CHAPTER XV.
WHICH RECOUNTS THE TRIALS OF A DEVOUT LOVER.
Letters from Colvin Fraser, Esq., to Mrs Hurstwood.
H.M.S. Tyger, off FULTA, Dec. ye 20th.
MADAM,—I take this chance to acquaint you that the fleet is now at length arrived in the Houghley River, after a voyage so tempestuous that it might well be imagined the devil and all his angels were gathered to oppose our progress, distrusting our object. Being thwarted in our course from the very day we sailed from Madrass by the prevailing north-eastern munsoon and the currents setting from the north, our only means of fetching Bengal was to steer across the bay and back again, thus reaching our journey’s end crab-fashion. In this tedious style, then, and afflicted by continual rough weather, we pursued our voyage, passing over first to the coasts of Tannasery[01] and Arracan, then tacking to the westward until we were in the latitude of the sands at the eastern mouth of the Ganges, next making our way with the help of the tides to Ballisore Roads (losing in this manœuvre the Cumberland and Salisbury, which took the ground off Cape Palmeiras), and finally reaching the mouth of the Houghley, where we were welcomed in the name of those refuging at Fulta by Mr Watts, late of Cossimbuzar, and Mr Becher. There we might still be at this moment, owing to the danger apprehended by the pilots in navigating the great ships over the shoals called the Braces before the spring tides came, but this difficulty was surmounted with great spirit by Captain Speke, who had been several times before in the river, and taking the Kent across in safety, the other vessels followed without mishap. So protracted has been our struggle with the opposing forces of nature, that all on board the vessels were placed on strict rations both of meat and drink, and the supply of rice failing entirely, a considerable number of Colonel Clive’s Tellinghy[02] soldiers actually succumbed to starvation, being forbid by the rules of their religion to touch the salted meat served out to them.
The Kent and Tyger arrived off this place five days ago, but ’twas not until to-day that we were gladdened by the sight of our consorts, with the exception of the Cumberland (which, though she and her sister in misfortune have been got off, can’t continue her voyage, and carries back to Vizagapatnam with her 250 of the Colonel’s white troops) and the Marlborough, which has on board the greater part of our stores and nearly all our field artillery, but parted company with us, being a slow sailer, in a storm off the Negrai’s. Besides the two great ships and the Salisbury, therefore, Admiral Watson has under his command only his two frigates and the fireship, with the two Indiamen used for the transport of the troops, while Colonel Clive’s army amounts to no more than 900 Europeans and something over 1200 Seapoys. Major Kilpatrick’s force of 230 Europeans, which, as you know, madam, was despatched from Madrass to the help of Calcutta as soon as the news was received of the fall of Cossimbuzar, has suffered so grievously since its arrival in August, from the necessity of taking up its quarters in swampy ground, because there was no room on board the ships, that a full four-fifths of the men are dead, and of the rest not more than ten are fit for duty. This heavy loss is partly compensated by the enrolment of seventy volunteers from among the Calcutta refugees, the most active of the gentlemen belonging to the factory; but, better than this, we possess in the justice of our cause and the reputation of our two commanders a guarantee of success and of the favour of Heaven upon our enterprise. Already the Admiral has sent letters, couched in terms of great severity, to Monickchund, the Soubah’s governor of Calcutta, demanding redress for the wrongs done to the Company and its servants, and nothing is heard on every side but conjectures as to the answer that will be received.
Nothing but conjectures is heard in the fleet and army, I should say, for (will it surprise you, madam, knowing the gentlemen?) all the members of the Bengal Council that are escaped have no time to think of anything but their own punctilio, without it be the property they lost in the fall of the place and the means of recovering it. Mrs Hurstwood mayn’t have heard that Mr Drake, finding the sour looks he met with and the remarks passed upon his conduct in deserting the Fort vastly galling to his high spirit, has posted in every public place in Fulta an advertisement desiring that it may be pointed out to him where he failed in his duty, and what more he could have done that he did not do. This was wrote after a laudable prudence had caused him, with his friends, to assume three months ago the style of Governor and Council of Bulrumgurry (that poor mean place being the only spot of ground left to us in Bengal), in the fear of offending the Nabob by aspiring to be still in possession of Calcutta. True, our colours are now hoisted just outside the Dutch bounds at Fulta, but Mrs Hurstwood will already be certain that so resolved a step was not taken until the arrival of the fleet. ’Tis some consolation that Mr President’s fantastic manifesto was replied to by a young gentleman named Dash, whom I have met at Calcutta, and who acquainted the world in writing that while he durst not risk his place in the Service by accusing the Governor without a mandate from the Company, he was prepared to justify all that had been said if he were called upon. There’s one matter, however, in which Mr Dash attacks the Presidency, where I can’t follow him, and this is the advancing Mr Labaume to the rank of captain in the Company’s army. Who should better deserve the elevation than a foreigner who fought on our side with so much spirit and devotion, and was only saved from the dreadful fate of the rest of the defenders by being carried to the ships mortally wounded, as was thought? And yet Mr Dash, who don’t think it necessary to declare the time or manner of his own leaving the Fort, finds fault with Captain Labaume’s advancement because he is a Papist! He believes, questionless, that all Papists should be warned to fight on t’other side.
