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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The expedition finally set sail on the 16th of October, two months and ten days after the news of the Black Hole first reached Madras. It comprised five men-of-war—the Kent, Cumberland, Tyger, Salisbury, Bridgewater, and the Blaze, a fireship; three Company’s Indiamen, and two country ships. All the ships carried soldiers and army stores.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Tyger reached Fulta on the 16th, and the Salisbury and the rest of the men-of-war and the Indiamen with the troops on board, between then and the 26th. The Cumberland and the Marlborough Indiaman were still missing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Completely taken by surprise and scared out of their wits the garrison bolted en masse, and Budge-Budge was ours. It was found to mount in all eighteen guns, mostly 24-pounders—the average size of a siege piece of the day—and to have a well stocked magazine.

Neither the Admiral’s official dispatch nor the flagship’s log, as it happens, make any mention whatever of Strahan or his exploit. Admiral Watson says: “At half-past eight the body of the fort was on fire, and immediately after news was received that the Place was taken, but the few people in it had all escaped.” The flagship’s log is briefer still. It simply notes: “At forty-five minutes past eight Captain Bridge came on board with an account of our being in possession of the Fort.”

Next morning, according to the etiquette of the time, the British flag was hoisted on the ramparts of the fort and a seventeen-gun salute to Admiral Watson, as commander-in-chief of the expedition, was ceremoniously fired.

That being done, Strahan was brought before the Admiral by the master-at-arms to explain matters. Admiral Watson, we are told, “thought it necessary to show himself displeased with a measure in which the want of all discipline so notoriously appeared. He therefore angrily accosted this brave fellow with: ‘Strahan, what is this you have been doing?’ The untutored hero, after having made his bow, scratched his head and, with one hand twirling his hat, replied: ‘Why, to be sure, sir, it was I who took the fort, but I hope there was no harm in it.’ The Admiral with difficulty suppressed a smile excited by the simplicity of the answer, and the language and the manner which he used in recounting the several particulars of his mad exploit. Admiral Watson then expatiated on the fatal consequences that might have attended his irregular conduct, and with a severe rebuke dismissed him, but not without dropping some hints that at a proper opportunity he would certainly be punished for his temerity. Strahan, amazed to find himself blamed for an action that he thought deserved praise and for which he expected to have received applause, in passing from the Admiral’s cabin muttered, ‘If I’m flogged for this here action, I’ll never take another fort by myself as long as I live!’”

Some of the Kent’s officers, as we are told, afterwards interceded with the Admiral for Strahan. They were prompted, according to Dr. Ives, by Admiral Watson himself, who made that the excuse for openly pardoning the man. The Admiral, it would seem, was also desirous of promoting Strahan to boatswain’s mate, with the idea of advancing him later on to full boatswain; but unfortunately Strahan was too fond of his grog. His irregular ways in other respects were against him, and nothing could be done to reclaim him. His own highest ambition, as Strahan himself afterwards declared, was to get a cook’s berth on board a first rate. Whether he ever got one history has not recorded. All that is known of him for certain is that twenty years afterwards he was alive and a Greenwich Hospital pensioner.

The troops were re-embarked on the evening of the 30th, all except the Sepoys, who were ordered to keep advancing along the river bank. Then next morning the squadron moved forward again, keeping the English soldiers on board. On the 31st the whole day was spent in laboriously working up the river, a difficult and intricate piece of navigation, owing to cross currents and dangerous shoals.

New Year’s Day promised to be interesting, for they had Tanna just ahead of them, where there was a fort on one side of the river and a battery on the other. A stiff fight was looked for here, the position being a good one to make a stand at. But news of what had happened at Budge-Budge had gone in advance of them. As the Tyger and Kent drew near the works the garrisons on both sides suddenly abandoned their guns and bolted. Not a shot was fired. The boats of the squadron were promptly sent ashore, and the fort and battery taken possession of. Forty pieces of cannon in all, many of them heavy guns, were found mounted and all well supplied with ammunition. In the afternoon the boats were again called away and dispatched up the river, manned and armed. It was reported that the enemy had had some half dozen native vessels prepared as fireships, and were waiting with them a little higher up, all ready to float down with the ebb of the tide that night on the squadron at its anchorage. The fireships were boarded and destroyed without serious opposition being offered.

Calcutta was in sight next morning. The squadron now comprised the Tyger, Kent, Bridgewater, and Kingfisher. The Salisbury had been left behind at Tanna to demolish the fortifications there and prevent their being re-occupied. Admiral Watson had also with him an extra vessel, the Thunder, a bomb-vessel, one of the country-ships found at Fulta and converted there for emergency purposes, in case bombardment might be needed to drive the enemy out of Fort William.

