Athelstane Ford

To this Mr. Scrafton replied by a fresh remonstrance, but he soon saw that nothing was to be got from Surajah, whose answers were evidently being inspired by his secret adviser, Lal Moon. At length the Nabob dismissed us, and we retired from the durbar.

As we were passing out we saw, standing in the doorway, the Gentoo Omichund, whose house we were in. This man, well known in Bengal, possessed large interests in Calcutta, as well as in other parts of the Nabob’s territories. For this reason he had long played a double game between the Moors and English, seeking to keep in with both sides. Now, as we came past, he fixed a significant look upon us, and whispered in English in my ear —

“Take care of yourself!” Then, as I stood still for an instant he added in the same sly tone, “Does your commander know that the Nabob’s cannon are not yet come up?”

Before I could answer he slipped away in the crowd. I followed on after Mr. Scrafton, and whispered to him what I had heard, as we were on our way to the Dewan’s tent.

“It is my opinion,” I added, “that we are to be detained as prisoners. The Nabob is merely amusing Mr. Clive till his batteries have arrived.”

Mr. Scrafton was alarmed. We looked round, and finding nobody near us ordered our attendants to put out their torches. We then turned aside among the other tents, threaded our way through them in the darkness till we came out on to the road running towards the English lines, and in this way contrived to escape and get back to camp.

In order to the better understanding of what now took place, in default of a chart, I must explain how the two armies were situated. The river Hooghley, which here runs pretty straight north and south, forms, as it were, the string of a bent bow, the bow itself being represented by the Morattoe ditch of which I have so often had occasion to speak. The whole of the territory thus enclosed belonged to the Company, and measured about five miles in length, and one and a half miles in breadth at its widest part. The fort and town of Calcutta occupied only a small space in the centre, the rest of the ground being broken up into gardens with a few country residences scattered about. Of these Omichund’s house, now occupied by the Nabob, lay about a quarter of the way along the ditch, from the point where it joins the river Hooghley at the north end of the enclosure. The remainder of their army lay in tents along a space of three miles, but on the outside of the ditch. Colonel Clive, as I have before explained, had entrenched his camp also on the further side, next to the river, lying between that and the Moors’ encampment.

The moment we had made our report to Colonel Clive his mind was made up. Springing on to his feet, and striding up and down in the tent, he exclaimed —

“That settles it, if we are to strike a blow at all it must be now! I have done my best to procure a peace, knowing the risk I run by undertaking the attack of an army of forty thousand men with the little handful I have here under my command. But it is plain that I have to choose between that and yielding everything to the Nabob. Mr. Scrafton, write a letter in my name to the Admiral, asking him for as many seamen as he can spare; and do you, Ford, go and summon the officers here to receive their orders.”

The news that an attack was intended spread like wild-fire through the little camp, and caused the greatest excitement, many regarding it as a desperate venture from which we should never return alive. Our total force was 650 Englishmen, with 800 Sepoys, and another 100 to serve the artillery. These were reinforced by 600 men from the ships, armed with matchlocks, who were put ashore secretly at midnight. Our guns were six-pounders, and as we had no horses, except one which had come with the expedition from Madras, the cannon had to be drawn by seamen.

Old Muzzy was among the party, and was given charge of one of the guns, of which there were six altogether. I went up to speak to him before he set out, and found him much discontented with the service.

“It’s this way, my lad,” he said, addressing me with a freedom which I could not resent, considering what he had done for me in the past, “I understand sailing on salt water, and I understand fighting, but when they puts me in charge of this here craft on wheels, with neither spars nor yet oars to work it, and tells me to navigate it, I ain’t exactly sure of my soundings. It seems to me that there ought to be a windlass to draw her up. Bust my stays if I can make out how I’m to make her answer her helm!”

With these grumblings he entertained me till the signal was given to start, when I repaired to the side of Mr. Clive, who took his station in the centre of the column. We marched three abreast, four hundred of the Sepoys going in front, then the European troops, then the second half of the Sepoys, and last of all the guns escorted by the sailors. Mr. Clive’s plan, so far as he permitted it to be known, was to strike right through the Nabob’s army, before they were prepared to receive us, and attack the Nabob himself in Omichund’s enclosure.

It was just before daybreak when the head of our little column came upon the advance guard of the enemy. These at once fled, after discharging their pieces, but one of their shots, striking a Sepoy’s cartouch box, caused a slight explosion, which threw our advance into some confusion for a moment. We pressed forward, picking our way as we best could in the obscurity; for no sooner was it day than a thick fog, such as is common in this season of the year in Bengal, descended upon us, wrapping everything in darkness. We had gone perhaps half a mile without molestation, dispersing the scattered parties of the Indians as we advanced, when there broke upon our ears the sound of heavy galloping from the quarter where we supposed Omichund’s house to lie. Colonel Clive at once ordered a halt; we faced to the right, whence the sound proceeded, and as soon as the dim forms of the approaching squadron loomed upon us out of the mist, the word was given to fire. The whole line delivered a volley at a distance of about thirty paces, whereupon the phantom horsemen at once turned and fled back, uttering loud cries as they were swallowed up again in the darkness.

