More than that, however, the sailors had no small share in winning the battle for England. At Plassey Clive, as he said, put his trust in God. It was the sailors who kept his powder dry. It was their guns that did the work in smashing up the dense masses of the Nawab’s levies in the critical second stage of the battle, after the deluging monsoon rain-storm that burst at noon, swamped the ammunition of Suraj-u-daulah’s artillerymen. On such a detail as the smartness of Admiral Watson’s handy-men with their tarpaulins and budge-skin powder-covers did the fate of the epoch-making day of Plassey practically hinge. Only after it had become plain with which side the fortune of the day rested did Mir Jafier and his corps pass over and throw in their lot with Clive. * * * * * Within two months of Plassey Admiral Watson was dead. The climate killed him in the end. For more than four months past he had been ailing, and for the past four months had had among his papers the Admiralty’s permission to return home on sick leave. But, like Nelson during the last eighteen months of his glorious life while watching the enemy off Toulon, he would not leave his post while there was duty to be done. The inactivity after Chandernagore, in the sultry, steamy heats of the rainy season in Lower Bengal, killed Admiral Watson. A plain obelisk on a heavy square base in the graveyard compound of St. John’s Cathedral, Calcutta, marks the Admiral’s resting-place. It was erected by Mr. Holwell, the survivor of the Black Hole, during his governorship a few years later, and is thus inscribed:— Here lies interred the Body of CHARLES WATSON, ESQUIRE, Vice Admiral of the White, Commander in Chief of His Majesty’s Naval Forces in the East Indies, Who departed this life On the 16th day of August, 1757, In the 44th year of his age. _Geriah taken, February 13th, 1756. Calcutta freed, January 11th, 1757. Chandernagore taken, March 23rd, 1757._ Exegit monumentum aere perennius. Monumentum aere perennius? Hardly that. Modern India has no place for naval memories. Clive—and Clive only—holds the field. Hos ego versiculos feci: tulit alter honores —wrote Virgil once, in a moment of literary bitterness. If it be given to those beyond the Veil to know of things on earth, and think, the Shade of the gallant admiral might well express itself in terms hardly less strong. The East India Company erected a monument to the Admiral in Westminster Abbey, and King George bestowed a baronetcy of the United Kingdom on his only son—then a boy—in consideration of his father’s “great and eminent services.” _Est procul hinc_—the legend’s writ, The frontier grave is far away, _Qui ante diem periit_ _Sed miles, sed Prô Patriâ_.