As before the attack on Budge-Budge, Clive and the Company’s European troops were put ashore early. They were to move on the place overland while the ships attacked along the waterside.

Firing began at a quarter to ten from some batteries recently thrown up a little below Fort William, but, cowed by the experiences of their comrades at Budge-Budge, as the Tyger and Kent closed on them the gunners in the outlying batteries cleared out and made off. Fort William itself was within range at ten o’clock, and twenty minutes later the Tyger and Kent let go anchor abreast of the ramparts and opened fire. The fort replied briskly, and kept up a hot fire for an hour and fifty minutes. Then suddenly the garrison, numbering some five hundred men ceased firing and deserted their guns, streaming off to the rear out of the fort. Clive’s soldiers on shore were beginning to work round on the further side, and fearful at the idea of their retreat being cut off, the garrison gave way and fled in confusion. With the recapture of Fort William the main object of the expedition had been achieved. On board the squadron the casualties from first to last had been nine seamen and three soldiers killed and twenty-six seamen and five soldiers wounded.

Admiral Watson landed a party of seamen and the men of the 39th Foot serving on board the squadron, all in charge of Captain Richard King (afterwards Sir Richard), of the Royal Navy, a volunteer on board the Kent, who took formal possession of Fort William in the King’s name. Later in the day Clive took over the charge of the place until the next morning, when he formally delivered the keys of Fort William over to the Admiral, who in turn formally handed them to Governor Drake. The ceremony of officially declaring war against the Nawab was at the same time ceremoniously performed, Governor Drake proclaiming war in the name of the Honourable East India Company, after Admiral Watson had declared it in the name of His Majesty King George. Upwards of ninety guns were found in Fort William and a large store of ammunition.

The Navy in the events of the six weeks campaign against Suraj-u-daulah that followed, bore the brunt of the hard work and had their share in the fighting. First, a week after the taking of Calcutta, an expedition was sent up the Hooghly to attack the fort at the city of Hooghly, thirty miles up the river, the Nawab’s capital of Lower Bengal. All the boats of the squadron, manned and armed, with the Bridgewater and the Kingfisher carrying two hundred European soldiers and two hundred and fifty Sepoys formed the expeditionary force. The fort at Hooghly was stormed, a midshipman of the Kent, Mr. William Hamilton, and two seamen of the flagship being among the killed, and several men were wounded. The Nawab’s treasury was looted and the town burned. After that the sailors, under Captain Speke of the Kent, and with a small military detachment, went three miles higher up and burned the immense storehouses and granaries of the Nawab’s army at Goongee. Suraj-u-daulah’s advanced guard of some five thousand men was encamped close by in force, and attacked the little column, but the enemy were handsomely beaten off and the work carried through with complete success.

Again we have from Dr. Ives, incidentally, a curious story of much the same kind as that already told of Strahan at Budge-Budge. Three men from the flagship, as it would seem, on the force returning to Hooghly, were missed. There was no trace of them or their fate. Nobody had seen them after the opening of the fight. Their disappearance could in no way be accounted for, except that they had been shot and overlooked in some extraordinary way. They were therefore entered as “killed.” Next morning, to the general surprise, the three men made their appearance safe and sound, with an extraordinary tale of adventure. “Early the next morning,” to quote the doctor’s words, “a raft was observed floating down the river, and on it sat with the greatest composure possible our three missing sailors, who after they were taken off and brought on board their ship, gave the following account of their adventure.” After the fighting they had straggled and gone to sleep. “Awakening in the beginning of the night, and perceiving their companions had left them, they judged it expedient to set fire to all the villages in order to intimidate the enemy and make them believe the whole detachment still continued on shore which had done them so much mischief the previous day. As soon as the day broke they repaired to the water’s edge to search for a boat, in which they hoped to be conveyed on board their ship. No such thing, however, could be found, but luckily for them this raft at length presented itself, on which they resolved to trust themselves.”

The men’s story explained at the same time certain mysterious fires on shore during the previous night which it had considerably puzzled those on board the ships to account for.

For the remainder of the month the squadron lay quietly at its anchorage off Fort William. Things meanwhile were shaping themselves elsewhere for more fighting.

Incensed beyond measure at having Calcutta wrested back from him and at the destruction of his State granaries at Hooghly, Suraj-u-daulah vowed vengeance. He would not rest, he swore, until he had driven every Englishman out of Bengal, and he promptly set to work to assemble his soldiery and make good his words. While his forces were mustering, to gain time the Nawab wrote to Admiral Watson, and expressed himself desirous of coming to an arrangement on friendly terms. When his preparations were completed he abruptly broke off the negotiations, and marched with his whole force directly on Calcutta. The Nawab’s army was estimated at between forty and fifty thousand horse and foot, with forty guns.

