ever more completely routed.  The little band of Frenchmen, who alone ventured to confront the English, were swept down the stream of fugitives.  In an hour the forces of Surajah Dowlah were dispersed, never to reassemble.  Only five hundred of the vanquished were slain.  But their camp, their guns, their baggage, innumerable waggons, innumerable cattle, remained in the power of the conquerors.  With the loss of twenty-two soldiers killed and fifty wounded, Clive had scattered an army of near sixty thousand men, and subdued an empire larger and more populous than Great Britain.

Meer Jaffier had given no assistance to the English during the action.  But, as soon as he saw that the fate of the day was decided, he drew off his division of the army, and, when the battle was over, sent his congratulations to his ally.  The next morning he repaired to the English quarters, not a little uneasy as to the reception which awaited him there.  He gave evident signs of alarm when a guard was drawn out to receive him with the honours due to his rank.  But his apprehensions were speedily removed, Clive came forward to meet him, embraced him, saluted him as Nabob of the three great provinces of Bengal, Bahar, and Orissa, listened graciously to his apologies, and advised him to march without delay to Moorshedabad.

Surajah Dowlah had fled from the field of battle with all the speed with which a fleet camel could carry him, and arrived at Moorshedabad in little more than twenty-four hours.  There he called his councillors round him.  The wisest advised him to put himself into the hands of the English, from whom he had nothing worse to fear than deposition and confinement.  But he attributed this suggestion to treachery.  Others urged him to try the chance of war again.  He approved the advice, and issued orders accordingly.  But he wanted spirit to adhere even during one day to a manly resolution.  He learned that Meer Jaffier had arrived, and his terrors became insupportable.  Disguised in a mean dress, with a casket of jewels in his hand, he let himself down at night from a window of his palace, and accompanied by only two attendants, embarked on the river for Patna.

In a few days Clive arrived at Moorshedabad, escorted by two hundred English soldiers and three hundred sepoys.  For his residence had been assigned a palace, which was surrounded by a garden so spacious that all the troops who accompanied him could conveniently encamp within it.  The ceremony of the installation of Meer Jaffier was instantly performed.  Clive led the new Nabob to the seat of honour, placed him on it, presented to him, after the immemorial fashion of the East, an offering of gold, and then, turning to the natives who filled the hall, congratulated them on the good fortune which had freed them from a tyrant.  He was compelled on this occasion to use the services of an interpreter; for it is remarkable that, long as he resided in India, intimately acquainted as he was with Indian politics and with the Indian character, and adored as he was by his Indian soldiery, he never learned to express himself with facility in any Indian language.  He is said indeed to have been sometimes under the necessity of employing, in his intercourse with natives of India, the smattering of Portuguese which he had acquired, when a lad, in Brazil.