah had, doubtless, carried

away with him, effectually disposes of a poverty which prevented a

payment of L50,000. (These details are necessary because of the great

stress laid by Mr Burke in the impeachment on this Benares incident.)

The Governor-General had intended passing on to Lucknow, but the Nawab

Asaf-daula, put out by the delay at Benares, was in a hurry, and met

Warren Hastings at Chunar.

Here a new treaty was signed. It will be remembered that when the last

one was entered into on the occasion of Asaf-daula's accession, Warren

Hastings had protested against it as unfair. He now, therefore,

exempted the Nawab from all expenses of the English army quartered on

him, with the exception of the single brigade arranged for by his

father, Sujah-daula, and from all other expenses to English gentlemen

excepting the charges of the Resident and his office.

As a set-off to this nothing was exacted; but leave was given to the

Nawab to resume certain _jagkirs_, on condition that in all cases

where such grants were guaranteed by the Company, equivalent value to

the annual revenue should be given yearly. Not an unfair arrangement,

since a fixed revenue, though uncertain through the mutability of the

person who has to pay it, is less uncertain than one dependent on

fluctuating crops.

But there were two _jaghirs_ which, so to speak, filled the Nawab's

eye: they were those held, and illegally held, by his mother and his

grandmother. In addition to the vast stretches of land, the revenues

of which made these two princesses not only independent, but as

possessors of small armies, dangerous factors for strife in internal

politics, they were known to possess, and wrongfully possess, the

treasure, estimated at L3,000,000, of the late Nawab. To all this they

had no possible claim. Under Mahomedan law the widow takes one-eighth

only of her husband's personal possessions, the mother nothing. There

is no possibility of will, no possible over-riding of the law. They

were, therefore, robbers, and that the Nawab should have refrained

from violence for so long is to his credit. This, however, was due to

an unwarrantable interference on the part of the British. Mr Bristow,

the Resident appointed by the Triumvirate, had, with their consent,

and despite Hastings' dissent, guaranteed immunity to Asaf-daula's

mother. As a matter of fact, no foreign power was admissible in a

family dispute; in addition, the Begum was in the wrong.

There can be no doubt that Warren Hastings knew the justice of

Asaf-daula's claim to the treasure, or that English troops accompanied

the Nawab to Fyzabad, where the Begum resided.

Beyond this, we have "diabolical expedients," "torturing processes,"

"works of spoliation," besides a variety of rhetorical and eloquent

abuse, on the one side; on the other, unconvincing affidavits of the

Begum's complicity in the Benares insurrection and a matter-of-fact

and apparently credible denial _in toto_ of diabolical expedients _et

hoc genus omne_.

And behind all we have a very virtuous, very greedy British public,

which insisted on being paid L400,000 a year by a bankrupt and

overburdened concern.

For that was now the condition of the Honourable East India Company.

It had attempted too much, or rather its servants had done these

things which ought to have been done, without regard to dividends. At

the close of Warren Hastings' administration--he resigned his office

on the 8th February 1785, practically compelled thereto by the action

of the Board of Directors--the revenues of India were not equal to the

ordinary expense of Government.

A terrible indictment, truly! For which, however, some excuse may be

found in the following short chapter on administrations and

impeachments.

ADMINISTRATIONS AND IMPEACHMENTS

A.D. 1761 TO A.D. 1785

Clive and Warren Hastings need to be bracketed together in the history

of India. They were the men who made our Empire, and they were both

impeached for their methods by their countrymen.

And both were acquitted. How came this about?

There is a little sentence in the History of India by James Mill the

historian (father to John Stuart Mill), a man presumably above sordid

considerations, a man whom one would never suspect of commercialism,

which answers the question:--

"_In India the true test of the Government as affecting the interest

of the English nation is found in its financial results_."

This is not intended as blame. On the contrary, Mill goes on to make

the deliberate but not quite accurate statement that Warren Hastings'

administration _must_ have been bad, because, though in 1772, when

that administration began, the revenue was but L2,373,750, as against

L5,315,197 in 1785, the additional income did not provide for 5 per

cent. interest on the additional debt incurred.

That and that only was the _fons et origo mali_. England wanted gold.

Doubtless the expenses of the ruinous wars which devastated India

during the latter half of the eighteenth century were a terrible

charge upon the revenues; but the revenues increased during the same

time, and were more than equal to current expenses, only they did not

provide for L400,000 a year tax, and the payment of more than 5 per

cent. interest.

