CHAPTER VII
'THE SWELL AND DASH OF A MIGHTY WAVE'1
1 'The battle of Napoleon was the swell and dash of a mighty wave before which the barrier yielded, and the roaring flood poured onwards, covering all things.' Sir W. Napier's Peninsular War.
But there was one distinguished actor in the events I have recorded who was by no means inclined to sit passively under the severe blow which had but just upset all his calculations. This man was Dupleix, the Governor of Pondicherry. The plan of taking Trichinopoli had been his plan. To take that place he had used all the resources open to him: he had, in fact, for that purpose pawned the resources of Pondicherry. But one thing he had not done. He had not removed from the court of the Súbahdár the one competent general, Bussy-Castelnau, generally known as Bussy, to carry out his ideas. He had bent all his hopes on Law of Lauriston, nephew of the famous Scotch financier, and who commanded the French troops before Trichinopoli. He leant, however, on a reed, on which, when a man leaneth, it pierces his hand. As a soldier under command Law was excellent. As a Commander-in-chief he was pitiable, dreading responsibility, timid, nervous, wanting in every quality of a general. At the moment Dupleix did not know this. He had seen Law fight well and gallantly at the siege of Pondicherry: he had known him full of self-confidence, and he had believed him capable of great things.
When, then, Clive struck that blow at the middlepiece of the Karnátik dominion, which paralyzed the army before Trichinopoli, Dupleix, whose brain had not been paralyzed, sent the most pressing orders to Law not to care for events passing at Arcot, but to redouble his efforts against the fortress he was besieging; to use every effort to take the place before Clive's unexpected blow should produce its natural consequences. To accomplish this end he despatched to him a battering-train and all the Frenchmen he had available.
Dupleix could transmit his orders, but he could not send with them the daring spirit which inspired them. Law had before Trichinopoli 900 French soldiers, of excellent quality, 2000 sipáhís trained in the French fashion, and the army of Chánda Sáhib. It was a force to attempt anything with in India. If a superior officer on the spot had said to Law 'Attack!' he would have attacked with conspicuous courage. But it was the weakness of his nature that, being in command, he could not say the word himself. Therefore he did nothing.
But to Clive, recognizing all that was possible, ignorant only of the character of the French commander, the situation seemed full of danger. He must strike again, and strike immediately. The successful blow at the middlepiece must be followed up by a blow at the head. That head was Trichinopoli. He prepared therefore, as soon as the recruits expected from England should arrive, to march to that place, and compel the raising of the siege.
Dupleix had divined all this. Once again was this young Englishman to baffle him. As Law would not act he must devise some other means to defeat him. Why, he said to himself, should I not take a leaf from the Englishman's book, reconquer Arcot, possibly attack Madras, and make it evident to the native princes that Pondicherry is still the stronger? The idea pleased him, and he proceeded, in the most secret manner, to act upon it.
Incited by the urgent requests and promises of Dupleix, Rájá Sáhib, the beaten of Arni, quietly levied troops, and joined by a body of 400 Frenchmen, appeared suddenly before Punamallu on the 17th of January. Punamallu is a town and fort in the Chengalpat district, thirteen miles west-south-west from Madras. The town, but not the fort, fell at once into the hands of the enemy. Had the allies then marched on Madras they might have taken it, for it had but a garrison of 100 men. They preferred, however, to march on Kanchípuram. There they repaired the damages the English had done to the defences of the great pagoda, and, leaving 300 sipáhís to defend it, marched to Vendalúr, twenty-five miles to the south of Madras, and established there a fortified camp, whence they levied contributions on the surrounding country. Their plan was so to coerce northern Arcot as to compel the English to quit Trichinopoli, to save it.
