but, where all do well, gains as much glory as the rest.
Leaving Mr. Toley to bring the Good Intent up to Calcutta, Desmond
hurried back in advance and remained in the town just long enough to
inform Mr. Merriman of the happy result of his adventure and to change
into his own clothes, and then returned to Chandernagore on horseback, as
he had come. He found Clive encamped two miles to the west of the fort.
No reply having reached him from Monsieur Renault, Clive had read the
declaration of war as he had threatened, and opened hostilities by an
attack on an outpost.
"You've no need to tell me you've succeeded, Burke," he said when Desmond
presented himself. "I see it in your eyes. But I've no time to hear your
story now. It must wait until we have seen the result of the day's
fighting. Not that I expect much of it in this quarter. We can't take the
place with the land force only, and I won't throw away life till the
admiral has tried the effect of his guns."
The French in Chandernagore were not well prepared to stand a determined
siege. The governor, Monsieur Renault, had none of the military genius of
a Dupleix or a Bussy. With him were only some eight hundred fighting men,
of whom perhaps half were Europeans. Instead of concentrating his defense
on the fort, he scattered his men about the town, leaving the weakest
part of his defenses, the eastern curtain, insufficiently manned.
He believed that Admiral Watson would find it impossible to bring his
biggest ships within gunshot, and fancied that by sinking some vessels at
the narrowest part of the river he would keep the whole British fleet
unemployed--a mistake that was to cost him dear.
By the night of March fourteenth Clive had driven in the outposts. The
immediate effect of this was the desertion of two thousand Moors sent to
Renault's assistance by Nandkumar the faujdar of Hugli. A continuous
bombardment was kept up until the nineteenth, when Admiral Watson arrived
from Calcutta with the Kent, the Tyger, and the Salisbury.
Next morning an officer was despatched in a boat to summon Renault once
more to surrender. Rowing between the sunken vessels, whose masts showed
above water, he took soundings and found that with careful handling the
men-o'-war might safely pass. Once more Renault refused to surrender. His
offer to ransom the fort was declined by the admiral, who the same night
sent the master of the Kent to buoy the channel. Two nights later, in
pitch darkness, several English boats were rowed with muffled oars to the
sunken vessels. Their crews fixed lanterns to the masts of these in such
a way that the light, while guiding the warships, would be invisible from
the fort.
Early next morning Clive captured the battery commanding the river
passage, and the three British ships ran up with the tide. The Kent and
Tyger opened fire on the southeast and northeast bastions, and these two
vessels bore the brunt of a tremendous cannonade from the fort. The
French artillery was well served, doing fearful damage on board the
British vessels. On the Kent, save the admiral himself and one
lieutenant, every officer was killed or wounded. One shot struck down
Captain Speke and shattered the leg of his son, a brave boy of sixteen,
who refused to allow his wound to be examined until his father had been
attended to, and then bore the pain of the rough amputation of those days
without a murmur.
Meanwhile Clive's men had climbed to the roofs of houses near the fort,
which commanded the French batteries; and his musketeers poured in a
galling fire and shot down the gunners at their work. As the walls of the
barracks and fort were shattered by the guns from the ships, the Sepoys
crept closer and closer, awaiting the word to storm.
The morning drew on. Admiral Watson began to fear that when the tide fell
his big guns would be at too low a level to do further execution. There
was always considerable rivalry between himself and Clive, fed by the
stupid jealousy of some of the Calcutta Council. While Clive, foreseeing
even more serious work later, was anxious to spare his men, Watson was
equally eager to reap all possible credit for a victory over the French.
As it happened, neither had to go to the last extremity, for about
half-past nine a white flag was seen flying from the fort. Lieutenant
Brereton of the Kent and Captain Eyre Coote from the land force were sent
to arrange the surrender, and a little later the articles of capitulation
were signed by Admirals Watson and Pocock, and by Clive.
Desmond was by no means satisfied with the part he played in the fight.
In command of a company of Sepoys he was one of the first to rush the
shore battery and take post under the walls of the barracks in readiness
to lead a storming party. But, as he complained afterward to his friend
Captain Latham of the Tyger, the fleet had the honors of the day.
