CHAPTER III.
IN WHICH MISS FREYNE ENTERS CALCUTTA, BUT NOT IN TRIUMPH.
Hon. Co.’s Ship Orford, HOOGLY RIVER, Sept. ye 2nd.
My last letter to my Amelia was finished writing in the roadstead of Madrass, where our vessel was lying, but now I am got so far in my voyage that I can date this almost within sight of Culpee,[01] at which place all we passengers leave the Orford, and embark in smaller boats to perform the concluding stage of our journey. But remembering where I left off, I know that my dearest friend will be in the most cruel anxiety for her Sylvia’s peace of mind, and I hasten, now that we have fairly left the ocean behind us, to satisfy her concern, although I have but little to say that’s agreeable.
Awaking from a troubled sleep on the morning after the shock I have described to you, Amelia, it seemed to me at first that ’twould be well to plead indisposition, and remain below, thus avoiding the performance of the hard task Mr Fraser had laid upon me. But I feared lest he should believe my illness caused by anything he had said, and rose determined to preserve my punctilio jealously, and carry the matter off with a bold face.
“You’re rightly punished, miss,” said I to myself, as I combed my hair. “You have pleased yourself imagining that the gentleman sought your company for your own sake, and now you find that he regarded you but as in some sort a picture of his Araminta. You was a silly creature to be so taken in, and I hope you’ll be wiser in the future. Pray, miss,” I said to Miss Hamlin, who was watching me from her shelf, “what have you done with my book?”
“Why, miss, I didn’t know ’twas yours. I took it up to look at, and finding it prodigiously dull, carried it back to Mr Fraser. I’m sure I thought it was his.”
“Oh, that’s quite right,” said I, but I made up my mind to ask the Lieutenant for the book again. This I did later in the day, but he met me with so many excuses that I was tired at last. It seemed as though every gentleman on board of the vessel had been promised to read ‘Amelia’ before I might so much as see it again.
“Indeed, sir,” I said to Mr Fraser, before retiring to the ladies’ cabin that night, “I should be failing in my duty to the lovely Araminta if I put up with this discourtesy any longer. I don’t care what you say to the gentlemen, but if you can’t place the book at my service in the morning you’ll please be good enough to keep out of my sight,” and I refused to hear a word from him.
“Well, sir, where’s the book?” I asked my disobliging cavalier in the morning.
He seemed distressed. “Alas, madam——” he began.
“No more, sir,” said I. “If my wishes—say rather those of your Araminta—have so little weight with you, they shall by all means cease to be imposed upon you.”
“Indeed, madam, you wrong me. I had recovered the book from the person to whom I lent it, but while the decks were being washed before the ladies were risen, I happened to be skylarking, as we call it on board ship, with Mr Ranger, and the first volume, as it chanced, fell overboard and sunk. The others are at your service.”
“And all the gentlemen to whom it was promised?”
“Why, madam, I fear they must bear the loss.”
“Sir, you threw that book overboard of set purpose, knowing that I wished to read it.”
“I am not saying you are wrong, madam.”
“Do you venture to confess that you desired to disoblige me, sir?”
“Well, no, madam, I was seeking to oblige myself.”
“Then you desired I should not see that part of the book? I vow, sir, your assurance is prodigious! Pray, who bid you direct my reading?”
“Indeed, dear madam, I would not presume so far.”
“You have presumed too far already, sir. No, pray leave me alone. I don’t desire your company.”
“Ah, madam, if you knew how that majestic air recalls my Araminta to me!”
I started as if I had been stung. Araminta had been forgotten, but now I recollected my determination. If I persisted in banishing the Lieutenant, he would questionless (these men have so horridly high a conceit of themselves) have imagined that I was moved by pique owing to the announcement of the night before.
“Have you anything to urge in your defence, sir?”
“Nothing, madam. It was the impulse of a mad moment, and I acted upon it. I throw myself upon the mercy of the court.”
“Do you desire to offer any promise of amendment, sir?”
“Questionless, madam. The crime won’t be repeated (unless upon the same provocation), and if there be a copy of the book in India, I’ll hope to lay it at your feet in due time.”
“When your purpose has been served, sir?”
