10 The Battle of Plassey

At the time when Ali Vardi was appointed to the government of Bihar, one of his daughters, who was married to his youngest nephew, gave birth to a son. The event seemed so auspicious that he declared his intention to adopt the boy and make him his heir. Mirza Mahmud, as he was originally called before he assumed the title of Siraj-ud-daulah, received the kind of training which was considered suitable to his prospects. All his wishes were gratified, all his faults overlooked, and he never knew what it was to be refused or contradicted. The natural cruelty of his temper appeared in the amusements of his childhood. No bird or animal within his reach was safe from torture. As might be anticipated, his vices ripened with his years, and the cruelty which he had practised on the brute creation was transferred to his own species. To every virtuous feeling he seems to have been an utter stranger. His only companions were infamous profligates, with whom he used to patrole the streets of Murshidabad, and commit every form of indecency and outrage. With his other vices he possessed a certain degree of low cunning, which he employed in concealing some of the worst parts of his conduct from his grandfather, who, it is charitable to suppose, though his general character was well known to him, must have been ignorant of his worst villanies, when, in 1753, he placed him on the musnud, and required all the courtiers and officers to recognize him as his successor. From that time Ali Vardi, without ceasing to hold the reins of government, threw a large share of his authority into the hands of Siraj-ud-daulah, who of course perverted it to the worst of purposes.

Nawazish Muhammed, as the eldest nephew, naturally thought himself best entitled to the succession, and took no pains to conceal his dissatisfaction. He had for some years, though resident at Murshidabad, held the government of Dacca, and from its revenues acquired enormous wealth, which enabled him to keep a large body of armed men in his pay. In himself, as he was possessed of very moderate talents, and had nothing warlike in his disposition, he was not dangerous. His two leading ministers, however, an uncle and a nephew, the one named Hussain Quli Khan and the other Hussain-ud-din, were men of capacity, and it was deemed necessary to remove them. The uncle resided at Murshidabad with his master, the nephew at Dacca, where he acted as deputy-governor. Ali Vardi wished to act warily in the dismissal of these officers, as he feared that Nawazish, if alarmed by any hasty step, would at once retire to Dacca and assert his independence. Siraj-ud-daulah had no idea of temporizing, and having no scruples as to the atrocity, determined to rid himself of all fears by taking the nearest road. His hired assassins entering Dacca, stabbed Hussain Khan in the dead of the night; and a few days after, Hussain Quli Khan was assassinated in open day in the streets of Murshidabad. Nawazish and his brother Sayyid Ahmed, who, as they were both aspiring to the nabobship, had hitherto acted independently of each other, now saw the necessity of uniting their interests, and leaguing against Siraj-ud-daulah, as their common enemy. A civil war was imminent, when they both died suddenly, as has been already told.

Deaths which happened so opportunely for Siraj-ud-daulah might, without uncharitableness, have been attributed to his agency, but all writers agree in regarding them as natural. Their effect was to allow him to take the benefit of all the arrangements which Ali Vardi had made in his favour. It soon appeared, however, that his title to the nabobship was not to remain unchallenged. Ghasiti Begum, Ali Vardi’s daughter, had succeeded to the wealth of her late husband Nawazish, and saw no means of saving it from the rapacity of the new nabob, except by placing herself at the head of a powerful party. Her sex made it impossible for her to claim the government in her own name, and she therefore set up a competitor in the person of an infant two years old, the son of a deceased brother of Siraj-ud-daulah. Another competitor appeared in the person of his cousin, Shaukat Jung, governor of Purnea. Could he have succeeded, the inhabitants of Bengal would not have gained much by the change, as it would have been difficult to choose between them, so closely did they resemble each other in ignorance and profligacy. The title of the claimant set up by Ghasiti Begum was evidently bad, as the father of the infant was only a younger brother. Not only, therefore, had Siraj-ud-daulah justice on his side when he resisted the Begum’s attempt, but he was also furnished with a plausible pretext for the measures he adopted against her. As his own aunt and Ali Vardi’s daughter, she was certainly entitled to be treated with all the leniency consistent with safety, but it is not easy to condemn him for dispossessing her of a palace, where all the discontented spirits of the capital would have rallied around her, and depriving her of treasures which had been, and would in all probability continue to be employed in secretly undermining or openly assailing his government.

A Hindu, of the name of Rajballabh, who had become diwan to Nawazish after the assassination of Hussain Quli Khan, and made common cause with his widow, being perfectly aware of the treatment which awaited him from Siraj-ud-daulah, had resolved, even before Ali Vardi’s death, to provide against the danger by removing his family and treasures. The difficulty was to find a place where they would be beyond the nabob’s reach. They were then in Dacca, and the plan he adopted was to send them away in the charge of his son Kishandas, under pretence of making a pilgrimage to the celebrated Temple of Juggernaut, on the coast of Orissa. In prosecuting this intended pilgrimage, Kishandas proceeded with several loaded boats down the Ganges, as if to enter the Bay of Bengal by one of its mouths, but stopped short, and sailed upwards till he reached the Jellinghi, by which the Ganges communicates with the Hughli. He was thus enabled to enter the latter river. This was in fact the preconcerted scheme, for his real destination was not Juggernaut, but Calcutta. His father had prevailed with Mr. Watts, the chief of the Company’s factory at Kassimbazar, to apply to the presidency for permission to Kishandas and his family to halt for some days in Calcutta. It does not appear very distinctly whether Mr. Watts was duped by Rajballabh into the belief that nothing more than a halt was intended, or whether he was aware that the real object was to secure permanent British protection. Be this as it may, Mr. Watts’ application in behalf of Kishandas was successful, and he arrived in Calcutta, where he was hospitably received by Omichand, an extensive Hindu merchant, who had large connections at Murshidabad, and was naturally inclined to conciliate the good-will of so influential a person as Rajballabh.

The arrival of Kishandas, and the reception given to him at the British presidency, filled Siraj-ud-daulah with rage. Not only had large treasures, on the confiscation of which he had confidently calculated, escaped, but the very idea that a body of foreign merchants, whose settlement in the country existed only by sufferance, should protect any party whom he had marked out as a victim, was galling to his pride. He immediately proceeded to the palace, and gave utterance to his disappointment and indignation, exclaiming, that the suspicions which he had long entertained of the English were now confirmed, and that they were evidently in league with the faction which meant to contest his succession to the nabobship. Ali Vardi, now on his death-bed, turned to Mr. Forth, surgeon of the factory of Kassimbazar, who was attending him professionally, and put a variety of searching questions to him, asking, How many soldiers were in the factory at Kassimbazar? Where the English fleet was—whether it would come to Bengal—and with what object it had come to India? The answers satisfied him that the British, in the expectation of a war with France, had already sufficient work upon their hands, and were in no condition to provoke the hostility or even risk the displeasure of the Bengal government. Siraj-ud-daulah was silenced, but not satisfied, and was so little careful to conceal his feelings, that his determination to sack Calcutta and expel the English was openly talked of.

This ominous circumstance and the previous conversation with Mr. Forth, is said not to have been communicated to the presidency; but sufficient warning was given them when a letter, dated two days after the death of Ali Vardi, was received, demanding the delivery of Kishandas and his treasures. The letter purported to come from Siraj-ud-daulah, and seems to have borne sufficient evidence of its genuineness. The governor and council, however, learning that the bearer of it, a brother of Ramramsingh, the head of the spies, had come in a small boat, landed in the disguise of a pedler, and proceeded in the first instance to the house of Omichand, chose to conclude that this was an invention of this crafty Hindu, who, having by some recent changes in the mercantile arrangement of the Company, lost some of his importance, had devised this curious method of endeavouring to regain it. This extraordinary conclusion once formed, it was gravely resolved that both the messenger and the letter were too suspicious to be received, and Ramramsingh’s brother was hurried back to his boat, and turned off with insolence and derision.

The presidency, after they had thus committed themselves, appear not to have been perfectly satisfied with the propriety of their proceeding, and instructed Mr. Watts to give explanations which might prevent any evil consequences. He was thought to have succeeded; for, when his vaqueil or agent appeared at the durbar, and stated the grounds on which Ramramsingh’s brother had been treated as an impostor, Siraj-ud-daulah gave no sign of emotion or displeasure. He acted, indeed, as if the matter had passed entirely from his mind, and made no further communication to Mr. Watts or the presidency respecting Kishandas and his treasures.

At this very time letters arrived from England stating a rupture with France was inevitable, and ordering the settlement to be put in a state of defence. The work was immediately commenced; but as the fort was in such a dilapidated state as to make it necessary rather to rebuild than repair it, a considerable number of labourers were employed, in the first instance, to repair a line of guns which were placed along the brink of the river opposite to the west side of the fort. When these repairs were begun, Siraj-ud-daulah was proceeding at the head of an army of 50,000 men for Purnea, to encounter his cousin and rival claimant, Shaukat Jung. It was known that he had a number of spies in Calcutta, and though the presidency had used every effort to discover and expel them, enough still remained to carry tidings to him of the operations in which they were engaged. Their nature and extent were of course exaggerated, and a letter arrived from the nabob, in which, after stating that he had been informed that the English were building a wall and digging a large ditch around the town of Calcutta, he peremptorily ordered them to desist, and restore the fortifications to the state in which they were before. Mr. Drake, the governor, answered this letter with more candour than good policy; he explained the full extent to which the operations had been carried, and the motives which, as they originally dictated their commencement, rendered it expedient to continue and complete them. “The nabob,” he said, “had been misinformed by those who had represented to him that the English were building a wall round the town; they had dug no ditch since the invasion of the Marathas, at which time such a work was executed with the knowledge and approbation of Ali Vardi; in the late war between England and France, the French had attacked and taken the town of Madras, contrary to the neutrality which it was expected would have been preserved in the Mughul’s dominions; and that there being at present great appearance of another war between the two nations, the English were under apprehensions that the French would act in the same manner in Bengal; to prevent which they were repairing their line of guns on the bank of the river.”

This answer was received by the nabob on the 17th of May, at Rajamahal, and threw him into a transport of rage, which astonished even those of his attendants who were most familiar with the violence of his temper. It is not easy to see why it should have had such an effect. His dignity may have been offended at the very supposition that Europeans should presume to make war within his territories without his sanction; and still more at the assumption, that if they did so, the party attacked would be obliged to trust to their own resources, instead of leaving it to him to repel and punish the aggressor. Beyond this, there was nothing in the answer to provoke an outburst of passion even in the proudest and most sensitive of tyrants. The rage, if real, and not merely assumed to give a colour to further proceedings, was probably provoked by perceiving that a plan which he had long been meditating, and a revenge which was rankling in his mind, were in danger of being frustrated. Were Calcutta put into such a state of defence as would enable it to resist the attacks of the French, whose skill in siege operations had been rendered famous throughout India, by the capture of fortresses previously deemed impregnable, how could he be able to make himself master of it, and rifle it of the fabulous wealth which was believed to be treasured up within its precincts? Now, therefore, was the decisive moment. Calcutta, if not forthwith attacked, would set him at defiance, and both the fame which he anticipated as its conqueror, and the plunder on which his heart was set, would be lost to him for ever.

Instigated by some such motives as these, the expedition to Purnea was immediately postponed, and the army began its march back to Murshidabad. Its movements were too slow for the nabob’s impatience, and a detachment of 3,000 men was pushed forward to invest the Company’s factory at Kassimbazar. Though the garrison consisted only of twenty-two Europeans and twenty topasses, no attempt was made to carry it by a sudden onset, and the detachment were contented to remain for nine days after their arrival, merely watching it so as to preclude either egress or ingress.

On the 1st of June, the nabob came up with the main body of the army. The idea of resistance seems not to have been entertained, as the fortifications, undeserving of the name, consisted only of a brick wall, three feet thick, with small bastions at the angles, but without ditch or palisade. Part of the curtain formed the outer wall of a series of chambers looking inward, and affording, by their roofs, a terrace resembling ramparts. These, however, were completely overlooked from without by buildings at the distance of only 100 yards. The cannon were still more defective than the works, most of them being honey-combed, and the ammunition was sufficient for only 600 charges. The nabob, immediately on arriving, sent a message for Mr. Watts, who obeyed, after obtaining assurance of personal protection. He was received with insolence and invectives, and ordered to sign a paper, importing that the presidency of Calcutta should, within fifteen days, level any new works they had raised, deliver up all government tenants under their protection, and refund whatever the revenue might have lost by the granting of dustuks or passports of trade to parties not entitled to them. Mr. Watts, alarmed for his life, signed the paper, and the two other members of the council being sent for, imitated his example. No terms of capitulation were made, and a party of the nabob’s troops took possession of the place without opposition. Their orders were to seal up what effects they found; but they disobeyed, and stole the greater part. The soldiers in the factory, after enduring three days of such contumely, that the ensign in command of them went mad and shot himself, were imprisoned at Murshidabad. One of the members of council, and the junior servants of the factory, were allowed to retire to the Dutch and French factories; but Mr. Watts and the other member, instead of being sent, as they expected, to communicate the nabob’s resolves to the presidency, were detained in the camp, and told that they were to accompany the nabob himself to Calcutta. This was the first intimation they received of his determination to attack it.

The extreme violence and injustice exhibited by the nabob at the very outset must have made it almost palpable to the minds of the presidency that nothing less than the complete destruction of the settlement was aimed at; and yet, in the vain hope of deprecating his wrath, before the final step was taken, letters were daily despatched to Mr. Watts, instructing him to express their readiness to demolish everything that could be considered a recent addition to their fortifications. The letters were probably intercepted by the nabob, as they never reached Mr. Watts; but the presidency, while writing them, could not well act at variance with the offer they contained, and thus nearly three weeks passed away without any preparation against the coming danger. Had a proper use been made of this intervening period, by applying for reinforcements to the other presidencies, and making the most of the means of defence at their disposal, the governor and council might have set the nabob at defiance, and given the first example of what a mere handful of our countrymen can achieve, when true heroism inspires them, against myriads of native Indians. Unfortunately neither the European soldiers nor civilians in Bengal were, at that period, animated by that spirit which in our own times has been so illustriously displayed. When, at length, the struggle arrived they were far less disposed to face it than to flee from it.

The letter which filled the nabob with so much rage, and was the ostensible cause of his abandoning the expedition to Purnea, was received by him at Rajamahal on the 17th of May, and though his intention then announced was never revoked, and he from that day continued his march southwards, evidently bent on mischief, the 7th of June arrived before the first note of alarm was despatched to Madras and Bombay. The passage by sea, as the south monsoon was then blowing, was impossible, and an overland message could not be carried in less than thirty days. It was therefore evident that long before any answer could be received the nabob would have ample time to do his worst. Conscious of the desperate predicament in which they were thus placed, the presidency applied to the Dutch at Chinsurah, and the French at Chandernagore, and endeavoured to persuade them that they ought to unite their forces as in a common danger. The former simply refused—the latter, as if in mockery, proposed that they should abandon Calcutta, and place themselves with their effects under their protection. What that protection would have been may be inferred from the fact that the nabob in passing Chandernagore was propitiated by a present of 200 barrels of gunpowder. The presidency, now thrown entirely on their own resources, began to display some activity. Works of defence, such as the shortness of the time would admit, were erected, provisions were laid in, and the number of Indian matchlock-men was augmented to 1,500. The regular garrison consisted of 264 men, and the inhabitants enrolled as militia amounted to 250, forming an aggregate of 514, but of these two-thirds were topasses, Armenians, and Portuguese, on whom no reliance could be placed, and of the remaining third, mustering in all 174, not more than ten had seen service.

With such feeble resources a successful defence was more than doubtful, and therefore the attention of the presidency was, first of all, directed to the means of escape. On the opposite side of the river Hughli, about five miles below Calcutta, the native fort of Tanna, mounting thirteen guns, commanded the narrowest part of the channel. The necessity of securing this fort, so as to give a free outlet to the sea, seemed so urgent, that it was determined, while the nabob was only advancing, to assume the offensive and endeavour to gain possession of it. Accordingly, on the morning of the 13th of June, two vessels of 300 tons, and two brigantines anchored before it, and opened a fire which at once dislodged the garrison, consisting of not more than fifty men. A party immediately landed, spiked some of the guns, and threw the rest into the river. If it was intended to retain the fort, the true plan would have been not to destroy the guns but point them so as to repel any attack on the land side. The mistake was soon apparent, for the very next day a detachment of the enemy, 2,000 strong, arrived from Hughli, drove the few Europeans and lascars within the fort to their boats, and resisting any attempt to dislodge them by a cannonade, obliged the ships to weigh anchor and return to Calcutta.

The same day when the ships sailed against Tanna a letter was intercepted, addressed to Omichand, by the head spy, and advising him to put his effects out of danger. This confirming the suspicion previously entertained, Omichand was immediately put under strict confinement in the fort. Kishandas was, in like manner, confined; but when an attempt was made to apprehend Omichand’s brother-in-law, a serious fray took place. He had concealed himself in the female apartments, and not only did all the peons and armed domestics in Omichand’s service resolutely resist a forcible entrance into them, but the person at their head, a native of high caste, to save the women from the dishonour of being exposed to strangers, rushed in, slew thirteen of them with his own hand, and then stabbed himself. Meanwhile the nabob was hastening forward with such expedition that many of his troops died of fatigue and sun-stroke. On the 15th of June he reached Hughli, and immediately after transported his army to the Calcutta side, by means of an immense fleet of boats. The militia and military immediately repaired to their posts, and all the natives took to flight, with the exception of about 2,000 Portuguese, whose claim as Christians was so far recognized as to procure them admission into the fort.

At noon of the 16th the nabob was seen approaching from the north. His first movement showed that he had not taken any means to acquaint himself with the locality. Had he turned eastward he would have arrived where the Maratha Ditch had not been completed, and met with no obstacle. Instead of this he came directly in front of a deep rivulet, where it enters the Hughli, and formed of itself so strong a defence as to render the ditch unnecessary. There was indeed a bridge over it, but this was defended by a redoubt, which had recently been erected, and the approach to it was, moreover, flanked by a ship of eighteen guns, which had been stationed there for that purpose. When the point of attack was perceived the greater part of the Company’s matchlock-men were posted near the banks of the rivulet. The first of the nabob’s operations was to send forward a detachment of 4,000 men, with four pieces of cannon, into the adjoining thickets. Here, from three in the afternoon till dark, an incessant fire was kept up by both sides without any result. At midnight all was still, and Ensign Pischard, who commanded the redoubt, suspecting from what he had learned on the Coromandel coast of the Indian mode of warfare, that the enemy were buried in sleep, crossed the rivulet with his party, seized and spiked their four guns, cleared the thickets, and returned without the loss of a man.

