CHAPTER X.
IN WHICH THE FLOOD BEGINS TO RISE.
CALCUTTA, May ye 26th.
Yet another attempt, my dear! and devised with such singular effrontery that but for the signal goodness of Heaven in frustrating the design, your Sylvia must by this time have found herself the unwilling bride of the daring wretch who pursues her with so much persistence. But here I am running on, as usual, instead of proceeding orderly. Well, my Amelia must know that last night was a party of pleasure given by Mr Kelsall, one of the elder gentlemen here, in his garden at Chitpore, which is about a league from the town, but within the circuit of the Morattoe-ditch. Coming ready dressed into the varanda, I found my papa still smoking his hooker in his ordinary clothes and without his wig.
“Why, sir, en’t you coming with us?” I cried.
“No, miss; and I han’t never designed to.”
“Oh, pardon me, sir. When I heard we were going by water, I thought you must be about to honour us with your company.”
“Why, no, miss, that’s nothing but Madam’s old pique against her palanqueen.” (For you mayn’t be aware, Amelia, that Mrs Freyne uses this equipage as little as she can, and all because she en’t permitted to adorn the poles of the machine with a tyger’s head in silver, this ornament being reserved for the ladies of the President and the second in Council, and much coveted by those of lower rank.) “I purpose passing a quiet evening here with the Captain.”
Leaving my papa, I attended Mrs Freyne to the river-side, where our budgero, the rowers wearing Mr Freyne’s livery of white dresses and orange-coloured ribbons, was awaiting us, and carried us quickly to Chitpore. Mr Kelsall’s garden is situated on the bank of a rivulet that serves to continue the Morattoe-ditch as far as the river, and before reaching it one passes another garden called Baugbuzar or Perrins, where stands a redoubt or fortification on a projecting piece of land, which was planned by Colonel Scott, when he was sent here to improve the defences of the place, to command both the river and the rivulet, and also the high road which crosses this last by a bridge. I am thus particular in my description that my Amelia may understand the later events. On arriving, we found all Calcutta gathered in the gardens. The rivulet was full of budgeroes three deep, moored to the bank and to each other, while not a few ladies and gentlemen had travelled by land in chaises or palanqueens. The garden, which has only been lately laid out, was prodigiously admired, and in particular a pavilion or summer-house, just finished to Mr Kelsall’s own design—an elegant building of stone in a neat octagon shape. Mr Kelsall offered us a very genteel entertainment, for there was not only a notch for those to watch that chose to sit still, but also a band of music for dancing, and again pleasant alleys, lighted up by huge numbers of little earthen lamps, in the Indian style, in which to roam, while the dessert was one of the richest I have ever seen, including even ices (my Amelia will guess how grateful, and at the same time how costly, is this sweetmeat in such a climate), which are manufactured by the Indians in some artificial and ingenious manner that I don’t pretend to understand. I felt quite at my ease, for although Mr Menotti was present, he made no attempt to force himself either on me or on Mrs Freyne, which gave me confidence that they were as yet unreconciled, but I experienced a good deal of annoyance from a trick played by certain of the young gentlemen, among whom were Ensign Bellamy and his friend Mr le Beaume.
To understand my mortification, you must be told that Ensign Bellamy had entreated me a week ago to tell him what gown I purposed wearing to this entertainment, and on learning ’twas my blush-coloured paduasoy and white satin petticoat, had entreated me very earnestly not to change my mind, which I promised, fancying that he designed to present me with a nosegay or some such trifle, but little guessing to what I was committing myself. Judge, Amelia, of my disgust when on entering the ground there came forward to meet me no fewer than eight gentlemen, ranging themselves on either side of me like a guard, and every man in my livery, as the wild fellows called it, viz., a pink silk coat laced with silver, and white satin waistcoat and breeches, all to match my gown! I’ll assure you there was plenty of mirth for the general company in this odd sight, but very little for me, and when I could draw Ensign Bellamy aside, I reproved him very seriously for the extravagance of his conduct, and especially for putting off the Company’s uniform that he might wear mine. To this he replied that he had allowance not to wear his uniform for this one night, and that he and the other young gentlemen had designed the spectacle by way of protest against the arrogant assumptions of Mr Fraser (whose pretensions, by the way, my dear, are now pretty well known, at least to the unlucky remainder of my suitors, since Mrs Hamlin became acquainted with Captain Colquhoun’s generous conduct). When that presumptuous person should venture to show himself in Calcutta, says Mr Bellamy, he and the rest would make a point of wearing these same suits of clothes, to assure him that there was, at any rate, eight gentlemen of Bengall who were ready to resent his robbing them of their goddess, and would call upon him to prove his right by the sword.
