As his men frantically pushed their guns across the boggy terrain, the fog suddenly lifted, exposing the British force to the Nawab’s formidable cavalry and artillery. The guns opened up, while hordes of horsemen swirled past them. Clive’s men, deprived of any cover, abandoned two of the cannon and, with great difficulty, made it to the next road, beside the picturesquely named Bread and Cheese Bungalow.
However, this crossing too was solidly defended. The British position was now critical: with their escape cut off, the Nawab would have time to bring up reinforcements and pick them off at will. At last a single cannon brought up by Ensign Yorke blasted away with such ferocity at the enemy position defending the crossing that they were forced out, and Clive and his men escaped across.
He was now presented with a choice: to go back along the south side of the Ditch to attack the Nawab’s headquarters would have been fraught with risk. Omichand’s house had been heavily reinforced as soon as the Nawab had become aware of the danger to his personal safety, and there was a huge force of Bengalis now concentrated along the north side of the Ditch. With his tail between his legs, Clive decided to abandon his goal and retire to Fort William; his daring raid had utterly failed, and he had been extremely lucky to extricate his small army from being surrounded and annihilated.
It had been, said Clive later, ‘the warmest service I ever yet was engaged in’. Clive’s aide-de-camp had been killed by his side in yet another of the near-misses that dogged the young man’s career. Some 40 of his British troops had been killed, along with 18 sepoys, and 137 wounded – a heavy toll for a small force. Clive’s strategic objective had been frustrated and he had been compelled to retreat. This was one exploit that had turned out to be too bold, and only through bravery and quick thinking had he been rescued from humiliating disaster.
* * *
Yet, to Clive’s astonishment, the Nawab did not see what had happened as a victory at all. In the course of the blundering British rampage across his main camp, some 1,300 of his men had been killed or wounded and 500 horses and elephants lost. Once again, the sheer suicidal boldness of Clive’s attack into the heart of the enemy camp (which had been accidental) had inspired, if not terror, at least serious concern about the capabilities of the British under their fearsome commander.
To British surprise, the Nawab’s army now began to retreat several miles north of Calcutta, out of the range of Clive’s forces, amid indignant reproaches that the British had acted treacherously in attacking an army that had arrived at the outskirts of Calcutta merely to find a suitable camping ground.
The Nawab’s emissary, Ranjit Rai, wrote indignantly, ‘I thought that the English were always faithful to their words. The Nawab agrees to give you back Calcutta with all the privileges of your firman and whatever goods you lost at Kasimbazar or elsewhere, and will grant you permission to coin currency in your mint at Calcutta … and that you may make whatever fortifications you please at Calcutta. Your conduct yesterday morning greatly amazed me and put me to shame before the Nawab … If you think war necessary acquaint me seriously with your intentions, and I will acquit myself of any further trouble in this affair.’
The British could hardly believe their luck: in blundering into the camp they had inspired just as much fear among the enemy as if they had succeeded in their original objective – kidnapping the Nawab. Clive, never one to show diffidence, or fail to take advantage of a reversal of fortunes, wrote a blistering ultimatum in return. ‘I am surprised that the Nabob and you trifle. I observe that you are not inclinable to agree to our proposals. God is my witness that my actions have been open and generous, and that my inclinations have been peaceful. I now send you the articles wrote fair. Let the Nabob sign “agreed” to each separate article in the manner that I have upon the copy. If this is done, there shall be peace. If not, do not concern yourself further in this affair. War must take its course.’
Watson urged Clive to attack the Nawab’s army again, while it was off balance. But Clive feared it would turn to the French for support, and believed he could obtain the terms he needed – which were in fact the sum of British demands before the sack of Calcutta, and thus wholly humiliating to Siraj-ud-Daula.
At around this time, the Nawab learnt that the Afghan commander, Ahmad Shah Abdali, was moving across northern India towards Bengal; this thoroughly alarmed him, and after accepting the British proposals with some haggling and ill grace, he withdrew his army to defend his capital of Murshidabad.