In truth, England had not yet grasped the significance of the White

Man's burden; she wanted to be paid for carrying it. That is the

bitter truth.

But during the administrations of both Clive and Warren Hastings an

effort, at least, was made to make that administration worthy of

Englishmen. Clive spent his whole force against corruption; Warren

Hastings spent his in an attempt to govern the people peacefully and

righteously. So much attention is absorbed, as a rule, by the question

of his guilt or innocence in regard to certain specific charges, that

none is given to the masterly way in which he turned his brief

ascendency in the Council, caused by Colonel Monson's death, not

to any scheme for personal aggrandisement or even to public

money-getting, but to the passing of a revenue settlement which should

protect the peasant. In the course of the argument against Mr Francis'

views (which necessarily formed part of the scheme) Mr Hastings made a

remark which deserves quotation, if only because it seems to have

roused no denial, not even from the irrepressible Francis.

"It is a fact which will with difficulty obtain credit in England,

though the notoriety of it here justifies me in asserting it, that

much the greatest part of the _zemindars_" (big proprietors, petty

Rajahs, and Nawabs, etc.) "are incapable of judging or acting for

themselves, being either minors, or men of weak understanding, or

absolute idiots."

This is a sweeping indictment which, had it not been incapable of

denial or mitigation, must certainly have met with censure. But even

Mr Francis acquiesces. He admits that "many of the _zemindars_ will at

first be incapable of managing their lands themselves."

Now we have here a most ominous admission which gives us the

clue by which we can unravel much more in this tangled web of

eighteenth-century India.

It was the upper class which was corrupt, which was degenerate

utterly. Long centuries of unpunished crime, of depravity without one

check, had done their work. The scions of the small nobility were born

decrepid; they died early, outworn by vice, leaving heirs as

degenerate as themselves. In lesser--ever, thank Heaven!--in lessening

degree this has remained the great problem in India: how to give

freedom to its hereditary rulers, and yet to ensure that the race

shall not suffer, yet to give it freedom from hereditary evils.

In the eighteenth century the men of courts and cities were, as a

rule, vicious to the core. If evidence be needed on this point,

go to Delhi, go to Lucknow, and there, in the dregs, and lees, and

off-scourings of what was once a dynasty, you will still find some of

the meanest specimens of humanity on God's earth.

It was with the far-away ancestors of these off-scourings of dead

courts, full, then, of pride and power, that men like Clive and

Hastings often had to deal. Small wonder, then, if they often dealt

with them unwisely, harshly, angered by their hopeless treachery.

But the great factor in all the many oppressions which, undoubtedly,

formed part of English annexation in India was not private rapacity,

it was public greed.

What, for instance, was even Clive's asserted L300,000 of plunder

beside the L400,000 of yearly tribute to the English Exchequer? As for

Warren Hastings' fortune, he left India an impoverished man, with

scarce enough wherewithal to pay the expenses of defending himself

from the charge brought against him by his country for unbridled

peculation.

Both Clive and Hastings had hard parts to play, and, considering the

difficulties against which they had to contend, they played them well.

Though, perhaps, neither of them realised (and certainly no one else

did) that the times in which they lived were transitional, that the

very existence of the East India Company as a purely mercantile

concern was fast drawing to a close, and that a new life of

responsibility--the life of true empire--was opening before it, they

acted as if they had so realised it. They flung rupees behind them to

stay the gold-grubbing multitude, careless, over-careless of how they

gained them; but--but they took their own way! Hastings especially

identified himself with the people of India; he learnt their language,

knew their hoarded wisdom, and often appealed to the lessons of their

past history.

This in itself was an offence to the self-sufficient West, which

failed, and often still fails, to find excuse for a breach of its own

laws in the different ethical standards of the East.

Take Clive's rapacity. There was no law forbidding the reception of

presents. He did great things, very great things for Mir Jaffar, and

under the same misconception of enormous wealth which made the country

itself claim one million of money as compensation for a loss of

L5,000, he accepted a fee of L180,000.

Regarding the Omichand incident--the only other accusation formulated

against him which is of any importance--it is, at least, arguable that

when bare existence for your countrymen depends on outwitting a

traitor, an informer, a villain, any weapon is legal.

In like manner, if it is possible to disentangle the actual charges

made against Warren Hastings from the network of words in which

Sheridan and Burke caught the unwary minds of many ignorant people, it

will be found that in every charge which went up to trial a simple

excuse bars the way of blame.