“Pray, madam, don’t try to drive me into confessing the deed to have been premeditated. A prisoner can’t be forced to criminate himself.”
And in this foolish posture I was constrained to leave the matter. But I desire to charge my Amelia to procure the book, and to read it carefully, as she values her Sylvia’s friendship, and to tell her what there is in it that could have any bearing upon the present complexion of affairs. True, this relief can’t reach me for fifteen, perhaps even eighteen months, but at least I shall know it to be on the way, and some means may offer to make use of it. This gentleman appears to me to be what they call a wag; I would have him see for once how it feels to have a joke played on himself.
I have little more to tell you about the voyage, Amelia. My very fear lest Mr Fraser should suspect any change in me if I altered my carriage towards him forced me to continue in the old ways, so that by times I even forgot what had happened, but only to awake again to the bitter remembrance. I can’t tell why it should be so disagreeable to me to do those things in the character, so to speak, of Araminta, which I had had no thought of doing for any advantage of my own, but so it was, though I’ll confess that my pupil was an apt one. You must not imagine that in advancing his conversation (as Sir R. Steele phrases it in the ‘Guardian’) I was in the habit of pointing out Mr Fraser’s faults in any vulgar or scolding manner. When I observed any awkwardness in his address, I would get out the ‘Spectator’ from my trunk, and request my scholar to be so good as to read a certain number aloud for the entertainment of the ladies. In this way he learned to see what was wrong and to correct it, and I never found it necessary to repeat the lesson. Whether he learned to expect a covert reproof whenever he saw me bring out the ‘Spectator’ I don’t know, but at least the plan was successful. Sometimes I fancied that he was a good deal diverted by my care of him, but between my own discomfort and my fear of his penetration I had no time to think of that. It seemed to me, however, that as we neared Madrass his air became noticeably more serious, and that he appeared to desire to say something to me, which yet he could not compass. I had it in my head that he was determined to reveal to me the real name of his Araminta, and to bespeak my friendship for her, and I must confess I did my best to avoid the disclosure, for indeed, my dear Miss Turnor, I have no curiosity to know who the lady is. But as we sat on the poop-steps the night before reaching Madrass, I felt a sudden impulse to say—
“I hope, sir, that the amiable Araminta won’t despise the result of my efforts when she beholds you again. Pray contrive some means of letting me know whether she observe any change in you.”
“Indeed, madam, if I am so happy as to reach Calcutta, you’ll hear all that I can tell you of myself.”
“Oh, pardon me, sir. That privilege belongs to your Araminta. I desire but to hear the lady’s opinion, if she’ll be so good as to permit you to acquaint me of it.”
I could not hear what Mr Fraser said, but I believed that he cursed Araminta under his breath, and this made me vastly angry. Was it not enough that the fellow should break my—I mean, should pester me for so long about his Araminta, that he should suddenly turn traitor to her name?
“Oh, sir, I fear you’re unworthy of the lady’s regard. Perhaps you’ll permit me to observe, without swearing at me, that whether she have remained constant to you or not, she surely merits your highest respect.”
“Madam, I protest you’re right. Whether she be mine or not, my charmer will always be as far above me as an angel. But, madam, I——”
“Pray, sir and madam, why this heat?” says Miss Hamlin. “En’t the weather hot enough for you? Here have Mr Ranger and I felt constrained to cross the deck to prevent your falling to blows.”
“Sure I saw no danger of that, miss,” said I.
“Who should expect you to, miss? You’re too close to the thunderstorm to perceive its force. But pray continue your quarrelling. Mr Ranger and I will see fair, and rescue you if it be needful.”
“Oh, madam,” says Mr Ranger, “Miss Freyne is too nice to quarrel in a public place.”
“Pray, sir, what do you know of Miss Freyne? En’t you aware that she writes down all the events of every day to send to her dear friend in England? You see we are all living in public, so to speak, so that none of us need be squeamish about quarrelling before others. Look you there now, how dainty a chronicle must that be which the admirable Miss Turnor receives from her adored Sylvia—all the scandal of the ship set down in the finest hand imaginable!”
“I’ll thank you, miss, not to make so free with my name,” said I.
“So your name is Sylvia, madam?” says Mr Fraser.