I was more amused by this rodomontade than my Amelia will anticipate, for I knew these young fellows to be persons of sense and honour, and not traitors and ruffians like certain I could name, so all I said was to engage Ensign Bellamy and his companions to be bride-men at my wedding, warning ’em that any one picking a quarrel with Mr Fraser would instantly forfeit the privilege. This condition was received by the gentlemen with a prodigious amount of laughter, for ladies are so few here that a certain modest assurance is gained in speaking by our sex, which the other are all too ready to applaud and obey, and they all vowed they would run no risque of incurring so dreadful a penalty. Thus then to supper, which was served in the summer-house, while the music played without, making a very agreeable effect, and all the company were complimenting Mr Kelsall on the elegance of his entertainment and the taste displayed in the laying-out of the garden, when in a pause of the music there came the sounds of a horse’s feet on the high road leading from Calcutta.
“Sure one of your guests is arriving late, sir,” says one of the ladies to Mr Kelsall.
“Why, he’ll find a few pickings yet, madam,” said he.
Presently Mr Kelsall’s banyan brought in Mr Dash in a riding-dress, his whole appearance much disordered.
“I hope there’s no bad news, sir?” says our host.
“I doubt but I’m a sort of skeleton at your feast, sir, but I thought all the company would be concerned in what I have just learnt, which must be my excuse for breaking in upon the ladies in this attire. The letter wrote by the Governor and Council in reply to the Soubah’s last perwannah reached him eight days back at Rajamaul[01] on his way to Purranea, and on receiving it, he gave instant orders to cease the advance against his cousin, and returned to invest our factory at Cossimbuzar.”
“Why, the fellow has some mettle in him after all!” cries Ensign Bellamy. “Sure we shall have some fighting now, gentlemen.”
“I would not have you too sure of that, sir,” says Mr Dash. “The President and the Select Committee, who are considering the news, may prefer to disarm the Nabob’s enmity by destroying such of our defences as en’t ready to fall down of themselves.”
“That’s our newly-repaired row of guns on the west face of the Fort,” says Ensign Piccard, with a groan.
“And the redoubt here on Perrins Point,” says Mr Kelsall.
“Nay, sir,” says Mr Dash, “’twill be even this pavilion of yours, perhaps. The Indians all take it for a work of defence.”
“I’ll be hanged,” says Mr Kelsall, very red in the face, “if I’ll pull down my new summerhouse for any Soubah that ever sat on the musnet!”
“Sure, sir, you underrate the meekness of our Government. The Council will do it for you, sooner than affront the Nabob.”
“Oh, sir,” says Mr le Beaume, “pray don’t slander your countrymen. I could not credit such a thing of the great British nation.”
“Come, gentlemen,” says Ensign Bellamy, “fill up your glasses. Here’s to a speedy campaign and a brisk one! When we have sacked Muxadavad, we’ll set Miss Freyne on the musnet, and she shall rule Bengall as now she rules Calcutta!”