Mr Dash’s most fervent supporter in this matter is Mrs Freyne, who champions with uncommon zeal the cause of my old adversary, Mr Bentinck. This gentleman’s exploit, in quitting the Fort full twelve hours before even the President and the chief military officers, has not yet been properly recognised by any step in rank, and ’tis whispered that the Council stand too much in awe of Colonel Clive to bestow this merited promotion. In this case, the lady will find it necessary to turn the artillery of her charms on the Colonel, since (so says wicked rumour) though not altogether inconsolable on good Mr Freyne’s account, she en’t minded to bestow herself on a gentleman that han’t got his company. I went some days back to pay my respects to Mrs Freyne, but the mention of my name sent her into so violent a hysterical fit, as recalling to her all the cruel misfortunes she has suffered, that I thought it better to withdraw. I am not intending any disrespect to the lady, but I can’t be sorry that she and my charmer cherished no extraordinary affection one for the other.
Dec. ye 21st.
The despatch of this pacquet, madam, leaves us still at Fulta, forced to listen to the vapourings of Mr Drake and his fellows, and unable as yet to follow the promptings of our spirits and advance against the Moors, no answer having been received to Mr Watson’s epistles sent to Monickchund. There en’t a man either on board ship or in the ranks but burns to avenge—oh, madam, what have we not to avenge? But why am I running on in this style and delaying to impart the news that has sent me to the writing of this letter as to the hardest task imaginable, since ’tis to quench in Mrs Hurstwood’s bosom the hope which is already extinguished in my own? You guess, madam, questionless, what it is I have to tell, but my coward pen still refuses to set down the frightful truth in such a form that it may reach you. And yet I can’t, I dare not, write on any other topic—how could I, indeed, when my whole heart and soul is filled with this one? Oh, madam, our beloved Miss Freyne is no more! Now I have wrote it, but the sight of the words brings no conviction to my mind. Sure such a blessed creature could not die, knowing that she must leave this world a desolation thenceforth to her adoring friends; the goodness of her heart would alone retain her here, in compassion of their need of her. But no; that bright spirit which was too pure and ethereal for these grosser regions is returned to its native skies, leaving us forlorn. Don’t, madam, account me so churlish as to grudge to you the recollection of the affectionate friendship which was never broken by a quarrel, but figure to yourself the state of mind of the wretch who addresses you, when he remembers that the love which is his boast brought to its dear object nothing but fresh adversities and the increase of her unmerited misfortunes, and that it has now proved itself as powerless to save as it was potent to wound. Indeed, madam, I can’t but admire the extraordinary course of my passion for Miss Freyne, which caused me to injure most deeply the creature I most adored, and which finds her removed from its reach just when there was a hope that I might in some measure redeem my past behaviour. The fault was wholly mine, indeed my bitter fault.
But why do I trouble Mrs Hurstwood with my useless lamentations, instead of presenting her with the melancholy history so far as I am acquainted with it? I was walking, madam, this evening on the esplanade of the Dutch factory here, when there met me Captain Labaume and another gentleman, who both turned aside and saluted me.
“Your servant, gentlemen,” said I.
“Your servant, sir,” says Captain Labaume. “I think you en’t acquainted with my friend? Mr Warren Hastings, late of the Cossimbuzar factory—Lieutenant Fraser of the Tyger. Mr Hastings is possessed of certain news that concerns you, sir, which it is his painful duty to communicate.”