“And what if it be, sir?” cried Miss Hamlin. “Han’t you just heard Miss Freyne rebuke me for taking the sacred word on my lips? Pray understand that it en’t for you and me to take liberties with the lady’s Christian name.”
She appeared so much offended by my hasty remark that I forbore to ask her pardon, in the hope that she and her humble servant would leave us again; but this they refused to do, so that I could never discover what it was that Mr Fraser had been about to say to me. The next day we entered the Madrass Road, and found several great ships lying at anchor, which when Mr Fraser saw, “Here’s the fleet, then!” he cried; but I thought his voice was not altogether joyful. Yet I could not be sure of this, for he began at once to be very busy in pointing out to us which was his own ship, the Tyger, and which was the Kent, on which Admiral Watson wore his flag, and so on. Then when we came to an anchor, he went below to change his dress, saying that he must go on board at once to report himself, and so left our vessel, making a very fine figure in a blue uniform faced with white. He returned about an hour later, when we were all in a bustle with making ready to go on shore, and had but time to tell us that both Captain Latham and the Admiral had received him very kindly, promising to restore him to his post on board the Tyger, since the gentleman who had supplied his place had failed to fulfil its requirements, and he was bid to get to his ship at once. He parted from us on the deck, promising to come and pay his respects before the Orford left Madrass, and we had little leisure to think of anything but transporting ourselves to the shore, for this was only to be accomplished by means of one of the country boats, called mussoulas, which pass in the most incredible manner over the surf which breaks on the beach. When we were once landed, after a passage that I scarce venture to look back upon, we found ourselves welcomed by a gentleman of Mrs Hamlin’s acquaintance, who was come by desire of his wife to invite us to lie at their house so long as the Orford continued in the roadstead. This we did; and such a time of merry-making it was as I had scarce imagined possible. Every sort of party of pleasure was devised, either by the officers of his Majesty’s ships or by the gentlemen of the factory, and every one that had any pretensions to gentility might be sure of finding himself elegantly entertained every day. In all this, however, we saw Mr Fraser very little, for having been so long absent from his ship, it fell naturally to him to relieve the rest of the officers of a good part of their duties; while the ladies were again so few in number compared with the gentlemen, that only the officers of the highest rank were able to enjoy the honour of handing one of us.
We had spent near a week at Madrass when it was suggested that we should make a party to St Thomas’s Mount, which lies about three miles from Fort St George, and at its foot the Company has a very fine garden. Here is the Company’s garden-house, which we in England should call a mansion standing in its own grounds, and likewise the garden-houses of the gentlemen of the greatest figure in the factory, and the proposition was that we should lie a night at the Mount, and return to Madrass in the cool of the morning. ’Twas an agreeable jaunt enough, and the general enjoyment was not marred but by the anxiety of the navy gentlemen, to whom the Admiral had only granted leave to be present on the condition that they returned at once should they hear a cannon fired as a signal of recall. This seemed to most of us only a pleasant jest on Mr Watson’s part, to tease his officers by reminding them of the insecure foundation of their present joys; but before it was light in the morning we were all awaked by the sound of a great gun, and on jumping out of bed and peering through the checks[02] (which are a sort of blind made of slips of wood), we saw the gentlemen all rushing together from the different summer-houses where they had been lodged, calling for their servants, and shouting for their horses or palanqueens. How they managed it I can’t pretend to say, but all the officers were equipped and gone in a quarter of an hour, leaving the garden as quiet as it had but just now been full of noise. Some two hours later, when the young lady who shared my room was taking with me the slight meal which is served here on rising, we heard another gun.
“Sure that will be to call in the stragglers,” says my companion. “The fleet must be going out with the morning tide.”
A horrid sinking feeling seized me on hearing this, and I need not hide from my Amelia that it was caused by the thought that Mr Fraser, who had not been of the party to visit the Mount, should be departing without ever being able to tell me what he had desired to make known. But calling to mind the tales I had heard of the Admiral’s jesting humour, I reflected that he was, questionless, only trying the obedience of his officers by this sudden summons, and that we should find the fleet still at anchor when we reached Madrass. But when we were in the act of returning, and I looked out of my palanqueen towards the roadstead, there were no vessels there save the Orford and a few country ships, while far out at sea was a disappearing sail or two. Forcing myself not to manifest my discomposure, I waited impatiently until I could take leave of my companion at the steps of the house where we were staying, and run indoors to find Miss Hamlin, who had remained in Madrass by her own request to keep our hostess company. I found her reclined in the varanda, on an odd sort of Chinese couch made of the bamboo reed, and would you believe it, my dear, the provoking creature would do nothing but ask questions, such as whether we had danced all night, and whether the notch[03] with which Mr President had entertained us was a fine one.
