remain faithful to his
master the English army would in all likelihood be annihilated. In these
circumstances Clive wrote to the Committee of Council in Calcutta that he
would not cross the river until he was definitely assured that Mir Jafar
would join him.

His decision seemed to be justified next day when he received a letter
from Mr. Watts at Khulna. On the day he left Murshidabad, said Mr. Watts,
Mir Jafar had denounced him as a spy and sworn to repel any attempt of
the English to cross the river. On receipt of this news Clive adopted a
course unusual with him. He called a Council of War, for the first and
last time in his career. Desmond was in Major Killpatrick's tent when the
summons to attend the Council reached that officer.

"Burke, my boy," he said, "'tis a mighty odd thing. Mr. Clive is not
partial to Councils; has had enough of 'em at Madras first, and lately at
Calcutta. D'you know, I don't understand Mr. Clive; I don't believe any
one does. In the field he is as bold as a lion, fearless, quick to see
what to do at the moment, never losing a chance. Yet more than once I've
noticed, beforehand, a strange hesitation. He gets fits of the dumps,
broods, wonders whether he is doing the right thing, and is as touchy as
a bear with a sore head. Well, 'tis almost noon; I must be off; we'll see
what the Council has to say."

Desmond watched the major almost with envy as he went off to this
momentous meeting. How he wished he was a little older, a little higher
in rank, so that he too might have the right to attend! He lay back in
the tent wondering what the result of the Council would be.

"If they asked for my vote," he thought, "I'd say fight;" and then he
laughed at himself for venturing to have an opinion.

By and by Major Killpatrick returned.

"Well, my boy," he said, "we've carried our point, twelve against seven."

"For fighting?"

"No, my young firebrand; against fighting. You needn't look so chop
fallen. There'll be a fight before long; but we're going to run no risks.
We'll wait till the monsoon is over and we can collect enough men to
smash the Subah."

"Was that Colonel Clive's decision?"

"'Twas, indeed. But let me tell you, there was a comical thing to start
with. Lieutenant Hayter, one of Watson's men, was bid to the Council, but
the nincompoop was huffed because he wasn't allowed precedence of the
Company's captains. These naval men's airs are vastly amusing. He took
himself off. The