“Perhaps, sir,” says Mr Hastings, as the Frenchman bowed and left us, “you would prefer to turn aside into the gardens here, rather than learn in this public place what I have to tell you?”
I bowed, for when I tried to speak the words were wanting, and we turned into the Dutch Governor’s gardens, where I stopped short and looked at the young gentleman, a person of very pleasing appearance. Sure no more agreeable messenger ever carried such heavy news as that which I read in his eyes before he told it. “You need not speak, sir,” I said. “You’re come to advise me of the death of the loveliest of her sex?”
“Sir,” said Mr Hastings, “I can but pass on to you a message delivered to me. Near six months ago I was lounging one evening with my friend Mr Chambers on the gott belonging to the French house at Sydabad,[03] where we had refuged after the fall of our own factory. We were watching the boats that passed, too many of them, alas! laden with the spoils of Calcutta, and guarded by others with flags and music and all imaginable pomp. Suddenly, from the deck of one of these there rose up a man, almost naked but for a piece of a gunny bag that was wrapped round him, and with his limbs covered with the most frightful boils and sores. ‘Sure, sirs, you must be English?’ he cried, gesticulating towards us with his chained hands, and hearing a British voice, we hastened to the water’s edge. The Jemmautdar in charge of the boat was come up when we reached it, and ordered the poor wretch, with blows and curses, to be silent, but we appeased him with a rupee or two, and obtained leave for the prisoner to speak. He informed us that he was a sergeant of our garrison here, and had suffered the torments of the Black Hole in company with his captain and a lady whom the Captain respected very highly. The lady being found alive on the morrow after the tragedy, was ordered to be sent to Muxidavad to the Nabob’s seraglio, and this poor fellow, desirous of serving one whom his late commander had so much esteemed, accepted an offer to enter the Soubah’s service in the hope of being permitted to attend upon her. In this pious wish, however, he was disappointed, for though on board the same boat, he saw nothing of her until—until—pray, sir, prepare your mind for grievous tidings—he beheld her corpse carried on shore for burial at Santipore. The fever that seized all those who survived the night of torment had proved too strong for her delicate frame, finding its work aided, questionless, by the anguish of spirit natural in such a situation as hers. The pious care of a poor Moorwoman, her attendant, procured the unhappy lady a grave in the garden belonging to the Armenians of the place—this, said our wretched informant, he was assured of by one of his keepers, more humane or less brutal than the rest, and he was desirous that the lady’s friends should know it also. Mr Chambers and I divided the little money we had upon us between the poor fellow and the Jemmautdar, whom we sought to engage in his favour, and since then I fear the matter had almost slipped my memory, after I had once learnt from Mr Holwell in his captivity at Muxidavad that both the lady’s father, and also Captain Colquhoun, whom he believed to be her humble servant, were dead. I did send word of what I had heard to Mrs Freyne, whom I understood to be at Fulta, but receiving no answer of any kind, my mind was soon busied again with the secret negotiations I was engaged in on the Company’s behalf, and ’twas not until I fled hither when my dealings with the Seats were threatened with discovery, and learned by chance from Captain Labaume your melancholy history, sir, that I knew I could resolve any doubt of yours as to the unhappy fate of the lady in whom you claim so deep an interest.”
I had listened to Mr Hastings’s tale without any interruption but that of sighs and unconquerable groans, but now I could contain myself no longer. “And can there be,” I cried, “a God above, when so transcendent a creature is permitted to expire miserably, without a friend at hand to close her eyes?”
“There’s worse things than death, sir,” says Mr Hastings, with a modest hesitation. “Perhaps we should rather give thanks that the amiable lady you adored was suffered to expire peacefully before ever reaching Muxidavad.”
“I accept the just rebuke, sir, but—oh, sir, you never knew Miss Freyne. Had you enjoyed her acquaintance, though but for an hour, you would have thought the world bare without her. What, then, can you imagine to be that man’s state of mind who was honoured with her particular regard?”
“Why, sir,” cried the warm-hearted young gentleman, “I would have him thank Heaven continually for the happiness with which he has been blessed, and live to prove himself not unworthy of his dear mistress’s favour.”
“Your hand, sir!” said I, moved by his honest ardour; but, madam, ’tis cold comfort to pay to the memory of the dead those honours you had hoped to bestow on the living, and how much more when the fault is your own.
Dec. ye 23rd.