The charge concerning his responsibility for the extermination of the

Rohillas, of which he was acquitted even by the House of Commons,

finds answer in his vehement dissent from the treaty forced on him by

the Triumvirate, and by which he was bound to provide the Nawab of

Oude with troops.

That concerning his cruelty to the Rajah of Benares is met by the

undoubted fact that no article in the treaty with the latter gives

colour to the contention that the tribute payable was a fixed and

unalterable sum, while the fact that L300,000 worth of treasure was

discovered in the possession of the Rajah's women, disposes

effectually of the plea that poverty prevented payment.

Against the accusation of his having aided and abetted the Nawab of

Oude in seizing and confiscating the personal property of the Begums,

stands the undoubted fact that these ladies could not, by the laws of

India, possess such property; while the charge of undue cruelty in the

treatment of these same ladies is absolutely unprovable, by reason of

the conflicting evidence on both sides.

Then the charge of having, during his administration, raised the cost

of the civil establishment some L5,000,000, is more than met by his

undenied efforts to place the Government of India on a basis worthy of

England, and by the necessity for either accepting and carrying

through new responsibilities, or allowing the Company to sink back

into its former state, when a paltry L20 a year was all the salary it

could afford to pay men whom it yet vested with almost unlimited power

of extortion.

The eighth and last count--for it is as well to confine refutation to

what actually went up for trial--his personal rapacity and corruption

is answered conclusively by the undoubted fact that when he retired,

the sum of some L72,000 represented his entire fortune.

Truly, there was some justification for the bitter cry with which he

ended his defence--a defence which lies practically in denouncing

English greed for gold:--

"I gave you all, and you have rewarded me with confiscation, disgrace,

and a life of impeachment."

He was on his trial for no less than nine years.

These two great men left India a very different place from what they

had found it. The East India Company was trying now to govern, as well

as to make money. There was scarcely a district throughout the length

and breadth of the land into which the thought of England had not

entered; few in which the lives of Englishmen did not form a not

always wholesome example. In Lucknow, however, Claude Martin, soldier

of both France and England, quaint admixture of honour and dishonour,

while he aided and abetted the Nawab in cock-fighting, drew the line

at debaucheries, though he kept a considerable number of wives. This,

however, was forced on him by his own merits, since the courtly,

good-looking, middle-aged Frenchman's favourite charity was the

educating of orphans, and the girls for whom he performed this kindly

office had a trick of refusing the eligible _partis_ offered them, and

electing to remain with their guardian!

Walter Reinhardt, nicknamed the "Sombre," was not so estimable a

creature. He was, undoubtedly, the murderer, while in the Nawab of

Bengal's service, of the English at Patna in 1763, and the arch-factor

in many other crimes. But he met his dues by marrying one of the most

remarkable women of India. It was no light task to be the husband of

the Begum Sumroo, who buried a laughing girl at whom the blue-eyed

German from Luxembourg had cast an approving glance, under her chair

of state; buried her alive, and sat on her for three days. Four was

not necessary; Walter the Sombre had learnt his lesson in three!

After his death she ruled her state of Sirdhana, not very far from

Delhi, until she died in 1838, a very old woman, who possibly, despite

her conversion to Roman Catholicism, looked back on her youth as a

dancing-girl in Delhi with a vague regret.

Then there was George Thomas, an Irishman, whilom favourite of the

aforesaid Begum, who cherished the hope--so he says--"of attempting

the conquest of the Punjaub, and aspired to the honour of placing the

British Standard on the Attock." He only succeeded in establishing for

himself an independent principality near Hansi, which he yielded to

Lord Lake in 1803.

But all over India, in almost every town of import, Englishmen were to

be found in positions of trust under native rulers. Briefly, they had

come to stay; and no amount of legislation by Parliament, no

prohibition of diplomacy, no exhortation to refrain from treaties or

from meddling in native politics, could now avail to prevent England

from becoming first factor in India.

It may be worth while to glance round that India and gain, as it were,

a pictorial view of it at the time when England and the English

Parliament first assumed political responsibility in regard to it by

the establishment of a Board-of-Control appointed by the Crown.