The party now began to break up, Mr President and the members of Council having left before the general supper, in expectation of receiving letters from Cossimbuzar, and no one feeling inclined for further merry-making in view of the news that was arrived. At the small gott by the side of the rivulet there was a prodigious confusion, every one desiring to get on board of his own budgero at once, so that some whose boats were on the outside even clambered across those which intervened, and thus were able to depart first after all. In the crowd I was separated from Mrs Freyne, and with Ensign Bellamy, who was conducting me, went looking about in vain for our budgero, which was not where we had left it on arriving.
“Pray, madam,” said the young gentleman, “suffer me to leave you here a moment, while I run to the end of the press of boats and see whether your servants have moored yours there. I’m ashamed of dragging you about in this style.”
But no sooner was Mr Bellamy gone than I heard Mrs Freyne calling me from behind (have I mentioned, my dear, that my stepmother’s voice is a little shrill?), and looking round, saw her standing on the deck of a budgero in the line nearest the gott, and beckoning to me with her fan. ’Twas a marvel to me how I had missed her, for I could discern the white and orange liveries even where I was. I turned to call Mr Bellamy back, but he was gone too far to hear, and I returned alone to the budgero. Mrs Freyne was no longer on the deck, but there was two or three of the young gentlemen there that attend upon her continually.
“Mrs Freyne fears she has took a chill, madam,” says one of them as I came up, “and won’t therefore stay on deck, but she desired you would attend her in the cabin.”
He offered his hand (I think the fellow was Lieutenant Bentinck, but he was so muffled in his cloak that I could not be certain), and I accepted of his help to step on board. Before I could do more than turn in the direction of the cabin, however, I heard Ensign Bellamy’s voice on the bank behind me.
“Madam, madam! you are in error. I have found your budgero at the end of the line, with Mrs Freyne on board. Pray let me conduct you——” He needed to say no more, for I wrenched my hand from the fellow that held it (though indeed the wretch tightened his grip until it was like iron), and seeing that the boat was already moving from the gott, sprang with all my strength to the shore, the Ensign’s outstretched hands catching mine in time to prevent my landing on my knees on the steps.
“Thank heaven, madam, that you’re safe!” he cried. “I feared you was certain to fall into the water, or at least to receive some hurt in jumping, but I durst not delay.” His countenance was very pale. “That was Menotti’s budgero.”
“But the liveries—Mr Freyne’s colours?” I stammered.
“Mr Menotti’s ribbons are pink, madam, you’ll remember, and by this torch-light——”
“But I saw Mrs Freyne calling to me from the deck!” I cried, foolishly enough, clinging tight to his arm as he guided me along the gott.
“Impossible, madam,” says Mr Bellamy, looking me straight in the face. “Mrs Freyne arrived at your budgero at the same moment as I myself—although she crossed from another boat.”
“Questionless I made a mistake,” I said, but my heart would not cease thumping. Was it possible that my papa’s wife could lay such a plot against the honour and happiness of his daughter? “Pray, sir,” I said to the Ensign, “be so good as to attend us home to-night.”
“With pleasure, madam,” said he, “if I may bring Mr le Beaume.”
I had no chance to answer, for we had reached the budgero, where Mrs Freyne was standing outside the cabin speaking to the chief of the boatmen. “You had better push off,” she was saying. “The Chuta Beebee must be returning in some other budgero with her friends. I can’t wait here all night.”
“Oh, pardon me, madam; I have found the vanished fair,” says Ensign Bellamy, handing me on board. “May I venture to entreat a passage on your vessel for myself and my friend le Beaume? My father always warns me that he won’t stay for me at these entertainments, and to-night he departed early with the other great folks, leaving us two poor babes in the wood to get home as best we might.”
“Oh, pray summon your friend, sir,” says Mrs Freyne, to whom this speech had given time to recover her countenance, for she had changed colour at the sight of me. “Me and Miss will be enchanted to have your company.”
