The Second G.A. Henty

by G. A. Henty

  The French officer in command, indignant at this conduct, rushedforward at once to disavow it; and stated that he had determined to defend the post to the last, solely for the sake of the deserters, but that the conduct of their officer had released him from that obligation, and he now therefore surrendered at once.

  The instant day broke, and Clive saw that Law was not, as he expected, at hand, he despatched the Mahratta horse in pursuit of the French Sepoys. These were overtaken and cut to pieces, and not one man, of the force which Law had despatched against Clive returned to the island.

  The English loss was heavy. The greater portion of the occupants of the Small Pagoda were bayoneted by the French, when they entered; and, as fifteen others were killed in the attack, it is probable that at least one-fourth of the English force under Clive were killed.

  Clive’s own escapes were extraordinary. In addition to those of being killed by the French Sepoys, among whom he ran by mistake, and of death at the hands of the treacherous deserter, he had one almost as close, when the French fired their volley into the caravansary. A box at his feet was shattered, and a servant who slept close to him was killed.

  Some days passed, after this attack, without any fresh movement on either side. Major Lawrence then determined to drive back D’Auteuil. He did not despatch Clive against him, as this would involve the risk that Law might again march out to surprise Samieaveram. He therefore directed Clive to remain at that place and watch the island, while he sent a force of a hundred and fifty English, four hundred Sepoys, five hundred Mahrattas, with four guns, to attack D’Auteuil; from his own force, under Captain Dalton. This officer, in the advance, marched his troops near Samieaveram; and, making as much show with them as he could, impressed D’Auteuil with the idea that the force was that of Clive.

  Accordingly, he broke up his camp at Utatua in the night, abandoned his stores, and retreated hastily upon Valconda. Dalton then marched to Samieaveram, and placed his force at Clive’s disposal; and, to prevent any disputes arising as to precedence and rank, offered himself to serve under him as a volunteer.

  Not only D’Auteuil, but Law, was deceived by Dalton’s march. From the lofty towers of Seringam he saw the force marching towards Utatua, believed that Clive with his whole force had left Samieaveram, and did now what he should have before done—crossed the river with all his troops.

  Clive’s lookout on the temple of Mansurpet perceived what was going on, and signalled the news to Clive, who at once set out with his whole force; and, before Law was prepared to issue out from Paichandah, Clive was within a mile of that place. Law might still have fought with a fair chance of success, as he was far stronger than his enemy, but he was again the victim of indecision and want of energy, and, covered by Paichandah, he fell back across the river again.

  On the 15th of May Clive captured Paichandah, and then determined to give a final blow to D’Auteuil’s force; which had, he learned, again set out to endeavour to relieve Law. He marched to Utatua to intercept him.

  D’Auteuil, hearing of his coming, instantly fell back again to Valconda. The native chief of this town, however, seeing that the affairs of the French were desperate; and willing, like all his countrymen, to make his peace with the strongest, had already accepted bribes from the English; and upon D’Auteuil’s return, closed the gates and refused to admit him. Clive soon arrived, and D’Auteuil, caught between two fires, surrendered with his whole force.

  Had Law been a man of energy, he had yet a chance of escape. He had still seven or eight hundred French troops with him, two thousand Sepoys, and four thousand of Chunda Sahib’s troops. He might, then, have easily crossed the Kavari at night and fallen upon Lawrence, whose force there now was greatly inferior to his own. Chunda Sahib, in vain, begged him to do so. His hesitation continued until, three days after the surrender of D’Auteuil, a battering train reached Lawrence; whereupon Law at once surrendered, his chief stipulation being that the life of Chunda Sahib should be spared.

  This promise was not kept. The unfortunate prince had preferred to surrender to the Rajah of Tanjore, who had several times intrigued secretly with him, rather than to Muhammud Ali or the English, whom he regarded as his implacable enemies. Had he placed himself in our hands, his life would have been safe. He was murdered, by the treacherous rajah, within twenty-four hours of his surrender.