In the far north, Kandahar and Kabul were, as ever, engaged in petty

warfare, the sons and grandsons of Ahmed-Shah Durrani each striving

for the mastery. The Punjab was held by the Sikhs so far as the

Sutlej. What are now called the Cis Sutlej States including the

great battlefield of Panipat, being under Mahratta influence. This

influence had also made itself felt at Delhi, where the Great Moghul,

Star-of-the-Universe and Defender-of-the-Faith, Shah-Alam by name, led

the life of a pensioner, a prisoner, his authority gone save as a

watchword to rouse strife. Oude was in the hands of the British

debauchee Asaf-daula. Thence passing through Benares lay the

English-held Bengal, Behar, Orissa. Westward was Poona, Guzerat,

almost all Rajputana, Agra, and a great part of Central India; these

were strongholds of the Mahrattas. Mysore, headquarters of the

man-monster Tippoo-Sultan, murderer-in-chief after his father

Hyder-Ali's death, marched with Central India the Dekkan fief of that

half-hearted ally the Nizam. Below that, again, came the Carnatic,

held by that most troublesome and expensive of potentates the Nawab of

Arcot, tame bear (and bore) to the Madras Presidency, which must have

wished its _protege_ at the bottom of the sea many and many a time.

And under all these broad classifications, such a welter of proud,

poor principalities and grasping, vicious courts as surely this

world's history shows nowhere else. The horrid outcome of unlimited,

unbridled power in the past.

And below this again?

Below this, again, the dreaming heart of India, unchanged,

unchangeable.

THE BOARD OF CONTROL

A.D. 1786 TO A.D. 1811

The heroic age of the history of British India is now past. Forced by

Fate and by the strong right hand of two strong men, England, with one

eye still fixed on gold, had had to turn the other on the duties of

empire. So the Company was, as it were, split in twain. The old

commercial interests were dealt with, as heretofore, by the Board of

Directors, but the control "of all acts, operations, or concerns,

which in any wise relate to the civil or military government or

revenues of the British possessions of the East Indies," was vested in

a Board of six members, all appointed by the Crown.

The word "British" is noteworthy in conjunction with possessions, and

shows the ease with which the English nation, while still loudly

condemning the action of the East India Company, availed itself of the

result of such actions. The chief point of interest in the New Act was

the power given to Parliament to pay the salaries, charges, and

expenses of the Board of Control out of the revenues of India,

provided this charge did not exceed L16,000. This was the nucleus of

the present payment of L144,000 in the India Office alone.

As regards the Constitution in India few changes were made, and, after

a brief tenure of office on the part of Mr Macpherson, Lord Cornwallis

went out to India as Governor-General. He had served successfully in

Ireland, but with disaster in America. Considering his entire

ignorance of even the first conditions of Eastern life, his

Governor-Generalship was much less disastrous than it might have been,

though it was marred by the crystallisation of the Great Mistake which

Mr Francis had first presented in nebulous form; that is to say, the

engrafting on India of the Western idea that the land cannot possibly

belong to the State, but that some proprietor most be found for it.

But ere this was embodied in the Permanent Settlement of Bengal, Lord

Cornwallis found his hands full of minor diplomacies. Tippoo-Sultan

was at war with the Mahrattas, and the latter had foolishly been given

promise of assistance by the British.

"An awkward, foolish scrape," writes the Governor-General. "How we

shall get out of it with honour, God knows; but out of it we must get

somehow, and give no troops."

That, practically, was the first charge on his administration. How to

get out of minor squabbles, and leave the prime movers to fight it out

amongst themselves. Hitherto the British troops had been mercenaries.

As such they had made their influence felt in every corner of India.

Now all was changed. England was a power in the East, hostile or

friendly as she chose, not to be bribed to the support of any one. His

next task was to interview the Nawab of Oude on the subject of the

protection of _his_ state, and in so doing rather to sidewalk round

this firm non-mercenary position adopted by the Board of Control. For

L500,000 was taken yearly as payment for two brigades which were to

bring "the blessings of peace" under the aegis "of the most formidable

power in Hindustan." Asaf-daula, however, was hardly worth protecting.

He extorted every penny he could get from everybody in order to spend

it on debauchery, and allowed his ministers to cheat and plunder both

him and his country.

Another and a more worthy visitor pleaded for an interview, and was

refused the favour. This was Jiwan Bakht, the heir-apparent to the

Emperor Shah-Alam. He had been received by Warren Hastings, who,

possibly because he saw in him a promise not often to be found in the

Indian potentates of those days, allowed him L40,000 a year as

maintenance. "Gentle, lively, possessed of a high sense of honour, of

a sound judgment, an uncommon quick penetration, a well-cultivated

understanding, with a spirit of resignation and an equanimity almost

exceeding any within reach of knowledge or recollection."