“Pray, miss,” I cried at last, “do you know the fleet has sailed?”
“Oh, the fleet has sailed, has it? I guessed as much.”
“How, miss? You knew of Mr Watson’s design?”
“Well, two nights back, when he was my partner at Government House, he let drop a hint, which he did his best immediately to conceal.”
“And you never told me, miss?”
“Pray, miss, would you have me betray a State secret learnt in such a manner?”
“Then you stayed behind here on purpose when we went to the Mount?”
“I did, miss. I thought it was better I should stay than you.”
“I—I don’t understand you, miss,” I stammered.
“I stayed here,” said Miss Hamlin, looking at the wall, “because I believed that Mr Fraser would come to pay his respects, and I desired to see him.”
“And—and did he come?”
“He did come, miss—soon after daybreak. I had expected that, and was dressed to receive him. He desired his most humble thanks to you for all your kindness to him.”
“And that was all, miss?”
“That was all, miss. I refused to charge myself with any more.”
“But did he purpose saying more? That message—What have you there, miss?” I had discerned a slip of paper that had catched in the robings of her gown, and seized it. It was part of a torn letter, and there was “To Mrs Sylvia Freyne” wrote upon it.
“Oh, dear! I thought I had got rid of it all,” says Miss Hamlin, with the calmest air in the world.
“You destroyed Mr Fraser’s letter to me, miss?”
“I tore it up in his presence, miss, and defied him to send you another. And in that I was your true friend.”
“Sure it could only have been some message that he desired me to deliver to his Araminta,” I said, half unwillingly.
“And for whose sake would you have kept it, miss—for Araminta’s or your own?”
“There’s no reason why I shouldn’t receive a letter designed to reach me, miss.”
“Yes, miss, there is, if it come from Fraser. As I said, I have stood your friend in this. Perhaps you have forgot the plans which your parents have for you, and the good nature with which my aunt, before our voyage began, left it with you to remember ’em. You’re a young woman of prudence and good sense, though you know nothing of the world but what a boarding school can teach—which is vastly little, and that topsy-turvy—and you’ll accept this escape of yours with thankfulness when you think upon it calmly. Fraser has behaved to you in a monstrous cavalier fashion—leading all around you to believe that he had laid his heart at your feet, when he was enamoured the entire time of another lady. You remember, miss, your tenderness for the fellow’s feelings when my aunt first presented him to you as your humble servant for the voyage; pray, will you have people say that you are fallen into the trap yourself while he’s escaped?”
I saw the justice of her contention, but I have been very low-spirited ever since that morning, so much so that after leaving Madrass I kept my cabin for two or three days, suffering from a serious enough indisposition, from which I am now recovered, though still unhappy in mind. Yet I don’t know what I could have expected had I been able to bid Mr Fraser farewell. He could have said nothing to bring me any complacence, since had he even desired to transfer his allegiance from Araminta to myself, what answer could I have made to such a perjured lover? No, my Amelia knows enough of her Sylvia’s heart to be sure she would never entertain a thought in favour of one who could act in so base a manner. Ah, my dear Miss Turnor, I am rightly punished. I am a very wicked girl, for though Miss Hamlin thought I had forgot my parents’ designs for me, they came often to my mind in the first part of our voyage, until I had contrived to drive them away, resolving to enjoy while I had it the pleasure of Mr Fraser’s company. And now I will answer the question which I see trembling on my dearest friend’s lips. Do I confess, then, you’ll say, that my heart is engaged on this gentleman’s behalf? and to this I can answer, No. How could either my heart or my judgment take sides with one who could act, as I can’t help perceiving, with so much unkindness—I had almost added, so much duplicity—both towards the amiable Araminta and myself? But this I’ll acknowledge, that had matters been otherwise, had he been the honest man I thought him, I could have loved him.