  With the fall of Seringam terminated the contest for the supremacy of the Carnatic, between the English and French, fighting respectively on behalf of their puppets, Muhammud Ali and Chunda Sahib. This stage of the struggle was not a final one; but both by its circumstances, and by the prestige which we acquired in the eyes of the natives, it gave us a moral ascendency which, even when our fortunes were afterwards at their worst, was never lost again.

  Muhammud Ali had, himself, gained but little in the struggle. He was, indeed, nominally ruler of the Carnatic, but he had to rely for his position solely on the support of the English bayonets. Indeed, the promises, of which he had been obliged to be lavish to his native allies, to keep them faithful to his cause, when that cause seemed all but lost, now came upon him to trouble him; and so precarious was his position, that he was obliged to ask the English to leave two hundred English troops, and fifteen hundred of their Sepoys, to protect the place against Murari Reo, and the Rajahs of Mysore and Tanjore.

  The fatigues of the expedition had been great and, when the force reached the seacoast, Major Lawrence was forced to retire to Fort Saint David to recover his health; while Clive, whose health had now greatly broken down, betook himself to Madras; which had, when the danger of invasion by the French was at an end, become the headquarters of the government of the presidency.

  There were, however, two French strongholds dangerously near to Madras, Covelong and Chengalpatt. Two hundred recruits had just arrived from England, and five hundred natives had been enlisted as Sepoys. Mr. Saunders begged Clive to take the command of these, and reduce the two fortresses. He took with him two twenty-four pounders, and four officers, of whom two were Charlie Marryat and Peters; to both of whom Clive was much attached, owing to their courage, readiness, and good humour.

  Covelong was first attacked. It mounted thirty guns, and was garrisoned by fifty French, and three hundred Sepoys.

  “I don’t like the look o’ things, Mr. Charles,” Tim Kelly said. “There’s nothing but boys altogether, white and black. Does it stand to reason that a lot of gossoons, who haven’t learnt the goose step, and haven’t as much as a shred of faith, ayther in themselves or their officers, are fit to fight the French?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Tim,” Charlie said. “Boys are just as plucky as men, in their way, and are ready to do all sorts of foolhardy things, which men would hesitate to attempt.”

  “And that is so, Mr. Charles, when they’ve only other boys to dale with; but as they’re growing up, they take some time before they’re quite sure they’re a match for men. That’s what it is, yer honor, I tell ye, and you will see it, soon.”

  Tim’s predictions were speedily verified. The very morning after they arrived before the fort, the garrison made a sally, fell upon the troops, and killed one of their officers.

  The whole of the new levies took to their heels, and fled away from the fight. Clive, with his three officers, threw himself among them and, for some time, in vain attempted to turn the tide. It was not, indeed, until several had been cut down that the rout was arrested, and they were brought back to their duty.

  A day or two later a shot, striking a rock, killed or wounded fourteen men; and excited such a panic, that it was some time before the rest would venture near the front.

  The enemy, with a considerable force, marched from Chengalpatt to relieve the place. Clive left half his force to continue the siege, and with the rest marched out and offered battle to the relieving force. Daring and confidence, as usual, prevailed. Had the enemy attacked, there is little doubt they would have put Clive’s raw levies to flight. They were, however, cowed by his attitu
de of defiance, and retreated hastily.

  The governor of Covelong at once lost heart and surrendered the place; which he might have maintained, for months, against the force before it; and on the fourth day of the siege, capitulated.

  A few hours afterwards the enemy from Chengalpatt, ignorant of the fall of the fort, again advanced; and Clive met them with his whole force. Taken by surprise, they suffered heavily. Clive pursued them to the gates of their fort, to which he at once laid siege.

  Fortunately for the English, the commander of this place, like him of Covelong, was cowardly and incapable. Had it not been so, the fort, which was very strong, well provisioned, and well garrisoned, might have held out for an indefinite time. As it was, it surrendered on the fourth day, and Clive took possession on the 31st of August.

  He returned to Madras, and there, a short time afterwards, married Miss Maskelyne. Finding his health, however, continuing to deteriorate, he sailed for Europe in February, 1753. It was but five years since he had first taken up arms to defend Fort Saint David, an unknown clerk, without prospects and without fortune, utterly discontented and disheartened.