Colonel Clive, on the first information of the enemy being on the move, on the 4th of February took post near Dum-dum with all the available troops—seven hundred Europeans, thirteen hundred Sepoys, and fourteen 6-pounders. He was outflanked though at the outset by the pushing forward of the Nawab’s advanced guard, and had to send off to Admiral Watson for help. It was at once afforded. Within less than an hour a strong naval brigade of nearly six hundred men, had landed under arms. It was a night march to get to the army, and the seamen reached Clive at two in the morning, just as his little force was on the point of setting out with the idea of surprising Suraj-u-daulah in his quarters. The sailors joined the column, and they started. All promised well until they neared the enemy’s lines. Then, at the critical moment, a dense fog, “thicker than on the Banks of Newfoundland,” suddenly rolled up. The fog upset the native guides. Instead of striking the Nawab’s camp they bore off to the left. That brought Clive front to front with a long field work, behind which the right wing of Suraj-u-daulah’s army lay entrenched. Almost at the same moment the sun rose, and the fog thinned off and dispersed, leaving the small English force in a position that at the first glance looked well-nigh desperate.

It was not Clive’s way, however, to lose his head. He fell back quickly and steadily, making a rear-guard fight of it for six hours, all the time keeping the enemy off and dealing great slaughter among their pursuing columns by the continuous cannonade from his 6-pounders, until at noon he regained the camp. In the fighting two of the guns had to be abandoned owing to their carriages breaking down. The loss on the English side was: a lieutenant of the Salisbury mortally wounded, twelve seamen and twenty-nine soldiers and Sepoys killed, including two captains of the Company’s troops, fifteen seamen and between forty and fifty soldiers and Sepoys wounded. Suraj-u-daulah’s loss was reported by a spy as being upwards of thirteen hundred, including some of his best officers. At any rate, it staggered the Nawab. Startled at the audacity of Clive’s attempt on his camp and its near approach to success, when the names of his fallen captains were told him he lost what little nerve he possessed, and in a state of abject fright sent a flag of truce to Calcutta declaring his readiness to treat for peace. To prove his good faith, as he said, he at the same time ordered his troops to break camp and withdraw up-country. The Calcutta Council, for their part, were quite ready to come to terms. Their demands included the restoration of their trading rights and of the status quo generally, together with the payment by the Nawab of a lump sum as compensation for property seized at Calcutta in the previous June. The terms were acceded to by Suraj-u-daulah, and articles of peace were ratified on the 9th of February.

The Council had agreed with their adversary quickly. They had reason to do so. A yet more threatening cloud was lowering on the horizon. The settlement with the Nawab came almost as a God-send to the Company’s politicians at Calcutta, for the long-expected war between England and France had broken out.

Official intimation of the declaration of war had been received at Fort William five weeks before, but for very urgent reasons it had been deemed advisable to keep the news secret if possible. The authorities at Calcutta understood that the French garrison at Chandernagore—barely twenty-five miles off up the Hooghly river—numbered some five hundred Europeans and a thousand Sepoys, and the French also had another garrison at Cossimbazaar (Kasim Bazar), within touch of Chandernagore. What if the French should make common cause with Suraj-u-daulah, then on his march down country, and reinforce his horde of armed men with their drilled troops, officered by men who had seen service. The bare idea was a nightmare to the Council of Calcutta.

As it happened, Governor Renault at Chandernagore had received the news of war with England on the very day (the 6th of January) that the officials at Fort William had their information. They, too, for their own particular reasons, had decided for the time being to say nothing about it. The French at Chandernagore were, as a fact, in a very different position from what they were thought to be at Calcutta. The garrison actually numbered only a hundred and forty-six European soldiers, many of whom were invalids, and some three hundred Sepoys. In addition there were between three and four hundred officials, traders, and sailors belonging to ships from France in the river. What was to be done was a very difficult question. There seemed to be two courses open. One was to join with the Nawab in his campaign against Calcutta then—in January—just about to open. Suraj-u-daulah had himself already pressed them to side with him. He had heard rumours as to the relations between England and France. The other course for the French was to temporize, and try to form a private treaty of neutrality between Chandernagore and Calcutta. This course the French adopted, and they sent an emissary to Calcutta to make propositions for a treaty. The emissary arrived at Fort William in the third week of January, and found the Calcutta Council not indisposed to listen to the suggestion. A deputation was then sent to Calcutta and negotiations begun. It took some little time, however, to settle on terms; and then came the sudden collapse of the Nawab’s campaign and his treaty with the English of the 9th of February.