After his extraordinary stroke of luck in seeing the attackers off from Calcutta, Clive’s position as the main commander of the expedition was reinforced – although Watson still pressed his claims. A touch of the legendary guerrilla leader of the south had been glimpsed, and his efforts had been unexpectedly crowned by success. The squabbling on the journey upriver began to fade into the past.
Characteristically, as he secured victory, he fell into a mood of despondency, wondering whether he should now return south to Madras to take a ‘slap at Bussy’. He soon recovered, and was writing to his father of his ambition to create and hold a new post, Governor-General of India, ‘if such an appointment should be necessary’. This was an astounding ambition, an aspiration towards absolute power over the three quarrelsome governors and their councils in Madras, Bombay and Calcutta.
His more immediate objective was a further turn of the screw in securing British predominance in India: to seize the settlement of Chandernagore from the French. Once again, this was a defensible objective. The French and the British were at war in Europe and had been so, on and off, for the best part of a decade in India. To dispossess their European rivals was an entirely understandable aim, and not an act of colonialism as such.
Clive had come to believe that the French had conspired with the Nawab in the attack on Calcutta. He was possessed of a considerable armed force on the Hugli river; the opportunity might not recur. Also, while the settlement remained, there was always the danger that the French would conspire with the Nawab in another attack on the British. It seemed too good a chance to miss. The expedition, prevented by low waters from proceeding upstream, was now buoyed up by the spring tides and resolved to move on to its final objective, ever deeper into northern India.
The French at Chandernagore were commanded by Pierre Renault, an able if unambitious commander, heavily advised by Jean Law, the factory chief at Kasimbazar, who by coincidence was the elder and more intelligent brother of Clive’s defeated foe at Trichinopoly. Although irritated by the predatory excesses of Siraj-ud-Daula, the French had been anxious to appease him, and had sent emissaries to Calcutta on 4 January – only to discover that the British had retaken the city.
Watson promptly offered them an alliance against the Nawab – which they refused. Their inclination was to join the Nawab against the British. Law argued that ‘we should not hesitate to ally ourselves with the Nawab, whose friendship may procure us great advantages in the augmentation of our privileges and several other matters, not to mention the special enemy of our nation in obliging her to retire perhaps with loss and to abandon an enterprise for the accomplishment of which she has stripped her principal establishments in India’.
However, both he and Renault were overruled from Pondicherry. As the Nawab’s huge army drew close on its way from Calcutta to Murshidabad, the French became alarmed lest he should attack them. Instead Siraj-ud-Daula offered them presents and an alliance. Renault agreed to oppose the passage of the English past Chandernagore if their ships moved further upstream.
This gave the British the pretext they needed to attack their European rivals. Siraj-ud-Daula now slyly tried to give the impression that he was on neither side – merely opposed to the principle of aggression by one European settlement against another. As the French themselves posed no threat to the British except through their alliance with the Nawab, this seemed a specious argument, and made no impression on Clive and Watson.
* * *
Clive’s next moves were to be crucial i
n establishing British dominance over north-east India – and were to return to haunt him in later life.
The two men principally involved were William Watts, the straightforward, highly intelligent and likeable former factory manager at Kasimbazar outside Murshidabad, who more than any other Englishman knew the inner workings of the Nawab’s court and was an early example of an English spy; and Omichand, who had performed exactly the reverse role for the Nawab in Calcutta.
Omichand, probably the richest merchant in Calcutta because of initial British patronage, had, after slights and then outright snubs, turned into an agent provocateur and Trojan horse for the Nawab’s occupation of the city – if he was not its actual instigator. Each time the Nawab had advanced on Calcutta, he had stayed at one of Omichand’s properties, where he was assured a warm welcome.