They had succeeded in thoroughly alarming alike the English and the petty chieftains in alliance with them when information of their action reached Fort St. David. There Clive and Saunders were busily engaged in preparing for the new expedition which the former was to lead, as soon as the drafts from England should arrive, to the relief of Trichinopoli. The information changed all their plans. Saunders at once sent a pressing message to Bengal to despatch all available English soldiers to Madras. Thither Clive proceeded; took command of the 100 Englishmen forming its garrison; and ordered from Arcot four-fifths of the troops stationed there. On the 20th of February the troops from Bengal arrived: on the 21st the Arcot garrison was within a march of Madras. On the following morning Clive quitted that fort, and, joined as he marched forth by the men from Arcot, took the direction of Vendalúr, having, all told, 380 Englishmen, 1300 sipáhís, and six field-pieces. His movements, however, had become known to the enemy. These, therefore, had quitted Vendalúr on the night of the 21st; had marched by various routes to Kanchípuram; and, re-uniting there, had pushed with all speed towards Arcot. There they had made arrangements to be received, but their plot had been discovered, and finding their signals unanswered, they had marched to Káveripák, a town ten miles to the east of Arcot. There, in front of the town, they encamped, in a position previously carefully chosen as the one most likely to invite surprise, for which they proceeded to thoroughly prepare themselves.
Clive, meanwhile, had been marching on Vendalúr. He had made some way thither when scouts reached him with the news that the birds had flown, and in different directions. To gain further information he continued his march and reached Vendalúr. After staying there five hours certain information reached him that he would find the enemy at Kanchípuram. Thither he proceeded, and there he arrived at four o'clock on the morning of the 23rd, having made a forced march, with a rest of five hours, of forty-five miles. It was then nine o'clock in the morning, and he resolved to rest for the day.
But, after his men had slept a few hours, the anxiety of Clive regarding Arcot impelled him to break their slumbers, and order them forward. They set out accordingly about one o'clock, and about sunset came in sight of Káveripák, but not of the French hidden in front of it. The French leader, in fact, had laid his plans with the greatest skill. A thick mango-grove, covered along two sides by a ditch and bank, forming almost a redoubt, roughly fortified along the faces by which the English must advance, covered the ground about 250 yards to the left of the road looking eastwards. There the French had placed, concealed from view, their battery of nine guns and a portion of their best men. About a hundred yards to the right of the road, also looking eastwards, was a dry watercourse, along the bed of which troops could march, sheltered, to a great extent, from hostile fire. In this were massed the rest of the infantry, native and European. The cavalry was in the rear, hidden by the grove, ready to be launched on the enemy when they should reach the ground between the watercourse and the grove. The men were on the alert, expecting Clive.
The space at my disposal will not permit me to give the details of the remarkable battle2 which followed. It must suffice to say that no battle that was ever fought brought into greater prominence the character of its commander. In the fight before Káveripák we see Clive at his best. He had marched straight into the trap, and, humanly speaking, was lost. It was his cool courage, his calmness in danger, his clearness of mind in circumstances of extraordinary difficulty, his wonderful accuracy of vision, the power he possessed of taking in every point of a position, and of at once utilizing his knowledge, that saved him. He was, I repeat, lost. He had entered the trap, and its doors were fast closing upon him. Bravely did his men fight to extricate him from the danger. Their efforts were unavailing. Soon it came about that the necessity to retreat entered almost every mind but his own. Even the great historian of the period, Mr. Orme, wrote that 'prudence counselled retreat.' But to the word prudence Clive applied a different meaning. To him prudence was boldness. What was to become of the British prestige, of the British position in Southern India, if he, without cavalry, were to abandon the field to an enemy largely provided with that arm, and who would be urged to extraordinary energy by the fact that the unconquered hero of Arcot had fled before them?
2 The reader who would care to read such a detailed account will find it in the writer's Decisive Battles of India, ch. ii.
No: he would think only of conquering; and he conquered. After four hours of fighting, all to his disadvantage, he resolved to act, in petto, on the principle he had put into action when he first seized Arcot. He would carry the war into the enemy's position. By a very daring experiment he discovered that the rear of the wooded redoubt occupied by the French had been left unguarded. With what men were available he stormed it; took the enemy by surprise, the darkness wonderfully helping him; and threw them into a panic. Of this panic he promptly took advantage; forced the Frenchmen to surrender; then occupied their strong position, and halted, waiting for the day. With the early morn he pushed on and occupied Káveripák. The enemy had disappeared. The corpses of fifty Frenchmen and the bodies of 300 wounded showed how fierce had been the fight. He had, too, many prisoners. His own losses were heavy: forty English and thirty sipáhís. But he had saved Southern India. He had completely baffled the cunningly devised scheme of Dupleix.