Such was the character given by the great Proconsul after six months

of daily intercourse; but caution was now the order of the day.

"The whole political use that may be derived" (from an interview) "is

at present uncertain, but there may arise _some future advantage_ if

we can gain his affection and attachment ... but I have already

prepared his mind not to expect many of the outward ceremonials

usually paid in this country to the princes of the House of Timur, as

they would not only be extremely irksome to me personally, but also,

in my opinion, improper to be submitted to by the Governor-General at

the seat of your Government."

So wrote Lord Cornwallis, and Jiwan Bakht, with spirit _and_

resignation, contented himself finally with a request that he might be

allowed at least asylum under British protection. He died of fever

shortly after at Benares. Poor, proud prince of the blood royal! Was

he really next-of-kin, as it were, to the Great Moghuls? If we had

given him a chance, as we gave it to the monster Tippoo, to

half-a-hundred scoundrels all over India, would he have regained the

empire of Akbar? Who knows? He vanishes into the "might-have-been"

with his high sense of honour, his spirit, and his resignation.

After this, Lord Cornwallis with a light heart took in hand the abuses

of both the civil and the military services, and managed, by "making

it a complete opposition question" which "brought forth all the secret

foes and lukewarm friends of Government," to obtain higher salaries

and better positions for both soldiers and civilians.

So far well. Then once more Tippoo-Sultan intervened, and in a trice

India was back in the old days of intrigue, secret treaties, allies,

and war. Even Lord Cornwallis, the Liberal pillar of upright,

straightforward policy, fell before the peculiar temptations of

Oriental diplomacy. There is much to be said for him. Tippoo was an

unwarrantable survival. He ought long before to have been hanged,

drawn, and quartered. As it was, he burst in upon the coming

civilisation and culture, as Mr Burke's 'meteor' burst upon the

'peaceful fields.'

It would take too long to tell the tale of the four years' war during

which the Mahrattas, the Dekkanites, and the English, hunted Tippoo

ineffectively from pillar to post, and he retaliated in kind. Finally,

in 1792, he was cornered at Seringapatam, and once more peace was

concluded with a man who deserved nothing but the death of a mad dog.

Then ensued a partition of spoil after the old style; each ally

receiving so many lakhs of money, so much territory. After which Lord

Cornwallis, covered with glory, found leisure to address himself

towards crystallising into our rule for ever--unless some Government

arises strong enough to put the wheel back and start afresh--the

Fundamental Error, the Great Mistake of the British Empire in India.

In 1793 Mr Dundas and Mr Pitt, neither of them possessing a scrap of

first-hand knowledge of their subject, "shut themselves up for ten

days at Wimbledon" (Heaven save the mark!) and evolved out of their

inner consciousness the Permanent Settlement; thus once and for

ever--unless for the forlorn hope of a strong Government--alienating

from the Sovereign power of India a possession which had been the

Crown's by right beyond the memory of man--in all probability for over

five thousand years.

As usual with all overwhelming errors, it was done from the purest

motives of truth and honour, mercy and judgment; that is to say, from

the Western definitions of these virtues. As Lord Cornwallis writes,

he was restoring the rightful landowners

"to such circumstances as to enable them to support their families

with decency and give a liberal education to their children according

to the customs of their respective castes and religions," thus

securing "a regular gradation of ranks ... nowhere more necessary than

in this country for preserving order in civil society."

It sounds quite unassailable to Western ears; but the results opened

Western eyes. The measure was passed in 1794; in 1796 one-tenth of the

land in Bengal, Behar, and Orissa was on sale. The ancient order of

_zemindars_, so far from giving a liberal education to its children,

was fast disappearing, glad to accept the small amount of hard cash,

if any, which remained over after settling up ancestral debts. A new

race of proprietors was as rapidly taking the place of the old, to the

disadvantage of the peasant. For as Sir Henry Strachey writes:--

"The _zemindar_ used formerly, like his ancestors, to reside on his

estate. He was regarded as the chief and father of his tenants. At

present the estates are often possessed by Calcutta purchasers who

never see them."

Nor were the judicial reforms of Lord Cornwallis much more happy.

"Since the year 1793," says Sir Henry Strachey, "crimes of all kinds

have increased, and I think most crimes are still increasing."