Omichand had bitterly resented his imprisonment by the British before the fall of Calcutta, justified though this was. His fortune derived from his value as a go-between for the British and the Bengali government, and neither could be sure of his loyalty. He had taken the Nawab’s side against the British latterly and almost certainly abetted the Nawab in his failed attempt to occupy Calcutta a second time. But after what was seen on the Bengali side as a convincing display of British strength in the battle of the Maratha Ditch, he now offered his services to both sides as a mediator.
The Nawab regarded him – with good reason – as his conduit to the British; but it is clear that Omichand at this stage decided to offer his services to the British partly because he viewed them as the likely winners, in order to re-establish his old trading privileges. The Hindu merchant soon showed his usefulness by bribing the deputy governor of the Nawab’s garrison at Hugli, an even wilier brahmin, Nundcomar – who was to exercise a similarly baleful effect upon Clive’s successor, Warren Hastings, three decades later.
Nundcomar agreed not to support the French in exchange for 12,000 rupees. He revealed that there was a secret alliance between them and the Nawab, who had no intention of sticking to the agreement signed with the British, but was merely waiting for his chance to attack again with superior forces. Watts argued that it was necessary to oppose ‘corruption with corruption making friends out of the mammon of unrighteousness, and getting upon even ground with those whom we are obliged to contend’.
At this stage a fresh row broke out between Clive and Watson who, taking advantage of the hatred of the select committee for the commander on the ground, had secured the upper hand in policymaking. Watson argued that no attack could be made on the French without the approval of the Nawab. Clive, who knew of the secret agreement between the French and the Bengalis, said he had been put to ‘great shame’ by the Nawab’s refusal to countenance an attack on the French and claimed he could have taken Chandernagore in two days.
Watson, writing to the Nawab, insisted that, ‘had I imagined it would have given you umbrage, I should never have entertained the least thoughts of disturbing the tranquillity of your country, by acting against that nation within the Ganges; and am now ready to desist from attacking … if they will consent to a solid treaty of neutrality and if you … will under your hand guarantee to this treaty’. Clive reluctantly agreed to this letter.
As the admiral continued to prevaricate, Clive threatened to return to Madras; he was determined to spur the British further on in Bengal. Prophetically, he wrote, ‘You can be assured the instant the French find these offers of neutrality refused, they will immediately assist the Nabob in all his designs against us.’ Within a few days, ships had arrived from Bombay with some 400 reinforcements, and from Madras with 300. The British force was now formidable: some 800 European soldiers and 1,800 sepoys.
Even Watson now found fire in his belly, and threatened the Nawab that, if he should come to the aid of the French, ‘I will kindle such a flame in your country as all the water in the Ganges shall not be able to extinguish’ (the phrase is more redolent of the grandiose Clive than the prosaic Watson). At this the Nawab gave in, promising not to interfere in the event of a British attack on Chandernagore.
By this time, 12 March, Clive was only two miles from Chandernagore, and despatched a curt ultimatum to Renault: ‘Sir – the King of Great Britain having declared war against France, I summons you in his name to surrender the fort of Chandernagore. In case of refusal you are to answer the consequences and expect to be treated according to the usage of war in such case. I have the honour to be, sir, your most obedient and humble servant, R Clive.’
* * *
For once Clive’s force was superior: some 2,600 men were ranged against 600 European troops and 200 sepoys. In addition, though, Renault had the support of some 2,000 men from the Nawab’s army. The fort of the settlement had a delightful baroque façade fronting the river. Many of the buildings immediately surrounding it had been burnt down in preparation for a siege. Within a few days of Clive’s beginning a rather slow artillery attack, the native garrison had abandoned Renault under the orders of the suborned Nundcomar, who also falsely informed the Nawab that the town had fallen.
The Nawab, who had learned that the Afghans had decided not to press forward and attack Bengal after all, and had been preparing to send help to the French, hesitated. After first despatching a force of 5,000 troops to go to the aid of the French, he ordered them to stand down. Meanwhile the desultory siege went on: Clive was shy of attacking until the fleet could be moved upstream to bombard the fort.