The consequences of the battle were immediately apparent. Northern Arcot having been freed from enemies, Clive returned to Fort St. David, reached that place the 11th of March, halted there for three days, and was about to march to strike a blow at the other extremity, Trichinopoli, when there arrived from England his old and venerated chief, Stringer Lawrence. The latter naturally took command, and two days later the force Clive had raised, and of which he was now second in command, started with a convoy for Trichinopoli. On the 26th it was met eighteen miles from that fortress by an officer sent thence to inform Lawrence that the French had despatched a force to intercept him at Koiládí, close to and commanding his line of advance. By great daring, Lawrence made his way until he had passed beyond the reach of the guns of the badly-commanded enemy and the fort, and before daybreak of the following morning was joined by a small detachment of the garrison: another, of greater force, met him a little later. He had, in fact, practically effected a junction with the beleaguered force at the outpost of Elmiseram when he learned that the French were marching against him. They contented themselves, however, with a fierce cannonade: for, as Clive advanced to cover the movement of the rest of the force, they drew back, and Lawrence, with his troops, and the convoy he was escorting, entered Trichinopoli. The French commander was so impressed by this feat of arms, which gave the defenders, now assisted by Morári Ráo and the Dalwai of Mysore, a strength quite equal to his own, that he fell back into the island of Seringham. There he was faced on one side by Lawrence. To cut off his communications with the country on the further side of the river Kolrun, Lawrence despatched Clive3 with 400 English and some 700 sipáhís, accompanied by some Maráthá and Tanjore cavalry, to occupy the village of Samiáveram, a village commanding with three others the exit from the island on the only practicable route. Clive set out on the 7th of April, occupied Samiáveram the same day, and, two days later, made his position stronger by storming and occupying the pagoda of Mansurpet, and the mud fort of Lalgudi. There still remained Paichanda. The occupation of this would complete the investment of the island on that side.
3 It is a striking testimony to the prestige Clive had already acquired with the native princes that when Muhammad Alí, the Dalwai, and Morári Ráo were consulted by Lawrence as to co-operating in the expedition, they consented only on the condition that Clive should command.
Meanwhile Dupleix, thoroughly disgusted with Law had despatched M. d'Auteuil with a small force to take command in his place. Whilst Clive was engaged in occupying the two places he had stormed, and was preparing to attack the third, d'Auteuil was approaching the town of Utátur, fifteen miles beyond Samiáveram, the headquarters of Clive. He arrived there on the 13th of April, and although his force—120 Frenchmen, 500 sipáhís, and four field-pieces—was far inferior to that of Clive, he resolved to make a flank-march to the river and open communications with Law. He sent messengers to warn that officer of his intention, and to beg him to despatch troops to meet him. But Clive captured one of these messengers, and resolved to foil his plans.
D'Auteuil had set out on the morning of the 14th, but had not proceeded far when he noticed the English force barring the way, and returned promptly to Utátur. Clive then fell back on Samiáveram.
There was a strongly fortified pagoda, named Paichanda, on the north bank of the Kolrun, forming the principal gateway into the island of Seringham, which Clive had intended to take, but which, owing to the movements of d'Auteuil, he had not yet attempted. On receiving the message from d'Auteuil of which I have spoken, Law had resolved to debouch by this gateway, and fall on Clive whilst he should be engaged with d'Auteuil. But, when the time for action came, unable to brace himself to an effort which might have succeeded, but which possessed some element of danger, he despatched only eighty Europeans, of whom one-half were English deserters, and 700 sipáhís, to march by the portal named, advance in the dark of the night to Samiáveram, and seize that place whilst Clive should be occupied elsewhere. The knowledge of English possessed by the deserters would, he thought, greatly facilitate the task.
His plan very nearly succeeded to an extent he had never contemplated. Clive had returned from his demonstration against d'Auteuil, and, worn out and weary, had laid himself down to sleep in a caravanserai behind the smaller of the two pagodas occupied as barracks by his men. They also slept. This was the position within the village when a spy, sent forward by the leader of the surprising party, returned with the information that Clive and his men were there, and were sleeping. This news decided the commander to press on and to seize the great Englishman where he lay. By means of his deserters he deceived the sentries. One of the former, an Irishman, informed the tired watchmen that he had been sent by Lawrence to strengthen Clive. The party was admitted, and one of the garrison was directed to lead its members to their quarters. They marched quietly through the lines of sleeping Maráthás and sipáhís till they reached the lesser pagoda. There they were again challenged. Their reply was a volley through its open doors on the prostrate forms within it. They went on then to the caravanserai and repeated their action there.