On the following day the nabob changed his tactics. Omichand’s chief peon had not stabbed himself mortally; and, still breathing indignation and revenge, had caused himself to be carried to the enemy’s camp. By his advice the attack on the north was abandoned, and an entrance was easily effected from the east, through various passages where there were no defenders. The suburbs were thus in the hands of the enemy, who set fire to the great bazar, and took possession of the quarter which had been inhabited by the principal Indian merchants. An unavailing attempt was made to dislodge them, and the space left to the defenders became gradually more and more contracted. Had the fort been considered tenable they would probably have at once retired into it, and by thus concentrating their efforts made them more efficient. Fort William, however, like that of Kassimbazar, scarcely deserved the name. It stood near the river, about half-way between the north and south extremities of the Company’s territory, and formed nearly a parallelogram, of which the longest sides, the east and west, were each 200 yards; the breadth on the south side was 130, and on the north only 100 yards. The walls, not more than four feet thick, formed the outer side of chambers, and were in several places pierced with windows; the terraced roofs of these chambers, supplied the place of ramparts. The four bastions, one at each angle, were each mounted with ten guns, but the two on the south side were rendered useless to each other by a line of warehouses which had been built contiguous to the wall. The roofs of the warehouses were, however, strong enough to bear the firing of three-pounders, which were mounted on them. The east gateway, forming a considerable projection, was mounted with five guns, three in front and one on each flank. Besides these, which formed the proper works of the fort, a line of heavy cannon, mounted in embrasures of solid masonry, was placed outside, on the brink of the river, under the west wall.

It is plain from this description how very little engineering skill had been employed in the construction of the fort. In addition to other disadvantages it was overlooked by the English Church, opposite to the north-east bastion, and several other houses belonging to the English town, which consisted for the most part of spacious detached inclosures, and occupied the ground 600 yards towards the east and half-a-mile to the north and south of the fort. Taking all these things into consideration, it is easy to understand the reluctance of the defenders to allow themselves to be cooped up within the fort, and their consequent anxiety to dispute every inch of ground as they were obliged to recede. They accordingly erected three batteries, each mounting two eighteen-pounders and two field-pieces, one at the distance of 300 yards from the east gate, so as to command the principal avenue leading due east from it to the Maratha Ditch; the second in a street commencing about 200 yards north of the fort, and continuing in that direction with one of its sides bordering on the river; and the third 300 yards to the south of the fort, at a point where a road leading north and south was bridged over to give passage to a rivulet. The principal approaches being thus secured, breast-works with palisades were erected in the smaller inlets, and trenches were dug in the more open grounds.

It soon appeared that the defence of these outworks required a far greater force than the garrison could afford. Even had they been sufficiently defended, many points remained by which the enemy could penetrate; and, availing themselves of the houses and inclosures, advance, without once losing shelter, near to the walls. The contest thus became too unequal to be long successfully maintained. Post after post was necessarily abandoned, and the whole three batteries were taken the very first day they were attacked. This result spread general consternation, and, with the exception of the comparatively few Europeans, all were stupified with fear. The enemy were of course proportionably emboldened, and not only kept up an incessant firing, but made attempts to escalade. On one of these attempts, made at midnight, the governor ordered the drums to beat the general alarm, but the summons, though thrice repeated, did not bring forward a single man except those on duty. In such a state of matters it was impossible for the bravest and most sanguine not to feel that a fatal issue could not be long delayed. It was some consolation, however, to know that, if the worst should happen, the means of escape had been provided. A ship, and seven smaller vessels, and numerous boats, with the natives who plied them, were lying before the fort. As night approached all the European women were embarked; and at two in the morning a council of war, to which all the British, except the common soldiers, were admitted, met, to deliberate whether escape to the ships should take place immediately or be deferred to the following night. The council broke up without any formal resolution; but, as the immediate abandonment was not carried, the natural conclusion was that the other alternative had been adopted.

In the morning, when it was intended to embark the Portuguese women and children, a scene of inextricable confusion arose. Many of the boats had deserted in the night, and not a few of those which remained were upset by overcrowding. The enemy in the meantime were not idle. Having gained possession of all the houses and inclosures on the banks of the river, they shot down the helpless fugitives and endeavoured to burn the ship and other vessels by means of fire-arrows. In the panic which now began to prevail many became more intent on their own personal safety than on any united effort for the general benefit. Two members of council, attended by several of the militia, in superintending the embarkation of the European women, had accompanied them to the ship, and forgotten or been unable to return. Nor was this the worst. The ship suddenly weighed anchor, and the other vessels, following in her wake, sailed down to Govindapur, about three miles below. Many of the militia, believing themselves abandoned, rushed to the boats and quitted the shore. Not long after Mr. Drake, the governor, seeing only two boats remaining at the wharf, and several of his acquaintance preparing to escape in them, followed the disgraceful example. He was indeed only a civilian, and might have some shadow of excuse when he entirely forgot himself under the influence of momentary terror; but what can be said for Captain Minchin, the military commander, who, valuing his own precious person more than honour and duty, sailed off in the same boat with the governor? Can we wonder that for a time those thus foully and mercilessly abandoned could do nothing but vent execrations against the fugitives?

The soldiers and militia within the fort now numbered only 190. On recovering in some degree from their astonishment and indignation, they proceeded to deliberate. Their position, though fearful, was not yet altogether desperate, and it might therefore be possible by acting with prudence and energy to keep the enemy at bay till they could provide themselves with some means of escape. Their first step was to appoint a new governor. Mr. Pearkes, as the eldest member of council present, was entitled to the office, but he waived his right, and Mr. Holwell was appointed. The task which thus devolved upon him was difficult in the extreme, and he appears to have performed it with judgment. On the return of two or three boats to the wharf he took the precaution of locking the western gate, in order to prevent any more desertions. At the same time he ordered the ship, which was originally stationed opposite to the northern redoubt, and still remained there, to come down immediately to the fort, and made preparations for continuing a vigorous defence till it should become possible to get on board of her. The ship immediately weighed anchor, and all were buoyed with the hope of a speedy rescue when she struck on a sandbank, and stuck so fast that the crew at once abandoned her. This was a fearful disappointment, but there was still another resource. The vessels were still at Govindapur, and it was not to be imagined that the highest civil and military authorities on board of them, after feeling themselves secure, would not recover from their unmanly panic, and leave no means untried to bring off their abandoned companions. Indeed no great effort was required, for the ship, once again before the fort, could easily have repelled any attempt of the enemy to prevent the garrison from embarking. It was strange that the anticipated relief from Govindapur was not volunteered; and still stranger that it was not in a manner extorted by all the signals of flags by day, and fires by night, which the garrison continually threw out. With a cowardice and heartlessness almost unexampled, the ships at Govindapur beheld the signals unmoved, and the garrison were abandoned to their fate.

The day on which the shameful desertions from the garrison took place the enemy warmly attacked the fort, but were so vigorously met that they desisted about noon, and contented themselves during the rest of the day and the succeeding night with setting fire to all the adjacent houses, except those which gave them a command of the ramparts. On the following morning their efforts became more determined than ever, while the means of resistance were rapidly becoming feebler and feebler. While some of the defenders were resisting with the courage of despair, others were entreating or clamouring for a capitulation. To calm the latter class Mr. Holwell caused Omichand, who was still a prisoner in the fort, to write a letter to Monichand, the governor of Hughli, who was commanding a considerable body of the besieging army, and threw it over the wall. This letter requested him to intercede with the nabob for a cessation of hostilities, as the garrison were ready to submit, and were only resisting in order to preserve their lives and honour. The only answer the letter received was a determined attempt to escalade. It was repulsed, but at a fearful loss. In the course of a few hours twenty-five of the garrison were killed or desperately wounded, and seventy more had received slighter hurts. The common soldiers, moreover, had intoxicated themselves by breaking into the arrack store, and were no longer under control. Mr. Holwell prepared another letter of similar import, addressed to Roydurlabh, and threw it over the northeast bastion, and at the same time hung out a flag of truce, in answer to one with which a man was advancing on the part of the enemy. A parley ensued, and was not finished when the fort was taken. The drunken soldiers, endeavouring to escape, had forced open the western gate. Part of the enemy when they saw it opening rushed in, while others gained admission by escalating the wall where, by a most absurd arrangement, it formed the abutment of warehouses. Further resistance was impossible, and the garrison surrendering their arms were made prisoners.

The capture being thus effected on the 21st of June, the nabob, at five in the afternoon, entered Fort William, and seating himself in state, surrounded by his general, Mir Jaffar, and his principal officers, received their congratulations on the great achievement which he had performed. Omichand and Kishandas, on being presented to him, were received with civility. Mr. Holwell was then sent for, and, after a severe reprimand for the presumption which had been manifested in even daring to defend the fort, was told to divulge the place where the wealth of the Company was concealed. The treasury had already been searched, and, to the nabob’s infinite disappointment, only 50,000 rupees (£5,000) had been found in it. Could this be all which he was to receive, instead of the countless sums which had inflamed his imagination and provoked his rapacity? In two other conferences which he had with Mr. Holwell before seven o’clock he returned to the same subject, and then dismissed him with repeated assurances of personal safety. Mr. Holwell, from whose narrative the account of the subsequent catastrophe is derived,¹ believes that the nabob did not mean to violate his word, and only gave a general order that the prisoners “should for that night be secured.”

Mr. Holwell on returning found his fellow-prisoners surrounded by a strong guard, who as soon as it was dark ordered them to collect themselves and sit down quietly under a verandah, or piazza of arched masonry, which extended on each side of the eastern gate, in front of the chambers already described as abutting on the wall. At this time the factories, both to the right and left, were in flames, and parties were seen moving about with torches, and some of the prisoners imagined that it was intended to suffocate them between two fires. This was a mistake, for the torch-bearers were only searching for a place in which to confine them. During this search they were ordered into that part of the verandah which fronted the barracks, along which was a large wooden platform for the soldiers to sleep on. The prisoners readily obeyed this order, for it now seemed that the worst which was to happen to them was to spend a night on the platform, at a season when all the air which could reach them through the openings of the piazza was required to temper the excessive heat. No sooner, however, were they within the space in front of the barracks than the guard advancing, some with pointed muskets, others with clubs and drawn scimitars, forced them back into a room at the southern extremity. It was the soldiers’ prison; or, as it was generally termed, the Black Hole. The whole formed a cubical space of only eighteen feet, completely enclosed by dead walls on all sides, except the west, where two windows, strongly barred with iron, furnished the only supplies of air, but gave no ventilation, as at this time no breezes blew except from the south and east. Few were aware of the nature of the horrid place till they found themselves crammed within it and had the door shut behind them. Their whole number was 146.

It was about eight o’clock when they entered, and in a very few minutes the dreadful consequences began to appear. Attempts were first made to force the door, but it opened inwards and could not be made to yield. Mr. Holwell, who had secured a place at one of the windows, seeing an old officer “who seemed to carry some compassion in his countenance,” offered him 1,000 rupees to get them separated into two apartments. He went off, but soon returned saying it was impossible. The offer was increased to 2,000 rupees, but the answer was the same. The nabob, without whose orders it could not be done, was asleep, and no man durst awake him. Meanwhile suffocation was doing its work. First, profuse perspiration, then raging thirst, and lastly, in not a few instances, raving madness followed, before death relieved the sufferer. The general cry was—Water! water! and several skins of it were furnished by the natives outside, some apparently from compassion, but others from brutal merriment, holding up torches to the windows to enjoy the desperate struggles which took place among the unhappy prisoners as each supply was handed in. From nine to eleven this dreadful scene continued. After this the number who had already fallen victims was so great that the survivors began to breathe more freely. At six in the morning an order arrived to open the prison. It was not easily executed, for so many dead bodies were lying behind the door that twenty minutes elapsed before it could be forced back so as to leave a passage. Of the 146 who had been thrust into the dungeon only twenty-three came out, and these more dead than alive. Strange to say, one of these was a woman, a native of India though of English parentage, and of such personal attractions that Mir Jaffar carried her off as a trophy to his harem.

Siraj-ud-daulah must have been well aware of the barbarity perpetrated, at least in his name, if not by his authority, and yet was so far from showing any signs of humanity and contrition, that when Mr. Holwell, still unable to stand, was carried before him, he rudely interrogated him as to concealed treasures, threatened new injuries if he refused to disclose them, and ordered him to be kept a prisoner; he was accordingly put in fetters, along with two others of the survivors who were supposed to know something of the imaginary treasures; the rest were set at liberty. Most of them, unwilling to remain within the nabob’s reach, proceeded to Govindapur, but found guards stationed to prevent any communication between the shore and the Company’s vessels still lying there. Two or three, however, managed to get on board, and brought tidings which must have wrung the hearts of those who had been instrumental in bringing such a catastrophe on their comrades by a double cowardice—first, by deserting them, and then leaving them to perish unsuccoured. “Never, perhaps,” as Mr. Orme justly remarks, “was such an opportunity of performing a heroic action so ignominiously neglected; for a single sloop, with fifteen brave men on board, might, in spite of all the efforts of the enemy, have come up, and, anchoring under the fort, have carried away all who suffered in the dungeon.”²

The plunder of Calcutta fell far short of the nabob’s expectations. No treasures were forthcoming except those of Omichand, who, in consequence of the hard measure dealt out to him by the presidency, had not been permitted to remove them, and is said to have been pillaged of £40,000 in money, besides many valuables. Even the quantity and value of the Company’s merchandise were less than might have been anticipated. The capture had been made at the wrong season. The investments provided had been shipped off before the previous April, when the monsoon made navigation impossible; the imports of the past year had been mostly disposed of, and no new cargoes had yet arrived from England. Owing to these causes the Company’s loss in goods was estimated at not more than £200,000. Even of this only a small portion escaped the hands of the soldiers, or the embezzlement of the officials, who should have accounted for it to the treasury. The nabob therefore had made, on the whole, only a barren conquest, and consoled himself for the disappointment in the manner suitable to his character, by pompously changing the name of Calcutta to Alinagore, or the Port of God, in commemoration of his victory, and by maltreating Mr. Holwell and his two companions, who were sent as prisoners to Murshidabad, and subjected to much hardship and indignity. The nabob, flattering himself that the British would never dare to show themselves again in Bengal, left Monichand in command of Calcutta, with a garrison of 3,000 men, and proceeded homewards to carry out the expedition against Purnea, which he had so suddenly abandoned. After crossing the Hughli with his army he determined to make the Dutch and French factories feel the weight of his displeasure. In passing southward he had imperiously ordered them to join his standard with all their forces. They declined; and he now sent a message threatening them with extirpation if they did not forthwith send him a large contribution by way of fine. Ultimately the Dutch compounded for £45,000, and the French for £35,000. The difference in favour of the latter was probably made in consideration of the present of gunpowder already mentioned.

The vessels at Govindapur had not remained there with the intention of rendering any assistance to the Calcutta garrison. On the contrary, yielding only to their fears, they had continued to sail down the river, and would willingly have quitted it altogether, had they not encountered a new danger, which frightened them so that they were glad to return to their former anchorage. When they were endeavouring to pass the fort of Tanna the cannon, with which it had again been mounted, opened upon them, and drove two of the smaller vessels ashore. This sufficed to spread a panic through the whole fleet. That the danger was magnified by excessive timidity was proved a few days after, when two ships from Bombay came up the river and sustained the fire of the fort without injury. Thus reassured the fleet again weighed anchor, passed Tanna without any loss of the least consequence, and reached the town of Fulta, the station of all the Dutch shipping. Here it was determined to remain, at least till the monsoon should change, provided the nabob did not interfere. Not long after their arrival they were joined by several other ships, and the agents from the subordinate factories of Dacca, Balasore, &c., who naturally anticipated a similar fate to that which had befallen Kassimbazar and Calcutta. In this opinion they were not mistaken, for the nabob had no sooner reached Murshidabad than he issued orders for the confiscation of all the English property within his dominions.

Though the nabob did not molest the fugitives at Fulta their sufferings were not over. Ever dreading that they might be attacked they did not venture to sleep on shore, and crowded the vessels, where they lay, most of them on the decks, without shelter, exposed to the inclemencies of one of the worst climates in the world, during its unhealthiest season. Numbers were in consequence carried off by malignant fever, which infected the whole fleet. The evils thus produced by natural, were greatly aggravated by moral causes. Many, conscious of the light in which their conduct would generally be viewed, and unable to reflect on it without shame and remorse, endeavoured to exculpate themselves at the expense of their neighbours. Much time was thus spent to no purpose in mutual recrimination, and no course of united action was possible. At last, however, after a course of wrangling, the authority of the governor and the other members of council was acknowledged, and one of their number, with a military officer, set out for Madras, to represent their condition and solicit the necessary assistance.

THE first intelligence of the danger impending over the Company’s settlements in Bengal reached Madras on the 15th of July. It was not sent off till after the capture of the factory at Kassimbazar, and consequently left room only for conjecture as to what might have happened subsequently to that event. Judging by what had happened on other occasions, the Madras presidency did not view the matter in a very serious light. Native governors had repeatedly threatened as much, and even done more violence, and yet allowed themselves to be bought off at last by a sum of money before proceeding to extremities. Why might not the same thing be repeated now? These and similar considerations had the more weight at Madras, because that settlement had then full employment for the force at its command. An application had been made by Salabat Jung for assistance to throw off his connection with the French, and it had been resolved to grant it. A war with France was also regarded as inevitable, and it was known that the French government in the prospect of it were preparing a powerful armament for the East. In such an event Admiral Watson’s squadron, then lying in the roads, would scarcely be able when united to maintain its ground, and therefore nothing but the direst necessity would justify the despatch of any portion of it to Bengal. The same argument applied to the land force. It was impossible, however, after the intelligence which had been received, to ignore it entirely, and a detachment of 230 men, mostly Europeans, was despatched for Bengal in the Company’s ship Delaware, which had recently arrived from England. It sailed on the 20th of July, and arriving in the Hughli on the 2nd of August, found the fugitives pining away at Fulta. Sickly and dispirited as they were no co-operation was to be expected from them, and the detachment, far too feeble to venture unaided on offensive operations, had no alternative but to encamp in the vicinity of Fulta, whose deadly swamps soon made fearful havoc among them.