"After all, you're better off than I am," grumbled the captain. "How
would you like to have your laurels snatched away? Admiral Pocock ought
to have remained on the Cumberland down the river and left the Tyger to
me. But he didn't see the fun of being out of the fighting; and up he
came posthaste and hoisted his flag on my ship, putting my nose badly out
of joint, I can tell you. Still, one oughtn't to grumble. It doesn't
matter much who gets the credit so long as we've done our job. 'Tis all
in the day's work."
The victory at Chandernagore destroyed the French power in Bengal. But it
turned out to be only the prelude to a greater event--an event which must
be reckoned as the foundation stone of the British Empire in India. It
sprang from the character of Sirajuddaula. That prince was a cruel
despot, but weak-willed, vacillating, and totally unable to keep a
friend. One day he would strut in some vainglorious semblance of dignity;
the next he would engage in drunken revels with the meanest and most
dissolute of his subjects. He insulted his commander-in-chief, Mir Jafar:
he offended the Seths, wealthy bankers of Murshidabad who had helped him
to his throne: he played fast and loose with everyone with whom he had
dealings. His own people were weary of him, and at length a plot was
hatched to dethrone him and set Mir Jafar in his place.
Mr. Watts, the British agent in Murshidabad, communicated this design to
Clive and the Council of Calcutta, suggesting that they should cooperate
in deposing the vicious Nawab. They agreed, on the grounds that his
dishonesty and insolence showed that he had no real intention of abiding
by the terms of his treaty, and that he was constantly interfering with
the French. A treaty was accordingly drawn up with Mir Jafar, in which
the prospective Subah agreed to all the terms formerly agreed to by
Sirajuddaula. But Omichand, who was on bad terms with Mir Jafar and the
Seths, threatened to reveal the whole plot to the Nawab and have Mr.
Watts put to death, unless he were guaranteed in the treaty the payment
of a sum of money equivalent to nearly four hundred thousand pounds.
Clive was so much disgusted with Omichand's double dealing that, though
he was ready to make him fair compensation for his losses in Calcutta, he
was not inclined to accede to his impudent demand. Yet it would be
dangerous to refuse him point blank. He therefore descended to a trick
which, whatever may be urged in its defense--the proved treachery of
Omichand, the customs of the country, the utter want of scruple shown by
the natives in their dealings--must ever remain a blot on a great man's
fame.
Two treaties with Mir Jafar were drawn up; one on red paper, known as lal
kagaz, containing a clause embodying Omichand's demand; the other on
white, containing no such clause. Admiral Watson, with bluff honesty,
refused to have anything to do with the sham treaty; it was dishonorable,
he said, and to ask his signature was an affront. But his signature was
necessary to satisfy Omichand. At Clive's request, it was forged by Mr.
Lushington, a young writer of the Company's. The red treaty was shown to
Omichand; it bought his silence; he suspected nothing.
The plot was now ripe. Omichand left Murshidabad; Mr. Watts slipped away;
and the Nawab, on being informed of his flight, wrote to Clive and
Watson, upbraiding them with breaking their treaty with him, and set out
to join his army.
Clive left Chandernagore on June thirteenth, his guns, stores and
European soldiers being towed up the river in two hundred boats, the
Sepoys marching along the highway parallel with the right bank. Palti and
Katwa were successively occupied by his advance guard under Eyre Coote.
But a terrible rain storm on the eighteenth delayed his march, and next
day he received from Mir Jafar a letter that gave him no little
uneasiness.
Mir Jafar announced that he had pretended to patch up his quarrel with
the Nawab and sworn to be loyal to him; but he added that the measures
arranged with Clive were still to be carried out. This strange message
suggested that Mir Jafar was playing off one against the other, or at
best sitting on the fence until he was sure of the victor. It was serious
enough to give pause to Clive. He was one hundred and fifty miles from
his base at Calcutta; before him was an unfordable river watched by a
vast hostile force. If Mir Jafar should elect to remain faithful to his
master the English army would in all likelihood be annihilated. In these
circumstances Clive wrote to the Committee of Council in Calcutta that he
would not cross the river until he was definitely assured that Mir Jafar
would join him.
His decision seemed to be justified next day when he received a letter
from Mr. Watts at Khulna. On the day he left Murshidabad, said Mr. Watts,
Mir Jafar had denounced him as a spy and sworn to repel any attempt of
the English to cross the river. On receipt of this news Clive adopted a
course unusual with him. He called a Council of War, for the first and
last time in his career. Desmond was in Major Killpatrick's tent when the
summons to attend the Council reached that officer.
