“I wonder which is Meer Jaffier’s division?” muttered Colonel Clive anxiously, as the array extended itself. The infantry remained for the most part between the camp and our front, while the masses of cavalry spread away to our right, forming their left wing. The army was not in one line, but seemed to advance in a number of detached bodies, the intervals between them being filled up with the guns.
This artillery was a truly formidable spectacle. Our own few guns were merely six-pounders, nor had we the means of transport for larger pieces. But many of the Nabob’s cannon were of immense calibre, 24 and even 32-pounders, more suitable for siege guns than to be brought into action. They were mounted on high wooden stages, which bore not merely the cannon but the artillerymen and ammunition as well, and each of these carriages was drawn along by as many as eighty or a hundred huge white oxen, of the famous Purneah breed. Moreover, in case the oxen should not prove sufficient, an elephant walked behind each of these moving platforms, and butted it with his forehead from behind whenever it stuck from any difficulty of the ground.
Between the grove where we lay and the enemy’s camp there were a couple of tanks, such as the Indians build to contain rain water. These tanks, being protected by banks of earth, served the purpose of redoubts, and we saw a small body of men, about forty or fifty, advance to the tank nearest us, dragging two light guns, with which they at once began playing on the grove.
“Those are white men!” exclaimed Colonel Clive, who had been watching this movement. “They must be Frenchmen sent from Brassy—unless they are some of those that escaped from Chander Nugger.”
While he was speaking the fire from the tank was taken up by the rest of the Nabob’s artillery, and a roar arose from the whole face of the advancing army. Colonel Clive watched the result closely for a few minutes.
“They are doing very little harm,” he observed. “They fire too high. Most of the balls are passing over the heads of our men. But it will not do for us to stay in the shelter of the grove; they may think we are afraid of them.”
He hurried down to the ground, bidding me keep near him, and went to where our men were waiting, just within the ditch which enclosed the grove. One Sepoy had been killed by the discharge from the tank, and three or four wounded, but otherwise we had not suffered.
The Colonel quickly made his dispositions, and the little force marched boldly out from its shelter and faced the enemy. At this the whole Moorish army halted, still out of point-blank range, and contented themselves with continuing their artillery fire, which we returned as best we could with our few guns. Colonel Clive passed to and fro along the line several times, noting everything that happened, and anxiously watching for some symptom of the promised desertion by Meer Jaffier. But nothing happened, the Moor’s infantry remained steady in our front, and the dark masses of cavalry continued to hang threateningly on our flank.
“I have brought my men out to give Meer Jaffier his chance,” said Colonel Clive to me in a low tone, “but if he is afraid to move, we are done. It is impossible to order an advance in face of that army.”
He walked down the line once again, and counted our casualties. By this time we had lost ten Europeans, and about twice as many Sepoys.