On the 5th of August the full extent of the Bengal catastrophe became known at Madras. There was now no room for conjecture. The nabob had not been bought off, as many had too readily and complacently assumed, but had, under circumstances of ineffable barbarity, inflicted on the Company a heavier blow than had ever been sustained before. The most flourishing and productive of all the presidencies was, in fact, annihilated, and nothing but its recovery could save the Company from ruin. It is rather strange that, with this fact before them, members of the Madras council were found to argue that the claims of Salabat Jung should still have the preference, and that the claims of Bengal would be satisfied by sending a fifty-gun ship, and deputies to treat with the nabob. This view, absurd as it now appears, would have been adopted had not one of the members, possessed of sounder judgment and more enlarged experience, put the matter in its true light, and succeeded, after a long war of words, in bringing over the whole council to his opinion. The resolution ultimately adopted, and assented to by Admiral Watson, after obtaining the sanction of a council of war, was that the whole squadron, having on board an adequate land force, should proceed to Bengal.

Before the armament could sail several perplexing points remained to be decided. Who should command the land forces? What should be the extent of his authority both in acting and in negotiation? In what relation ought he to stand to the late governor and council of Calcutta? Was he to be subject to them, or to act independent of them? The last of these questions was first considered. The members of the late Calcutta council, not satisfied with wrangling at Fulta, had each sent separate letters to the Madras presidency, and deemed it necessary for their own exculpation to charge each other with the grossest misconduct. Taking the matter as they represented it, they had proved unworthy of the authority with which they had been invested, or were so divided by mutual animosities as to be incapable of exercising it. Still, what right had the Madras presidency to sit in judgment on them? The three presidencies were co-ordinate, and accountable only to the court of directors. So long, therefore, as the appointment of the Calcutta council remained uncanceled their jurisdiction within their presidency, notwithstanding the violence which had deprived them of it, was unquestionable. Mr. Pigott, the governor of Madras, proposed to solve the difficulty by proceeding in person to Bengal with the united powers of commander-in-chief, and general representative of the Company in all other affairs. This was mere extravagance. How could his council invest him with such powers? and if he had them, what kind of a commander was he likely to prove, when his only qualification was the opinion he had of his own sufficiency? This proposal having fallen to the ground, a kind of middle course was adopted by acknowledging Mr. Drake and his council as a presidency, with full powers in civil and commercial affairs, and reserving to themselves, or the officer whom they might appoint, independent power in all things military.

The next point was the choice of the commander, to whom this independent power was to be intrusted. There were only three persons in the presidency on whom this choice could fall. Colonel Adlercron, as the first in rank, had the most legitimate claim, and was by no means disposed to forego it. To him, however, there were strong objections. He had never seen service in India, and as a king’s officer, not dependent on the Company, showed little deference to their agents. It seems, however, from his letter, inserted by Sir John Malcolm in his Life of Clive (vol. i. pp. 137-38), that the presidency had at one time requested him “to undertake this service with the whole of his majesty’s troops,” and pressed him “to give the necessary orders accordingly.” A change of mind afterward took place, and they justified it mainly on the ground that “he could not engage to return hither upon our request, and that the Company should not have any part of the plunder that may be taken, towards reimbursement of the immense loss they have sustained.” Colonel Lawrence had all the Indian experience which Adlercron wanted, and had, as we have seen by his exploits in the Carnatic, proved both an able and a successful warrior. He deserved the utmost confidence, and had he obtained the appointment would undoubtedly have added to his laurels. It may have been fortunately; but the unceremonious manner in which he appears to have been set aside, required a stronger justification than Orme adduces, when he says, “The climate of Bengal was so adverse to an asthmatic disorder with which Colonel Lawrence was affected, that it was thought he would be disabled from that incessant activity requisite to the success of this expedition, of which the termination was limited to a time.”

After Adlercron and Lawrence were rejected, Clive, now installed as governor of Fort St. David, was the only officer whose claims were worthy of a moment’s consideration. He had early brought them under the notice of the presidency, who had probably from the very first turned to him as the most eligible commander. The following letter, written to the court of directors, October 11th, 1756, after his appointment and arrival at Madras, gives so good an account of his feelings when preparing to set out on the expedition which was destined to crown his own fame and found the British Indian empire, that it deserves to be quoted entire:—

“HONOURABLE GENTLEMEN.—From many hands you will hear of the capture of Calcutta by the Moors, and the chain of misfortunes and losses which have happened to the Company in particular, and to the nation in general; every breast here seems filled with grief, horror and resentment; indeed, it is too sad a tale to unfold, and I must beg leave to refer you to the general letters, consultations, and committees, which will give you a full account of this catastrophe. Upon this melancholy occasion the governor and council thought proper to summon me to this place. As soon as an expedition was resolved upon, I offered my service, which was at last accepted, and I am now upon the point of embarking on board his majesty’s squadron, with a fine body of Europeans, full of spirit and resentment for the insults and barbarities inflicted on so many British subjects. I flatter myself that this expedition will not end with the taking of Calcutta only, and that the Company’s estate in those parts will be settled in a better and more lasting condition than ever. There is less reason to apprehend a check from the nabob’s forces than from the nature of the climate and country. The news of a war may likewise interfere with the success of this expedition; however, should that happen, and hostilities be commenced in India, I hope we shall be able to dispossess the French of Chandernagore, and leave Calcutta in a state of defence. I have a true sense of my duty to my country and the Company; and I beg leave to assure you that nothing shall be wanting on my part to answer the ends of an undertaking on which so very much depends. Success on this occasion will fill the measure of my joy, as it will fix me in the esteem of those to whom I have the honour to subscribe, with great respect.

R. CLIVE.”

In another letter to a director he says—“A few weeks ago I was happily seated at St. David’s, pleased with the thoughts of obtaining your confidence and esteem, by my application to the civil branch of the Company’s affairs, and of improving and increasing the investment; but the fatal blow given to the Company’s estate at Bengal has superseded all other considerations, and I am now at this presidency upon the point of embarking on board his majesty’s squadron, with a very considerable body of troops, to attempt the recovery of Calcutta, and to gain satisfaction from the nabob for the losses which the Company have sustained in those parts. The recapture of Calcutta appears no very difficult task, but our further progress for reducing the nabob to such terms as the gentlemen of Calcutta may think satisfactory, is precarious and doubtful, from the prospect of a war which may not allow time for such an undertaking. You may be assured I will never turn my back to Bengal, if not ordered from thence, without trying my utmost efforts towards obtaining the desired success.”

Two months having been spent in debate, the expedition did not sail till the 16th of October. The squadron consisted of the Kent, of sixty-four, bearing Admiral Watson’s flag; the Cumberland, of seventy, bearing Admiral Pococke’s flag; the Tiger, of sixty; the Salisbury, of fifty; the Bridgewater, of twenty guns, and a fire-ship; together with three Company’s ships, and two smaller vessels as transports. The land force, under Colonel Clive, consisted of 900 Europeans, 250 of them belonging to Adlercron’s regiment, and 1,500 sepoys. The instructions recommended the attack of Murshidabad itself, if the nabob refused redress, and the capture of Chandernagore if war with France should be declared. The lateness of the season nearly proved fatal to the fleet. The northern monsoon was setting in, and the currents from the north were so strong that during the first twelve days, instead of making progress, it was carried six degrees of latitude to the south of Madras. As the only practicable passage it was necessary to cross the Bay of Bengal, and then proceeding north along the eastern coast, where the currents are less felt, recross when opposite to Balasore, and thus gain the entrance to the Hughli. The fire-ship, unable to stem the violence of the monsoon, bore away to Ceylon; the Marlborough, sailing heavily, fell behind; and the Cumberland and Salisbury, in making for Balasore Roads, struck on a sandbank, which stretches out several miles from Point Palmyras. Both got off, but the Cumberland, unable to continue her course, was driven south to Vizagapatam. Ultimately, on the 20th of December, more than two months after leaving Madras, and exactly half a year from the day when Calcutta was taken, Fulta was reached by the whole squadron, except the Cumberland and Marlborough. Their absence was a serious loss, as 250 of the European troops were on board the one, and most of the heavy artillery had been shipped in the other. Little addition to their strength was obtained at Fulta, for half of the detachment under Major Kilpatrick were dead, and the remainder so sickly that not more than thirty were fit for duty. Some degree of order, however, had been restored by a despatch from the court of directors, appointing Mr. Drake and three other members of council a select committee for the conduct of all political and military affairs. Major Kilpatrick, previously associated with them, and Admiral Watson, and Colonel Clive now added, increased the whole number to seven.

Letters had been procured at Madras from Mr. Pigott, the governor, Muhammed Ali, Nabob of Arcot, and Salabat Jung, Subahdar of the Deccan, exhorting Siraj-ud-daulah to give redress for the wrongs he had inflicted; and these, along with others, written by Admiral Watson and Colonel Clive, were sent open to Monichand, governor of Calcutta. On receiving for his answer that he durst not forward to his master letters couched in such menacing terms, it was resolved to commence hostilities forthwith. Accordingly the whole fleet, including the vessels previously at Fulta, quitted it on the 27th December, and next day anchored ten miles below the fort of Budge Budge. This fort, situated on a commanding point on the same side of the river as Calcutta, and only twelve miles south-west from it by land, though double that distance by water, was the first object of attack. It was not expected to offer any resistance, and the only anxiety felt was to make prisoners of the garrison while they were making their escape. With this view an ambuscade was devised. At sunset Clive landed with 500 men of the battalion, and all the sepoys, and proceeded, under the direction of Indian guides, across a country full of swamps, and intersected by numerous deep rivulets. The mere march must have been full of hardship, but this was greatly increased by the neglect to provide any bullocks for draught or burden. Their place was necessarily supplied by the men themselves, who had to drag along two field-pieces and a timbrel of ammunition. They set out at four in the afternoon, and did not reach the vicinity of Budge Budge till eight next morning. The whole march by land looks like a blunder; and, indeed, is so characterized by Clive himself, who says, in a private letter to Mr. Pigott, that it was much against his inclination, and that he applied to the admiral for boats to land them at the very place where they arrived, after suffering “hardships not to be described.”¹ This blunder, therefore, was not his; but there was another of a still more serious nature from which he cannot be so easily exculpated. The place occupied on arriving was a large hollow, probably a lake in the rainy season, as it was ten feet below the level of the plain. It was a mile and a half north-east of the fort, a mile from the river, and half-a-mile east of a highroad leading to Calcutta. The eastern and part of the southern banks of the hollow were skirted by a village, which seemed to have been recently abandoned. The two field-pieces were placed on the north side of this village. The plan of the ambuscade was as follows:—The grenadiers and 300 sepoys were detached to take possession of a village on the bank of the river adjoining the wall of the fort. The company of volunteers were posted in a thicket on the west side of the road. Clive with the rest of the troops continued in the hollow. It was expected that when the garrison in the fort discovered the troops in possession of the village adjoining the north wall, they would mistake them for the whole of the attacking force, and under that impression endeavoured to escape by making for the highroad. While they were hastening along it the volunteers, opening upon them from the thicket, would drive them towards the hollow, where their slaughter or capture would be easily effected.

The idea of danger to themselves seems never to have entered the mind of the commander or his soldiers. They were all worn out with fatigue, and to make their rest more easy were allowed to quit their arms. Even the ordinary precaution of stationing sentinels was neglected, and in a few minutes they were all asleep. Not so the enemy. The previous day Monichand had arrived from Calcutta with 1,500 horse and 2,000 foot. He was now encamped with them within a distance of two miles, and having by means of spies made himself acquainted with all Clive’s arrangements, was only watching the opportunity to turn them against himself. The troops, huddled in the hollow or scattered in the village, had not lain down above an hour when a volley from the east side of the village suddenly broke their slumbers. The soldiers rushed in alarm to that part of the hollow where their arms were grounded. Had a retreat out of the reach of the enemy’s fire been ordered a fatal panic would probably have ensued; but Clive, whose presence of mind never forsook him, made his men stand firm, and detached two platoons which forced their way into the village at the point of the bayonet. This gave time to the artillerymen, who on the first alarm had rushed into the hollow, to regain their guns and open a fire, under which that of the enemy soon slackened. Fortunately for Clive, Monichand was a coward, and on receiving a ball through the turban was so frightened that he thought only of flight. According to Orme, “had the cavalry advanced and charged the troops in the hollow at the same time that the infantry began to fire upon the village, it is not improbable that the war would have been concluded on the very first trial of hostilities.” This is questioned by Sir John Malcolm, who says that, owing to the thick jungle, cavalry “had no means of advancing, except through openings where they must have been seen, and the possibility of surprise defeated.” Sir John, from his profession, must be admitted to be the more competent authority of the two; but, in his zeal to defend the honour of his hero, forgets the time and manner of the surprise. If, as he admits, there were openings through which cavalry might have penetrated, how could they have been seen in the dark, and by men who were fast asleep? A gross mistake was undoubtedly committed; and though Clive did all that could be done to repair it, it cannot be denied that his success on this occasion was due far less to conduct than to good fortune.

Immediately on Monichand’s retreat the whole of the troops were marched to the village adjoining their fort, and there found the Kent, which had outsailed the other vessels, anchored in front of it. The assault was deferred till next day, and to assist in it 250 sailors were landed. One of these, who had got drunk, straggled up to the ditch, crossed it, scrambled over the rampart, and seeing no sentinels, hallooed to the advanced guard that he had taken the fort. It was indeed evacuated by the enemy, who had only waited till it was dark enough to conceal their retreat.

The impression produced by the affair at Budge Budge was somewhat singular. The British, astonished at the resolution displayed in venturing to attack them, began to think that they had underrated the Bengal troops, and even Clive was dispirited. In the letter to Mr. Pigott, already referred to, he says, “You will find by the return that our loss in the skirmish near Budge Budge was greater than could well be spared. If such skirmishes were to be often repeated,” he afterward adds, “I cannot take upon me to give my sentiments about our future success against the nabob in the open field; the little affair above mentioned was attended with every disadvantage on our side…. Indeed, I fear we shall labour under many of these disadvantages when attacked by the nabob; and I take it for granted he will be down before the Cumberland and Marlborough can arrive.” On the other hand, Monichand, who had formed rather a contemptible opinion of the British, from the facility with which Calcutta had been taken, now magnified their prowess in order to palliate his own defeat; and no sooner reached Calcutta than he quitted it, leaving only 500 men in the fort, and proceeded northward to communicate his terror, first at Hughli, and afterwards to the nabob himself at Murshidabad.

To prevent the fleet from coming up the river, Monichand had prepared a number of ships, laden with bricks, intending to sink them in the narrowest part of the channel, near Tanna. The appearance of the sloop-of-war frustrated the execution of this scheme; and the rest of the fleet, leaving Budge Budge on the 30th of December, anchored on New-year’s Day opposite to Tanna, which was abandoned without firing a shot. The next morning Clive, with the greater part of the troops, landed at Aligar, a fort opposite to Tanna, and advanced by the highroad on Calcutta. Admiral Watson, with the Kent and Tiger, arrived before him opposite Fort William, and by the force of their cannonade compelled the enemy, in little more than two hours, to evacuate both the fort and the town. A detachment sent ashore, under command of Captain Coote, immediately took possession. When Clive arrived he naturally expected to be recognized as military governor of Calcutta, and was mortified above measure when Coote showed a commission from Admiral Watson, by which he was himself appointed governor, and specially instructed not to deliver up the place till further orders. This was another of the many instances of collision arising from jealousies and misunderstandings between his majesty’s and the Company’s officers. At first, as neither party would give way, the affair assumed a very threatening appearance. Clive, admitted into the fort, insisted on retaining the command of it, while the admiral threatened if he did not evacuate to fire upon him. Before such extremities were resorted to explanations took place, and a compromise was effected, by which Clive waived his claim to the command on the assurance that it would afterwards be given him. In accordance with this arrangement Admiral Watson remained in possession, and the next day delivered up the fort to the Company’s representatives in the king’s name.

This last proceeding throws some light upon the quarrel, and shows that more was involved in it than at first sight appears. From the very first, before it was known what view the court of directors would take, Mr. Drake and his colleagues insisted that, notwithstanding the loss of Calcutta, their authority remained entire, and hence Mr. Manningham, the member of council whom they had sent as their deputy to Madras, formally protested against the independent powers with which Clive was invested by this presidency. The case was still stronger now, for a new commission had arrived from England expressly empowering Mr. Drake and three of the council to conduct all the political and military affairs of the presidency. It is not to be supposed that if the government of Madras had been aware of this commission they would have made Clive independent of it, and therefore it was not unreasonable to expect that when he arrived and found them regularly installed in office, he would either resign his independent powers, or at least keep them in abeyance. Such was not his view, but it seems to have been Admiral Watson’s; and hence their quarrel, which had nothing personal in it, originated in a determination on the part of the one to uphold the authority of the Calcutta committee, and on the part of the other to give effect to the instructions which he had received at Madras. How bitterly Clive felt at the treatment he had received appears from several passages in a private letter to Mr. Pigott:—“Between friends,” he says, “I cannot help regretting that I ever undertook this expedition. The mortifications I have received from Mr. Watson and the gentlemen of the squadron in point of prerogative, are such that nothing but the good of the service could induce me to submit to them.” Speaking of the commission granted to Captain Coote, he characterizes it as a “dirty underhand contrivance, carried on in the most secret manner, under a pretence that I intended the same thing, which, I declare, never entered my thoughts.” Again, referring to the true cause of all the misunderstandings and heartburnings, he observes, “The gentlemen here seem much dissatisfied at the authority I am vested with. It would be contradicting my own sentiments, if I was not to acknowledge that I still possess the opinion that the gentlemen of Madras could not have taken a step more prudent, or more consistent with the Company’s interests; for, I am sorry to say, the loss of private property, and the means of recovering it, seem to be the only objects which take up the attention of the Bengal gentlemen.” Farther on he gives utterance to the same opinion in still harsher and even rancorous terms—“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? I shall only add, their conduct at Calcutta finds no excuse, even among themselves; and that the riches of Peru and Mexico should not induce me to dwell among them.” Clive could not entertain an opinion without acting upon it; and therefore, when the committee sent him a letter, demanding that he should place himself under them, he answered, “I do not intend to make use of my power for acting separately from you, without you reduce me to the necessity of so doing; but, as far as concerns the means of executing these powers, you will excuse me, gentlemen, if I refuse to give these up; I cannot do it without forfeiting the trust reposed in me by the select committee of Fort St. George.”

