In Clives Command | Page 2

so full and varied as Clive's,
and that a work of fiction is bound to suffer, structurally and in detail,
from the compression of the events of a lifetime within so restricted a
space. I have therefore chosen two outstanding events in the history of
India--the capture of Gheria and the battle of Plassey--and have made
them the pivot of a personal story of adventure. The whole action of the
present work is comprised in the years from 1754 to 1757.
But while this book is thus rather a romance with a background of
history than an historical biography with an admixture of fiction, the
reader may be assured that the information its pages contain is accurate.
I have drawn freely upon the standard authorities: Orme, Ives, Grose,
the lives of Clive by Malcolm and Colonel Malleson, and many other
works; in particular the monumental volumes by Mr. S.C. Hill recently

published, "Bengal in 1756-7," which give a very full, careful and clear
account of that notable year, with a mass of most useful and interesting
documents. The maps of Bengal, Fort William and Plassey are taken
from Mr. Hill's work by kind permission of the Secretary of State for
India. I have to thank also Mr. T. P. Marshall, of Newport, for some
valuable notes on the history and topography of Market Drayton.
For several years I myself lived within a stone's throw of the scene of
the tragedy of the Black Hole; and though at that time I had no
intention of writing a story for boys, I hope that the impressions of
Indian life, character and scenery then gained have helped to create an
atmosphere and to give reality to my picture. History is more than a
mere record of events; and I shall be satisfied if the reader gets from
these pages an idea, however imperfect, of the conditions of life under
which all empire builders labored in India a hundred and fifty years
ago.
Herbert Strang
Chapter 1
: In which the Court Leet of Market Drayton entertains Colonel Robert
Clive; and our hero makes an acquaintance.
One fine autumn evening, in the year 1754, a country cart jogged
eastwards into Market Drayton at the heels of a thick-set,
shaggy-fetlocked and broken-winded cob. The low tilt, worn and ill
fitting, swayed widely with the motion, scarcely avoiding the hats of
the two men who sat side by side on the front seat, and who, to a person
watching their approach, would have appeared as dark figures in a
tottering archway, against a background of crimson sky.
As the vehicle jolted through Shropshire Street, the creakings of its
unsteady wheels mingled with a deep humming, as of innumerable bees,
proceeding from the heart of the town. Turning the corner by the
butchers' bulks into the High Street, the cart came to an abrupt stop. In
front, from the corn market, a large wooden structure in the center of
the street, to the Talbot Inn, stretched a dense mass of people; partly

townfolk, as might be discerned by their dress, partly country folk who,
having come in from outlying villages to market, had presumably been
kept in the town by their curiosity or the fair weather.
"We'n better goo round about, Measter," said the driver, to the
passenger at his side. "Summat's afoot down yander."
"You're a wise man, to be sure. Something's afoot, as you truly say.
And, being troubled from my youth up with an inquiring nose, I'll e'en
step forward and smell out the occasion. Do you bide here, my Jehu, till
I come back."
"Why, I will, then, Measter, but my name binna Jehu. 'Tis plain
Tummus."
"You don't say so! Now I come to think of it, it suits you better than
Jehu, for the Son of Nimshi drove furiously. Well, Tummus, I will not
keep you long; this troublesome nose of mine, I dare say, will soon be
satisfied."
By this time he had slipped down from his seat, and was walking
toward the throng. Now that he was upon his feet, he showed himself to
be more than common tall, spare and loose jointed. His face was lean
and swarthy, his eyes black and restless; his well-cut lips even now
wore the same smile as when he mischievously misnamed his driver.
Though he wore the usual dress of the Englishman of his day--frock,
knee breeches and buckle shoes, none of them in their first youth--there
was a something outlandish about him, in the bright yellow of his
neckcloth and the red feather stuck at a jaunty angle into the ribbon of
his hat; and Tummus, as he looked curiously after his strange passenger,
shook his head and bit the straw in his mouth, and muttered:
"Ay, it binna on'y the nose, 't