How genuine, how refreshing, by the way, is the bonhomie of the Mahomedan author of the seer ul Mutakhereen! with what grave simplicity and naïveté does he relate the sayings and doings of our valiant countrymen in the early times of Anglo-Indian history!
His comparison of the red Feringhie[[34]] soldiers, firing in battle, to a long brick wall, belching forth fire and smoke, is admirable. And how excellent the story of Beebee Law, and the stem reproof administered to the fawning Asiatic parasite, the young noble at Patna, by the sturdy English commander, when the former tried to ingratiate himself by insulting his fallen enemy, the gallant Frenchman!
How striking, too, when recording these acts, the energy and astonishment with which, as if irresistibly impelled thereto, he apostrophizes the virtues of the English—their high-souled contempt of death—their fortitude under reverses, and moderation in success—likening them to the Rustums and Noushervans of old, Asiatic types of valour and justice; showing that there is a moral sense, an eternal standard of nobleness, which no adverse circumstances of habit, climate, and education can wholly obliterate or destroy—that virtue is not wholly conventional!
And oh! admirable Orme! thou minute chronicler of still minuter events, ungrateful, indeed, should I deem myself, did I not here acknowledge my obligations to thee; did I not record the many pleasant hours I have spent in poring over thy pages, whilst tracing the career of thy now antiquated worthies, from Clive to Catabominaigue!
As we approached the classic ground of Plassey, both poetry and patriotism began to stir within me. I studied Orme’s account of the battle attentively, and determined, as doubtless many had done before me, to attempt to identify the existing local features with those incidentally mentioned in the narrative of that important event, the first act of the greatest work of modern days,—the conquest, government, and civilization, by a handful of remote islanders, of one hundred millions of men; a work, be it observed, though still progressing, which if left to liberal and practical minds, can hardly fail to be effected (though yearly increasing in difficulty), if fanaticism on the one hand, and ultra liberalism on the other, be not allowed prematurely to mar it.
Miss Belfield expressed great veneration for the memory of the Indian hero, and begged to be allowed to accompany us to the scene of his crowning exploit.
“The more the merrier, my dear,” said her brother, and out we all sallied to visit—thrilling name—“The field of Plassey.”
A very pleasant stroll we had, too; but all our endeavours to harmonize the then aspect of the country (and doubtless it is much the same now) with Orme’s description of it were utterly nugatory; hunting lodge, mango tope, and every other memorial and mark of the fight mentioned by that accurate historian, having been swept away by the river, which, since 1757, has entirely changed its course.
If any future Clive should fight a battle in Bengal, decisive of the fate of India, and feel at all desirous that the field of his fame should remain intact, I would respectfully advise him not to come to blows within twenty good miles of the Ganges, if he can possibly avoid it, for that headlong flood, in the course of its erratic movements, will sooner or later be sure to sweep it away.
An example of the tortuosity of the course of the Bagheriti, and of the way in which both it and the great Ganges abandon their beds and form new ones, leaving miles of their former channels unoccupied, or formed into stagnant lakes, was afforded at Augurdeep, a few miles from Plassey.