Intelligence having been received that the recapture of Calcutta had thrown the enemy into great consternation, and that the nabob’s army would not be ready for some time to march from Murshidabad, it was determined to take advantage of the interval by assuming the aggressive and attacking Hughli. This place, situated on the right bank of the river, twenty-seven miles above Calcutta, was regarded as the royal port of Bengal, and had thus an adventitious importance in addition to that which it derived from its wealth and population. As the object now was to bring the nabob to terms as speedily as possible, the capture of it was good strategy, as nothing seemed better calculated to convince him of the disasters which he might bring upon himself by continuing obstinate. The town, though open, was guarded by 3,000 men, and, moreover, defended by a fort with a garrison of 2,000 men. Considering the importance of the means of defence, the force employed in the attack seems very inadequate. It consisted of only a twenty-gun ship, a sloop of war, and three other vessels, having on board 150 Europeans and 200 sepoys, under the command of Major Kilpatrick and Captain Coote. It was expected to reach Hughli in one tide, but a delay of five days took place in consequence of the ship having struck upon a sandbank. The intended surprise was thus a failure, and the enemy, forewarned, had ample time to prepare their means of resistance. Such, however, was their pusillanimity or dismay, that the 3,000 men in the town only saw the British troops landed, and then made off without risking an encounter. The fort was battered by the vessels till night, and then attacked in two divisions; one of them by feint on the main gate, while the other, consisting of a party of troops and sailors, under Captain Coote, stormed at the breach. The garrison, seeing their assailants on the ramparts, fled out precipitately at the lesser gate. These easy successes made the British over-confident, and Captain Coote, who had proceeded three miles to the north with only fifty Europeans and 100 sepoys, and destroyed several granaries of rice, narrowly escaped as he was returning, from being overwhelmed by the fugitive troops, who, unknown to him, were lying in the neighbourhood watching his movements. By singular good fortune and dexterity he disengaged himself without the loss of a single man. If, as Mr. Mill gratuitously asserts, without adducing any authority, the capture of Hughli was undertaken “solely with a view to plunder,” the result must have been disappointment, as the value of all that was obtained was estimated only at £15,000.

During the expedition to Hughli, intelligence arrived that the long expected war between Great Britain and France was actually declared. The state of matters in Bengal thus assumed an ominous appearance. The French had 300 Europeans and a train of artillery at Chandernagore, and it was feared that they would at once join the nabob. In that case the British would in all probability be overmatched. The whole force then in Bengal would scarcely enable them to keep the field, and to all appearance the larger part of it was about to be withdrawn, as the Madras presidency, alarmed for their own safety, had directed Clive to return as early as possible with what troops could be spared. A vigorous and successful prosecution of the war against the nabob being, in consequence, deemed hopeless, the tone of the Bengal select committee was immediately lowered, and they resolved to lose no time in endeavouring to negotiate a peace. With this view they opened a communication with the banker, Jagat Seth, and condescended to request him to mediate in their behalf. The nabob’s fears had formerly inclined him to come to terms, but the attack on Hughli made him furious, and his army was immediately ordered to march southward and avenge it. Jagat Seth, aware that the time for negotiation had passed, and afraid to implicate himself by interceding in behalf of those whom the nabob had again doomed to destruction, ventured no further than to instruct Ranjit Roy, his ablest agent, to accompany the army, and at the same time correspond with Clive. Omichand was also in the nabob’s train. During the nabobship of Ali Vardi Khan, he obtained the far largest share of the contracts by which the Company provided their shipments. This lucrative employment he had lost, because the Company, imputing a deterioration in the quality of the goods to his avarice, had determined, instead of employing contractors, to deal at first hand with the producers themselves. His offence at this change was the main ground of the suspicion by which the presidency thought themselves justified in imprisoning him, and preventing the removal of his goods from Calcutta, when it was attacked. His fortunes had in consequence been shattered, for besides the large sum of money found in his treasury, his loss by the destruction of houses and other property was immense. His whole thoughts and efforts were now employed in obtaining compensation. For this purpose the favour of the nabob and of the Company were equally necessary to him. The former he had secured by ingratiating himself with Mohan Lall, the principal favourite at the court of Murshidabad; the latter he now hoped to recover by aiding their endeavours to procure a peace. The Company thus had two influential agents in the nabob’s camp. For the time, however, they seemed to have failed, and the nabob continued to advance.

In the eagerness to negotiate, the necessity of providing against the only alternative had not been overlooked. About a mile to the north of Calcutta, and half that distance from the bank of the river, a camp had been fortified. The spot was well chosen, for having the river on the west, and a large lake and extensive marshes about two miles beyond the Maratha Ditch on the east, an enemy from the north could not enter the Company’s territory without coming in sight of it. The artillery, which had hitherto been the great want, had at length been supplied by the arrival of the Marlborough. On the 30th of January the nabob’s army began to cross the river, about ten miles above Hughli. Very fortunately it had not been joined by the French, who threw away an excellent opportunity of crippling, if not crushing their rivals, by reviving the chimerical idea of neutrality between the two companies, while war was raging between their respective nations. Even without the French as auxiliaries, the nabob seemed so formidable that even after his army had began to cross, proposals of peace were forwarded to him. He received them with great apparent cordiality, and at the same time continued his march. On the 2nd of February he proposed a conference with deputies, but failed to keep his promise of sending them passports. The very next morning the van of his army was seen advancing at full march from the north-east. From the nature of the ground their progress might easily have been stopped; but Clive, unwilling either to divide his force or to commence hostilities while the least hope of accommodation remained, allowed them to pass. Most of them spread themselves along the ground outside the ditch, but a predatory horde, armed only with clubs, entered the Company’s territory, and were engaged in pillaging the houses of the natives in the north part of the town, when a detachment posted at Perring’s Redoubt sallied out and expelled them. New bodies of the enemy continued to arrive, and coolly began to entrench themselves in a large garden midway between the head of the lake and the ditch, and about a mile and a half from the British camp. This insult was not to be borne, and yet the only punishment which it provoked was an ineffective cannonade.

Next morning the main body of the enemy appeared, following the direction of the van, but so eagerly was the hope of a possible accommodation still clung to, that on the nabob again proposing a conference at a village six miles to the north, two deputies were sent. On arriving they found, as might have been anticipated, that the nabob had started some hours before. They followed on his track, and found him seated in quarters which he had taken up in Omichand’s garden, in the north-east part of the Company’s territory, within the ditch. It is difficult to account for the inertness manifested by Clive on this occasion. All the advantages derived from his fortified camp were apparently lost without any attempt to turn them to account, and at least part of the enemy had without molestation interposed between him and Calcutta. The deputies might now have considered their business at an end. The nabob by hastening on with his army, without waiting for them, had given the most significant intimation of his designs. They were determined, however, not to be balked of an interview, and succeeded in obtaining it. Raidurlabh, the diwan, on their introduction to him by Ranjit Roy, deemed their application for an interview, under the circumstances, so strange, that he suspected them of being assassins, and insisted on having their swords. They refused to be so insulted, and were conducted to the durbar or council. Besides the nabob and his principal officers, many others of inferior degree were present. These had apparently been selected for the largeness of their stature, and the ferocity of their countenances. To give them a still more terrific appearance they were dressed in thick stuffed dresses, with enormous turbans, and kept scowling at the deputies, as if they only waited the signal to murder them. After expostulating with the nabob for entering the Company’s limits, while amusing them with offers of peace, the deputies produced a paper of proposals. The nabob, after reading them and referring to the diwan, dismissed the assembly. The deputies, on leaving, were whispered by Omichand to take care of themselves. Alarmed before, they now set no limits to their fears, and, ordering their attendants to extinguish the lights, that the path they took might not be seen, hastened off without waiting to confer with the diwan.

The report of the deputies left no room for further negotiation, and Clive determined to attack the nabob’s camp in the morning. His force consisted of 650 men, forming the European battalion, 100 artillerymen with six field-pieces, 800 sepoys, and 600 sailors, who had been landed at midnight, and armed with firelocks. The enemy mustered about 40,000 men, most of them encamped between the ditch and the lake, but a considerable part with the general, Mir Jafar, within the ditch, to protect the nabob in his quarters in Omichand’s garden. The attack was made, but proved far less successful than had been anticipated. Clive, in a letter addressed to the secret committee at home, gives this summary account of the matter:—“About three o’clock in the morning, I marched out with nearly my whole force, leaving only a few Europeans, with 200 new raised bucksarees, to guard our camp. About six we entered the enemy’s camp, in a thick fog, and crossed it in about two hours, doing considerable execution. Had the fog cleared up, as it usually does about eight o’clock, when we were entire masters of the camp without the ditch, the action must have been decisive; instead of which it thickened, and occasioned our mistaking the way.” The loss on his part was severe, amounting to 120 Europeans, 100 sepoys, and two field-pieces; and his troops were not only dispirited, but blamed the attack as ill-concerted. Orme is decidedly of this opinion, and says that “the men ought to have assembled at Perring’s Redoubt, which is not half a mile from Omichand’s garden, to which they might have marched in a spacious road, capable of admitting twelve or fifteen men abreast.” This seems plausible, but an obvious objection is, that, by that arrangement, facility of attack would have been purchased by leaving the nabob an easy outlet to join the main body of his army, and thus escape. By beginning with the main body, and proceeding gradually towards the nabob’s headquarters, he took the best means to secure his person, and, to all appearance, would have succeeded but for a natural event of unusual occurrence, and therefore not anticipated. The moral effect, however, was as great as if the success had been complete. The nabob, having received a practical specimen of the kind of enemy he had to deal with, was much more disposed to be pacific.

The very next day after the attack he employed Ranjit Roy to write a letter containing proposals of peace, and under the pretext of proving his sincerity, though probably more with a view to his own personal safety, retired with his whole army, and encamped about three miles north-east of the lake. Here, after various messages of negotiation brought and carried by Ranjit Roy and Omichand, a treaty was concluded on the 9th of February. Its leading terms were—that the nabob should restore the Company’s factories, but with only such of the plundered effects as had been regularly brought to account in the books of his government—permit them to fortify Calcutta in any way they should think expedient—exempt all merchandise with their dustuks from fee or custom—and confirm all the privileges granted to them since their first arrival in the country. The nabob, now as anxious for friendship as he had previously been bent on hostile measures, thought the treaty did not go far enough, and, only three days after concluding it, proposed an alliance offensive and defensive against all enemies. This was exactly what Clive wished, and the new article, brought by Omichand, was returned by him ratified the same day.

The treaty did not meet the views of all parties at Calcutta. While it was under consideration, Admiral Watson, with characteristic bluntness, cautioned Clive against trusting to the nabob’s promises. “Till he is well thrashed, don’t, sir, flatter yourself he will be inclined to peace. Let us, therefore, not be overreached by his politics, but make use of our arms, which will be much more prevalent than any treaties or negotiations.” Many, moreover, were dissatisfied with the terms, and expressed their disappointment that no compensation had been provided for the losses of private sufferers, not a few of whom had been absolutely ruined by the pillaging of Calcutta. Their case had not been overlooked, and Clive had brought it specially under the nabob’s notice. On finding, however, that he gave only promises, but refused to come under any formal obligation on the subject, he could not permit the claims of individuals to stand in the way of what he believed to be “the interest of the Company.” In a private letter to the chairman of the court of directors, he states the grounds on which he acted with great force and clearness:—“If I had only consulted the interest and reputation of a soldier, the conclusion of this peace might easily have been suspended. I know, at the same time, there are many who think I have been too precipitate in the conclusion of it; but surely those who are of this opinion never knew that the delay of a day or two might have ruined the Company’s affairs, by the junction of the French with the nabob, which was on the point of being carried into execution. They never considered the situation of affairs on the coast, and the positive orders sent me by the gentlemen there, to return with the major part of the forces at all events; they never considered that, with a war upon the coast and in the province of Bengal at the same time, a trading company could not subsist without a great assistance from the government; and, last of all, they never considered that a long war, attended through the whole course of it with success, ended at last with the expense of more than fifty lacs to the Company.” These views are well expressed, and prove that Clive was a statesman as well as a warrior. They fail, however, to meet one very obvious objection to the treaty. It provided no guarantee of any kind for its observance, and thus left the nabob at full liberty to disregard it whenever he might think he could do so with impunity. It was therefore merely a promise, and what this was worth from such a quarter Clive himself tells us in the same letter, when he says:—“It cannot be expected that the princes of this country, whose fidelity is always to be suspected, will remain firm to their promises and engagements from principle only. It is, therefore, become absolutely necessary to keep up a respectable force in this province for the future.” If so, it follows as an obvious inference that, in treating with such princes, obligations written or verbal are in themselves worthless, and that, to give them any value, they ought always to be accompanied with a material guarantee, which would operate as a penalty in the event of their being violated. It will be seen that Clive at a later period of his career both saw this necessity and acted upon it.

Next to peace with the nabob, the object nearest Clive’s heart was the destruction of the French interest in Bengal. It seemed to follow from the terms of the offensive and defensive alliance against all enemies, that the nabob could no longer continue to give any countenance to the French; and therefore, on the very day when the alliance was ratified, Clive told Omichand to sound him on the subject, and endeavour to obtain his consent to an attack on Chandernagore. He detested the very idea, and with good reason, for not only did the revenue gain considerably by the French trade, but good policy dictated that the rival companies might be employed as mutual checks on each other, and prevent the danger to which the native government might be exposed, if one of them were allowed to gain an entire ascendency. The nabob therefore made no secret of his unwillingness to withdraw his protection from the French; but as he only temporized, and did not expressly prohibit the attack, Clive determined to carry it into effect. With this view, on the 18th of February, he crossed the river with his troops, a few miles above Calcutta. The French had no difficulty in penetrating his design, and immediately claimed the nabob’s protection. Their messengers found him on his return homewards at Augadip, about forty miles south of Murshidabad; and having succeeded in convincing him that their destruction would endanger his own safety, induced him to write a letter, peremptorily forbidding the attack. Not satisfied with thus interfering in their behalf, he made them a present of 100,000 rupees, gave orders to Nanda Kumar, now governor of Hughli, directly to assist them if his prohibition was disregarded, and even made preparations for sending back Mir Jafar, with half his army, to encamp at Chandernagore. On seeing the nabob thus decided, Clive made a merit of necessity, and, in conjunction with Admiral Watson, gave both verbal and written assurances that the nabob’s wishes in the matter would be strictly attended to, and that the attack would not be made without his sanction. As it thus appeared that the French were not to be crushed by violence, the next best thing was to secure their neutrality; and with this view, not only were negotiations resumed, but a treaty was actually drawn up, and only waited to be signed when at the last moment a demur to the French commissioners, when the question was put to them, admitted that they were acting only in their own name, and could not bind the government of Pondicherry. Though it must be admitted that a treaty made under such circumstances would have been futile, the conduct of the British was not ingenuous. It is difficult to believe that they were not from the first aware of the defect of powers which they now pretended to have discovered, or that they had ever intended to do more than amuse the French, while they were employing all kinds of influence to overcome the nabob’s reluctance to the proposed attack. In this intrigue the principal parts were performed by Mr. Watts, who had become the Company’s representative at Murshidabad, and Omichand, who, having succeeded in effacing the suspicions under which he suffered so severely at Calcutta, was now become one of the Company’s most active and confidential agents. So zealous was Omichand, that when the nabob—suspecting an intention of attacking Chandernagore, notwithstanding his express prohibition—indignantly asked him to answer strictly whether they intended to maintain or to break the treaty, he answered, that the English were famous throughout the world for their good faith, insomuch; “that a man in England who on any occasion told a lie was utterly disgraced, and never after admitted to the society of his former friends and acquaintance.” After this rather apocryphal declaration, he called in a Brahmin, and took what was regarded as a most solemn oath, by putting his hand under the Brahmin’s foot, and swearing that the English would never break the treaty.

The pressure brought to bear upon the nabob by intrigues with his ministers and favourites was much increased by an alarm which reached him from a different quarter. Ahmed Shah Abdali, having again invaded Hindustan, had entered Delhi, and was understood to contemplate an incursion into the eastern provinces. The nabob was, in consequence, more anxious than ever to secure the British alliance, from which he anticipated important aid, in the event of an Afghan invasion, and became less and less decided in his refusals to sanction the attack of the French settlements. Taking advantage of this feeling, Admiral Watson thus addressed him:—“You are going to Patna. You ask our assistance. Can we, with the least degree of prudence, march with you and leave our enemies behind us? You will then be too far off to support us, and we shall be unable to defend ourselves. Think what can be done in this situation. I see but one way. Let us take Chandernagore and secure ourselves from any apprehensions from that quarter, and then we will assist you with every man in our power, and go with you even to Delhi, if you will. Have we not sworn reciprocally that the friends and enemies of the one should be regarded as such by the other? And will not God, the avenger of perjury, punish us if we do not fulfil our oaths? What can I say more? Let me request the favour of your speedy answer.”

The answer was not speedy; and proof having been obtained that the nabob was intriguing with the French, the admiral assumed a harsher tone, and sent a letter concluding with the following menace:—“I now acquaint you that the remainder of the troops, which should have been here long ago, and which I hear the colonel told you he expected, will be at Calcutta in a few days; that in a few days more I shall despatch a vessel for more ships and more troops; and that I will kindle such a flame in your country as all the water in the Ganges shall not be able to extinguish. Farewell! Remember that he who promises you this never yet broke his word with you or with any man whatsoever.”

This was rather strange language to address to an ally, an independent prince, with whom a treaty offensive and defensive had been concluded only a few weeks before. The nabob, however, was a coward at heart; and, though foaming with rage, sent two letters in reply. In the one, quietly pocketing the menace, he contented himself with excusing the delay which had taken place in the payment of the compensation due under the treaty; in the other, rather evading than facing the subject of Chandernagore, he used the following expression: —“You have understanding and generosity; if your enemy with an upright heart claims your protection, you will give him his life; but then you must be well satisfied of the innocence of his intentions; if not, whatsoever you think right that do.” This expression, which may be variously interpreted, becomes still more enigmatical in the work of Mr. Orme, who gives it thus:—“If an enemy comes to you and implores your mercy, with a clean heart, his life should be spared; but, if you mistrust his sincerity, act according to the time and occasion.” At this time Clive considered himself and the admiral so completely bound not to attack Chandernagore “contrary to the expressed order of the nabob,” that he says they could not do it without being “guilty of a breach of faith;” and yet, with no better authority than they managed to extract from the above dubious expression, they felt relieved of all their scruples. They might at least, in a case of so much dubiety, have asked the nabob to give his own explanation. They refrained, and it must have been purposely, for when they were proceeding with their preparations the explanation arrived unasked, and amounted to an expressed retractation of any assumed previous assent. So far, however, from giving effect to the prohibition, they treated it as “an indignity.” Perhaps the best explanation of the resolution to proceed at all hazards may be found in the fact that three ships had just arrived from Bombay, having on board three companies of infantry, and one of artillery, and that the Cumberland, which parted from the squadron on the voyage from Madras, had at length reached Balasore Roads.