"Burke, my boy," he said, "'tis a mighty odd thing. Mr. Clive is not
partial to Councils; has had enough of 'em at Madras first, and lately at
Calcutta. D'you know, I don't understand Mr. Clive; I don't believe any
one does. In the field he is as bold as a lion, fearless, quick to see
what to do at the moment, never losing a chance. Yet more than once I've
noticed, beforehand, a strange hesitation. He gets fits of the dumps,
broods, wonders whether he is doing the right thing, and is as touchy as
a bear with a sore head. Well, 'tis almost noon; I must be off; we'll see
what the Council has to say."
Desmond watched the major almost with envy as he went off to this
momentous meeting. How he wished he was a little older, a little higher
in rank, so that he too might have the right to attend! He lay back in
the tent wondering what the result of the Council would be.
"If they asked for my vote," he thought, "I'd say fight;" and then he
laughed at himself for venturing to have an opinion.
By and by Major Killpatrick returned.
"Well, my boy," he said, "we've carried our point, twelve against seven."
"For fighting?"
"No, my young firebrand; against fighting. You needn't look so chop
fallen. There'll be a fight before long; but we're going to run no risks.
We'll wait till the monsoon is over and we can collect enough men to
smash the Subah."
"Was that Colonel Clive's decision?"
"'Twas, indeed. But let me tell you, there was a comical thing to start
with. Lieutenant Hayter, one of Watson's men, was bid to the Council, but
the nincompoop was huffed because he wasn't allowed precedence of the
Company's captains. These naval men's airs are vastly amusing. He took
himself off. Then Mr. Clive put the case; fight at once, or wait. Against
the custom, he himself voted first--against immediate action. Then he
asked me and Grant in turn; we voted with him. 'Twas Eyre Coote's turn
next; he voted t'other way, and gave his reasons--uncommonly well, I must
admit. He said our men were in good spirits, and had been damped enough
by the rains. The Frenchman Law might come up and join the Nawab, and
then every froggy who entered our service after Chandernagore would
desert and fight against us. We're so far from Calcutta 'twould be
difficult to protect our communications. These were his reasons. I
watched Clive while Coote was speaking; he stuck his lips together and
stared at him; and, have you noticed? he squints a trifle when he looks
hard. Well, the voting went on, and ended as I said--twelve against
immediate action, seven for."
"How did the Bengal men vote?"
"I'm bound to say, for--except Le Beaume. 'Twas the Madras men who
outvoted 'em."
"Well, with all respect, sir, I think the opinion of the Bengal men, who
know the people and the country, ought to have outweighed the opinion of
strangers. Still, it would be difficult to oppose Colonel Clive."
Further conversation was cut short by the arrival of a messenger
summoning Desmond to attend the colonel.
"Where is he?" he asked.
"Under a clump of trees beyond the camp, sir. He's been there by himself
an hour or more."
Desmond hurried off. On the way he met Major Coote.
"Hullo, Burke," cried the major; "you've heard the news?"
"Yes, and I'm sorry for it."
"All smoke, my dear boy, all smoke. Colonel Clive has been thinking it
over, and has decided to disregard the decision of the Council and cross
the river at sunrise tomorrow."
Desmond could not refrain from flinging up his hat and performing other
antics expressive of delight; he was caught in the act by Clive himself,
who was returning to his tent.
"You're a madcap, Burke," he said. "Come to my tent."
He employed Desmond during the next hour in writing orders to the
officers of his force. This consisted of about nine hundred Europeans,
two hundred Topasses, a few lascars, and some two thousand Sepoys. Eight
six-pounders and two howitzers formed the whole of the artillery. Among
the Europeans were about fifty sailors, some from the king's ships, some
from merchantmen. Among the latter were Mr. Toley and Bulger, whose
excellent service in capturing the Good Intent had enforced their request
to be allowed to accompany the little army.
Shortly before dawn on June twenty-second Clive's men began to cross the
river. The passage being made in safety, they rested during the hot
hours, and resumed their march in the evening amid a heavy storm of rain,
often having to wade waist-high the flooded fields. Soon after midnight
the men, drenched to the skin, reached a mango grove somewhat north of
the village of Plassey: and there, as they lay down in discomfort to
snatch a brief sleep before dawn, they heard the sound of tom toms and
trumpets from the Nawab's camp three miles away.