  Madras was in the hands of the French. Everywhere their policy was triumphant, and the soil surrounded by the walls of Saint David’s, alone, remained to the English in Southern India. In the five years which had elapsed, all had changed. The English were masters of the Carnatic. The French were broken and discredited. The English were regarded by the natives throughout the country as the coming power; and of this great change, no slight portion was due to the energy and genius of Clive, himself.

  WITH CLIVE IN INDIA [Part 2]

  CHAPTER 11

  An Important Mission

  A few days after the return of the expedition against Covelong and Chengalpatt, Charlie received a note from Governor Saunders, requesting him to call upon him at eleven o’clock. Charlie, of course, attended at Government House at the time named, and found Captain Clive with Mr. Saunders.

  “I have sent for you, Mr. Marryat, to ask you if you are ready to undertake a delicate, and somewhat dangerous, mission. Captain Clive tells me that he is convinced that you will be able to discharge the duties satisfactorily. He has been giving me the highest report of your conduct and courage, and he tells me that you speak the language with some facility.”

  “I have been working hard, sir,” Charlie said, “and have had a moonshee for the last year; and as, except when on duty, I have spoken nothing but the native language with him, I can now speak it almost as fluently as I can English.”

  “So Captain Clive has been telling me,” Mr. Saunders said; “and it is, indeed, on that ground that I select you for the service. Your friend Mr. Peters has equally distinguished himself in the field, Captain Clive tells me, but he is greatly your inferior in his knowledge of the vernacular.”

  This was indeed the case. Peters had but little natural aptitude for foreign languages; and after working hard, for a time, with the moonshee, he found that he was making so little progress, in comparison with Charlie, that he lost heart; and although he had continued his lessons with the moonshee, he had done so only to the extent of an hour or so a day, whereas Charlie had devoted his whole leisure time to the work.

  “The facts of the case are these, Mr. Marryat. Owing to the failure, of Muhammud Ali, to fulfil the ridiculously onerous terms extorted from him, by some of his native allies, during the siege of Trichinopoli, several of them are in a state of discontent, which is likely soon to break out into open hostilities. The Rajahs of Mysore and Tanjore are, I have learned, already in communication with Pondicherry; and will, I believe, shortly acknowledge the son of Chunda Sahib, whom Dupleix has declared ruler of the Carnatic. Murari Reo has already openly joined the French. Their influence in the Deccan is now so great that Bussy may be said to rule there.

  “Now, there is a chief named Boorhau Reo, whose territory lies among the hills, and extends from the plain nearly up to the plateau land of the Deccan. His position, like that of many of the other small rajahs, is precarious. In days like the present, when might makes right, and every petty state tries to make profit out of the constant wars, at the expense of its neighbour, the position of a chief, surrounded by half a dozen others more powerful than himself, is by no means pleasant. Boorhau Reo feels that he is in danger of being swallowed, by the nizam or by the Mahrattas, and he earnestly desires to ally himself with us; believing, as he says, that we are destined to be masters here. I have assured him that, although gratified at his expressions of friendship, we can enter into no alliance with him. The position of his territory would enable him to be of great assistance to us, in any war in which the whole force of the Deccan, controlled as it is at present at Bussy, might be utilized against us in the Carnatic. He would be able to harass convoys, cut communications, and otherwise trouble the enemy’s movements. But, although we see that his aid would be very useful to us, in case of such a war; we do not see how, on our part, we could give him any protection. We have now, with the greatest difficulty, brought affairs to a successful conclusion in the Carnatic; but Dupleix is active and energetic, and well supported at home. Many of the chiefs lately our allies have, as I have just said, declared against us, or are about to do so; and it is out of the question, for us to think of supporting a chief so far removed from us as Boorhau. I have, therefore, told him that we greatly desire his friendship, but are at present powerless to protect him, should he be attacked by his northern neighbours.