So there, Amelia, you have the worst of it—the dreadful, the humiliating confession—and I’ll beg you won’t mention the subject again, as I shall hope to let this be the last page of my writing on which Mr Fraser’s name appears. Miss Hamlin has used me kindly enough, yet with the contemptuous kindness that says nothing better could be expected from a boarding-school miss, and I must do my best to find happiness in the future in a strict obedience to the commands of my dear papa. But oh, Amelia, if only Mr Freyne were a Papist, as Mrs Hamlin once said! Sure you’ll think I am gone mad, but I mean that in that case he might suffer me to follow my own inclinations, and lead a single life. Why is it that parents will never allow their daughters in this mode of life? We hear continually of the difficulty of making up good marriages, and of the monstrous fortunes demanded with brides, and yet no young woman of our quality is permitted to remain single, even if she desire it. Or if she be afflicted with such a want of looks that no one will take her, even for the sake of her guineas, how hardly do her parents give up their search! How many proposals of marriage sent to the friends of reluctant gentlemen, how many treaties broken off when all but arranged, before she can be allowed to follow her own inclinations!
At Mr Freyne’s house in the Cross-road, CALCUTTA, Sept. ye 12th.
At last I am able to address my Amelia from my papa’s house, if only to describe the disconcerting adventures I met with in reaching it. Sure, my dear, your Sylvia is the most unlucky girl alive, so extraordinary are the mortifications that assail her! But to take up my history from the point where I left off. In twelve days after sailing from Madrass, for at this time of the year the winds are favourable to those approaching Bengall, we came to the factory at Ballisore, where we expected to find Mr Hamlin waiting for us, but learned that business had kept him at Fort William, and that he would await us at Culpee. Taking on board a pilot (these persons are provided by the Hon. Company for the better navigation of their vessels in these dangerous channels), we entered the Hoogly River, passing the island called Sawgers.[04] Here Mr Marchant, the chief mate, whom I believe I have mentioned before, chanced to be entertaining Miss Hamlin and me with tales of his travels, and told us that this island is much pestered with tygers, as indeed are all in this neighbourhood; but that it is considered a place of great sanctity by the pagans, insomuch that in the months of November and December very many Gioghis,[05] which is a name given to holy men among the Gentoos,[06] go there on pilgrimage. This they do that they may wash themselves in the salt water, and Mr Marchant declared that an incredible number of them perish in the performance of this fancied duty. More times than he could tell, he said, had he beheld a great tyger crouching on the shore and licking his lips, while he watched one of these poor wretches in the water as a cat watches a mouse. ’Twas in vain that the unfortunate should seek to escape; if he would not be drowned he must return to the shore, and there the beast met him. I was expressing my horror on hearing this, and asking Mr Marchant why he had not made haste to kill the tyger and so save the poor Indian, when Miss Hamlin nudged me smartly with her elbow, and when the mate was gone, told me that he was merely rallying me. I was very angry, as you may conceive, at this piece of presumption on the part of such a person, and when he next spoke to us, asserting that the great danger to our ship in sailing up the river arose from the fact that the shoals and currents, nay, the very banks themselves, were continually changing their shape and direction, I allowed him to perceive the disbelief I accorded to his words. But this time, so Miss Hamlin assures me, he was telling nothing but the truth, so that I had been credulous and incredulous at the wrong times. Is not that hard, Amelia?
At Culpee, which overlooks a broad reach of the river, the Orford was met by a huge number of boats, variously called, as I learned, budgeroes, wollacks, and ponsways. The budgeroes are like our state barges, but far exceeding them in neatness and magnificence, the rowers, who are called dandies, and the mangee or helmsman, all dressed in white, with sashes and ribbons of the colour of their masters’ liveries. Mrs Hamlin had assured me that my papa’s budgero would come to meet me here, and my dearest friend won’t be at a loss to imagine with what turmoil of heart I looked at all the gentlemen on board the barges, hoping and yet dreading to find that each one of them was Mr Freyne. But I could perceive no one that I could guess to be my papa, nor did any of them appear to recognise me, so that at last I turned back to Mrs Hamlin, with whom was now standing her spouse, a somewhat stout and red-faced gentleman, but agreeable enough, in a suit of white clothes.
