The morning drew on.  Admiral Watson began to fear that when the tide fell his big guns would be at too low a level to do further execution.  There was always considerable rivalry between himself and Clive, fed by the stupid jealousy of some of the Calcutta Council.  While Clive, foreseeing even more serious work later, was anxious to spare his men, Watson was equally eager to reap all possible credit for a victory over the French.

As it happened, neither had to go to the last extremity, for about half-past nine a white flag was seen flying from the fort.  Lieutenant Brereton of the Kent and Captain Eyre Coote from the land force were sent to arrange the surrender, and a little later the articles of capitulation were signed by Admirals Watson and Pocock, and by Clive.

Desmond was by no means satisfied with the part he played in the fight.  In command of a company of Sepoys he was one of the first to rush the shore battery and take post under the walls of the barracks in readiness to lead a storming party.  But, as he complained afterward to his friend Captain Latham of the Tyger, the fleet had the honors of the day.

“After all, you’re better off than I am,” grumbled the captain.  “How would you like to have your laurels snatched away?  Admiral Pocock ought to have remained on the Cumberland down the river and left the Tyger to me.  But he didn’t see the fun of being out of the fighting; and up he came posthaste and hoisted his flag on my ship, putting my nose badly out of joint, I can tell you.  Still, one oughtn’t to grumble.  It doesn’t matter much who gets the credit so long as we’ve done our job.  ’Tis all in the day’s work.”

The victory at Chandernagore destroyed the French power in Bengal.  But it turned out to be only the prelude to a greater event—­an event which must be reckoned as the foundation stone of the British Empire in India.  It sprang from the character of Sirajuddaula.  That prince was a cruel despot, but weak-willed, vacillating, and totally unable to keep a friend.  One day he would strut in some vainglorious semblance of dignity; the next he would engage in drunken revels with the meanest and most dissolute of his subjects.  He insulted his commander-in-chief, Mir Jafar:  he offended the Seths, wealthy bankers of Murshidabad who had helped him to his throne:  he played fast and loose with everyone with whom he had dealings.  His own people were weary of him, and at length a plot was hatched to dethrone him and set Mir Jafar in his place.

Mr. Watts, the British agent in Murshidabad, communicated this design to Clive and the Council of Calcutta, suggesting that they should cooperate in deposing the vicious Nawab.  They agreed, on the grounds that his dishonesty and insolence showed that he had no real intention of abiding by the terms of his treaty, and that he was constantly interfering with the French.  A treaty was accordingly drawn up with Mir Jafar, in which the prospective Subah agreed to all the terms formerly agreed to by Sirajuddaula.  But Omichand, who was on bad terms with Mir Jafar and the Seths, threatened to reveal the whole plot to the Nawab and have Mr. Watts put to death, unless he were guaranteed in the treaty the payment of a sum of money equivalent to nearly four hundred thousand pounds.