Again was Clive surprised. Once more were the coolness, the clearness of intellect, the self-reliance, of one man pitted against the craft and wiles of his enemies. Once again did the one man triumph. He was, I repeat, as much surprised as the least of his followers. Let the reader picture to himself the situation. To wake up in darkness and find an enemy, whose numbers were unknown, practically in possession of the centre of the town, in the native inn of which he had gone peacefully to sleep but two hours before; his followers being shot down; some of them scared; all just awakening; none of them cognizant of the cause of the uproar; many of the intruders of the same nation, speaking the same language as himself; all this occurring in the sandy plains of India: surely such a situation was sufficient to test the greatest, the most self-reliant, of warriors. It did not scare Clive. In one second his faculties were as clear as they had ever been in the peaceful council chamber. He recognized, on the instant, that the attackers had missed their mark. They had indeed fired a volley into the caravanserai in which he had lain with his officers, and had shattered the box which lay at his feet and killed the sentry beside him, but they had not stopped to finish their work. Instantly Clive ran into one of the pagodas, ordered the men there, some two hundred, to follow him, and formed them alongside of a large body of sipáhís who were firing volleys in every direction, whom he believed to be his own men. To them he went, upbraided them for their purposeless firing, and ordered them to cease. But the men were not his men, but French sipáhís. Before he had recognized the fact, one of them made a cut at him with his talwar, and wounded him. Still thinking they were his own men, Clive again urged them to cease fire. At the moment there came up six Frenchmen, who summoned him to surrender. Instantly he recognized the situation. Instantly his clear brain asserted itself. Drawing himself up he told the Frenchmen that it was for them and not for him to talk of surrender; bade them look round and they would see how they were surrounded. The men, scared by his bearing, ran off to communicate the information to their commander. Clive then proceeded to the other pagoda to rally the men posted there. The French sipáhís took advantage of his absence to evacuate the town. The Frenchmen and the European deserters meanwhile had occupied the lesser pagoda. They had become by this time more scared than the surprised English. Their leader had recognized that he was in a trap. His mental resources brought to him no consolation in his trouble. He waited quietly till the day broke, and then led his men into the open. But Clive had waited too; and when the Frenchmen emerged, he received them with a volley which shot down twelve of them. They hurried back to their place of shelter, when Clive, wishing to stop the effusion of blood, me to the front, pointed out to them their hopeless position, and offered them terms. One of them, an Irishman, levelled his musket at Clive, and fired point-blank at him. The ball missed Clive, but traversed the bodies of two sergeants behind him. The French commander showed his disapproval of the act by surrendering with his whole force. Clive had sent the Maráthás and the cavalry to pursue the French sipáhís. These caught them, and cut them up, it is said, to a man.
Thus ended the affair at Samiáveram. I have been particular in giving the details which illustrate the action of Clive, because they bring home to the reader the man as he was: a man not to be daunted, clear and cool-headed under the greatest difficulties; a born leader; resolute in action; merciful as soon as the difficulties had been overcome: a man, as Carlyle wrote of another, not less distinguished in his way, 'who will glare fiercely on an object, and see through it, and conquer it; for he has intellect, he has will, force beyond other men.'
The end was now approaching. On the 15th of May, Clive captured Paichanda. He then marched on Utátur, forced d'Auteuil to retreat on Volkonda, and, following him thither, compelled him (May 29) to surrender. Three days later Law followed his example. The entire French force before Trichinopoli gave itself up to Major Lawrence. Its native allies did the same. The one regrettable circumstance in the transaction was the murder of Chánda Sáhib at the instance of his rival.
After this, Clive returned to Fort St. David; was employed during the fall of the year in reducing places which still held out against the Nawáb. This campaign tried his constitution, already somewhat impaired, very severely, and on its conclusion, in the beginning of October, he proceeded to Madras to rest from his labours. There he married Miss Maskeleyne, the sister of a fellow-writer, with whom, in the earlier days of his Indian life, he had contracted a friendship. But his health continued to deteriorate, and he was forced to apply for leave to visit Europe. This having been granted, he quitted Madras in February, 1753, full of glory. His character had created his career. But for his daring, his prescience, his genius, and his great qualities as a soldier, it is more than probable that Dupleix would have succeeded in establishing the basis of a French empire in Southern India.