This was a natural result, first of the attempt to graft English law

with all its legalities on Eastern equity, but mostly of the crass

ignorance of native life everywhere displayed. Mr Shore, afterwards

Lord Teignmouth, expresses this well when he says:--

"What judge can distinguish the exact truth among the numerous

inconsistencies of the natives he examines? How often do those

inconsistencies proceed from causes very different from those

suspected by us? How often from simplicity, fear, embarrassment in the

witness? How often from our own ignorance and impatience? We cannot

study the genius of the people in its own sphere of action. We know

little of their domestic life; their knowledge, conversations,

amusements; their trades and castes, or any of those national and

individual characteristics which are essential to a complete

knowledge. Every day affords us examples of something new and

surprising, and we have no principle to guide us in the investigation

of facts except an extreme diffidence of our opinion, a consciousness

of inability to judge of what is probable or improbable.... The evil I

complain of is extensive, and, I fear, irreparable. The difficulty we

experience in discerning truth and falsehood among the natives may be

ascribed, I think ... to their excessive ignorance of our characters

and our almost equal ignorance of theirs."

The last sentence is perhaps scarcely strong enough, for Lord

Cornwallis failed to find one civil servant of the Company in Madras

who was "tolerably acquainted with the language and manners of the

people."

Meanwhile, war had once more broken out between France and England,

and though it had not yet disturbed India, Tippoo-Sultan, with his

usual hardihood, bragged of the marvels of the French Revolution to

the English officer charged, now that the ransom had been paid, with

the duty of restoring the Sultan's sons, who had been kept as

hostages. A trifle, which yet showed the way the wind was blowing. The

Nizam of the Dekkan, also, irritated by the tepid neutrality of Lord

Cornwallis, had fled for help to French arms. Nor was Scindiah better

pleased. Though of low caste, being sprung from the slipper-bearer of

Bala-ji, the first Peishwa, no Mahratta house claimed higher honours.

Practically, it was master of half Hindustan, and it had been greatly

offended by the refusal of Lord Cornwallis to accept its offer of help

against Tippoo in consideration of a like number of troops to those

promised to the Nizam. So on all sides there was hostility--a

hostility increased by Sir John Shore's policy (he succeeded Lord

Cornwallis as Governor-General) "to adhere as literally as possible to

the strictest possible interpretation of the restrictive clause in the

Act of Parliament against entering into war."

Naturally, the fat was soon in the fire. The Mahrattas, always eager

for a fray, fell upon the wretched Nizam, who, fortunately for him,

failing British aid, had that of France; but so had Scindiah.

Therefore Monsieur Raymond and Monsieur de Boigne crossed swords;

until the death of Ragoba the Peishwa turned all Mahratta thought to

the choice of a new ruler.

English thought, also, was at this time (1798) engaged in a question

of succession. Asaf-daula, the Nawab of Oude, had died, acknowledging

a certain Wazeer-Ali as his son and successor. So the dissolute,

disreputable lad of seventeen was promptly placed by the British

Government on the throne with all honour: it did not do to divert the

weather eye, which was always open for "future advantage," to such

trivialities as kingly qualities. But alas and alack for the British

Government, its choice was instantly challenged by Sa'adut-Ali, the

late Nawab's brother, who brought proof that not only Wazeer-Ali, but

all Asaf-daula's reputed children, were spurious.

At first England hesitated at deposing her Nawab. Then? Then it is

extremely difficult to know what the real motive underlying the action

was, but in 1798 we find Sa'adut-Ali on the throne of Oude, no longer

an independent ruler, but a mere vassal of the British Crown. The plea

of adoption raised by Wazeer-Ali had been dismissed, and in honest

truth, not absolutely without cause. For the Mahomedan law does not

specifically recognise it, especially when near blood-relations exist.

These events, together with the death of old Mahomed Ali, Nawab of

Arcot, aspirant to the Nawabship of the Carnatic--whose debts had been

a veritable millstone round the neck of his consistent backer, the

East India Company--saw Lord Cornwallis and Sir John Shore through

their term of office, and Earl Mornington, afterwards Marquis

Wellesley, reigned in their stead. He landed in April 1798 and found

himself instantly confronted with the results of the non-interference

policy; that is to say, with renewed war with Tippoo-Sultan, who--the

remark has been made before--ought long ago to have been hanged.