Several ships had been sunk in the river by the French to block the passage of the British ships. A boom had also been erected across it, and three fireships prepared – which, however, a British shore party cut loose before they could be set alight; they drifted uselessly on to a sandbank. The British ships – the Kent, the Tyger and, later, the Salisbury – had to navigate their way with great difficulty past the sunken French ships, using sightings of their masts above the water at low tide to reckon their position. They came under intense French fire, which Clive’s small force of artillery did its best to divert.
In the early hours of 23 March Clive’s men, who were now occupying most of the town surrounding the fort, managed to seize the French battery below it, permitting the British ships to move upriver. This was the turning point: the three ships were in a position to open fire – but the Kent was dragged downriver by currents and blocked the passage of the Salisbury. Reduced to two, the Kent and Tyger opened fire in what was to be the most vicious cannonade of the Bengali war.
There was something surreal about the spectacle of two of the most important eighteenth-century ships of the line, with their towering masts, proud prows, curved hulls and stolid sterns blasting away in a ferocious battery of flame and smoke against the cannonade from the fort opposite. Each seemed too elegant to be indulging in such brutal demolition and carnage. All this was set against the peaceful slow-flowing backdrop of the Hugli river, not so wide as further down, and the lush tropical foliage on both banks. It was like a theatrical set piece, a game in a tranquil ornamental lake.
Yet there was nothing theatrical about the carnage inflicted. Inside the fort, as the British guns found their range, huge gaps in the walls soon showed, and bodies were slumped behind them as the brutal thundering of cannon striking home and explosions from the outgoing guns were punctuated by the screams of the dying and wounded. On the ships, the pounding from the French guns took a terrible toll.
On the Kent, only Admiral Watson and one other officer escaped unscathed; all the others were killed or injured. One shot narrowly missed the admiral, after he had rashly declared that the French ‘shall have a fair shot’ when the ship had been about to take evasive action. Captain Speke and his son, a 16-year-old midshipman, were hit by the same bullet: ‘One shot took off Captain Speke’s calf of his left leg, and struck off Billy Speke’s thigh; as soon as one got up he saw the other and a shocking sight it was. Billy bore it very courageously, and the other was no more concerned for himself but said, “father and son at one time and with one shot is hard
indeed”.’ Billy died of the injury. On the Tyger Admiral Pocock was wounded by splinters; thirteen of his men were killed and eighty wounded.
After three hours, with Clive waiting to attack from land, Renault had had enough. Lieutenant Brereton, the uninjured officer aboard the Kent, and Eyre Coote went to ask for terms: the French officers were granted parole, while the soldiers were taken prisoner. Clive’s men took the fort. Watson was critical of Clive for taking so little part in the attack; and the British rank-and-file, especially those aboard the ships, fumed at the lenient terms offered the French after so vicious a fight. They went on a rampage through the town, sacking the church and the treasury. Clive promptly had three men hanged and withdrew his troops from the town.
Meanwhile, around 140 members of the captured garrison broke loose from the town, taking advantage of an explosion in the gunpowder arsenal. Two-thirds of these were either killed or captured outside, while 40 or so made their way to join Jean Law at Kasimbazar. In more orderly fashion, Renault and his senior officers on parole were allowed to take refuge in the Dutch settlement at Chinsurah – where, however, they immediately began to help the opposition to the British.
Clive’s forces moved on to their houses and, with the Dutch wisely offering no protection, seized them, sending them off under escort to Calcutta. After three months they were allowed to return to Chandernagore. The French civilians were allowed to go as they pleased. Some fifty of the captured soldiers held in jail escaped, but most were later killed or captured. The British had meanwhile captured a large store of military and naval equipment, offsetting their losses from the Nawab’s plundering at Calcutta.
Clive Page 22