That altered the situation entirely. The authorities at Calcutta now saw matters in quite another light. With the Nawab out of the way, and with Clive and the pick of the Madras army at their disposal on the spot, why should they not take the opportunity of ridding themselves of their most formidable trade rivals once for all?

It was considered politic, however, not to break off the negotiations with the French for the moment. The Nawab’s sanction to the carrying on of hostile operations within his territories ought to be obtained. The negotiations with the French deputation were meanwhile protracted on various pretexts. Again the unexpected happened. Suraj-u-daulah’s reply was a peremptory refusal to permit operations of war in Bengal. The Calcutta Council on that again took up the question of a treaty with Chandernagore. It was duly drafted and made ready for signature, when Admiral Watson himself, as representing the British Government, intervened. The negotiations hitherto had been no concern of his. Now he was asked to sign the treaty. The Admiral declined to assent to any terms with the French. The French settlement at Chandernagore, he pointed out, was legally a dependency of Pondicherry, where any arrangement come to would have to be ratified.

At that moment, early in March, a fresh letter from Suraj-u-daulah came, in the form of an appeal for assistance against Ahmed Shah, news of whose capture of Delhi had reached Moorshedabad. In mortal dread of an Afghan raid on the rich plains of Bengal, Suraj-u-daulah offered Clive a hundred thousand rupees a month if he would march to his assistance. If Clive would do so, the English might have a free hand with the French. Two days after the receipt of the Nawab’s letter at Fort William, a message came up the river that three ships, bringing a reinforcement of three companies of infantry and one of artillery, sent round from Bombay on the news of the Black Hole reaching there, had arrived in the Hooghly, and that the long-delayed Cumberland, with two hundred European infantry on board, which had had to put back to Vizagapatam, was at Balasore. Now all thought of an accommodation with Chandernagore, or of neutrality, was flung to the winds. The French envoys were packed off home with a curt message that parleying was at an end. They might take it that war with Chandernagore had already begun.

Preparations for an immediate advance on Chandernagore were taken in hand forthwith, and pushed on apace. At the last moment yet another letter, the third, came in from Suraj-u-daulah, who had got over his alarm about the Afghans. The Nawab once more forbade interference with Chandernagore. But it was too late.

The formal declaration of war with France was read on board the flagship Kent, as the ship’s log records, on the 14th of March. Here is the entry:—

“March 14—At an anchor off Calcutta. P.M. Cut up 373 Pounds of Fresh Beef. Punish’d Joseph Vatier and Thomas Holderness with a Dozen lashes each for Disorderly Behaviour on Shore and Read His Majesty’s Declaration of War against the French King.”

Clive and his troops, numbering, with the reinforcement of three hundred men of the Bombay army that had been hastened up to Fort William, seven hundred Europeans and sixteen hundred “Blacks,” as Admiral Watson termed the Sepoys, had already crossed the river. They had crossed some days before—before, in fact, the French envoys had left Calcutta, it being given out that the movement was with a view to be ready to march off up-country and assist Suraj-u-daulah against the Afghans. Clive camped a little distance up the river, with the Bridgewater and the Kingfisher sloop to keep him in easy touch with Calcutta.

On the 15th the squadron began to move forward. It comprised three men-of-war in this order: the Tyger ahead, then the Kent, lastly the Salisbury. Following them came Clive’s heavy artillery in flats towed by row-boats. The ships advanced towing and warping their way up for three days, until they came within sight of Chandernagore. Then they had to anchor two miles below Fort d’Orleans, as the entrenched work forming the defence of the settlement was called. Until the tides became higher it was impossible to make further progress with such big ships. The artillery were now landed, together with a hundred and forty of the seamen, who were to throw up the siege batteries and fight the guns.

These moved across and joined Clive, who, since the early morning of the 14th, had been carrying on a skirmishing attack on the outworks of Chandernagore on the western or landward side.

At Chandernagore itself, meanwhile, during the brief lull before the bursting of the storm, the French were working night and day on their defences. The news of the breaking off of the negotiations had come on the settlement like a thunderbolt from an apparently clearing sky. Blank dismay fell on all, from the Governor downwards, when they learned what had happened. For days past they had been confidently looking forward to see the envoys arrive from Calcutta with the signed treaty in their hands. The envoys returned with the message: “Delenda est Carthago.” It was a staggering set-back. But the Governor and his officers were men. They set themselves to work with the energy of despair to make the best fight for it they could. Messengers were sent galloping off to the Nawab and to Cossimbazaar, where the French agent, M. Lawson, had a small detachment of picked Europeans, imploring immediate help.