The capture of Chandernagore was an enterprise not unattended with difficulty. The settlement, situated on the right bank of the river, and a little south of the town of Hughli, extended two miles along the bank, and a mile and a half inland. The fort, standing about thirty yards from the water, and nearly equidistant from the south and north extremities of the settlement, formed a square of about 130 yards, inclined by a wall and rampart, with a bastion at each angle mounting ten guns. Several more guns were mounted on the ramparts, and eight on a ravelin on the banks of the river opposite to the western gateway. Beside these cannon, which were all from twenty-four to thirty-two pounders, six of less calibre stood on the terrace of a church within the fort, and overlooking its walls. The French, on learning the declaration of war, had, as we have seen, endeavoured to ward off the danger to which it exposed them, by proposing a neutrality, but, with much more wisdom and foresight than had been exhibited at Calcutta, continued in the meanwhile to make the best use of the time in strengthening their defences. They demolished the buildings within 100 yards of the walls, using the materials to form a glacis, and began to dig a ditch. Neither of these works was completed, but their defects were in some measure supplied by batteries without the verge of the glacis, and in positions commanding the principal streets and approaches by land. The approach by water had not been overlooked, for not only had a battery been erected about 150 yards south of the fort, to command the narrowest part of the channel, but a number of vessels had been sunk in it. The garrison mustered 600 Europeans, of whom only a half were regular troops, and 300 sepoys. Some assistance was also expected from Nanda Kumar, who was encamped with a body of troops in the vicinity; but Omichand had succeeded in bribing him not to interfere.

Clive, having been joined by the Bombay reinforcement, commenced hostilities on the 14th of March. To avoid four batteries facing the south, he made his approach from the west, along a road leading to the north face of the fort. The French made the most of their position; and, by means of detachments placed in the thickets, continued skirmishing till three in the afternoon, when they retired into a battery under the protection of the north bastion. This proving untenable, in consequence of a fire of musketry kept up from some adjoining houses, they spiked the cannon, and retired into the fort. The abandonment of this battery necessarily involved that of those to the southward, as they might now be attacked in rear. Their defenders were therefore recalled next morning. All the batteries without the works had thus been rendered useless except the one on the brink of the river. The 15th was employed in effecting a lodgment near the southern esplanade, by taking possession of the adjoining houses, under the shelter of which the besiegers suffered little from the fire of the garrison. The 16th was employed in bringing up the artillery and stores, and the 17th and 18th were chiefly occupied by the besiegers in keeping up a fire of musketry from the tops of houses, shelling the fort from a thirteen-inch mortar and some coehorns. No decided progress, however, was made. On the 19th, the ships Kent, Tiger, and Salisbury arrived, after a very difficult navigation, and anchored about a mile below the fort. The narrow channel in which the ships had been sunk was now the main obstacle, as the ships so long as they remained outside of it could not act with effect. Fortunately it was ascertained by diligent soundings, and the information of a deserter, that a practicable passage still remained. It was therefore determined that the effect of a bombardment by the ships should be forthwith tried. Indeed, every delay was attended with the greatest danger; for the nabob, on finding that remonstrances had proved unavailing, was no longer satisfied with sending threatening messages, but had actually sent forward part of his army, as if he had at last resolved to make common cause with the French. Raidurlabh, the diwan, advanced with this detachment within twenty miles of Hughli, and would have been in time to attempt the relief of Chandernagore had not Nanda Kumar treacherously assured him of the contrary.

The attack was fixed for the 24th. At sunrise on that day two batteries which had been completed on shore opened their fire. The fort returned it vigorously, and for a time established a decided superiority. At seven o’clock, when the ships were first brought into action, a marked change took place. The Tiger, in passing to the north-east bastion, which was her station, and where she finally anchored at the distance of only fifty yards, fired her first broadside at the ravelin with such effect that that defence was immediately abandoned. The Kent was less fortunate. Her allotted station was the ravelin before the middle of the curtain; but in proceeding to occupy she encountered such a deadly fire, that some degree of confusion ensued, during which the cable, instead of being stopped, was allowed to run to its end. The consequence was, that the ship fell back so far that she lay just beyond the south-east, and at the same time exposed to a flank of the south-west bastion. It was too late to make a change, and the Salisbury, to which this very position had been assigned, was entirely thrown out of the action, the whole brunt of which was borne by the Tiger and the Kent. Notwithstanding these disadvantages the fire of the besiegers was so telling that at nine o’clock the fort hung out a flag of truce. At three in the afternoon the capitulation was concluded. Though the defence was of short duration, its efficiency, while it lasted, is proved by the state in which it left the Kent. She had received six shot in her masts, and 142 in her hull: her casualties also were severe, amounting to nineteen killed and seventy-two wounded. Among the latter were the commander, Captain Speke, and his son, who were both struck down by a single shot. The captain ultimately recovered, but his son died. Ives, who was surgeon of the Kent, professionally attended both of them, and gives such an interesting account of the heroism displayed by the son, a youth of only sixteen years of age, that it would be unpardonable to omit it.²

When he was carried down into the after-hold his leg was hanging only by the skin. Great as his suffering must have been, he was thinking only of his father, whose wound he feared had been mortal. On being assured of the contrary he became calm; but when it was proposed to examine his own wound, he earnestly asked the surgeon if he had dressed his father, “for he could not think of being touched till his father had been taken care of.” Being told that this was already done, “then,” replied the generous youth, pointing to a fellow-sufferer, “pray, sir, look to and dress this poor man, who is groaning so sadly beside me.” He, too, had been dressed already; and the poor youth, on submitting himself to the surgeon, observed, “Sir, I fear you must amputate above the joint.” Ives replying “I must,” he clasped his hands, and, looking upward, solemnly and fervently ejaculated, “Good God, do thou enable me to behave in my present circumstances worthy of my father’s son.” After this prayer he told the surgeon that he was all submission, and bore the operation (amputation above the knee-joint) without speaking a word, or uttering a groan that could be heard at a yard distant. The next day he was removed to the hospital at Calcutta. For the first eight or nine days the symptoms were favourable. A change then took place, and he died on the thirteenth day after the operation. His father having been removed, not to the hospital, but to the house of a friend, the noble-hearted boy, still suspecting the worst, sent the following note, written by himself in pencil at two o’clock in the morning of the very day on which he died:—“If Mr. Ives will consider the disorder a son must be in, when he is told he is dying, and yet is in doubt whether his father is not in as good a state of health. If Mr. Ives is not too busy to honour this chitt, which nothing but the greatest uneasiness could draw from me. The boy waits an answer.” It is scarcely necessary to account for the verbal inaccuracies of the note by mentioning that the heroic sufferer had become delirious. Mr. Ives immediately hastened to his bedside, when the following dialogue took place:—“And is he dead?” “Who?” “My father, sir.” “No; nor is he in any danger, I assure you: he is almost well.” “Thank God! Then why did they tell me so? I am now satisfied and ready to die.” “At this time,” says Mr. Ives, “he had a locked jaw, and was in great distress; but I understood every word he so inarticulately uttered. He begged my pardon for having disturbed me at so early an hour; and before the day was ended surrendered up a valuable life.” Valuable, indeed; for who can doubt, after reading the above narrative, that had William Speke been spared he would have earned for himself a place among the greatest and best of the naval heroes of his country. It ought to be added that Captain Speke was not unworthy of being the father of such a son. His heart was bound up in the boy; and the first thing he did when taken below was to tell how dangerously his poor Billy was wounded. For some days the surgeon was able to rejoice him by hopes of a recovery, but at last was obliged by his silence and looks to prepare him for the worst. On the tenth day he for the first time put a direct question on the subject. “How long, my friend, do you think my Billy may remain in a state of uncertainty?” The surgeon answered, “If he lived from the fifteenth day of the operation there would be the greatest hopes of his recovery.” On the sixteenth day, looking steadfastly in the surgeon’s face, he said, “Well Ives, how fares it with my boy?” Receiving no answer, he could not but know the cause. After crying bitterly, he asked to be left alone for half an hour, and when at the end of that time Mr. Ives returned, “he appeared, as he ever after did, perfectly calm and serene.” Captain Speke never perfectly recovered from his wound, and died at the early age of forty-three. He lived long enough, however, to distinguish himself in the naval victory gained by Sir Edward Hawke off Belleisle. In that action he commanded the Resolution of seventy, and obliged the Formidable, though much superior in force, to strike to him.

Though the nabob had not disguised his displeasure at the expedition against Chandernagore, rumours of the approach of the Afghans were so prevalent, that in his anxiety to secure the assistance of the British troops, he not only refrained from expressing any indignation at its capture, but congratulated the commanders on their success, and made an offer of the whole territory to the Company on the same terms on which the French had held it. His sincerity was more than questionable; for he still retained a large body of men at an intermediate spot between Hughli and his capital, apparently to embrace any favourable opportunity of resuming hostilities; and, so far from withdrawing his protection from the other French factories in Bengal, gave an asylum in Kassimbazar to a body of their troops, consisting partly of some who had escaped from Chandernagore before it fell, and partly of others who, after they had become prisoners of war, had broken their parole. There can be little doubt—indeed it was fully established by letters afterwards discovered—that he was at this time in correspondence with Bussy, and in hopes that that distinguished officer would appear in Bengal at the head of a formidable force. In one letter to him, written before Chandernagore was taken, the nabob says, “These disturbers of my country, the admiral and Colonel Clive (Sabat Jung³), whom bad fortune attend! without any reason whatever are warring against Zubal-ul-Tujar⁴ (M. Renault), the governor of Chandernagore. This you will learn from his letter. I, who in all things seek the good of mankind, assist him in every respect, and have sent him the best of my troops, that he may join with them and fight the English; and if it become necessary I will join him myself. I hope in God these English will be punished for the disturbances they have raised. Be confident; look on my forces as your own. I wrote you before for 2,000 soldiers and musketeers, under the command of two trusty chiefs. I persuade myself you have already sent them as I desired; should you not, I desire you will do me the pleasure to send them immediately.” In another letter, written the week after Chandernagore was taken, he says, “I am advised that you have arrived at Ichapore. This news gives me pleasure. The sooner you come here, the greater pleasure I shall have in meeting with you. What can I write of the perfidy of the English? They have without ground picked a quarrel with M. Renault, and taken by force his factory. They want now to quarrel with M. Law, your chief at Kassimbazar; but I will take care to oppose and overthrow all their proceedings. When you come to Balasore I will then send M. Law to your assistance, unless you forbid his setting out. Rest assured of my good-will towards you and your company.”

These letters, written after the treaty offensive and defensive with the British had been concluded, were undoubtedly a gross violation of it; and as their substance, though not their actual contents was known to Clive, he must now have been convinced that he had been somewhat precipitate in signing the treaty, as it had already become in fact a dead letter. Neither party, however, was yet prepared to proceed to extremities, and some time was spent by them in endeavouring to outwit each other. The nabob, in order to leave no pretext for saying that he had not fulfilled his part of the treaty, complied liberally with most of its articles, paying a large sum to account of the damage which the Company had sustained: and then insisted, with some show of reason, that the whole of the British forces, army and navy, should forthwith return to Calcutta. The ships departed, carrying with them the plunder of Chandernagore, valued at considerably more than £100,000. Clive refused to move, and encamped on a plain to the north of Hughli. This step, while it could not be regarded by the nabob in any other light than a direct menace, amounted to a violation of the orders which he had received from his employers at Madras. One of their main reasons for not giving the command to Colonel Adlercron was because he would not promise to return whenever they should require. Clive had given this promise, and on the faith of it had been intrusted with powers which made him independent of the Bengal presidency. Up to a very recent period his letters to Madras had contained assurances of his determination to return; but their tone had recently altered, and it now appeared that though the promise had never been recalled, a change of circumstances had occurred of such importance as to justify him in disregarding it. What this change was must now be explained.

The nabob, constantly urged to surrender or dismiss the French assembled at Kassimbazar, pretended to adopt the latter alternative, and ordered them to remove westward into Bihar. Had he really intended to part with them he would have sent them to join their countrymen in the Deccan; and hence Clive, so far from being satisfied with the dismissal, remonstrated against the mode of it, and even threatened to take the remedy into his own hands, by sending a detachment in pursuit. While thus condemned, on the one hand, for insufficient compliance with the wishes of the British, the nabob was solemnly warned by the French, on the other, that by dismissing them he was depriving himself of the only soldiers on whose fidelity and prowess he could safely calculate. M. Law, who was at their head, even pointed out distinctly the source from which danger would arise. Many of the nabob’s principal officers were disaffected, and they were only waiting to combine with the English to effect his destruction. This information was correct; but the nabob, though convinced of its truth, was too irresolute to act upon it, and, in dismissing M. Law, simply observed, that “if anything new should happen, he would send for him again.” “Be assured,” was the reply, “that this is the last time we shall see each other; remember my words—we shall never meet again; it is nearly impossible.”

A conspiracy had indeed been formed; and it is painful to add that Clive and the Company were not merely implicated, but had engaged to take a leading part in the execution of it. Admitting the fact that Siraj-ud-daulah was a despicable tyrant, and the consequent probability that his government, if not his life, must ere long have been terminated by violence, what right had those who had courted his alliance, obtained it, and profited by it, to league with his subjects for the purpose of dethroning him? Even had the treaty never been concluded, or had open hostilities been again formally declared, it would have been impossible to reconcile such a proceeding with any of the recognized rules of honourable warfare. What then must be thought of allies, who, availing themselves of the influence which they derived from this character, employed it in lulling the nabob into a fatal security, while measures were being concocted for effecting his ruin? According to the account of Clive himself the nabob “performed almost every article of the treaty, paid Mr. Watts the three lacs of rupees, delivered up Kassimbazar and all the other factories, with the money and goods therein taken. The gentlemen write from thence that little or nothing is wanting.” It is true that he soon found reason to write in a very different spirit. A month later he says, in a letter to Mr. Pigott, “The most of the articles of peace are complied with; yet from the tyranny, cowardice, and suspicion of the nabob, no dependence can be had upon him. No consideration could induce him to deliver up the French; it is true he has ordered them out of his dominions, and they are at some distance from the capital; but he has retained them in his pay, and has certainly written to Deleyrit and Bussy to send men to his assistance. One day he tears my letters, and turns out our vakeel, and orders his army to march; he next countermands it, sends for the vakeel, and begs his pardon for what he has done. Twice a-week he threatens to impale Mr. Watts; in short, he is a compound of everything that is bad; keeps company with none but his menial servants, and is universally hated and despised by the great men. This induces me to acquaint you there is a conspiracy going on against him.” The very mention of such a thing might have awakened Clive’s sense of honour, and reminded him that it must necessarily be a nefarious transaction, with which it would be pollution to intermeddle. No idea of this kind, however, occurs to him; and he simply adds, “I have been applied to for assistance, and every advantage promised the Company can wish. The committee are of opinion it should be given as soon as the nabob is secured. For my own part, I am persuaded there can be neither peace nor security while such a monster reigns.”

From the concluding part of this extract it may be inferred that the Company were not yet prepared for the kind of cooperation which Clive was evidently contemplating. They were for giving assistance only “as soon as the nabob is secured.” In other words, they were not disposed to act as principals in the conspiracy, but had no objections to countenance it, and take advantage of it in the event of its success. Such appears to have been their first view; but any scruples they had were afterwards overcome, and in their letter to the secret committee at home they advocate direct co-operation, arguing that from the detestation in which Siraj-ud-daulah was held, the conspiracy, or, as they rather choose to call it, the confederacy, must succeed; but that if they withheld their aid they could expect no advantages from such success; whereas, if they took a prominent part, they might look for remuneration for past losses, and full security against any future misfortune, similar to that to which their weakness had before exposed them. The “prominent part” had always been Clive’s wish, and he immediately began to prepare for it with all his characteristic energy. The first thing deemed necessary was to dissipate any suspicions which the nabob had felt, and convince him that he might calculate on the British as sincere and faithful allies. In playing this deceitful game. Clive was greatly aided by a letter which he received about this time from the Peshwa Baji Rao, who, after expressing indignation at the treatment the English had received from Siraj-ud-daulah, and offering to avenge their wrongs, proposed to invade Bengal. On condition of Clive’s co-operation with his troops, he would repay double the amount of the losses that had been sustained, and vest the commerce of the Ganges exclusively in the East India Company. Clive knew the character of the Marathas too well to invite them into Bengal, and the only use which he made of the Peshwa’s letter was to send it to the nabob. If it was spurious, as some suspected, and had been written at the suggestion of the nabob himself, as a means of sounding the Company, and ascertaining how far they were actuated by ambitious views, the return of the letter would be equivalent to taking him in his own snare; if it was genuine, how could there be a greater proof of good faith than in preferring his alliance to the tempting offers of the Maratha? “The letter,” says Sir John Malcolm, “was genuine; and the nabob expressed himself much gratified by the conduct of Clive, who, on this occasion and others, endeavoured to remove the suspicions that Siraj-ud-daulah entertained of the designs of the confederates.” One of the other methods which Clive took of removing the nabob’s suspicions, or, as his biographer calls it, “of lulling him into security,” was as follows:—Having sent back the Company’s troops to Calcutta, and ordered those under his own independent control into garrison, he observed in a letter to the nabob, “that while the armies continued in the field their enemies would be endeavouring to interrupt that perfect harmony and friendship which subsisted between them; that he had therefore put his army into quarters; and though he had no reason to doubt his excellency’s strict adherence to, and full compliance with all the articles of the treaty, yet, nevertheless, he wished he could disappoint those hopes their mutual enemies entertained, by withdrawing his army from Plassey.”