By this time it was evident that our position had become extremely perilous. We resumed our march, as nearly as we could keep it in the former direction, and continued groping our way in the mist through the heart of the enemy’s camp, firing volleys by platoons to right and left, but without knowing where our bullets went, while the men with the guns discharged single shots from time to time along the sides of the column into the darkness ahead.

After we had gone on in this fashion for some time, not receiving much interruption from the enemy, but greatly troubled by the increasing obscurity, which rendered it difficult to see so much as a yard in front, there suddenly arose a murmur from amongst the Sepoys at the head of the column. Colonel Clive sent to demand the meaning of this, and the messenger returned with the intelligence that the men had stumbled upon a causeway, crossing our line of march, and leading to the Morattoe ditch on our right. He at once gave the order that the troops should mount upon this causeway and march towards the ditch. Unfortunately, however, no notice of this change in the direction was given to the artillerymen in the rear, who continued to fire, as they supposed, to the side of the column. A cannon ball came among the Sepoys on the causeway, killing several of them. Thereupon the rest sought shelter by leaping down on the other side of the causeway, and the whole forward part of the troops was huddled together in confusion.

The darkness made it difficult to ascertain at first what had happened, but as soon as Mr. Clive understood he gave the order to cease firing, and brought the whole force across the causeway, where he strove to restore their formation. It was his intention to have advanced along the causeway, driven away the Moors stationed to defend it, and forced his way through to the English side of the ditch. But while he was engaged in restoring order among the troops, the enemy, no doubt overhearing our movements, commenced a discharge on us from some cannon loaded with langrain, which they seemed to have brought up within a few hundred yards of us. The shot striking the troops while still bundled together, did us the most damage we received that day; indeed it was a very terrifying thing to suddenly hear the roar of artillery so close at hand, and see men falling right and left from shots fired by an invisible foe.

Under these circumstances it was wonderful to see the coolness of Colonel Clive, who continued to give his orders without appearing the least dismayed, and deployed the men into line again as steadily as though we were in our own camp, and not in the midst of the Moors. Abandoning all thoughts of the causeway, he ordered the column to resume its course to the southward, so as to reach the main road into Calcutta, by which we might cross the ditch and return in safety. This necessitated our leaving the wounded, about twenty in number, who broke into grievous cries at the prospect of being deserted to the cruelty of the Moors.

Among the voices raised in complaint I heard one which I believed I knew. I hastened to look among the figures on the ground, and presently made out the form of old Muzzy himself, who lay with his right leg doubled up under him.

“Is that you?” I exclaimed, bending over him. “Where have you been hurt? Is it serious?”

“Athelstane!” He looked up, turning his eyes on me with an appeal which went to my heart. “They’ve riddled my leg with their cursed heathenish small shot, curse them! If it had been a Christian bullet, now, I shouldn’t ha’ minded so much. Give me a hand, my boy, and I’ll see if I can stand up.”

I put my arms round him and lifted him partly from the ground, while he clutched at me with both hands. The next instant a groan broke from his clenched teeth.

“It’s no good, lad, I can’t do it. Go, and save yourself if you can; and leave old Muzzy to take his rating below decks at last!”

CHAPTER XVII

A MISSION OF DANGER

I got up and called to some sailors who were falling into the rear of the now departing column.

“Here, my men, here’s a comrade wounded and unable to walk. Will you leave him to be butchered by the Indians?”

They stopped, and cast hesitating looks at the old boatswain, where he lay groaning.

“There’s a-many of ’em about,” observed one man. “We can’t save them all, sir.”

“But this is an old friend of mine, who has saved my life before now,” I pleaded. And seeing them undecided, I went on, “What do you say; I will give you a hundred rupees – two hundred – apiece if you carry him safe into Calcutta?”

They brisked up when they heard this offer. A small tree with dark green leaves stood close by, from which they tore some branches, and quickly made out a rude litter. On to this they lifted my poor old friend, and so carried him off, renewing his groans at every step.

I marched alongside till we caught up with the rear of the column. Luckily we were not molested, for which I blessed the fog, though it was now showing signs of lifting away. Our progress was here extremely slow, the ground being broken up into a number of small rice-fields, separated by mud walls or mounds of earth, over which the field-pieces had to be lifted with infinite trouble, and in fact two of them were abandoned altogether, the sailors being too exhausted to draw them further. During this time I forbore to rejoin Colonel Clive, but used my freedom as a volunteer to remain with the sailors bearing old Muzzy, where I found my presence and encouragement very necessary to induce them to persevere in their task. As it was I was obliged to raise my offer to three hundred rupees before we had got to the high road.