“Here’s a pretty to-do!” says Mrs Hamlin, as soon as she sees me. “My dear Miss Freyne, your good papa, hearing we could not be in before to-morrow, has taken his journey to Dacca on the Company’s occasions, and won’t return until to-night, and Mrs Freyne han’t thought fit to send to meet you.”
“Why no, my dear,” says Mr Hamlin, “sure you forget what I just told you, that Mrs Freyne desired to use the budgero herself to-day, and asked me to give Miss Freyne a passage in ours as far as the Gott, where she will find a palanqueen waiting for her. You wasn’t grudging the young lady a seat in the boat?”
“No, sir,” says Mrs Hamlin, “and Miss Freyne knows me better than to think so. I am vexed that the lady should treat her daughter’s punctilio so lightly as to deny her their boat, while she goes off on some jaunt of her own.”
“Oh fie, my dear! You’re too hard on a little innocent gaiety. Pray, Miss Freyne, can you tell me why ladies are always so severe when there’s a handsome woman in the case?”
“I don’t know, sir. Are they so?”
“Oh, come, madam, han’t you found it so?” And the man bowed so that I might not fail to perceive he had intended a compliment.
“When you are ready, Mr Hamlin,” said his spouse, “we’ll go into the budgero.”
“Quite so, my dear. Have you bestowed all your buxies[07] on the steward and his mates? Does our Miss Freyne know that word yet? If she don’t, she will soon. Buxies, madam, is a gift of money, made by a man that don’t desire to give it, to a set of rascals that don’t deserve it. No Indian will work that can help it, so that he needs buxie money to enable him to live.”
Talking in this way, so fast that I could scarce understand him, Mr Hamlin accompanied us to wait upon the captain, whom he thanked very genteelly for his care of us during the voyage, and bade visit him at his garden-house on the way to Surmans[08] as often as he should be in Calcutta. Having bid farewell to the mates of the ship and our fellow-passengers, and avoided the importunities of the extraordinary great number of gentlemen that had come aboard in their budgeroes, and would have had Mr Hamlin present them to us, he replying that they should wait till Sunday, we descended into our boat, and so set out with great magnificence. During this second short voyage, Mr Hamlin showed himself very obliging in pointing out to us the places we passed by, as Fultah, where the Dutch have a factory, seated on the most unhealthy spot in the country, and Buzbudgia,[09] which is a fortress belonging to the Moors,[10] as also is the place called Tanners,[11] on the opposite bank. When we were past Tanners, Mr Hamlin bade us look alive, for we should soon find ourselves on British soil, and coming to a piece of water called Govindpoor’s Reach,[12] he showed us on the shore a little pyramid in stonework, which, said he, marked the boundary of the Company’s territory. My dearest friend will comprehend how fast my heart beat at this spectacle. Now at last, Sylvia (I said to myself), thou art to find a parent and a home. But Mr Hamlin, seeing how much I was moved, refused to give me any leisure for meditation, and went on pointing out all the objects we passed, now the garden called Surmans, and the garden-houses of the Company’s servants beyond it, then the Company’s docks and the garden of the Armenians on t’other side of the river, and lastly the town itself, with Fort William and the church. On our exclaiming at the odd aspect of the sacred edifice, which seemed to have lost its upper parts, Mr Hamlin told us that in a great storm near twenty years ago[13] the whole of the steeple, which was of the most elegant proportions imaginable, was blown down by a frightful gust of wind, and driven fifteen feet or so into the earth without breaking. But this I have since seen reason to doubt, for in such a case, sure the gentlemen of the factory would have restored the steeple to its place, or at least have preserved it where it lay, on account of the strangeness of its fate, but there’s no sign of it, wherefore I believe that when it reached the ground ’twas in ruins, and fell speedily into decay. Of the Fort, Mr Hamlin bade us mark the crumbling state of the walls, and the many fine cannons that lay on the ground, without their carriages and useless, outside them, observing that we might now see the trust entertained by the gentlemen of the Presidency in the innocency of their lives and the justice of the Soubah (this was all Greek to me, but I’ll tell you the explanation later).
“We have the felicity, madam and niece Charlotte,?