Field works and entrenched positions were thrown up at the most exposed points outside the main fort, which constituted the stronghold of the settlement, Fort d’Orleans. Six trading ships were sunk across the fairway of the Hooghly, a hundred and fifty yards below the fort, to stop the English men-of-war coming up, and a covering battery, heavily gunned, was placed to enfilade the channel at close range and bring a punishing fire on any ships trying to pass the sunken obstacles. A double boom, moored fast with chains, was also laid across the river. Two bomb-vessels were anchored broadside-on across the fairway, close to the sunken vessels, and three fireships were made ready to let drift down stream on the enemy. Chandernagore Fort itself was a four-sided brick-faced work, two hundred yards each way, with walls fifteen feet high, constructed on the regular Vauban system, with a dry ditch and bastions, and a curtain between the bastions, and with a ravelin covering the main gate. It mounted ten 32-pounders along each curtain, and eight 32-pounders on the ravelin. Besides these there was a six-gun battery of lighter pieces erected on the roof of the high-terraced church of St. Louis, inside the fort.

To man his defences M. Renaud de St. Germain, the French Governor, had in all a hundred and forty-six European soldiers and three hundred Sepoys, with an auxiliary body of some three hundred Europeans, “men with muskets,” raised from among the Chandernagore traders and the crews of the French vessels.

Chandernagore in itself seemed capable of making a good defence, and the Governor, indeed, as his arrangements drew towards completion, was not without hope of being able to hold his own until help, of which at an early date he received promise, should arrive from the Nawab. Clive and his army gave him little anxiety—or comparatively little. The preliminaries of the attack on the land side showed that the French heavy guns on the ramparts had a command of fire that gave the defence the mastery on that side. It was the broadsides of the men-of-war that M. Renaud was anxious about. If only he could stand up against the sailors, he thought it possible to hold out until the relief he anticipated should arrive.

The British men-of-war in the river had to wait at anchor for four days until the tides suited their further advance. Admiral Watson used the opportunity to announce the declaration of war to the Governor of Chandernagore, demanding at the same time the surrender of the fort. Lieutenant Hey, of the flagship, carried the letter. The reply was an offer to ransom the place. It was refused flatly. Unconditional surrender, Admiral Watson sent back word, were his only terms, though private property would be respected. To that the French made no reply, but pressed on with their preparations.

The interval was profitably spent otherwise. It so happened that the French officers responsible for blocking the fairway had either neglected to remove the masts of the sunken vessels or were unable to do so before the English squadron came in sight. Anyhow, they were left sticking up out of the water—in the cases of five of the six vessels—and showed what the enemy’s plans in that direction were. Admiral Watson’s first step was to remove the boom and the two bomb-vessels behind the line of the sunken vessels, together with the fireships. The boats of the men-of-war were sent up with muffled oars after dark on the first night after the arrival of the squadron and cleared these off, by cutting through the boom and sending the bombs and fireships adrift, causing them to run ashore and ground hard and fast. “Mr. Delamotte, the master of the Kent,” relates Dr. Ives, “on the second day sounded between the sunken vessels, whose masts were above water, under continuous cannon shot from the fort, and found room for our ships to pass between.”

Treachery, as the French afterwards said, enabled him to do this. One of their artillery officers, according to French accounts, had a quarrel with the Governor, deserted and sold the secret of the passage for a large sum to Admiral Watson. He sent the money, so the story proceeds, to help his father in France, an aged and poor man, only, however, to receive back again the price of his treason, together with a bitter letter of reproach on the receipt of which the traitor hanged himself. On the other hand, Dr. Ives, on board the flagship, says nothing of any traitor. Admiral Watson in his dispatch simply says that he was delayed “until ... I could further discover by sounding a proper channel to pass through, which the pilots found out without being at the trouble of weighing any of the vessels.” There was hardly need for a traitor, and no need at all to pay for information with the masts of the sunken French vessels in the river standing up in the air, right across the bed of the Hooghly, for every man and boy in the English squadron to see. There was a traitor at Chandernagore, De Terraneau, an artillery officer; but he deserted to Clive’s camp, and, useful as his information proved to the land attack, he knew nothing about the river defences.

By midday on the 22nd all was in order for the squadron to go forward to the final fight. The tides now were running higher every day, and the next tide would probably serve. That afternoon Rear-Admiral Pocock (afterwards Sir George, and a very distinguished commander), the Second in Command of the East Indies squadron, came up the Hooghly rowing up from Calcutta in his barge. He had hurried up to join, in the hope of being in time to see something of the fighting. He had left his flagship, the Cumberland, at Balasore, unable to enter the river owing to the same low tides that had during the past few days delayed the Kent and her two consorts in approaching Chandernagore. With Admiral Watson’s sanction, Pocock hoisted his flag for the battle on board the Tyger, to lead the line.

