ans and natives, behind the tank close to the
intrenchments, with orders to keep up a continuous musketry fire upon
the enemy, as they sallied out.

The enemy fought bravely. Saint Frais worked his guns unflinchingly at
the redoubt, the infantry poured in volley after volley, the cavalry
made desperate charges right up to the British lines. But they had no
leader, and were fighting against men well commanded, and confident in
themselves. Clive observed that the division on the enemy's extreme
left remained inactive, and detached from the army; and it, for the
first time, struck him that this was the division of Meer Jaffier.
Relieved for the safety of his baggage, and from the attack which had
hitherto threatened in his rear, he at once determined to carry the
hill in advance of Saint Frais's battery, and the redoubt occupied by
the French leader.

Strong columns were sent against each position. The hill was carried
without opposition, and then so heavy and searching a fire was poured
into the intrenched camp that the enemy began to fall back, in utter
confusion. Saint Frais, finding himself isolated and alone in the
redoubt, as he had before been on the mound, was forced to retire.

At five o'clock the battle was over, and the camp of the Nabob of
Bengal in the possession of the English. The British loss was
trifling. Seven European and sixteen native soldiers were killed,
thirteen Europeans and thirty-six natives wounded. It was one of the
decisive battles of the world, for the fate of India hung in the
balance. Had Clive been defeated, and his force annihilated, as it
must have been if beaten, the English would have been swept out of
Bengal. The loss of that presidency would have had a decided effect on
the struggle in Madras, where the British were, with the greatest
difficulty, maintaining themselves against the French.

Henceforth Bengal, the richest province in India, belonged to the
English; for although, for a time, they were content to recognize Meer
Jaffier and his successors as its nominal rulers, these were but
puppets in their hands, and they were virtual masters of the province.

After the battle, Meer Jaffier arrived. Conscious of his own
double-dealing, he by no means felt sure of the reception he should
meet with. It suited Clive, however, to ignore the doubtful part he
had played, and he was saluted as Nabob of Bengal.

It would have been far better for him, had he remained one of the
great chi