"'Tis a real comfort, that there noise," remarked Bulger as he stirred
his campfire with his hook. Desmond had come to bid him good night. "Ay,
true comfort to a sea-goin' man like me. For why? 'Cos it makes me feel
at home. Why, I don't sleep easy if there en't some sort o'
hullabaloo--wind or wave, or, if ashore, cats a-caterwaulin'. No, Mr.
Subah, Nawab, or whatsomdever you call yourself, you won't frighten Bill
Bulger with your tum-tum-tumin'. I may be wrong, Mr. Burke, which I never
am, but there'll be tum-tum-tum of another sort tomorrer."
The grove held by Clive's troops was known as the Laksha Bagh--the grove
of a hundred thousand trees. It was nearly half a mile long and three
hundred yards broad. A high embankment ran all round it, and beyond this
a weedy ditch formed an additional protection against assault. A little
north of the grove, on the bank of the river Cossimbazar, stood a stone
hunting box belonging to Sirajuddaula. Still farther north, near the
river, was a quadrangular tank, and beyond this a redoubt and a mound of
earth. The river there makes a loop somewhat like a horseshoe in shape,
and in the neck of land between the curves of the stream the Nawab had
placed his intrenched camp.
His army numbered nearly seventy thousand men, of whom fifty thousand
were infantry, armed with matchlocks, bows and arrows, pikes and swords.
He had in all fifty-three guns, mounted on platforms drawn by elephants
and oxen. The most efficient part of his artillery was commanded by
Monsieur Sinfray, who had under him some fifty Frenchmen from
Chandernagore. The Nawab's vanguard consisted of fifteen thousand men
under his most trusty lieutenants, including Manik Chand and Mir Madan.
Rai Durlabh, the captor of Cossimbazar, and two other officers commanded
separate divisions.
Dawn had hardly broken on June twenty-third, King George's birthday, when
Mir Madan with a body of picked troops, seven thousand foot, five
thousand horse, and Sinfray's artillery, moved out to the attack with
great clamor of trumpets and drums. The remainder of the Nawab's army
formed a wide arc about the north and east of the English position.
Nearest to the grove was Mir Jafar's detachment.
The English were arranged in four divisions, under Majors Killpatrick,
Grant and Coote, and Captain Gaupp. These had taken position in front of
the embankment, the guns on the left, the Europeans in the center, the
Sepoys on the right. Sinfray's gunners occupied an eminence near the tank
about two hundred yards in advance of the grove, and made such good play
that Clive, directing operations from the Nawab's hunting box, deemed it
prudent to withdraw his men into the grove, where they were sheltered
from the enemy's fire. The Nawab's troops hailed this movement with loud
shouts of exultation, and, throwing their guns forward, opened a still
more vigorous cannonade, which, however, did little damage.
If Mir Madan had had the courage and dash to order a combined assault,
there is very little doubt that he must have overwhelmed Clive's army by
sheer weight of numbers. But he let the opportunity slip. Meanwhile Clive
had sent forward his two howitzers and two large guns to check Sinfray's
fire.
Midday came, and save for the cannonading no fighting had taken place.
Clive left the hunting box, called his officers together, and gave orders
that they were to hold their positions during the rest of the day and
prepare to storm the Nawab's camp at midnight. He was still talking to
them when a heavy shower descended, the rain falling in torrents for an
hour. Wet through, Clive hastened to the hunting lodge to change his
clothes.
Scarcely had he departed when the enemy's fire slackened. Their
ammunition, having been left exposed, had been rendered almost entirely
useless by the rain. Fancying that the English gunners had been equally
careless, Mir Madan ordered his horse to charge; but the Englishmen had
kept their powder dry and received the cavalry with a deadly fire that
sent them headlong back. At this moment Mir Madan himself was killed by a
cannonball, and his followers, dismayed at his loss, began a precipitate
retreat to their intrenchments.
Clive was still absent. The sight of the enemy retreating was too much
for Major Killpatrick. Forgetting the order to maintain his position, he
thought the moment opportune for a general advance. He turned to Desmond,
who had remained at his side all the morning, and said:
"Burke, run off to Mr. Clive, and tell him the Moors are retreating, and
I am following up."