While Clive was thus endeavouring to impose upon the credulity of the nabob, and telling him of “that perfect harmony and friendship which subsisted between them,” he was apparently by the same messenger who carried the letter to the nabob sending letters to Mr. Watts with such passages as the following:—“The nabob is a villain, and cannot be trusted; he must be overset, or we must fall.” “As for any gratuity the new nabob may bestow on the troops, it is left to his generosity and to your and Omichand’s management.” “I have wrote the nabob a soothing letter; this accompanies another of the same kind, and one to Mohan Lall (the nabob’s chief favourite) agreeable to your desire.” “To take away all suspicion I have ordered all the artillery and tumbrils to be embarked in boats and sent to Calcutta,” but “I am ready, and will engage to be at Nusary in twelve hours after I receive your letter, which place is to be the rendezvous of the whole army.” “Tell Mir Jafar to fear nothing; that I will join him with 5,000 men who never turned their backs; and that if he fails seizing him, we shall be strong enough to drive him out of the country. Assure him I will march night and day to his assistance, and stand by him as long as I have a man left.”

Before the conspiracy reached the point to which we have now brought it, a number of important preliminaries had been arranged. The object was to get quit of Siraj-ud-daulah at all events; and in this his most influential ministers and subjects were ready to concur. At first, however, there was some difficulty in determining who was to be the new nabob. The earliest aspirant was Yar Latif Khan, who commanded 2,000 horse in the nabob’s service, but was at the same time in the pay of the Seths, whom he was engaged to defend, even against the nabob himself. This officer having requested a secret conference with Mr. Watts, was referred by him to Omichand, to whom he stated that the overthrow of the nabob would be easy, in consequence of the general detestation in which he was held; and that if the English, whom he had sworn to extirpate, would take advantage of his absence on an intended expedition to Patna against the Afghans, to seize upon Murshidabad, they might, by proclaiming him as the new nabob, obtain any advantages for which they might stipulate. The scheme was approved by Mr. Watts, and forthwith sanctioned by Clive. Yar Latif Khan was probably put forward by the Seths merely for the purpose of sounding the views of the English commander, for the very next day after the conference, an Armenian of the name of Petrus came to Mr. Watts with similar proposals from Mir Jafar, who—declaring that he was in danger of assassination every time he went to the durbar, and that the Diwan Rai-durlabh, the Seths, and several officers of the first rank in the army had engaged to join, if the English would assist in dethroning the nabob—requested that if the scheme were accepted the terms should be settled without delay, and that Colonel Clive would immediately break up his camp, and soothe the nabob with every appearance of pacific intentions until hostilities should commence.

Mir Jafar, being a far more important personage than Yar Latif Khan, had no difficulty in obtaining the preference. He was brother-in-law of the late nabob, Ali Vardi Khan, and held both under him and Siraj-ud-daulah the office of paymaster-general, which necessarily gave him great influence with the army, and has caused him to be sometimes described as its commander-in-chief. Ali Vardi made a trial of his military talents, by appointing him to the command of a large detachment, intended to expel the united Marathas and Afghans from Orissa. His incapacity was, however, soon proved; and after his indolence and pusillanimity had enabled the enemy to gain decided advantages, Ali Vardi was obliged to supersede him. Mir Jafar showed his resentment, and endeavoured to gratify his revenge by leaguing secretly with a treasonable faction, and though, more from fear of the danger than a sense of returning duty, he abandoned the league, he had gone too far to be forgiven, and was deprived of all his employments. He seems to have been reinstated at a later period, as he figures among the principal persons whom Siraj-ud-daulah, on his accession, dismissed from office, in order to make way for his own favourites. Mir Jafar expressed his resentment, as before, by placing himself at the head of a treasonable intrigue, and encouraging Shaukat Jung, governor of Purnea, to assert his claim to the masnad. The failure of that attempt had induced him to shake himself free of all connection with it; and he had insinuated himself into the good graces of the nabob, for he was present in his capacity of bakshi or paymaster-general at the capture of Calcutta, and is the only officer of distinction who stands chargeable with a direct participation in the atrocities of the Black Hole. The English woman, who survived the horrors of that night, was carried off in triumph to Mir Jafar’s harem.

Such was the man who, again plotting for the overthrow of his master, was selected to usurp his place. His character must have been too well known to invite confidence in his professions, and care was therefore taken to insert all the obligations exacted from him, in formal written documents, to which, not with much propriety, the names of a public and a private treaty have been given. The public treaty, written in Persian, commenced with the following sentence, in Mir Jafar’s own hand:—“I swear by God, and the Prophet of God, to abide by the terms of this treaty whilst I have life.” It is entitled, “Treaty made with the Admiral and Colonel Clive” (Sabat Jung Bahadur), and consists of twelve articles, and a thirteenth, called an additional article. The first article simply agrees to comply with “whatever articles were agreed upon in the time of peace” with the Nabob Siraj-ud-daulah. The second article is, “The enemies of the English are my enemies, whether they be Indians or Europeans.” Article III confiscates to the English all the effects and factories of the French in Bengal, Bihar, and Orissa, and engages never more to “allow them any more to settle in the three provinces.” Articles IV, V, VI, and VII give compensation as follows:—To the Company for losses, and the maintenance of forces, one crore of rupees (£1,000,000); to the English inhabitants in Calcutta, fifty lacs of rupees (£500,000); to the Gentoos, Musalmans, and other subjects of Calcutta, twenty lacs (£200,000); to the Armenian inhabitants, seven lacs (£70,000). Article VIII gives to the Company all the land within the Maratha Ditch belonging to zamindars, and also 600 yards without the ditch. Article IX converts all the land to the south of Calcutta, as far as Kalpi, into a zamindary, and gives it to the Company, subject, however, to the payment of revenue, in the same manner as other zamindars. Article X engages to pay for the maintenance of any English troops whose assistance may be demanded; Article XI not to erect any new fortifications, below Hughli, near the Ganges; and Article XII, to pay the aforesaid stipulated sums on being established in the government of the three provinces.

The thirteenth, or additional article, is the counter-obligation, in which, “on condition that Mir Jafar Khan Bahadur shall solemnly ratify, confirm by oath, and execute all the above articles, we, the underwritten, do, on behalf of the Honourable East India Company, declare on the holy Gospels, and before God, that we will assist Mir Jafar Khan Bahadur, with all our force, to obtain the subship of the province of Bengal, Bihar, and Orissa; and further, that we will assist him to the utmost against all his enemies whatever, as soon as he calls upon us for that end; provided that he, on his coming to be nabob, shall fulfil the aforesaid articles.” This article, as well as the treaty, was signed by Admiral Watson, Mr. Drake, governor of Calcutta, Colonel Clive, Mr. Watts, Major Kilpatrick, and Mr. Becher, one of the members of council. Had there been no objection to it in any other respect, it is strange how it never occurred to them that in engaging to employ all their force to obtain the subship for a creature of their own, they were usurping the sovereign rights of the Mughul emperor, and pledging themselves, if he resisted or resented their interference, to wage open war against him. This oversight is the more remarkable, because the treaty, on the face of it, recognizes the emperor’s supremacy. Mir Jafar designates himself “servant of King Alamgir,” and the date of the deed is “the fourth year of the reign.” What right then had Mir Jafar to rule over provinces to which, even if he had been the next heir, instead of being a stranger in blood, his title would not have been valid until confirmed at Delhi? and what right could the representatives of a body of English merchants have, not only to sanction his usurpation, but solemnly pledge themselves “to assist him to the utmost against all his enemies whatever?” No answer can be given that will bear a moment’s examination; but it is needless, when so much of an extravagant nature was done, to dwell on a matter which, in the now degraded condition of the Mughul empire, may possibly have been regarded as mere punctilio.

The private treaty, though it appears to have been an afterthought, was probably regarded by some of the parties as the more important of the two. In a passage, quoted above, Clive mentions, in a letter to Mr. Watts, that “as to any gratuity the new nabob may bestow on the troops, it is left to his generosity.” A more mercenary spirit was afterwards developed. A gratuity to the army and navy only had been first proposed; but, when the matter was discussed in the select committee, Mr. Becher, one of the members, suggested that, “as they had set the machine in motion, it was reasonable and proper that they should be considered.” The hint was sufficient; and it was resolved, as Clive describes it in a letter to Mr. Watts, that, instead of trusting to Mir Jafar’s generosity, his “private engagement should be obtained in writing to make them (the committee, in which you are included), a present of twelve lacs of rupees, and a present of forty lacs to the army and navy, over and above what is stipulated in the agreement.” This engagement formed the subject of the private treaty, and by means of it enormous sums, while they still continued to be misnamed presents, were regularly constituted as debts. It will be seen, as the narrative proceeds, that there was a third treaty of a very singular description.

The treaties, signed by Mir Jafar, arrived in Calcutta on the 10th of June, and two days after, the troops stationed there, together with 150 sailors from the squadron, were proceeding up the river, in a fleet of 200 boats, to join the main body under Clive at Chandernagore. The danger of delay was manifest. A plot to which so many were privy could not be effectually concealed. The soldiers, both at Calcutta and Chandernagore, began to talk of it openly; and Omichand, who from the first had a leading share in its management, had threatened to divulge it to the nabob, unless his silence was purchased at an enormous cost. The nabob’s own suspicions were aroused, and his first impulse was to attack the palace, and thus obtain possession of the person of Mir Jafar. Had he acted on it he might possibly have escaped the fate impending over him; but he hesitated, after putting Mir Jafar on his guard, and was so overwhelmed with astonishment and terror, when the sudden flight of Mr. Watts from Murshidabad revealed the full magnitude of the danger, that he descended from menace to entreaty, and made overtures for an accommodation. To this Mir Jafar assented, and, during a visit which the nabob paid to him, swore upon the Koran that he would neither join nor give assistance to the English. This was of course in direct contradiction to the oath of the treaty; but Mir Jafar had no scruples, and was ready to commit any amount of perjury when anything could be gained by it. The nabob felt so secure after this reconciliation with his paymaster-general, that on the 15th he sent a letter to Clive, inveighing bitterly against the treachery manifested by Mr. Watts, whom conscious guilt alone had forced to flee. “Suspicion,” he said, “that some trick was intended, had been the real cause which induced him to keep his army so long at Plassey; but God and the Prophet would punish those by whom the treaty was violated.” As soon as he had thus committed himself to hostilities, he ordered the whole of his army to assemble forthwith at their former encampment at Plassey, and also wrote M. Law, who had proceeded with his soldiers no farther than Rajamahal, to join him with the utmost expedition.

The nabob’s message of defiance must have passed another which Clive, on commencing his march, had addressed to him. After enumerating all the grievances, real and imaginary, to which the English had been subjected by the nabob’s caprice, violence, and perfidy, he announced that he had determined, with the approbation of all who are charged with the Company’s affairs, to proceed immediately to Kassimbazar, and submit their disputes to the arbitration of Mir Jafar, Raidurlabh, Jagat Seth, and others of his great men; that if it should appear he (Clive) deviated from the treaty, he then swore to give up all further claims; but that if it appeared his excellency had broken it, he should then demand satisfaction for all the losses sustained by the English, and all the charges of their army and navy. He added, in conclusion, “that the rains being so near, and it requiring many days to receive an answer, he found it necessary to wait upon him immediately.” Clive, in quitting Chandernagore, left only 100 sailors to garrison it, and set out at the head of about 3,000 men, of whom 800 were Europeans. The artillery consisted of eight six-pounders and a howitzer. Bold as he was, he would not have ventured to commence operations with this force had he not trusted to the promise of Mir Jafar to join him. With great anxiety, therefore, he continued his march day by day, while Mir Jafar, not only did not make his appearance, but returned no answer to repeated messages which were sent to him. It was not until the 17th, when the army had advanced far on its way, and by means of a detachment sent forward under Captain Coote, had captured the town and fort of Katwa, situated at the confluence of the Hadji with the Bhagirathi, that the first letter from Mir Jafar arrived. Its contents were very unsatisfactory, for, instead of announcing his approach to form the promised junction, it spoke in rather ambiguous terms of the reconciliation with the nabob, and the oath by which he had bound himself not to take part against him. Mir Jafar of course declared that the whole was, on his part, a trick, by which he hoped to lure the nabob more easily to his ruin; but when, on the 19th, another letter arrived, in which he gave only the vague intelligence that his tent would be either on the left or the right of the army, and excused himself for not being more explicit, because guards were stationed on all the roads to intercept all messages, Clive’s suspicions were thoroughly roused. Mir Jafar either meant to deceive him, or had miscalculated his strength. On either supposition further advance was perilous in the extreme.

The light in which matters now appeared to Clive is evidenced by a letter written to the secret committee, on the same day on which that of Mir Jafar was received:—“The party I sent has taken Katwa town and fort. Both are strong. Notwithstanding which, I feel the greatest anxiety at the little intelligence I receive from Mir Jafar; and if he is not treacherous, his sang froid, or want of strength, will, I fear, overset the expedition. I am trying a last effort, by means of a Brahmin, to prevail upon him to march out and join us. I have appointed Plassey the place of rendezvous, and have told him at the same time, unless he gives this or some other sufficient proof of the sincerity of his intentions, I will not cross the river; this, I hope, will meet with your approbation. I shall act with such caution as not to risk the loss of our forces; and whilst we have them, we may always have it in our power to bring about a revolution, should the present not succeed. They say there is a considerable quantity of grain in and about this place. If we can collect eight or ten thousand maunds, we may maintain our situation during the rains, which will greatly distress the nabob; and either reduce him to terms which may be depended upon, or give us time to bring in the Birbhum Raja, Marathas, or Ghazi-uddin. I desire you will give your sentiments freely, how you think I should act, if Mir Jafar can give us no assistance.”

The dubiety and indecision thus expressed, were not produced by a momentary fit of despondency, for on the 21st of June, two days after despatching the above letter, Clive, unable to satisfy himself as to the course which it was expedient to pursue, or decide it on his own responsibility, held a council of war, and submitted to it the following question:—“Whether, in our present situation, without assistance, and on our own bottom, it would be prudent to attack the nabob; or, whether we should wait till joined by some country power?” The council consisted of sixteen members, of whom nine voted the affirmative, and seven the negative. The former was thus carried, Clive not only voting with the majority, but lending his influence to secure it by violating the ordinary routine, and giving his own opinion first, instead of beginning with the youngest officer. Eyre Coote, who had already given proofs of the military genius which afterwards made him famous in Indian warfare, stood at the head of the minority. To all appearance, Siraj-ud-daulah was now safe, at least from the conspiracy which was to have discarded him, in order to make way for Mir Jafar, and Bengal was not to be revolutionized till one of its own petty rajas could usurp the government; or one of the most worthless vizirs who had ever held office at the court of Delhi could be bribed to mingle in the plot; or the Company, in despair of accomplishing their object by other means, should resort to the miserable alternative of leaguing with the Marathas. But though the majority of the council of war had voted as Clive had in a manner dictated, by anticipating instead of waiting to receive their opinion, he was not himself satisfied. The arguments of Coote had not been lost upon him, and within an hour after the council broke up, the army received orders to be in readiness to start next morning. This change of opinion in Clive is said, by Orme, to have been produced after an interval of deep and solitary meditation in an adjoining grove. It must, indeed, have been an anxious moment; for, even after the absurdity of stopping where he was had become apparent, he could not act in opposition to his own previously declared conviction and the decision of the council of war, without feeling how immensely he had added to his responsibility.

The hazards which the army was now about to run were of the most formidable description. It was occupying the town of Katwa, and could not reach the nabob’s army without passing into a large flat which, from being nearly enclosed by two arms of the Ganges, was known by the name of the island of Kassimbazar. Between it and the army ran a deep and rapid river, the passage of which, had the enemy known how to use his advantages, might have been successfully disputed, or, at all events, could not have been effected without serious loss. This obstacle overcome, the peril of the position was indefinitely increased. Retreat was impossible. A body of troops not exceeding 3,000 was about to encounter an army of not less than 50,000 infantry and 18,000 cavalry, in a position where, if a reverse was sustained, not a man would escape to tell the tale. The river was crossed without opposition, and shortly after a letter arrived from Mir Jafar, giving notice of the nabob’s movements, and suggesting the possibility of taking him by surprise; but, in other respects, so far from satisfactory, that Clive immediately sent back the messenger who brought it, with the answer “that he should march to Plassey without delay, and would the next morning advance six miles further to the village of Daudpore; but if Mir Jafar did not join him there he would make peace with the nabob.” According to Mir Jafar’s information, the nabob had arrived at Munkara, a village six miles south of Kassimbazar, intending there to entrench himself and wait the event. This information proved false; for when Clive arrived at Plassey, at one in the morning, after a fatiguing march of fifteen miles, the continual sound of drums, clarions, and cymbals, which always accompany the night watches of an Indian camp, told him that the nabob’s army was not a mile distant. The intention to encamp at Munkara had been formed in the belief that Clive would advance immediately after the capture of Katwa; but from circumstances already explained, his movements not having been so rapid as was expected, the nabob quickened his own pace and arrived at Plassey before him. Naturally of a cowardly disposition, and surrounded by treachery, of which the evidences could not have escaped his notice, the nabob became more and more desponding as the danger approached. On the evening of his arrival, his attendants had gone out, one by one, to say their usual prayers, at the time of sunset. Being at the time absorbed in his own gloomy reflections, he was not aware that they had left him alone, till looking up he perceived a man who had secretly entered the tent, probably to steal. Starting up, and calling loudly for his attendants, he exclaimed—“Surely they see me dead.”