At dusk that evening, as soon as it could be done without observation by the enemy, boats crept ahead quietly and lashed lanterns to the masts of the sunken vessels, so screened as to show their light only in the direction of the English ships. By means of these the ships were to be guided before daybreak next morning between the obstacles and across the danger zone where the French had marked the range, past the heavy battery that overlooked the sunken ships.

The order to go forward was given at daybreak. Within five minutes they were on the move.

Anchors were silently weighed between 5 and 6 a.m., and on the top of the flood tide the three ships, the Tyger leading, and the Kent and Salisbury in her wake, glided ahead through the water with the least possible noise. Apparently their getting under way was not observed.

Admiral Watson’s plan of battle was to bring-to directly opposite the river face of Fort d’Orleans within pistol shot. The Tyger was to lead on until she came in front of the further bastion of the river face of the fort, the north-east or “flagstaff bastion,” as it was called, and then drop anchor. The Kent was to anchor between the two river front bastions at the north-west and south-east angles of the fort, directly facing the curtain and the eight-gun ravelin covering the main gate. The Salisbury was to post herself opposite the south-east, or St. Joseph, bastion.

As the Tyger, a few minutes before six o’clock, neared the battery covering the sunken ships, the French ashore sounded the alarm. Apparently they were surprised. The soldiers in the first battery merely fired a few rounds at the leading ship as she passed by, a dim spectre in the half-light, and then the men in the battery cleared out at a run, and fell back to join the main garrison inside the fort. For their part the three British men-of-war passed on for their appointed stations without replying with a single shot.

The main garrison now were quickly on the qui vive, and the south-east bastion took up the firing; but for the moment the light was too uncertain for the gunners in Fort d’Orleans to shoot with much effect, until the Tyger and Kent had nearly drawn up abreast of the fort. Then, however, they got their chance.

The French gunners took advantage of it to the full before the men-of-war were in position. As it were by signal, a tremendous burst of artillery fire flashed out all along the ramparts from end to end, from bastions and curtain and ravelin. The tornado of iron beat on the Tyger heavily, but she stood up to it, forging her way ahead stolidly, and then let go anchor within her allotted station to a yard. The flagship was not so lucky. She was following at a half cable’s length astern—a hundred yards—when, almost at the moment that the Tyger anchored, the tide turned, and began to race back, swirling down the river. It checked the Kent’s way instantly, and she hung back at a dead standstill, unable to breast her way against it. At the same moment a heavy concentrated fire from the ramparts beat upon her, and the ship, reeling under the terrific battering began to drift down, stern first. First one anchor was let go, then another. Both anchors dragged, and the big seventy-gun ship drove down astern right across the bowsprit of the smaller Salisbury.

The Frenchmen yelled and cheered and redoubled their efforts, and there was for a space intense excitement. Would the two ships collide and get foul? At the moment that the flagship first checked her way, Captain Speke had fallen severely wounded, with, close to him, his little son, a boy midshipman, acting as aide-de-camp to his father, who was struck down by the same shot and mortally wounded.

In a few seconds the Kent’s anchors held, and the ship was brought up; but she had got into a bad position. The forward-half of the ship lay partially opposite the south-east bastion, with the after-half overlapping the southern face of the fort in such a way that some of the guns of the further bastion on that side, the south-west bastion, could play upon the quarters and stern. Most of the guns mounted on the ravelin and along the curtain of the river front could at the same time train on her bows with a raking fire, assisted by some of the guns on the north-east or flagstaff bastion, facing the Tyger, some of which could be brought to bear. More serious still was this. The Salisbury had been pushed entirely out of the fight: had been placed practically out of action for the day. The channel was not wide enough to let the Salisbury tow ahead and pass the flagship, and the Salisbury had to anchor at a spot whence only one or two of her guns could engage. Thus it came about that the whole brunt of fighting Fort d’Orleans fell on two ships, the Tyger and the Kent, by themselves.

Not a shot, according to Dr. Ives, had so far been fired in reply to the enemy’s “tremendous cannonade.” The Tyger was waiting for the Kent to hoist the red flag. It went up as soon as the Kent’s anchors held. “As soon as the ships came properly to an anchor, they returned it with such fury as astonished their adversaries.” “Our ships lay so near the fort,” says the doctor also, that “the musket balls fired from their tops, by striking against the chunam walls of the Governor’s palace, which was in the very centre of the fort, were beaten as flat as a half-crown.”