Desmond hurried away, and reached the hunting box just as Clive had
completed his change of clothes. He delivered his message. Then for the
first time he saw Clive's temper at full blaze. With a passionate
imprecation he rushed from the lodge, and came upon the gallant major
just as he was about to lead his men to the assault.
"What the deuce do you mean, sir, by disobeying my orders? Take your men
back to the grove, and be quick about it."
His tone stung like a whip. But Killpatrick had the courage of his
opinions, and Desmond admired the frank manner in which he replied.
"I beg a thousand pardons, Mr. Clive, for my breach of orders, but I
thought 'twas what you yourself, sir, would have done, had you been on
the spot. If we can drive the Frenchmen from that eminence yonder we
command the field, sir, and--"
"You're right, sir," said Clive, his rage subsiding as easily as it had
arisen. "You're too far forward to retire now. I'll lead your companies.
Bring up the rest of the men from the grove."
Placing himself at the head of two companies of grenadiers he continued
the advance. Sinfray did not await the assault. He hastily evacuated his
position, retiring on the redoubt near the Nawab's intrenchments. It was
apparent to Clive that the main body of the enemy was by this time much
demoralized, and he was eager to make a vigorous attack upon them while
in this state. But two circumstances gave him pause. To advance upon the
intrenchments would bring him under a crossfire from the redoubt, and he
had sufficient respect for the Frenchmen to hesitate to risk losses among
his small body of men. Further, the movements of the enemy's detachments
on his right caused him some uneasiness. He suspected that they were the
troops of Mir Jafar and Rai Durlabh, but he had no certain information on
that point, nor had he received a message from them. He knew that Mir
Jafar was untrustworthy, therefore he was unwilling to risk a general
assault until assured that the troops on his flank were not hostile to
him.
The doubt was suddenly resolved when he saw them check their movement,
retire, and draw apart from the remainder of the Nawab's army. Giving the
word at once to advance, he led his men to storm the redoubt and the
mound on its right. For a short time Sinfray and his gallant Frenchmen
showed a bold front; but the vigorous onslaught of the English struck
fear into the hearts of his native allies; the news that the Nawab had
fled completed their panic; and then began a wild and disorderly flight;
horsemen galloping from the field; infantry scampering this way and that;
elephants trumpeting; camels screaming, as they charged through the
rabble. With British cheers and native yells Clive's men poured into the
Nawab's camp, some dashing on in pursuit of the enemy, others delaying to
plunder the baggage and stores, of which immense quantities lay open to
their hand.
By half-past five on that memorable twenty-third of June the battle was
over--the battle that gave Britain immediately the wealthiest province of
India and, indirectly, the mastery of the whole of that vast Empire. The
loss to the British was only twenty-three killed and fifty wounded.
Clive rested for a while in Sirajuddaula's tent, where he found on his
inkstand a list of thirteen courtiers whom, even in that moment of dire
extremity, he had condemned to death. From a prisoner it was learned that
the Nawab had escaped on a camel with two thousand horsemen, fleeing
toward Murshidabad. All day he had been in a state of terror and
agitation. Deprived of his bravest officer Mir Madan, betrayed by his own
relatives, the wretched youth had not waited for the critical moment.
Himself carried to his capital the news of his defeat.
Orders were given to push on that night to Daudpur, six miles north of
Plassey. But some time was occupied by Clive's commissariat in replacing
their exhausted bullocks with teams captured in the Nawab's camp.
Meanwhile Clive sent Eyre Coote forward with a small detachment to keep
the enemy on the run. Among those who accompanied him was Desmond, with
Bulger and Mr. Toley. Desmond hoped that he might overtake and capture
Monsieur Sinfray, from whom he thought it likely he might wrest
information about Mrs. Merriman and her daughter. Diggle had made use of
Sinfray's house; it was not improbable that the Frenchmen knew something
about the ladies. As for the seamen, they were so much disgusted at the
tameness of the enemy's resistance that they were eager for anything that
promised activity and adventure. Their eagerness was no whit diminished
when Desmond mentioned what he had in his mind.
"By thunder, sir," said Bulger, "give me the chanst and I'll learn the
mounseer the why and wherefore of it. And as for Diggle--well, I may be
wrong, but I'll lay my share o' the prize money out o' the Good Intent
that he's hatchin' mischief, and not far off neither. Show a leg,
mateys."