I may perhaps seem over-bold, madam, in continuing to trouble you with my unworthy epistles when the beloved link between us is wanting, but I believe my kind Mr and Mrs Hurstwood will excuse my presumption, remembering, in the goodness of their hearts, what state of mind I must be in, deprived as I am of the delicious hopes that have sustained me hitherto. That you, madam, was joined with your humble correspondent in a common admiration for our incomparable Miss Freyne, is reason enough for me to regard you as my sole remaining friend, and I can’t doubt but Mrs Hurstwood’s worthy spouse will allow me in this melancholy pleasure of reckoning with his lady how much we have both lost. There are at present but two thoughts in my distracted mind, the one to kill the Nabob, the other to fulfil the last pious duties to the mortal (alas that I must write it!)—the mortal remains of my charmer. True, the accomplishing the first won’t restore her to me (any more than the finest tomb I might raise to her memory could do more than tempt Indian lovers to drop a tear on the spot where a Briton bewailed his mistress), but at least it would rid the world of the monster who is responsible for such a calamity’s coming upon it. En’t that a laudable object, madam? I entreat your opinion, for I have incurred the displeasure of my revered commander Mr Watson on this very matter.
The affair happened thus. I was returning this evening from a solitary ramble on the skirts of the town, engrossed with my own melancholy thoughts, when there met me a Dutch artilleryman, who offered to sell me an Indian scymetar he was carrying, which he had got (he said) some time back from a disabled Mogul that had been wounded in the Nabob’s Purhunea campaign, and had no further use for it. The weapon pleased me, and paying the fellow what he asked, I carried it with me. Passing through the town, I met a party of officers from the Kent, among them Billy Speke, who exclaimed on seeing me carry a great sword naked in my hand, and asked me what use I designed to put it to.
“Oh, ’twill serve to kill the Soubah,” I said, my mind still on the same topics.
“’Twill kill no one without it be sharpened,” says one of the gentlemen.
“How do these fellows manage to fight with such a thing?” says another.
“Oh, sir, ’tis a most deadly weapon when bright and keen,” said the first.
“Sure you would not compare it with one of our swords, sir?” asked the other.
“I vow, sir, you might find yourself hard put to it to maintain your ground against a person skilled in its use. Pray, Mr Fraser, if you en’t in no haste to return to the Tyger, come on board with us, and let us have your scymetar sharpened, and convince this unbeliever by a pass or two that it’s no toy.”
I complied the more readily with this request that I remembered a message I had promised to deliver from our surgeon to Dr Ives of the Kent, and went on board with the other gentlemen in a shore-boat, when Billy Speke ran to find one of the armourer’s mates, and brought him to us with his tools. While we stood round watching his work on the sword, the discourse turned, as might be expected, on fighting, and the officers of the Kent, in anticipating the progress of events, began to prophesy the capture of the Nabob’s strongholds and the destruction of all his army.
“Do what you will with the army, gentlemen,” said I, “but leave Surajah Dowlah to me.”
“Sure, there’s no one would dispute your right, sir,” said one.
“Every seaman in the fleet will support you in the vengeance you seek,” says another, “and will see you have a fair field for’t.”
“Will they?” says a voice that made us all turn round, to see the Admiral standing behind us, with a brow as black as thunder. “There’s a seaman here, gentlemen, that will do nothing of the sort. What! do I find myself in command of a set of bloodthirsty adventurers, instead of British officers? Mr Fraser, how dare you import a private quarrel into your dealings with his Majesty’s enemies, sir?”
“If I could forget the cause of that quarrel, sir, I would be the most abandoned wretch on earth.”
“I don’t ask you to forget either the quarrel or its cause, sir. Don’t bandy words with me. Pray what’s to become of your men and the King’s interests when you are hunting for the Nabob all over a battlefield? You’re here to uphold the honour of Britain by punishing the villains that have assailed it, not to seek vengeance for private wrongs—no, though your own mother had been slain by the Moors.”
“But, pray, sir,” Billy Speke ventured to say, knowing himself a favourite, “how is Mr Fraser to remember his quarrel without seeking to avenge it?”
“That’s for him to settle with himself, young gentleman. All I can say is, that if I find him seeking vengeance, back he goes on board the Tyger and into irons, for neglecting his duty in face of the enemy. I would have you know, gentlemen, that you en’t knights-errant, but persons under discipline, and that discipline I’ll maintain. Is that the sword that’s to kill the Nabob, Mr Fraser? Give it to me, sir—a heathenish weapon to do heathenish work, properly enough.”
