His advice was taken.  But how was the wary and sagacious Hindoo to be deceived?  He had demanded that an article touching his claims should be inserted in the treaty between Meer Jaffier and the English, and he would not be satisfied unless he saw it with his own eyes.  Clive had an expedient ready.  Two treaties were drawn up, one on white paper, the other on red, the former real, the latter fictitious.  In the former Omichund’s name was not mentioned; the latter, which was to be shown to him, contained a stipulation in his favour.

But another difficulty arose.  Admiral Watson had scruples about signing the red treaty.  Omichund’s vigilance and acuteness were such that the absence of so important a name would probably awaken his suspicions.  But Clive was not a man to do anything by halves.  We almost blush to write it He forged Admiral Watson’s name.

All was now ready for action.  Mr. Watts fled secretly from Moorshedabad.  Clive put his troops in motion, and wrote to the Nabob in a tone very different from that of his previous letters.  He set forth all the wrongs which the British had suffered, offered to submit the points in dispute to the arbitration of Meer Jaffier, and concluded by announcing that, as the rains were about to set in, he and his men would do themselves the honour of waiting on his Highness for an answer.

Surajah Dowlah instantly assembled his whole force, and marched to encounter the English.  It had been agreed that Meer Jaffier should separate himself from the Nabob, and carry over his division to Clive.  But, as the decisive moment approached, the fears of the conspirator overpowered his ambition.  Clive had advanced to Cossimbuzar; the Nabob lay with a mighty power a few miles off at Plassey; and still Meer Jaffier delayed to fulfil his engagements, and returned evasive answers to the earnest remonstrances of the English general.

Clive was in a painfully anxious situation.  He could place no confidence in the sincerity or in the courage of his confederate; and, whatever confidence he might place in his own military talents, and in the valour and discipline of his troops, it was no light thing to engage an army twenty times numerous as his own.  Before him lay a river over which it was easy to advance, but over which, if things went ill, not one of his little band would ever return.  On this occasion, for the first and for the last time, his dauntless spirit, during a few hours, shrank from the fearful responsibility of making a decision He called a council of war.  The majority pronounced against fighting; and Clive declared his concurrence with the majority.  Long afterwards, he said that he had never called but one council of war, and that, if he had taken the advice of that council, the British would never have been masters of Bengal.  But scarcely had the meeting broken up when he was himself again.  He retired alone under the shade of some trees, and passed near an hour there in thought.  He came back determined to put everything to the hazard, and gave orders that all should be in readiness for passing the river on the morrow.