Clive’s men were at work meanwhile on the land side. They had begun pushing the enemy hard on the previous afternoon, and had opened a brisk attack on the outworks before daylight that morning, under the pressure of which the French outposts fell back, until they had abandoned practically all their landward positions beyond the walls of Fort d’Orleans. Clive’s soldiers after that occupied some bungalows that stood not far from the walls, from under cover of which they plied the enemy on the ramparts with a continuous fusillade of musketry, and with six light guns they had pushed forward. The soldiers, however, could make little further progress for the present.

“For three hours nothing was heard but an incessant roll of artillery and musketry, the crashing of timbers and masonry, the shouts and cheers of the combatants, and the shrieks and groans of the wounded.”

Describing the scene on board his own ship during the first two hours, Dr. Ives says: “The fire was kept up with extraordinary spirit. The flank guns of the south-west bastion galled the Kent very much, and the Admiral’s aides-de-camp being all wounded, Mr. Watson went down himself to Lieutenant William Brereton, who commanded the lower-deck battery, and ordered him particularly to direct his fire against those guns, and they were accordingly soon afterwards silenced.”

Then he relates this incident, which occurred on board just afterwards. “At eight in the morning,” says the doctor, “several of the enemy’s shot struck the Kent at the same time; one entered near the foremast, and set fire to two or three 32-pound cartridges of gunpowder as the boys held them in their hands ready to charge the guns. By the explosion the wad-nets and other loose things took fire between decks, and the whole ship was so filled with smoke that the men in their confusion cried out she was on fire in the gunner’s store-room, imagining from the shock they had felt from the balls that a shell had actually fallen into her. This notion struck a panic into the greatest part of the crew, and seventy or eighty jumped out of the portholes into the boats that were alongside the ship. The French presently saw this confusion on board the Kent, and resolving to take the advantage, kept up as hot a fire as possible upon her during the whole time. Lieutenant Brereton, however, with the assistance of some other brave men, soon extinguished the fire. Then running to the ports he begged the seamen to come in again, upbraiding them for deserting their quarters; but finding this had no effect on them, he thought the more certain method of succeeding would be to strike them with a sense of shame. He therefore loudly exclaimed, ‘Are you Britons? You Englishmen! and fly from danger! For shame! For shame!’ This reproach had the desired effect; to a man they immediately returned into the ship, repaired to their quarters, and renewed an inspirited fire into the enemy.”

The end was in sight by nine o’clock, and it came within a very few minutes of the hour.

“In about three hours from the commencement of the attack, the parapets of the north and south bastions were almost beaten down, the guns were mostly dismounted, and we could plainly see from the main-top of the Kent that the ruins from the parapet and merlons had entirely blocked up those few guns which otherwise might have been fit for service. We could easily discern, too, that there had been a great slaughter among the enemy, who finding that our fire against them rather increased, hung out the white flag, whereupon a cessation of hostilities took place, and the Admiral sent Lieutenant Brereton (the only commissioned officer on board the Kent that was not killed or wounded) and Captain Coote of the King’s regiment with a flag of truce to the fort, who soon returned, accompanied by the French Governor’s son, with articles of capitulation.”

At the moment that the Governor hung out the flag of truce (“waved over their walls a flag of truce,” in the Admiral’s own words) the landward side of the fort was still holding Clive’s soldiers at bay. The firing from the ramparts there continued for some little time after the flag on the Governor’s palace had been lowered.

The formal surrender and giving up of the fort took place at three o’clock in the afternoon. Says Admiral Watson in his dispatch: “I sent Captain Latham of the Tyger ashore to receive the keys and take possession of the fort. Col. Clive marched in with the King’s troops about five in the afternoon.” The Kent’s log notes this: “5.30 p.m. The Fort at Chandernagore fired 21 guns as a salute to H.M. Colours, after being hoisted half an hour before.”

So Chandernagore fell. “It must be acknowledged,” to use the words of Dr. Ives once more, “that the French made a gallant defence, as they stood to their guns as long as they had any to fire. We never could learn how many of their men were killed and wounded on the whole, though they confessed they had forty dead carried from the south-east bastion. The north-east bastion was also cleared of its defenders twice.”

“The fire of the ships,” says the Indian military historian Orme, “did as much execution in three hours as the batteries on shore would have done in several days.” “Few naval engagements have excited more admiration,” says Sir John Malcolm, writing three-quarters of a century afterwards, “and even at the present day, when the river is so much better known, the success with which the largest vessels of the fleet were navigated to Chandernagore and laid alongside the batteries of that settlement is a subject of wonder.” Summing up results, Colonel Malleson says: “The capture of Chandernagore was not less a seal to French dominion in Bengal than it was the starting-point of British supremacy in that province.”