It is somewhat refreshing to find that immediate negotiations were

carried on both with the Nizam and the Mahrattas in absolute defiance

of Mr Pitt's famous minute against diplomacy! But nothing restrained

Tippoo, not even considerations of personal safety. He was well backed

by the French, with whom the English were still at war. So he tried

conclusions with splendid audacity. And failed. Seringapatam was once

more taken, and this time Tippoo was found dead under a heaped mass of

suffocated, trodden-down corpses in the north gate. But he,

apparently, had died a soldier's death, for the flickering light of

the torches by which the search was made showed that a musket ball had

crashed into his skull above the right ear.

It was a better death than he deserved, for though his territories

were well administered, and though Seringapatam was found to be

fortified, garrisoned, provisioned, better than many a modern fort,

and though in every way his vitality was superhuman, it was the

vitality of a devil, and not of a man. Hyder-Ali, his father, had been

wild, untamable, given to long solitudes in the jungles, remote from

all save savage beasts. Let the only excuse, therefore, which can be

made from Tippoo-Sultan be given him--he was born with insanity in his

blood.

Relieved from the Tiger-cub--the golden Tiger-head footstool of the

throne found in the royal audience chamber at Seringapatam is now at

Windsor--who had kept Madras in a constant state of alarm for close on

half a century, the Board of Control settled down to various pieces of

policy, for it must not be forgotten that all political work had been

taken out of the hands of the East India Company. This is a point

frequently overlooked, so it must be borne in mind that for all

actions after 1784, the Board of Control, that is, a body of unbiassed

English politicians appointed by the Crown, are entirely responsible.

They settled a disputed succession in Tanjore, they ousted the Nawab

of Arcot, and by putting a nominee of their own on the throne with a

pension of one-fifth of the revenue only, became vested with the whole

of the rest of the Carnatic. They then turned their attention to Oude,

where the Government of Sa'adut-Ali was in a shocking state of

disorder. Reformation being urged upon him, he wilily announced his

intention of abdicating, and thus gained some delay. Rather to his

disadvantage than otherwise, since Lord Mornington was not long in

producing a cut-and-dried scheme by which the Company should "acquire

the exclusive authority, civil and military, over the dominions of

Oude"; and also that by "secret treaty, not by formal abdication," the

Nawab, in consideration of receiving a liberal pension, the family

treasure and jewels, should agree to his sons' names being "no further

mentioned than may be necessary for the purpose of securing to them a

suitable provision."

It was a big order, and to it the Nawab naturally objected. But the

screw was too tight. He had yielded himself vassal in order to gain

the throne. His government was atrocious. It was practically

impossible for the New Code of Western Ethics, which was everywhere

raising its head in menace to the iniquities of the East, to look on

such things and live. So in the end the treaty was signed; and

whatever else the result might be, one thing is certain, the

inhabitants of Oude were none the worse for the change of rulers.

A trivial detail in the confused complication of this transaction

deserves unstinted blame, and that was Lord Mornington's acceptance of

the offer made by one of the Begums of Oude to constitute the Company

her heir. This was openly avowed to be a means of escaping from the

extortions of her grandson the Nawab, but though it seems equitable

enough to Western ears, it must not be forgotten that the India law of

inheritance of those days allowed no right of will, neither did it

sanction the possession by any widow of wealth beyond a certain small

proportion of her husband's real and personal property, which in this

case could not have included anything but personal effects, the rest

belonging to the Crown.

Volumes might be written on this question of the English action in

regard to Oude, but practically there are but one or two facts, one or

two admissions, to be made on both sides.

First, it is at best doubtful if we had any right to depose Wazeer-Ali

in favour of his uncle. True, the right of adoption does not hold good

in Mahomedan Common Law, but Indian history gives countless examples

of Mahomedan sovereigns nominating their own successor, though it must

be admitted that this nearly always only held good where there was no

collateral heir. Second, this deposition was undoubtedly in our

favour. By elevating Sa'adut-Ali, a small pensioner to the throne, we

gained a hold on him which enabled us to dictate our own terms at the

time, and, by the mere fact of the vassalage to which we reduced him,

to enhance these terms at our convenience.

On the other hand, none can deny that the state of affairs in Oude

strained patience to the uttermost; nor that in essence, the throne of

Oude was of our own creation. It had only a history of a hundred

years, and owned its very existence to the protection of England.

The year 1800 showed the outlook all over India more than usually

threatening; so lowering indeed, that Lord Mornington, now the Marquis

Wellesley, consented to prolong his service in India in order to tide

affairs over the crisis which seemed about to come.