I handed him the scymetar, and he endeavoured to break it across his knee, but though it bent nearly double it resisted him. Catching up a hatchet that lay by, he smashed the sword on the grindstone with it, and threw the pieces towards me.
“Keep to your Christian sword, sir, and use it in a Christian manner. Fight when you find yourself compelled, but don’t go out man-hunting. No,” seeing me look abashed, “I en’t displeased with you, though I was but a few moments back. I look to see you all do good service in a day or two, gentlemen. What? you han’t heard? Monickchund refuses to forward my letters to the Soubah, saying ’twould be as much as his head’s worth, and Mr Clive and I are agreed to move up the river as soon as we can get our stores aboard. There’ll be no peace until Surajah Dowlah is well thrashed.”
The Admiral left us, and the other gentlemen, commiserating me for drawing his displeasure upon myself, fell to talking of the projected advance, which (whatever Mr Watson may choose to say) can bring me no satisfaction but the gratifying of my revenge. That this sentiment is an unchristian one I can’t deny; but how, madam, can I acquit the Admiral of encouraging my thirst for vengeance so long as it consorted well with his designs, and discovering its iniquity only when it threatened to oppose ’em? But this remark is in itself an offence against discipline, and I’ll say no more, merely laying the case before Mrs Hurstwood, and entreating her judgment upon it.
CALCUTTA, January ye 25th, 1757.
The extraordinary success which has greeted our arms seems, madam, to demand some record from me, that Mrs Hurstwood may be informed how signally the righteous enterprise on which we are embarked has been prospered by Heaven. But first, madam, permit me to say (lest you should suspect me of any design to glorify my own part in this campaign) that Colvin Fraser has not succeeded in slaying the Nabob, nor even in performing any notable feat of arms. Were the fame of his dear charmer dependent upon his puny efforts for its preservation, as the knights of the chivalric ages were wont to achieve their exploits in celebration of the beauty and merits of their mistresses, it would, alas! enjoy but a brief immortality; but since every man that beheld Miss Freyne must carry her image imprinted on his heart till death, her memory needs no assistance to maintain itself, although it may serve to glorify the feeble achievements of the man who unhappily survives her.
Our fleet, madam, sailed from Fulta on the 27th of December, and two days later cast anchor off the village of Mayapore, whence it appeared most convenient to undertake the assault to be made on the fortress of Budje Boodje. Here occurred the first of those dissensions between Admiral Watson and Mr Clive which, but for the interposition of Providence, must have jeopardised, if not destroyed, our expedition, Colonel Clive desiring that the troops should land from the ships in the immediate vicinity of the fortress, while the Admiral, foreseeing that Monickchund, who had been very busy strengthening the place, would have a great advantage in opposing their landing, recommended that they should march by land the ten miles from Mayapore. Colonel Clive at length yielding up his opinion, this was done; but the march having been over marshy ground much cut up with water-courses, and the labour of dragging the field-pieces and ammunition incredibly laborious, the troops, half-dead with fatigue, were permitted to rest themselves when they had reached the points from which the Colonel intended the assault to be made on the morrow. When our men were all asleep, Monickchund steals up with a prodigious force, having observed all Colonel Clive’s dispositions, and attacks our bivouack so hotly that our troops, hastily aroused from their slumbers, gave way to a temporary panic. The field-pieces proving useless (owing to their being mounted on the wrong carriages, and having neither tubes nor port-fires), they were abandoned to the enemy, together with the buildings in which we had been encamped, and but for the extraordinary spirit displayed by Colonel Clive, who was himself labouring under a severe illness, the affair must have ended in a disastrous rout. The Colonel, despatching two platoons to attack the village now held by the Moors, drove out the enemy, though not without a heavy loss, and rallying his men, succeeded in chasing Monickchund and his cavalry from the field, thus winning a victory which was even greater in its moral than its material result, aided, as it was, by the Admiral’s sailing up to Budje Boodje and engaging the fortress with the Kent alone, silencing the Moors’ guns and opening a breach in the walls.