Admiral Watson in his dispatch states the enemy’s force thus: “They had in the fort 1200 men, of which 500 were Europeans and 700 Blacks; 183 pieces of cannon, from 24-pounders and downwards; three small mortars, and a considerable quantity of ammunition. Besides the ships and vessels sunk below, to stop up the channel, they sank and ran ashore five large ships above the fort, and we have taken four sloops and a snow.”

Dealing with the casualties on the British side, Admiral Watson proceeds in these words: “The Kent had 19 men killed and 49 wounded, the Tyger 13 killed and 50 wounded. Among the number killed, was my first lieutenant, Mr. Samuel Perreau, and the master of the Tyger. Among the wounded was, Mr. Pocock slightly hurt, Captain Speke and his son, by the same cannon-ball, the latter had his leg shot off. Mr. Rawlins Hey, my third lieutenant, had his thigh much shattered, and is in great danger. Mr. Stanton, my fourth lieutenant, slightly wounded by splinters; but the greatest part of the wounded have suffered much, being hurt chiefly by cannon shot: Several of them cannot possibly recover.”

According to the Kent’s log the flagship had three lower-deck guns dismounted and three on the upper deck, and had 138 shot holes through her engaged side, besides suffering severe damage aloft to masts and rigging.

Next morning Chandernagore paid its formal salute to the victor. From the Kent’s log: “March 24th, 10 a.m., the Fort saluted the Admiral with 19 guns.” Then follows: “Fired 18 guns for the burial of the 1st Lieutenant Perreau.” Lieutenant Rawlins Hey and Midshipman Speke died a few days later.

After a ten days’ stay at Chandernagore, to rest the troops, arrange for the occupation of the place and the disposal of the prisoners, the men-of-war and the rest of the expedition returned to Fort William.

Further trouble with Suraj-u-daulah was looming ahead. The Nawab’s troops that had started to intervene at Chandernagore had halted at Plassey and gone into camp there. It was less than a hundred miles from Calcutta, and the authorities strongly objected to their being so near. There were no signs of any immediate withdrawal, although letters passed continuously to and fro between the Council and Suraj-u-daulah. Each side distrusted the other. Then began the series of intrigues between certain members of the Council and Clive with Mir Jafier and disaffected officials of the Nawab’s entourage, which led to the battle of Plassey two months later. With the ramifications of the plot, the treachery of the crafty Hindu go-between Omichand and how it was foiled, our narrative does not concern itself, beyond the passing reference. Everybody knows the ugly story of the “White” treaty and the “Red”; one genuine and the other sham; one honestly signed at the Council table by Admiral Watson, the other with the Admiral’s signature to it forged secretly, either by the hand of Clive himself or by some underling at his instigation. The battle of Plassey, from which the British raj in the East, by common consent, dates its rise, was the sequel, on the 23rd of the following June.

To strengthen Clive’s small army the Royal Navy took over the garrisoning of Chandernagore for the time being; occupying the place with a hundred and forty of the flagship’s men, under Lieutenant Clarke of the Kent. Communication between Clive’s army in the field and Calcutta was kept open by way of Chandernagore and the Bridgewater, which ship was sent some miles higher up the river and anchored there.

Fifty seaman from the East Indies Squadron with a lieutenant and seven midshipmen in charge, accompanied Clive’s army, attached to the artillery. Most of them were from the flagship, and one of the Kent’s midshipmen, Mr. Shoreditch, was wounded in a hand-to-hand encounter with one of the Nawab’s French officers.

More than that, however, the sailors had no small share in winning the battle for England. At Plassey Clive, as he said, put his trust in God. It was the sailors who kept his powder dry. It was their guns that did the work in smashing up the dense masses of the Nawab’s levies in the critical second stage of the battle, after the deluging monsoon rain-storm that burst at noon, swamped the ammunition of Suraj-u-daulah’s artillerymen. On such a detail as the smartness of Admiral Watson’s handy-men with their tarpaulins and budge-skin powder-covers did the fate of the epoch-making day of Plassey practically hinge. Only after it had become plain with which side the fortune of the day rested did Mir Jafier and his corps pass over and throw in their lot with Clive.

Within two months of Plassey Admiral Watson was dead. The climate killed him in the end. For more than four months past he had been ailing, and for the past four months had had among his papers the Admiralty’s permission to return home on sick leave. But, like Nelson during the last eighteen months of his glorious life while watching the enemy off Toulon, he would not leave his post while there was duty to be done. The inactivity after Chandernagore, in the sultry, steamy heats of the rainy season in Lower Bengal, killed Admiral Watson.

A plain obelisk on a heavy square base in the graveyard compound of St. John’s Cathedral, Calcutta, marks the Admiral’s resting-place. It was erected by Mr. Holwell, the survivor of the Black Hole, during his governorship a few years later, and is thus inscribed:—