  “He is particularly anxious to train his men after the European fashion, as he sees that our Sepoys are a match for five times their number of the untrained troops of the Indian princes.

  “This brings me to the subject before us. I have written to him, to say that I will send to him an English officer, capable of training and leading his troops, and whose advice may be useful to him upon all occasions; but that as, were it known that he had received a British officer, and was employing him to train his troops, it would excite the instant animosity of Bussy and of the Peishwar; I should send one familiar with the language, and who may pass as a native. Captain Clive has strongly recommended you for this difficult mission.”

  “I fear, sir, that I could hardly pass as a native. The moonshee is constantly correcting mistakes which I make, in speaking.”

  “That may be so,” Mr. Saunders said; “but there are a score of dialects in Southern India, and you could be passed upon nineteen of the twenty peoples who speak them, as belonging to one of the other.”

  “If you think, sir, that I shall do,” Charlie said; “I shall be glad to undertake the mission.”

  “Very well, Mr. Marryat, that is understood, then. You will receive full instructions in writing, and will understand that your duty is not only to drill the troops of this chief; but to give him such advice as may suit his and our interests; to strengthen his good feeling towards us; and to form, as far as possible, a compact little force which might, at a critical moment, be of immense utility. You will, of course, master the geography of the country, of which we are all but absolutely ignorant; find out about the passes, the mountain paths, the defensible positions. All these things may someday be of the highest importance.

  “You will have a few days to make your arrangements, and settle as to the character you will adopt. This you had better do, in consultation with someone who thoroughly understands the country. It is intended that you shall go down to Trichinopoli, with the next convoy; and from there make your way to the stronghold of Boorhau.”

  “Shall I take any followers with me?”

  “Yes,” Mr. Saunders said. “As you will go in the character of a military adventurer, who has served among our Sepoys long enough to learn European drill, you had better take two, three, or four men, as you like, with you as retainers. You might pick out two or three trusty men, from the Sepoys you command.”

  Charlie left Government House in high spirits. It was certainly an honor, to have been selected for such a post. It was quite possible that it wo
uld be a dangerous one. It was sure to be altogether different from the ordinary life of a subaltern in the Company’s army.

  Peters was very sorry when he heard from Charlie that they were, at last, to be separated. It was now nearly two years since they had first met on board the Lizzie Anderson; and, since that time, they had been constantly together, and were greatly attached to each other.

  Charlie, perhaps, had taken the lead. The fact of his having a stock of firearms, and being able to lend them to Peters, had given him, perhaps, the first slight and almost imperceptible advantage. His feat of jumping overboard, to rescue Tim Kelly, had been another step in advance; and, although Charlie would have denied it himself, there was no doubt that he generally took the lead, and that his friend was accustomed to lean upon him, and to look to him always for the initiative. It was, therefore, a severe blow to Peters, to find that Charlie was about to be sent on detached service.

  As for Tim Kelly, he was uproarious in his grief, when he heard that he was to be separated from his master.

  “Shure, Mr. Charlie, ye’ll never have the heart to lave a poor boy, that sarved ye be night and day for eighteen months. Tim Kelly would gladly give his life for ye, and ye wouldn’t go and lave him behind ye, and go all alone among these black thaves of the world.”

  “But it is impossible that I can take you, Tim,” Charlie said. “You know, yourself, that you cannot speak ten words of the language. How then could you possibly pass undetected, whatever disguise you put on?”

  “But I’d never open my mouth at all, at all, yer honor, barring for mate and drink.”

  “It’s all very well for you to say so, Tim,” Charlie answered; “but I do not think that anything, short of a miracle, would silence your tongue. But leave us now, Tim, and I will talk the matter over with Mr. Peters. I should be glad enough to have you with me, if we could arrange it.”

  The moonshee was taken into their counsels, and was asked his opinion as to the disguise which Charlie could adopt, with least risk of detection. The moonshee replied that he might pass as a Bheel. These hill tribes speak a dialect quite distinct from that of the people around them, and the moonshee said that, if properly attired, Charlie would be able to pass anywhere for one of these people; provided, always, that he did not meet with another of the same race.