The English triumphed everywhere.  The besiegers of Trichinopoly were themselves besieged and compelled to capitulate.  Chunda Sahib fell into the hands of the Mahrattas, and was put to death, at the instigation probably of his competitor, Mahommed Ali.  The spirit of Dupleix, however, was unconquerable, and his resources inexhaustible.  From his employers in Europe he no longer received help or countenance.  They condemned his policy.  They gave him no pecuniary assistance.  They sent him for troops only the sweepings of the galleys.  Yet still he persisted, intrigued, bribed, promised, lavished his private fortune, strained his credit, procured new diplomas from Delhi, raised up new enemies to the government of Madras on every side, and found tools even among the allies of the English Company.  But all was in vain.  Slowly, but steadily, the power of Britain continued to increase, and that of France to decline.

The health of Clive had never been good during his residence in India; and his constitution was now so much impaired that he determined to return to England.  Before his departure he undertook a service of considerable difficulty, and performed it with his usual vigour and dexterity.  The forts of Covelong and Chingleput were occupied by French garrisons.  It was determined to send a force against them.  But the only force available for this purpose was of such a description that no officer but Clive would risk his reputation by commanding it.  It consisted of five hundred newly levied sepoys and two hundred recruits who had just landed from England, and who were the worst and lowest wretches that the Company’s crimps could pick up in the flash-houses of London.  Clive, ill and exhausted as he was, undertook to make an army of this undisciplined rabble, and marched with them to Covelong.  A shot from the fort killed one of these extraordinary soldiers; on which all the rest faced about and ran away, and it was with the greatest difficulty that Clive rallied them.  On another occasion, the noise of a gun terrified the sentinels so much that one of them was found, some hours later, at the bottom of a well.  Clive gradually accustomed them to danger, and, by exposing himself constantly in the most perilous situations, shamed them into courage.  He at length succeeded in forming a respectable force out of his unpromising materials.  Covelong fell.  Clive learned that a strong detachment was marching to relieve it from Chingleput.  He took measures to prevent the enemy from learning that they were too late, laid an ambuscade for them on the road, killed a hundred of them with one fire, took three hundred prisoners, pursued the fugitives to the gates of Chingleput, laid siege instantly to that fastness, reputed one of the strongest in India, made a breach, and was on the point of storming, when the French commandant capitulated and retired with his men.

Clive returned to Madras victorious, but in a state of health which rendered it impossible for him to remain there long.  He married at this time a young lady of the name of Maskelyne, sister of the eminent mathematician, who long held the post of Astronomer Royal.  She is described as handsome and accomplished; and her husband’s letters, it is said, contain proofs that he was devotedly attached to her.