In the immediate vicinity of Plassey was a grove of mango trees, planted in regular rows, and extending about 800 yards, with a breadth of 300. It was enclosed by a slight bank, and a ditch nearly choked up with weeds and brambles, and slanted with its west side along the bank of the river, which was distant at the southern extremity 200 yards, and at the north not more than fifty. At a short distance north of the grove was an entrenchment, which Raidurlabh, while encamped here, had thrown up. It stretched for about 200 yards from the bank of the river, in a line nearly parallel to the north side of the grove, and then diverging to the north-east, was continued in that direction for about three miles. The nabob’s army was encamped within this entrenchment, and began at daybreak, on the 23rd of June, to issue from various openings and advance towards the grove. His artillery consisted of forty to fifty pieces of cannon, mostly of the largest calibre. Several of them were mounted on a redoubt constructed in the entrenchment, in the angle formed by the change in its direction; four of them on the bank of a large tank about 900 yards south of the redoubt, under forty Frenchmen, headed by one Sinfray; and two on a line with the tank, and close to the river. The rest of the artillery, reserved to accompany the army in its movements, was placed on machines, each forming a kind of stage, about six feet high, and large enough to contain a cannon, with its ammunition, and the gunners required to manage it. Every machine was dragged along by forty to fifty yoke of white oxen of the largest size, and attended, moreover, by an elephant trained to assist at difficult tugs by shoving with his forehead. Behind the posts occupied by Sinfray, and the two cannon near the river, Mir Madan, the son of Mohan Lall, was stationed with 5,000 horse and 7,000 foot. The rest of the army, consisting of separate compact masses, formed an immense curve which commenced at a hillock of trees, situated without the entrenchment, about 300 yards east of the redoubt, and terminated about half a mile east of the southern angle of the grove. The artillery, two, three, and four pieces together, were stationed at the different openings between the columns in the curve. Clive had fixed his headquarters at a hunting-house of the nabob, situated a little north of the grove, on the bank of the river, and, having ascended to the roof, surveyed the vast host in splendid array hemming him in on every side, except that towards the river. At first, to show the enemy how unable they were to intimidate him, he abandoned the shelter of the grove, and drew up his little army in front of it in a line facing the tank. The battalion occupied the centre, while the sepoys in two equal divisions formed the wings. Three of the field-pieces were placed on the right, and three on the left of the battalion; the other two field-pieces and the howitzers were advanced about 200 yards in front of the left wing. At eight o’clock the first shot was fired by the enemy, and a distant cannonade was kept up for some time. It produced no result, and Clive again placed his men under the shelter of the grove. This apparent retreat elated the enemy, who now, advancing nearer, fired with great vivacity, though to very little purpose, for the troops remained quietly seated among the trees, while the artillery, sheltered behind the bank, continued the cannonade. Though Clive had drawn up in line of battle he had no intention of bringing on a general engagement. He knew the advantages which night would give him; and hence, in accordance with his original design, is was resolved at eleven o’clock, after consulting his officers, to continue the cannonade during the day, and attack the camp at midnight. After this resolution his personal presence was less necessary, and he retired into his quarters to snatch an interval of rest. He had lain down, and is said to have been fast asleep, when Major Kilpatrick sent to inform him that he had a good opportunity of seizing the tank which Sinfray occupied, and was about to advance for that purpose with two companies of the battalion and two field-pieces. Clive started up, and running to the detachment stopped it, at the same time reprimanding the major for acting without orders. He soon perceived, however, that the proposed attack ought to be executed, and placing himself at the head of the detachment, found little difficulty in driving out Sinfray and his Frenchmen, and obliging them to retire into the redoubt.

A great change had taken place in the condition of the enemy, and the victory, which Clive had not ventured to anticipate before midnight, was about to be forced upon him before the day closed. As the enemy’s ammunition lay exposed on the machines, partial explosions of it were repeatedly heard during the cannonade. A still more serious misfortune befell it at noon, when a heavy fall of rain rendered a great part of the powder useless. The fire from the machines immediately slackened. Nor was this the nabob’s only misfortune. For, about the very time when the ammunition failed, Mir Madan, the best and most faithful of his officers, was brought into his tent mortally wounded by a cannon-ball, and died in his presence, after uttering a few words expressive of his own loyalty and the want of it in others. The nabob had hitherto remained in his tent, beyond the reach of danger, alternately yielding to his fears and buoyed up with assurances of victory. He now lost all self-command, and under the influence of terror and despair sent for Mir Jafar. As soon as he arrived, the nabob, throwing his turban on the ground, implored him in the name of Ali Vardi Khan, the brother-in-law of the one and grandfather of the other, to forgive the past, and become the defender of his life and honour. Mir Jafar readily promised all that was asked of him, and immediately proceeded to complete his treachery, first by sending a message to Clive, informing him of what had passed, and urging him either to an instant or a nocturnal attack on the camp; and secondly, by urging the nabob to recall his army within the entrenchments, and renew the engagement on the following day. The message to Clive was not delivered, as the messenger was afraid to proceed with it during the cannonade; but the treacherous advice, backed by the influence of Raidurlabh, another of the leading conspirators, was, after some demur, adopted, and the fatal order was issued to retire within the camp. Mohan Lall, who was probably aware of the motives which dictated the advice, and foresaw the inevitable consequences, at first refused to obey, and showed that the very attempt to retire would spread an universal panic, and throw the whole army into confusion. His remonstrances, however, were unavailing; and the preparations for retiring were immediately perceived in the almost total cessation of the cannonade on the part of the enemy, the yoking of the trains of oxen to the unwieldy machines, and a gradual retrograde movement of the whole army. It was at this stage that Clive had been aroused by Kilpatrick’s message.

While the detachment was driving Sinfray from the tank, the portion of the nabob’s army stationed farthest to the southeast was observed to linger behind the rest, and even advance in the direction of the grove. The movement was at first misunderstood, and Clive having sent a detachment to oppose their further progress, some execution was done before it was ascertained that the troops acting so suspiciously were those of Mir Jafar, who had now at last thrown off the mask, and openly declared himself. Had the issue of the battle been any longer doubtful, Jafar’s conduct would have decided it. Clive, when once certain that he could calculate on the neutrality if not the co-operation of a large part of the army opposed to him, determined on a vigorous effort, and carried at once both the redoubt to which Sinfray had retired, and the commanding hillock immediately to the east of it. By five o’clock the British force was within the entrenchment, and in possession of the camp. The nabob, on being made acquainted with Mir Jafar’s desertion and the British advance, mounted a camel, and fled at its utmost pace, accompanied by about 2,000 horsemen. With his departure all idea of resistance ceased, and nothing remained but to reap the fruits of the victory. The soldiers who had gained it, seeing the baggage of a whole camp lying before them, were naturally reluctant to leave it unplundered, but on being promised a donative, received the order to advance with acclamation. The pursuit continued for about six miles, brought them in the evening to Daudpore. The loss of the victors in killed and wounded was only seventy-two; that of the vanquished was also trifling, and is computed by Clive himself at not more than 500. The victory thus fecibly contested on the one hand, and won unexpectedly, almost without an effort, on the other, was in its results the most important that had been gained in India since Europeans first landed on its shores. It founded the British empire in the East.

On the evening of the battle Mir Jafar, who had remained encamped in the neighbourhood, sent a message to Clive, congratulating him on his success, and on the following day met him by appointment at Daudpore. Conscious how dilatory and even suspicious his conduct had been, he was not free from misgivings as to the manner in which he would be received, and hence, when on his approach the guard drew up and rested their arms to pay him the usual honours, he mistook the compliment, and supposed it to be a signal for his destruction. Clive, seeing his alarm, soon reassured him by hastening forward to embrace him, and salute him Nabob of Bengal, Bihar, and Orissa. But it was no time for idle ceremony, and Mir Jafar after a short delay proceeded to the capital to complete the victory by the capture of Siraj-ud-daulah and his treasures. This dastardly prince was still in his palace, and had given out that he intended to defend himself to the last. It was plain, however, from his conduct, that he was only meditating flight. On the morning after the battle he sent off the inmates of his seraglio with fifty loaded elephants, and was only lingering behind till the darkness of night should favour his escape. His preparations were not completed when the news of Mir Jafar’s arrival told him he had not a moment to lose. Hastily assuming the dress of a menial, and carrying a casket of his most valuable jewels, he slipped out at a window, accompanied only by his favourite concubine and an eunuch. At the palace wharf he entered a boat which had been previously prepared, and was carried up the river at a rapid rate.

Mir Jafar was not informed of the nabob’s flight till midnight, and immediately sent parties in pursuit. Being thus frustrated in his design of seizing the person of his late master, he made sure of the next most important object, by taking possession of his treasury. The whole value found in it amounted only to 150 lacs of rupees, or £1,500,000 sterling, though Mr. Watts had with singular extravagance estimated it at twenty-four crores, or £24,000,000. The city meanwhile remained in confusion; but the gradual approach of Clive with his army prevented any attempt at insurrection. He arrived within a short distance on the 25th, but did not make his entrance till the 29th. He was escorted by 200 of the battalion and 300 sepoys, and established his quarters in a palace spacious enough to accommodate all the troops that came with him. Mr. Watts and Mr. Walsh, with 100 sepoys, had been sent forward on the 25th, and had spent the interval in ascertaining the state of the treasury, and endeavouring to make arrangements for payments of the sums which Mir Jafar had promised, but which it was now very apparent he had not then the means of discharging. By the public and private treaties he had incurred obligations to the amount of £2,750,000, whereas his treasury, if drained of its last rupee, would yield only £1,500,000. Nor was this all. In addition to the stipulated sums, immense presents were expected. Of these no less than £160,000 were destined for Clive, £80,000 for Mr. Watts, £50,000 for Mr. Walsh, £30,000 for Major Kilpatrick, and £20,000 for Mr. Scrafton. The acceptance of such presents under the circumstances, and after the state of the treasury was known, deserves no better name than extortion. Even a worse name might be used for it afterwards appeared that Mir Jafar in making them was under the impression that he had purchased an influence which might enable him to escape from the obligations he had contracted to the Company and to other parties.

Clive, immediately after his entrance, proceeded to the nabob’s palace, where Mir Jafar and all the great officers of the city were waiting to receive him. The masnad or throne stood in the hall of audience unoccupied, for Mir Jafar, after the first salutation, retired to a different part of the hall, as if desirous to avoid it. Clive perceiving this, took him by the hand, led him to it, and placed him upon it. This done, he made obeisance to him as nabob in the usual forms, and having presented him with a plate of gold rupees, addressed the great officers through an interpreter, congratulating them on the good fortune which had given them so excellent a prince in exchange for a despicable tyrant. The hint was sufficient, and all the persons present imitated Clive’s example, by doing homage and presenting gold. The following morning the nabob returned Clive’s visit, and at once opened the subject which he knew to be nearest the hearts of both of them—the obligations he had undertaken, and his present inability to pay them. It was agreed to refer the matter to the Seths, to whose house they forthwith proceeded, attended by Watts, Scrafton, Miran, the nabob’s son, and Raidurlabh. Omichand, who was attending, followed, under the impression that he stood high in Clive’s estimation, in consequence of the important part which he had played in the revolution. A suspicion that something was wrong must have passed through his mind when, instead of being invited to the carpet at the conference with the Seths, he was left to find a place for himself in the outward part of the hall. The cause of this treatment must now be explained.

While the conspiracy for the overthrow of Siraj-ud-daulah was in progress, Omichand naturally expected an ample compensation for his services. He had suffered heavy loss from the plunder of Calcutta, and great injustice from the servants of the Company, who had imprisoned him on suspicions, which if not groundless were never substantiated, and yet he had voluntarily taken up his residence at Murshidabad, and become the most active agent in a conspiracy, which, had it been discovered, would have cost him his life. When the term reward is used in its ordinary moral sense, to designate what is due to merit, it is impossible to say that he deserved anything. Conspiracy, whatever be the form which it assumes, is a crime; and the conspiracy in which Omichand took so active a part was carried out with a very large amount of treachery and perjury, and for the most part from mercenary motives. Still Omichand was no worse than his fellow-conspirators; and therefore, while the fugitive governor of Calcutta and the other members of the select committee were putting in claims for tens of thousands, on the ground, as one of them expressed it, that “they had set the machine in motion,” why should he, who had been so instrumental in keeping it going till the work was finished, be blamed for setting an extravagant value on his services? He is said to have asked a commission of five per cent on all the sums found in Siraj-ud-daulah’s treasury. When he made this claim, he gave a significant hint, or rather uttered a direct menace, that if it were not granted he would compensate himself by divulging the conspiracy. It is doubtful if he ever made the menace in the serious sense in which Mr. Watts interpreted it, and most improbable that he would ever have given effect to it, as he was too acute not to perceive that Siraj-ud-daulah’s overthrow was inevitable, and that therefore the ultimate effect of breaking with the conspirators would be his own ruin. Be this as it may, when Mr. Watts returned the public treaty, as finally revised, and containing an article stipulating a payment of thirty lacs (£300,000) to Omichand, the select committee could scarcely find terms strong enough to express their abhorrence of his rapacity, and their virtuous indignation at his threatened treachery. It was dangerous to expunge the article altogether, as in that case Omichand might be tempted to do his worst; and it appears to have been suggested, that as a kind of compromise the sum should be reduced from thirty to twenty lacs. It was reserved for the mind of Clive, ever fertile in expedients, to suggest a plan which would at once keep Omichand faithful to the conspiracy, and punish him for his real or fancied treachery.

Besides the public and private treaties above explained, there was, as has been already hinted, a third treaty, of a very singular description. It was, in fact, a duplicate of the public treaty, with one very important difference. It contained an article giving twenty lacs of rupees to Omichand. Externally this duplicate had all the appearance of an original, and was shown as such to Omichand, to satisfy him that his interests had not been neglected. The preparation of this duplicate was the plan which Clive had devised. To distinguish it from the other, which alone was to receive effect as the genuine treaty, it was written on red paper, but all the signatures were genuine, with a single exception. Admiral Watson refused to put his name to a document which he knew was only to be used for the purpose of perpetrating a fraud. The honourable feelings which dictated this refusal might have made the select committee pause; but having gone so far they were not now to be deterred by ordinary obstacles, and the admiral’s signature was forged.

The deception practised on Omichand by the substitution of a false for a genuine treaty was completely successful. Though himself full of wiles, he was so firm a believer in English honour, that we have seen him vouching for it to Siraj-ud-daulah with a solemn oath. How, then, could he suspect that the representatives of the Company had combined to cheat a Hindu by palming upon him a document which they knew to be tainted both with fraud and forgery? He went accordingly to the Seths in the full belief that no individual had a more direct interest than himself in the arrangements about to be made for the payment of the sums stipulated in the treaty. While seated aloof he was probably too distant to catch the purport of the proceedings. After the treaties were read, examined, and acknowledged, a long discussion took place, the result of which was, that only one-half of the stipulated sums should be paid immediately—two-thirds in coin, and a third in plate, jewels, and effects, at a valuation; and that the other half should be paid in three years, by equal annual instalments. The conclusion cannot be better told than in the words of Orme:⁵—“The conference being ended, Clive and Scrafton went towards Omichand, who was waiting in full assurance of hearing the glad tidings of his good fortune; when Clive said, ‘It is now time to undeceive Omichand,’ on which Scrafton said to him in the Indostan language, ‘Omichand, the red paper is a trick; you are to have nothing.’ These words overpowered him like a blast of sulphur; he sank back, fainting, and would have fallen to the ground had not one of his attendants caught him in his arms, and carried him to his palanquin, in which they conveyed him to his house, where he remained many hours in stupid melancholy, and began to show some symptoms of insanity. Some days after he visited Colonel Clive, who advised him to make a pilgrimage to some pagoda, which he accordingly did soon after to a famous one near Malda. He went and returned insane, his mind every day more and more approaching to idiotism; and, contrary to the usual manners of old age in Indostan, still more to the former excellence of his understanding, he delighted in being continually dressed in the richest garments, ornamented with the most costly jewels. In this state of imbecility, he died about a year after the shock of his disappointment. On reading the account of the fatal effect of Clive’s “trick,” few will be disposed to deny that Orme is right when—admitting it to be uncertain whether Omichand would have betrayed the conspiracy, as “part of his fortune was in the power of the English, and he had the utmost vengeance of Jafar and his confederates to fear”—he says, “as his tales and artifices prevented Siraj ud-daulah from believing the representations of his most trusty servants, who early suspected, and at length were convinced, that the English were confederated with Jafar, the 2,000,000 rupees he expected should have been paid to him, and he left to enjoy them in oblivion and contempt.”

Orme, while he thus expresses himself, does not say one word in reprobation of the trick itself. His language rather implies that he saw nothing wrong in it either morally or politically, and would have approved the declaration of Clive when he said, in his examination by the committee of the House of Commons, that he thought it “warrantable in such a case, and would do it again a hundred times.” Clive, in the course of the same evidence, seems to consider it sufficient for his own justification that “he had no interested motive in doing it, and did it with a design of disappointing the expectations of a rapacious man;” that “he thought art and policy warrantable in defeating the purposes of such a villain.” In judging Clive’s conduct on this occasion, it is but fair to view Omichand’s conduct in the worst possible light, and assume that if his demands had not been apparently conceded, he would have put his threat in execution. This was certainly Clive’s belief; for immediately after Mr. Watts had acquainted him with the demand and the menace, he wrote in answer:—“I have your last letter, including the articles of agreement. I must confess the tenor of them surprised me much. I immediately repaired to Calcutta; and, at a committee held, both the admirals and gentlemen agree that Omichand is the greatest villain upon earth; and that now he appears in the strongest light, what he was always suspected to be, a villain in grain. However, to counterplot the scoundrel, and at the same time to give him no room to suspect our intentions, included you will receive two forms of agreement—the one real, to be strictly kept by us, the other fictitious. In short, this affair concluded, Omichand will be treated as he deserves. This you will acquaint Mir Jafar with.” On the assumption, then, that Omichand deserved the worst epithets here applied to him, the question still returns, Do the means employed to frustrate his intentions admit of justification?—were they in accordance with honour, equity, and sound policy? Sir John Malcolm undertakes to prove the affirmative; but his elaborate argument only shows how completely zeal for the reputation of his hero had warped his judgment, and blinded him for the moment to the necessity of that good faith which he himself inviolably maintained, and which formed one of the brightest features in his own distinguished career. He admits that the concoction of the fictitious treaty “must have been repugnant to the feelings even of those who deemed themselves compelled by duty to have recourse to such an artifice,” and that the affecting termination of Omichand’s life “must make an impression upon every well-constituted mind;” but still insists that, “while we give a tear to weak and suffering humanity, we must do justice to those who deemed themselves compelled by circumstances, and by the situation in which they were placed, to repress all private feeling, and even to incur obloquy, in the performance of their public duty.” The select committee are thus represented, by a very extraordinary flight of imagination, as actuated by the highest and purest motives, and submitting with rare disinterestedness to a kind of martyrdom, in order to secure a great public benefit not otherwise attainable. Was it really so? When the transaction is bared of all the extraneous matter with which Sir John Malcolm has encumbered it, it will be seen that the only thing at stake was a sum of money. Twenty lacs of rupees promised by an article in the fictitious treaty satisfied Omichand, and induced him to remain true to his fellow-conspirators. The same sum inserted in the genuine treaty would of course have had the very same effect; and therefore the only question to be answered is, Whether, in order to save a sum of £200,000 to the treasury of the Nabob of Bengal, the representatives of the Company and of British honour in India were compelled to commit fraud and forgery? It would be an insult to the understanding of the reader to argue such a question, instead of leaving him to follow the natural impulse of his own mind by answering it in the negative.

