arms, under the command of his eldest son, to invest Madras. Paradis, with four hundred men and two field-pieces, attacked this host, and scattered it to the winds, inflicting considerable slaughter upon the enemy, without himself losing a man.*

Thus we have to thank the French for re-discovering the two great facts of modern Indian history. First, that a handful of Europeans, regularly instructed in the art of war, can beat any number of undisciplined Asiatics. Secondly, that in support of European regular troops the native sipahi (soldier), or Sepoy, when duly instructed and drilled after the method of European warfare, may give valuable aid to his employer.

The English, in their depressed state, had time to ponder over these facts; nor, as we shall soon see, did they lack the spirit to profit by them. Both these problems had, I repeat, been solved before, in the days of Alexander; but both were new to our countrymen. At the very time of Paradis's exploit the English were busy in hiring two thousand Peons, or common native soldiers, armed with sword and shield, or bows and arrows, for the defence of Fort St. David and Cuddalore. They soon gave up this sort of material, and put their muskets into hands fitted by regular training to do credit to their weapon. It was a marvel to the English lieutenants then, as it is now, how quickly a broadshouldered, and seemingly thick-headed, black rungroot (recruit) learned to handle his arms, and to acquire the carriage and movements of the European soldier.

Facts such as these--the resistless energy of disciplined troops when opposed to mere numbers, and the aptness of the Brahmin or the Rajpoot peasant to ac

* A.D. 1746.

quire the habits of disciplined soldiers—are more important than the continual sieges or battles of the day, and must be fully appreciated by those who desire to realise the marvellous history of the European settlers in India.

The French, encouraged by the success which had so far attended their arms, made desperate but fruitless efforts to destroy the remnant of the English force at Fort St. David.

*

Early in 1748, Major Lawrence arrived from England with large reinforcements; and taking the chief military command, marched with four thousand European soldiers, one thousand Sepoys, and a large body of the Nabob's horse, to besiege the French in Pondicherry. This attempt failed. And whilst the French chanted the Te Deum, and Dupleix despatched couriers right and left to announce his victory, the English sullenly retraced their steps to Fort St. David.

The French governor seemed fast arriving at the pinnacle of human glory. Step by step he had been climbing to power. The grand idea which had so long possessed him—the foundation of an European dynasty on the débris of the Mogul throne-seemed forming itself into reality. Courtiers already told him that the Great Mogul trembled at the name of Dupleix. He had beaten off the only rivals who stood in his path. La Bourdonnais, doomed to perish by inches in the Bastille, had left India; the English, crest-fallen, were retreating to their last stronghold; the lieutenants of the Indian Empire, one after the other, puppets in his cunning hands. Titles and offices were showered upon him in the East; and dearer still, the grand decoration

* Under the superintendence of Admiral Boscawen.

of the Order of St. Louis,* soon to be followed by the patent of a Marquis of France, reached India from Versailles.

Mounted on an elephant, in the midst of a dazzling escort, and to the sound of martial music, Dupleix rode forth in the habits of a king. Whilst his titles were loudly proclaimed, the natives in crowds fell at his feet. His lady received the honours and titles of Queen. Visions of that grand city and pillar of Victory, which in a few months he was to found, already floated before his eyes. The Star of France shone bright, whilst the fortunes of the English in India were humbled and depressed.

Yet amongst those travel-stained sun-burnt English soldiers, who in October, 1748, sadly turned their backs upon Pondicherry, marched a stripling, half soldier, half civilian, young in years, yet already weary of life, whose destiny it was to pull down this proud Frenchman from his pedestal to tear off his laurels, to prostrate his schemes, and literally to trample the 'City of Victory' under foot.

The career of this illustrious Englishman will next come under review.

Then, for the first time, granted to a non-military personage.

59

CHAPTER VII.

EARLY DAYS OF ROBERT CLIVE IN INDIA.

ROBERT CLIVE was born on September 29, 1725, in the manor house of Styche, near Market Drayton, in Shropshire. His father, who practised as a country attorney, sent Robert, when an infant, to be brought up in the family of a relation, Daniel Bayley, of Hope Hall, near Manchester. Mr. Bayley, when Bob Clive was seven years old, finding his young nephew out of measure addicted to fighting,' and of a fierce and imperious temper, did what he could to suppress the hero,' and to help forward the more valuable qualities of 'meekness and patience.'* In this attempt he signally failed. The hero was not suppressed in Clive; but at no time' was his character distinguished for the gentler virtues.

When he returned to his father's house, Bob was known as the most daring, and one of the most mischievous, boys in the parish. Being also what is called an 'unlucky' lad, his father set him down as a 'booby,' and was doubtless glad enough when opportunity offered to send the youngster out to Madras as a writer in the service of the East India Company.

His early letters home show that, under the rough exterior of the young writer, and notwithstanding his

* Life of Lord Clive, by Sir John Malcolm.

haughtiness and reserve, there lurked a deep feeling of affection for home and early friends. There were seasons when his longings for England, his distaste for society in India, and his bodily sufferings, drove him to the verge of insanity. Indeed, soon after landing, he more than once attempted self-destruction. At other times he found a solace in study, and buried himself for days in the library of the governor of Madras. To such a temper and such a temperament, the ordinary duties of his calling as a writer were most irksome.

The young civilian of 1744 moved in a sphere differing entirely from that occupied in later years by the junior civil servants of the Company or the Crown. To take stock of calico and cottons, to keep accounts, to advance petty sums to half-naked native weavers-to undergo, in short, the drudgery of an office hack in the temperature of an oven-this was the métier of the young writer. Clive naturally enough seized the first opportunity to exchange a career such as this for the dangers, the liberty, and the excitement of a soldier's life.

At the siege of Madras by the French, when Dupleix repudiated the engagements of La Bourdonnais, Clive escaped in the disguise of a native, and found his way to Fort St. David.

In 1747, weary, as I have said, of a career which combined the drudgery of a clerk with the sufferings, but without the honours, of a military life, he obtained an ensign's commission in the army. I have already described the unsuccessful attack upon Pondicherry by the English, under Admiral Boscawen and Major

*

Chapter VI. page 57.