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"So he is, and that makes matters worse, for his grandson, Sirajuddaula, who'll probably succeed him, is no better than a tiger. He lives at Murshidabad, about one hundred miles up the river. He's a vain, peacocky, empty-headed youth, and as soon as the breath is out of his granddad's body he'll want to try his wings and take a peck or two at us.
He was with him at the capture of Hugli, and in that brisk fight at Calcutta on the fifth of February, which gave the Nawab his first taste of British quality. Sirajuddaula was encamped to the northeast of the town with a huge army. In a heavy fog, about daybreak, Clive came up at the head of a mixed force of king's troops, sepoys and sailors, some two thousand men in all.
Alivirdi died a fortnight ago; Sirajuddaula has stepped into his shoes; and Drake has made a mess of everything, with Manningham's and Frankland's assistance. I want you to come and dine with me this evening; we must have a serious talk; I've asked two or three men of our sort in anticipation of your consent." "Very well. Let me present my friend, Mr. Burke.
But of late Monsieur Sinfray had had too much important business on hand to spare time for such delights. He was believed to be with Sirajuddaula at Murshidabad, and the house had remained untenanted. The hackeri pulled up at the gate in the wall.
Clive had come to Bengal with the full intention of making the Company, whose servant he was, supreme; and having secured the treaty with Sirajuddaula he resolved to turn his arms against the French.
Drake has acted in the weakest possible way; the very way to encourage the Subah. Instead of siding with Sirajuddaula from the first, as he might well have done, because the rivals never had the ghost of a chance, he shilly shallied.
Hordes of Persian cavalry charged him through the mist, but they were beaten off, and Clive forced his way through the enemy's camp until he came near the Nawab's own tents, pitched in Omichand's garden. Sirajuddaula himself was within an ace of being captured. His troops made but a poor stand against the British, and by midday the battle was over.
Before the next morning dawned Sirajuddaula was dead. Mir Jafar handed him to his son Miran with strict orders to guard him. Acting on a mocking suggestion of Miran, a courtier named Muhammad Beg took a band of armed men to the Nawab's room, and hacked him to death.
I want you to keep an eye particularly on the movements of the French. 'Tis reported that they are in league with Sirajuddaula: find out whether that's the case: and gad, sir, if it is, I'll not be satisfied till I've turned 'em neck and crop out of Bengal. You'll want money: here are five thousand rupees; if you want more, ask Major Killpatrick. Now, when can you start?"
The victory at Chandernagore destroyed the French power in Bengal. But it turned out to be only the prelude to a greater event an event which must be reckoned as the foundation stone of the British Empire in India. It sprang from the character of Sirajuddaula. That prince was a cruel despot, but weak-willed, vacillating, and totally unable to keep a friend.
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