I dare to say that my stepmother blessed the young gentlemen as heartily in her mind as I did, for I can’t conceive how she and I should have faced one another, or how we should have conversed, had we been left to ourselves. As it was, we were attended gallantly home by Mess. le Beaume and Bellamy, and I fancy the latter gentleman must have got a word with my papa, for as I bade him good-night Mr Freyne said to me, so as only I could hear—
“So I understand that my girl en’t safe in company without her papa? After this evening, miss, I’ll take care to go out with you, unless your friend Mrs Hurstwood will take charge of you. But indeed I shall be forced to send your Fraser a despatch to come here post-haste and take you off my hands, for you’re a sad tiresome piece of goods, dragging me away from my quiet hooker on my own varanda.”
“Oh, dear sir, let me stay at home with you, and I shall be quite content,” I cried, and went to my chamber, to wake up again and again in the night thinking that I was sailing on one of the slimy, feverish channels of this horrid river, in the power of the vile Menotti, and bound for the nearest European factory where a Popish priest was to be found. My Amelia won’t be surprised, seeing how nearly successful the wicked attempt proved, that my only comfort lay in my papa’s promise for the future, although I won’t deny that I was thankful to have been saved without another of those public discoveries in which your poor Sylvia’s name (I think I may say without her fault) has been too much mixed up.
May ye 27th.
To-day Captain Colquhoun visited my papa for tiffing, and told us, with the most vehement disgust, that the Council had stopped all the work that was being done to repair the fortifications, and were sending very humble letters through Mr Watts to the Nabob, representing that since they were building no new defences it was impossible they should cease working on ’em, as his Highness ordered, but that what little they could do to pleasure him was already done, and in consideration of this would he be graciously pleased to withdraw his army from before Cossimbuzar, and leave our factory in safety?
“For Britons to cringe before Surajah Dowlah is an unpardonable sin!” cried the Captain.
“Why,” says my papa, “they argue that he that is down needs fear no fall. If they wallow in the dust before the Soubah, ’tis quite clear that he can’t kick ’em any lower. So that they save their private property and get off with a whole skin, what’s Britain’s honour to them?”
“In that,” cried the Captain, “I’m convinced—and I might almost say I rejoice to think so—they’re wrong. If the Soubah is set on the capture of Calcutta, all their humility won’t turn him aside, and I believe he is.”
“But sure he won’t be such a fool as kill the goose that lays the golden eggs?” says my papa.
“Why, sir, he hopes to make the goose his own. The French have assured him that all the Rajas of the province have laid up their revenues in our Fort for safety, and he looks to lay hands not only on them, but on all our customs and dues for the future. Whatever good advice his grandfather Ally Verdy may have given him to leave us alone, as Mr Holwell insists he did, I can’t doubt but he designs to strip first us, and then the other European factories, of all our privileges.”
“But we shall have a word to say to the gentleman first, Captain.”
“I doubt it, sir; for if so, why are we neglecting our defences, which if they were in good order might enable us to hold out against the Nabob until the rains begin, or even until this year’s fleet arrives from home? Under the guidance of Mr President and his two friends we are dancing smiling to destruction.”
June ye 1st.
Oh, my dearest friend, Mr Dash and the Captain were right in their prophecies of the behaviour of the Presidency. Sure the wretch Surajah Dowlah must be rejoicing beyond measure over the terror his name inspires in European breasts! But why should the Council have begun by taking part with his rivals, insulting his messengers, and withholding the customary presents made to a new Soubah, if all they designed was to fall on their knees in the most pitiful submission as soon as he moves his army a step in their direction? I can’t write coldly, my dear. I feel the humiliation of the factory so keenly that my pen digs holes in the paper, and I wish it were a sword, and I a man to fight Surajah Dowlah with it. This day there came letters from Cossimbuzar to the Council, Mr Watts writing that yesterday week one of the Nabob’s captains, a Jemindar named Aume-beg,[02] encamped against the Cossimbuzar factory with a considerable force, which was strengthened later by more troops and two elephants. Prevented from forcing the gate by the coolness of the sergeant on guard, who fetched out his men and bade ’em fix their bayonets, the Moors called a parley, of which Mr Watts took advantage to get in provisions and water and load the great guns of the place. Nothing coming of the first parley, the factory continued to be besieged, and on the 28th of May Dr Forth was sent out, who had attended Ally Verdy Cawn in his last illness, accompanied with a mounsee,[03] or Persian secretary, to endeavour to arrive at an accommodation, and ’tis the demands then made upon him that Mr Watts has forwarded by special messenger. The chief of these is for the demolition of our new works at Baugbuzar, and of Mr Kelsall’s summer-house, which last they take for a fortress because, while the land lay waste, a parcel of shells was proved there from time to time. Mr Watts advises the granting of these demands and the appeasing of the Nabob by means of a genteel present, considering that, like his grandfather, who extorted from us in the course of his reign near 100,000l. in all, Surajah Dowlah designs to stop all our business until his rapacity be satisfied.