The chief factor in the unrest was Mahratta jealousy. The Nizam of the

Dekkan, their hereditary enemy, had just been granted a new treaty.

Under it he had been promised a definite protection of troops in

consideration of his ceding territory to the revenue amount of the

subsidy which he would otherwise have had to pay--and, no doubt, would

have paid irregularly.

It may here be remarked that this desire to secure regular payment for

the mercenary troops necessary to maintain prestige and power, was

nearly always the cause of English aggression and annexation in India.

This treaty affronted the Mahrattas, but ere they could formulate

their grievances, internecine war broke out amongst them, consequent

on the death of Nana Furnavese, the Peishwa who had for so long

opposed Ragoba. Over this Holkar and Scindiah, who for some time past

had been at each other's throats, fought furiously, and the new

Peishwa, Baji-Rao, feeling himself in danger of falling between the

two stools of his unruly vassals, applied to England for the

protection of six battalions of British-trained sepoys, and promised

in return to cede territory of the annual value of L225,000.

It was granted to him, but the treaty contained other stipulations

regarding future relations which practically reduced the Peishwa to a

state of dependence.

Holkar and Scindiah, on the part of _their_ sections of the Mahrattas,

resented this fiercely. As usual, they refused to be bound by the

Peishwa's pusillanimity. So war was declared; a war which for the time

taxed even Sir Arthur Wellesley's military genius to the uttermost,

for the Mahrattas were born fighters. But the battle of Assaye, fought

on the 23rd of September 1803, broke their power in Central India.

They had over ten thousand disciplined troops commanded by Europeans,

chiefly French officers, and a train of one hundred guns, in addition

to nearly forty thousand irregular infantry and cavalry. Against these

Arthur Wellesley had but a total of four thousand five hundred men,

but they included the 78th Highlanders, the 74th Regiment, and the

19th Dragoons.

It was a fine fight; a double fight, for when, overwhelmed by a real

bayonet charge--the first, possibly, they had ever seen--the Mahrattas

fell back on, and passed, their guns, the artillery men, feigning

death, flung themselves in heaps on the ground. So, ridden over by the

pursuing cavalry, treated as dead, spurned as things of no account,

they remained until, the tyranny overpast, they were up and at their

guns again, bringing _volte face_ destruction to their enemy's rear.

It needed a desperate charge of the Highlanders, with Arthur Wellesley

himself at its head, to retrieve the day.

The number of British killed was one thousand five hundred and

sixty-six, more than one-third of their total force.

England, however, was now finally on the war-path; hesitation was

over, the Mahratta power all over India had to be crushed. No less

than fifty-five thousand British troops of all arms were gathered

together in India, and these were divided out between the Dekkan,

Guzerat, Orissa, and Hindustan proper. Of the foremost of these

divisions the record has just been given; the two next, though

successful, were in all ways of minor importance. The last, under

General Lake, was the largest, and consisted of nearly fourteen

thousand men all told. He advanced up the Gangetic plain, and the

battle of Alighur was fought before that of Assaye. It was practically

fought against Scindiah's forces under General Perron, the celebrated

French commander, who, with De Boigne and Raymond, had been for many

years the backbone of resistance against England. But it was fought in

the name of the blind Shah-Alam, puppet-emperor of India; for the

Mahrattas, always good fighters, had sent round the fiery cross on

every possible pretext of personal and national loyalty, of tribal

faith and racial adherence.

But on the 16th of September, after a pitched battle before Delhi in

the low-lying land across the river Jumna--the country sacred now to

pig-sticking!--General Lake rode with his staff to the palace which

Shahjahan in all his glory had built, there to have the first

interview which a conquering Englishman had ever had with the Great

Moghul himself.

It was a fateful interview. In the palace, glorious still in its lines

of beauty, an old man, blind, decrepid, seated under a tattered

canopy, poverty-stricken, miserable. By his side, soon to be Akbar

II., was his son, and his grandson, the man who afterwards, as

Bahadur-Shah, served out the measure of his crimes in the Andaman

Islands.

It reads like some bad nightmare, does that circumstantial description

given by Lake of his ride through the thronged city at sunset-time,

when the people, wide-eyed, curious, expectant, crowded so close that

the little cavalcade could scarce make a way for itself.

Of what were they thinking, those poor Delhi folk who had suffered so

often at the hands of so many men? Were they still faithful to the

memory of the Moghuls, or did their eyes seek wistfully in the faces

of the newcomers for a new master?