We must now follow Siraj-ud-daulah in his flight. His women, with the fifty laden elephants, were captured the very day after their departure, at Bogwangola, a town on the right bank of the Ganges, about twelve miles north-east of Murshidabad. Pursuers were also upon the track of the nabob, but his swift boat had enabled him to out-distance them, and, but for a strange fatality which attended his movements and defeated his plans, he seemed about to escape. Before setting out to encounter Clive he had sent a pressing invitation to M. Law, who had immediately set out with his body of Frenchmen, and was within a few hours’ march of Rajamahal, when, hearing of the disaster at Plassey, he deemed it prudent to stop, and wait for further intelligence. Had he proceeded he would almost to a certainty have joined the nabob and saved him, as there would have been little difficulty in defeating further pursuit, and reaching Patna. This was Siraj-ud-daulah’s original intention, as he had reason to believe that the governor of Bihar residing there remained faithful amid the general defection, and would give him an asylum. He had accordingly shaped his flight in this direction, and arrived without interruption at Rajamahal. Here the boatmen, worn out with their excessive exertions, were permitted to pass the night in the boat, while the nabob and his two attendants sought shelter ashore in a deserted garden. Orme’s account is that he was here accidentally recognized at break of day, by a person who had too good reason to remember him, from having been deprived of his ears by his orders, thirteen months before, when at this place he stopped short on the expedition to Purnea, and retraced his steps to execute the fatal resolution of expelling the English from Bengal. The native account is, that the person who had been thus maltreated was either a dervise or a fakir, and that by a singular coincidence the place where the nabob sought shelter was the cell of this very devotee. He was received with much apparent hospitality; but his host, stimulated at once by revenge and the hope of reward, took the earliest opportunity of communicating his important discovery to Mir Kassim, Mir Jafar’s brother-in-law, who was then the commander of Rajamahal. His capture being thus effected, Siraj-ud-daulah was hurried back, suffering every kind of indignity consistent with the preservation of his life. At midnight he was brought as a felon before Mir Jafar, in the palace which so lately was his own, and, throwing himself on the ground, earnestly asked only for life. Mir Jafar was or affected to be moved, and a consultation ensued, during which the question of life or death was freely discussed. No formal decision was given; but Mir Jafar must have been perfectly aware of what was to follow, when he went off to bed leaving the unhappy prisoner in the charge of his son Miran, a worthless youth of seventeen, who, having from the first given his opinion for murder, was not slow in bribing a wretch to perpetrate it. Siraj-ud-daulah had been removed to a distant chamber to await his fate. He was not kept long in suspense. As soon as the murderer entered he saw his purpose in his looks, and begged a few moments’ respite to perform his ablutions and say his prayers. Even this was denied, and he was speedily despatched by the blows of a poignard. In the morning his mangled remains, after being exposed through the city on an elephant, were carried to the tomb of Ali Vardi Khan, his maternal grandfather. He was only in the twentieth year of his age, and the fifteenth month of his government. Worthless though he was, his tragical fate excited general commiseration, and the question must often have been asked. Why did not the English, whose influence at the court was paramount, not interfere to prevent it? Clive, when he urged the new nabob to press forward to Murshidabad and endeavour to secure the person of Siraj-ud-daulah, might have made him aware that he must not touch his life. This precaution, which mere humanity seemed to dictate, he omitted to use; it may have been from oversight. When afterwards referring to the subject, in a long letter which he addressed to the secret committee of directors, he contents himself with saying, “Siraj-ud-daulah was not discovered till some days after his flight; however, he was at last taken in the neighbourhood of Rajamahal, and brought to Murshidabad on the 2nd instant late at night. He was immediately cut off by the nabob’s son, and, as it is said, without the father’s knowledge. Next morning the nabob paid me a visit, and thought it necessary to palliate the matter on motives of policy; for that Siraj-ud-daulah had wrote letters on the road to many of the jemadars of the army, and occasioned some commotions among those in his favour.”⁶

M. Law, after losing the opportunity of saving Siraj-ud-daulah, and hearing of his capture, immediately marched back with his body of troops into Bihar, intending to offer their services to Ramnarain, the governor, who, as he had formerly promised to support Siraj-ud-daulah, would now, it was supposed, not be disinclined to assume independence. By accepting of French assistance and forming alliances with neighbouring chiefs, it might be possible not only to set the new nabob at defiance, but to assume the offensive, and carry the war into the very heart of Bengal. This danger seemed so formidable to Mir Jafar that he immediately called Clive’s attention to it, and urged the expediency of endeavouring to make prisoners of the French before they could reach Patna. The natural course would have been to have employed his own soldiers for this purpose. As yet, however, though he professed to have been called to the throne by the popular voice, he did not feel so secure as to be able to part with any of the troops on whose fidelity he could calculate, while, for very obvious reasons, it would have been madness to employ those whom he suspected. Clive easily saw the dilemma in which he was placed, and set his mind at ease by undertaking to send a detachment of his own troops in pursuit of the French. The detachment, consisting of 230 Europeans, 300 sepoys, fifty lascars, and two field-pieces, was placed under the command of Major Coote. The baggage and stores were laden in forty boats, which, besides being very imperfectly equipped, were not ready to start from Murshidabad before the 6th of July. By this time the French had got half-way to Patna, and were almost beyond the reach of capture. The expedition, however, deserves notice for the remarkable courage and perseverance displayed by those employed in it.

The troops arrived at Rajamahal on the 10th, and the boats on the 11th of July. Mir Kasim was expected to give all necessary assistance, but sent only 120 horsemen, who refused to proceed without two months’ pay, and were therefore left behind. Major Coote, thus thrown on his own resources, set out again on the 13th, and in five days reached Bhagalpur, a distance of sixty-five miles. Here it was ascertained that the French had passed Patna, which is fifty-five miles in advance, four days before. Major Coote might now have been justified in abandoning the pursuit as hopeless; but he was of a character not to be deterred by ordinary obstacles, and by the 21st accomplished twenty-five miles more, which brought him to Monghyr. The detachment had expected to find a resting-place within its fort—a place of considerable strength, situated on a precipitous rock, washed by the Ganges; but the garrison, instead of admitting them, manned the walls, lighted their matches and gave such unequivocal proofs of hostile intentions, that it only remained to make a circuit and continue the march still farther westward. Coote was now so near Patna that he was determined to reach it at all hazards, and was still pressing onward when he encountered an obstacle on which he had not calculated. The Europeans became mutinous. It required all Coote’s energy to maintain them in discipline. As they murmured at their hardships and fatigues, he endeavoured to shame them into their duty by putting them into the boats, while he himself continued to march at the head of the sepoys. In this way he proceeded to Futwa or Futuha, which is within ten miles of Patna. Hitherto Ramnarain, though perfectly aware of his approach, had taken no notice of it, but two letters were now received from him apologizing for the escape of the French, and ascribing it to the want of timely notice. It thus appeared that, however hostile Ramnarain’s intentions might be, he was not yet prepared to avow them. The boldness of Coote’s march, with a mere handful of men, for above 200 miles through a country known to be unfriendly, had perhaps overawed him. On the 26th the whole of the detachment, as well as the boats, reached Patna, and took up their station at the Company’s factory, a spacious building, situated on the bank of the Ganges, outside but close to the western wall of the city. Ramnarain having made himself acquainted with the exact strength of the detachment, and probably also with the mutinous spirit which part of them had manifested, was now less disposed to profess friendship, and, on frivolous pretexts, declined to receive the visit which Coote had proposed to pay him. Matters, consequently, assumed a very ominous appearance. Two men were overheard talking of a design to massacre the detachment, and, at the same time, the conduct of the Europeans became so disorderly that Coote had no alternative but to bring thirty of them to a court-martial, which sentenced them to be flogged. The infliction of such a punishment at so trying a time is a rare example of firmness and decision; but it must necessarily have weakened the detachment, and consequently added to the impending danger. Coote was, notwithstanding, determined to persevere in the original design of the expedition, and made preparations to continue the pursuit. The camp attendants and many of the boatmen now took alarm and deserted. By great exertions their places were supplied; and the detachment, after reaching Dinapur and crossing the Sone at its confluence with the Ganges, proceeded up the right or southern bank of the latter river, till they arrived opposite to Chhapra. In this place the Company had a factory for the collection of saltpetre, which is made in large quantities in the surrounding districts. It was therefore deemed expedient to cross over, but from the want of boats and other assistance, three days were consumed in the operation. At Chhapra Coote learned that Law’s party had reached Benares, and been favourably received by the raja, who was dependent on Suja-ud-daulah, Nabob of Oudh. To have proceeded would have been to risk collision with this formidable enemy, and it was therefore determined to wait for further orders. On the 12th of August a letter was received from Clive, ordering the return of the detachment to Patna, there to concert with Mahmud Ami Khan, Mir Jafar’s brother, a scheme for wrestling the government of Bihar from Ramnarain. Not a moment was lost; and the very next day the troops, carried swiftly down the stream by the current, landed at Patna, and resumed their quarters in the factory. Coote saw that the only chance of overthrowing Ramnarain was to assault the citadel, then garrisoned by 2,000 men, and make him prisoner. The attempt was not only daring, but must have seemed almost desperate; and yet Coote would have made it, had not Mahmud counselled delay, in order to give him an opportunity of seducing the garrison. Before the result was ascertained, Mir Jafar, who had suggested the deposition of Ramnarain, became suspicious of the designs of his own brother. Coote was, in consequence, recalled, and arrived with the detachment at Murshidabad, on the 7th of September. The expedition thus failed of its object. Its indirect results, however, were important. The indomitable resolution which its commander displayed drew all eyes upon him as one of the destined heroes of Indian warfare; and, at the same time, made a powerful impression on the minds of the natives, convincing them how hopeless would be any attempt to arrest the progress of a nation, a mere handful of whose soldiers could thus wander hundreds of miles through their country, as if defying attack, and yet without meeting an enemy bold enough to attempt it.

The very same day on which Coote set out on his remarkable expedition, an extraordinary scene was exhibited in Calcutta. The spoils of Mir Jafar’s treasury arrived. After a variety of discussions and equivocations, 7,271,666 rupees, in coined silver, were received, packed in 700 chests, and despatched down the river in 100 boats. At Nadia these were joined by all the boats of the squadron, and many others, the whole “proceeding with banners displayed, and music sounding, as a triumphal procession, to contrast that in which the inhabitants of the Ganges had seen Siraj-ud-daulah returning the year before from the destruction of Calcutta. Never before,” says Orme, from whom the whole quotation is made, “did the English nation, at one time, obtain such a prize in solid money; for it amounted (in the mint) to £800,000 sterling.” The reference to the mint would scarcely be intelligible without the explanation that the coined silver was not the regular currency of the country, but collections of coins of various countries, which had been hoarded up in the treasury of Murshidabad by successive nabobs.

The arrival of so much money, and the distribution of it partly among those whom the pillage of Calcutta had ruined, naturally diffused universal joy. Almost every family found itself suddenly raised to affluence, commerce revived, and the whole settlement gave signs of rapid and unexampled prosperity. The benefits, however, were not without alloy. A most mercenary spirit was engendered, and, at a time when unusual generosity might have been expected, the meanest selfishness was unblushingly displayed. Clive, as we have seen, had not forgotten his own interests, and had shared in the spoil to an extent which cannot easily be justified, and which his most unqualified admirers must unite in deploring, as it gave his enemies a handle for the charges which embittered his life, and probably led to the act by which it was prematurely terminated. It must be admitted, however, that in all pecuniary arrangements where his comrades in arms or colleagues in council were concerned, Clive’s conduct was characterized by a nice sense of honour and great disinterestedness, and in this respect often contrasts honourably with their rapaciousness. The select committee, while providing for themselves a most liberal compensation in the event of Clive’s success, were not willing to incur responsibility in the event of failure; and hence, after giving their express sanction to all previous proceedings, and taking credit to themselves for “setting the machine in motion,” addressed a letter to him, which could only be interpreted as a mere attempt to reap the profit without incurring any of the hazard. This letter was written before the battle of Plassey, and Clive, answering it after the battle, says:—“I cannot help thinking that had the expedition miscarried, you would have laid the whole blame on me.” To another letter from the committee, written the very day when the battle was fought, he thus replies:—“I have received your letter of the 23rd instant, the contents of which are so indefinite and contradictory that I can put no other construction on it than an intent to clear yourself at my expense, had the expedition miscarried. It put me in mind of the famous answer of the Delphic oracle to Pyrrhus—‘Aio te, Aeacide, Romanos vincere posse.” The triumphant result of the expedition saved the committee from the ungenerous course which they appear to have contemplated; but when the division of the money was discussed disputes of a disgraceful character arose. Admiral Watson, though not formally a member of the select committee, was virtually so, in consequence of the active part which he had taken in all their proceedings, and on this ground thought himself entitled to share in the money allotted to that body. Clive, without admitting the strict justice of the claim, saw its reasonableness, and exerted himself to make it effectual; but, though he offered at once to set the example, by deducting his part, most of the others were too selfish to follow his example. It was perhaps thought that, as the admiral had refused to damage his character by signing the fictitious treaty, he was compensated in reputation for the loss of money. He certainly was; and it is more than probable that he himself was of the same opinion. When, not many days after, he received in his own person a proof of the utter emptiness of all earthly possessions, and died of fever, after a few days’ illness.

Another pecuniary dispute, which gave Clive much vexation, while it served to bring out some of the better and more prominent parts of his character, related to the division of prize-money. Besides the nabob’s so-called donation to the army and navy, as to which there could not be any misunderstanding, since the obvious meaning was that the two services ought to share it between them, another and the largest present appears to have been made through Clive to the troops who, under him, had gained the victory. As the squadron could not ascend the river and take part in the victory, it could not be denied that this present belonged exclusively to the troops engaged. All this was clear, but some were selfish enough to maintain that by the term “troops” only soldiers should be understood, and that the sailors, who actually served in the expedition, had no claim. To obtain an equitable settlement of this and various other points, Clive assembled a council of war, which was attended by officers deputed from every branch of the troops. After much discussion, and in the face even of a strong protest made by Clive, the majority came to the shameful decision that the claim of the sailors who came with the expedition should not be recognized. Officers who had committed themselves thus far had no scruples in going further, and, in order to prevent the possibility of appeal against their meditated injustice, proceeded to vote that the division should be immediately carried into effect. In vain did Clive represent that “the money could not be divided till it was shroffed, and the agents of both parties present, without the greatest injustice.” They still persisted, till Clive overruled their votes, and broke up the council of war. So bent, however, were they on carrying their point, that they sent him what they called a “remonstrance and protest.” The nature of its contents may be learned from Clive’s admirable answer, the principal part of which was as follows:—“Gentlemen,—I have received both your remonstrance and protest. Had you consulted the dictates of your own reason, those of justice, or the respect due to your commanding officer, I am persuaded such a paper, so highly injurious to your own honour as officers, could never have escaped you. You say you were assembled at a council to give your opinion about a matter of property. Pray, gentlemen, how comes it that a promise of a sum of money from the nabob, entirely negotiated by me, can be deemed a matter of right and property! So very far from it, it is now in my power to return to the nabob 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 the money there; neither did you find it in the plains of Plassey, after the defeat of the nabob. 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 interest. Had I not interfered greatly in it, you had been left to the Company’s generosity, who, perhaps, would have thought you sufficiently rewarded in receiving a present of six months’ pay; in return for which I have been treated with the greatest disrespect and ingratitude; and, what is still worse, you have flown in the face of my authority for overruling an opinion, which, it passed, would have been highly injurious to your own reputation, and been of the worst consequences to the cause of the nation and the Company.” This answer, and the decisive step of placing the officers who brought the paper in arrest, and sending a captain, who had acted as ringleader, down to Calcutta, opened the eyes of the remonstrants. Either brought back to a sense of duty, or alarmed at finding that in selfishly grasping at too much they were risking the loss of all, they made their submission and were forgiven.

This dispute, and various others, which, though of a less glaring, were of a very disagreeable nature, leave no room to doubt that the sudden influx of wealth, obtained by nearly emptying the nabob’s treasury, had diffused a mercenary and rapacious spirit among all classes, civil and military, in Calcutta. On seeing this result Clive must have had some misgivings as to the propriety of the course he had pursued, in accepting so much money for himself, and allowing so much to be exacted by others, who could not like him plead that they had done enough to deserve it. It was, perhaps, owing to some such feeling, that, in his very long letter to the secret committee of the court of directors, dated a month after he entered Murshidabad, while giving very full details as to the money which Mir Jafar had bound himself to pay, and the insufficiency of the treasury to pay it, he makes no allusion to the private treaty in which the select committee, in stipulating for a donative to the army and navy, had inserted an exorbitant donation to themselves, nor to the enormous sums which, without being stipulated, had been received in the name of presents. The omission could scarcely be a mere oversight: if it was intentional, it is difficult to account for it on any other supposition than that it was a delicate subject, which it would be imprudent to mention incidentally, and which it was then judged premature to attempt to justify. The whole sum paid by Mir Jafar to individuals, including the stipulation to the army and navy, but exclusive of that to the Company, amounted—taking the rupee at the rate of exchange which it bore at the time—to £1,238,575. Of this Clive received in his capacities as member of the select committee and commander-in-chief, and in the form of an unstipulated gratuitous donation, £234,000.

It is not easy to overrate the advantages which the revolution in Bengal secured to the Company. The money must have been sufficient to compensate them for all their losses. All the land within the Maratha Ditch, and for a circuit of 600 yards without it, granted them in absolute property, must have been, from its position, of great and increasing value, and the zamindary, very vaguely described as including the country lying south of Calcutta, between the lake and the river, as far as Kalpi, must, notwithstanding the reservation of the customary payments, have added largely to their revenue, and still more largely to their power. The freedom of navigation was, moreover, secured by the stipulation that no forts should be erected on the banks of the river, from Hughli downwards; while the internal trade was set free from all exactions and annoyances by the certainty that the Company’s dustuks or passports would no longer be liable to question, at least on frivolous grounds. Instead of existing merely on tolerance as traders, the victory of Plassey had made them a great political power. They had unmade one nabob and made another; and unless they were voluntarily to recede from the high position thus won for them, the three great provinces of Bengal, Bihar, and Orissa must henceforth acknowledge them as, to all intents, their lords paramount. Before proceeding to trace the further progress of this great revolution, it will be necessary to return to the Carnatic, which was likewise about to become the theatre of important events.