The first proof of the enemy’s loss of spirit was seen the same evening, when a detachment of our seamen, being sent on shore in readiness to take part in the attack projected for the morrow, found the Moors so much cowed as to permit them to approach quite close to the walls of the place. Among these men (who had all, I fear, indulged somewhat freely in grog, which is a mixture of arrack and water, by way of celebrating Colonel Clive’s victory) was one Strahan, a common sailor belonging to the Kent, who was more drunk than his fellows. He, scrambling over the parapet of the fort, where it was broken down by the Admiral’s fire, found the place empty, but for a few Moormen seated on the platform of one of the bastions, and forthwith rushed upon them flourishing his cutlass, having first fired off his pistol and given three huzzas, crying out to his friends outside that he had taken the fort all by himself. Hearing the shout, first the rest of the sailors, and then the whole army, without waiting for either their officers or the Colonel’s orders, rushed over the bridge and into the place, the foremost arriving to find Strahan hotly engaged with the Moors that were left (who took to their heels at this accession of force), and with his cutlass broke to within a foot of the hilt. So happy was the exploit of these drunken sailors, that ’tis with regret I must add that, the fort being in our hands and guards posted about it from among our own Seapoys, the seamen, mistaking them for the enemy, fell to fighting with ’em, and discharging their pistols, were so unlucky as to kill Captain Dougald Campbell of the Company’s army, a very worthy person and a countryman of my own, who was come from Bulrumgurry to offer his services to Mr Drake at Fulta, and had accompanied the force.
Our next achievement was the capture of Calcutta, which held out for less than two hours against our cannon from the ships, the garrison firing only those guns that were already loaded. Monickchund had quitted Fort William even before our arrival, so great was his terror of Colonel Clive, and the troops he left were not concerned to improve upon his example, while the peaceable inhabitants, relieved from their oppressors, welcomed us gladly. Here again there occurred an unhappy dissension between our commanders. Admiral Watson, the place having surrendered to the fire of the ships, appointed as its governor Captain Coote,[04] who is in command of the detachment of Adlercron’s Regiment[05] serving as marines on board the fleet. Mr Clive resenting this very seriously on his arrival, a hot discussion followed, Mr Watson even going so far as to threaten to turn his guns on the Colonel; but both gentlemen being equally zealous for the public good, the quarrel was quickly composed, through the mediation of Captain Latham, who is in a strict intimacy with both parties, by the Admiral’s taking possession of the town himself and handing over the keys to Mr Drake. Yes, madam, to Mr President Drake. I think I behold your indignant countenance on reading this piece of news. As soon as the intelligence of our success was received by the other European factories, we were overwhelmed with congratulations from the French and Dutch, who proved themselves such broken reeds to the unhappy defenders of Calcutta in their extremity; but our leaders were prepared to overlook this former time-serving behaviour in return for their assistance in crushing the Nabob, and offered them an alliance. This they refused, however, the chiefs declaring that they had no power to conclude such a treaty without instructions, although they offered to preserve a strict neutrality between us and the Moors; but this not being considered worth entering into articles about, the Mynheers and Mounseers returned empty to Chinchura and Chandernagore respectively. Only two days later there reached us by way of Aleppo the news that war was declared against France last May, and I venture to say that the gentlemen are now regretting their precipitation in declining our friendship.
When this news arrived, madam, I was absent with the force which was sent against Houghley under Captain Coote, who, assisted by a body of seamen from the fleet, captured the place with slight loss on the 15th of this month, destroying the houses and magazines in order to strike terror into the Nabob, and obtaining plunder to the amount of 15,000l., although, as has since been discovered, the Dutch had taken all the Moors’ most valuable effects under their protection, and hid them safe at Chinchura. In this capture of Houghley I had the good fortune to receive a musquet-ball right through my hat without injuring me in the least, but alas! I can’t now take the comfort from this miraculous escape that I would have done five weeks ago. Returning from the expedition amid the acclamations of our fellows, we were in hopes to find the fleet already preparing to move up the river against Muxidavad itself, but discovered instead that our leaders were again divided in opinion, the Admiral desiring to press on immediately at all hazards, but Mr Clive, whose instructions from the Council at Madras bind him to return to that place by April, willing to come to an accommodation with the Nabob, sooner than drive to extremities the master of such vast armies. On this occasion ’twas the Admiral that yielded, finding himself opposed not only by Colonel Clive, but by Mr Drake and the Bengal Council, who, fearing lest the French should unite with the Soubah against us, have sought to forestall ’em by obtaining his ear through his bankers Mootabray and Roopchund Seat. From what appears, however, the report of our successes has so much irrit