The fog gradually clearing, we beheld parties of the enemy’s horse from time to time, threatening us, but they were easily dispersed by a few discharges of musketry, and gave us far less annoyance than the impediments of the ground. At the end of another hour of this toilsome work we at length arrived at the road, where we found a considerable body of horse and foot posted in front of the bridge across the Morattoe ditch into the Company’s territories, to prevent our passing.

At the same time the fog finally broke, and disclosed another numerous squadron coming down against our rear. The sailors at once faced about to defend the artillery, and I took my place among them, bidding the men with the litter press on towards the centre of the column. The Moors rode up with great determination, notwithstanding our fire, and one of them got near enough to me to aim a cut at my helmet, which I only avoided by bending my head to one side. At the same time I thrust my bayonet into his groin, and had the satisfaction of seeing him reel and fall from his horse as it turned and galloped off.

This charge being repulsed, we turned about again and rejoined our comrades, who had quickly dislodged the force opposed to them in front. The whole column then crossed the ditch, in broad daylight, and marched without further mishap into the town, where we arrived about midday, having been on the march for more than six hours, through the midst of a great army.

Such was this extraordinary exploit, to which, as I am assured, a parallel is scarcely to be found in the history of any age or nation. Nevertheless, at the moment its effect was to cast a gloom over the spirits of the troops. The officers, who could never forgive Colonel Clive for not having been, like themselves, regularly bred to the military profession, grumbled at and criticised his action, which they described as that of a mere braggadocio, who knew nothing of war. The fact was that the rules of war contained no prescription for the conquest of an army of forty thousand men by one of barely two thousand; and though the hero who led us was ever ready to attempt impossibilities, he could not always perform them.

As soon as I had seen old Muzzy safely bestowed in the hospital, where the surgeons declared that it would be necessary to amputate his leg, I hastened to report myself to my commander. He received me with kindness and no little surprise, having fully believed that I was killed. Indeed he told me that a soldier of Adlercron’s regiment had assured him he had seen me fall. However, he fully approved of what I had done in rescuing my old comrade, only regretting it had not been in his power to save the rest of the wounded.

I found him much dispirited with the result of the morning’s work.

“I have done nothing, Ford,” he declared, “nothing. I have marched into the Nabob’s camp, and marched out again, like the King of France in the nursery rhyme. And here are these gentlemen of the committee clamouring for peace, that they may get their revenues back again, and their dustucks, and I know not what else, with the Nabob and his army at their gates. You see what it is to be a commander – would to God I were back in England, enjoying my rest!”

The next day put a different complexion on our affairs. Secret messages arrived from Omichund to say that the Nabob had been terrified out of his wits, that he no longer considered himself safe even in the midst of his troops, and that we might depend on a peace being speedily concluded. Shortly afterwards a letter arrived, written by Surajah Dowlah’s instructions to Colonel Clive, in which he referred to the treaty on foot between them, and complained bitterly of the attack upon his camp.

“Now, Ford,” said the Colonel to me, when he had shown me this letter, “I feel a different man to what I did yesterday. Sit down and write my answer to this insolent Moor.”

I took the pen, and he dictated the following letter, of which I have the draft still in my possession: —

“To his Highness Surajah Dowlah, Nabob of Bengal,

Bahar, and Orissa.

“Sir, – I have received your letter, and am unable to understand what it is that you complain of. I merely marched with a few of my troops through your camp to show you of what Englishmen are capable, but I had no hostile intentions, and was careful to refrain from hurting any of your soldiers, except such as imprudently opposed me. I have been, and still am, perfectly willing to make peace with you upon proper conditions. – I have the honour to remain your Highness’s obedient servant,

    “Robert Clive.”

This bitter jest completed the effect produced by the previous day’s work. That very evening we heard that the Nabob had broken up his quarters, and withdrawn to a distance of several miles from the Company’s territories; and a few days later he signed a treaty granting full restitution to the Company of all that they had lost by the sack of Calcutta. This was just six weeks from the time we had started from Fulta.

During the period that followed I spent much of my time in the hospital, sitting by old Muzzy’s bedside. He had borne the removal of his leg with great courage, but now that he began to mend I found him much depressed in his spirits.

“My day is over, boy,” he would say, “I shall never sail salt water more. Old Muzzy is a dismasted hulk, only fit to be hauled up on the mud, and broken up for tinder. Drown me if I don’t a’most wish the dogs had put a ball through my hull while they were about it, so that I could ha’ gone down in deep water, with colours flying and all hands on deck, and heard the broadsides roaring over me to the last! That’s the death for a British tar, my fine fellow, in action gallantly, and not to lie on the mud and rot away by inches like I’m fair to do.”

I tried to cheer him up as best I could, though indeed I felt sorry enough myself to see that strong man laid helpless as a child. I thought it my duty to try and rouse him to some interest in better things, and brought a Bible to read to him.