My Amelia will have learnt from my letters so much of the character of the wise and valiant persons who are our governors that she won’t need to be told what was the immediate impulse of their hearts on reading this alarming news. But for the sake, I suppose, of setting themselves right in their own eyes, what do Mr President and his friends, Mess. Manningham and Frankland, do? They call together the five captains of the Company’s forces here (Captain Colquhoun, of course, being one) and ask them very seriously whether they believe it possible, with a hundred men from the Calcutta garrison, to attempt the relief of Cossimbuzar against the Nabob’s army of 12,000 trained soldiers, supported by a train of artillery! You won’t wonder that the poor men declared the notion to be an extravagant one, but they added that the force at Cossimbuzar was sufficient, and the factory strong enough, to beat off the enemy if wisely handled. But the humane gentlemen to whom our destinies in this country are committed did not offer to repeat this hard saying to Mr Watts. In their care for the lives of our people at Cossimbuzar, they sent for presentation to the Nabob an arasdass,[04] or humble petition, couched in the most submissive terms imaginable, and yielding all he might choose to ask, while they promised prodigious rewards to the cossids[05] or messengers if it should reach Muxadavad in thirty-six hours. At the same time they gave orders for the destruction of poor Mr Kelsall’s pavilion and of the draw-bridge and outworks at Perrins Redoubt, and this is going on as I write. O’ my conscience, Amelia, if my pen were the sword I spoke of just now, and in a manly hand, it would not be against the Nabob I would turn it, but upon his honour the President and his two like-minded advisers.
And how, think you, my dear, are all our minds occupied in this moment of humiliation and disgrace? (Though indeed the three gentlemen at the head of affairs are in high spirits, regarding themselves, so it seems, as the saviours of their countrymen, and looking askance only upon the dejection and uneasiness of such persons as Mr Holwell and Captain Colquhoun.) Why, Amelia, with a play, which the young gentlemen are so good as to promise us a fortnight or so hence! The Play-house en’t generally in use but in the cold weather; but now the work on the defences is stopped (and indeed it’s well the Nabob is so merciful as not to demand the levelling of the walls of the Fort itself, for I think the Council would have pleasured him), and there’s nothing for the officers to do (for there’s but little drill at any time, and to begin it now might anger the Soubah), while the writers are idle for the general stoppage of business, even Captain Colquhoun says ’tis a good thing for the lads to have something to do that may keep ’em out of mischief. They had designed to present to us “Venice Preserved,” since Ensign Bellamy owns to a particular ambition to essay the part of Belvidera; but on its being pointed out that the season was too hot and the times too grave for tragedy, they were obliging enough to substitute a comedy, “The Conscious Lovers,” which I am very curious to see, as the work of one of the writers of my dear ‘Spectators.’ The first performance is promised before the rains, which are expected to begin somewhere about the 15th (fancy, my dear, a rainy season, such as Robinson Crusoe experienced!), and I suppose ’twill give us something to talk about when we are all forced to stay indoors.
June ye 7th.
I am writing in the morning, between breakfast and tiffing, to tell my Amelia of the extraordinary events that have, I trust, served to rid me of one at least of my persistent persecutors, though at a grievous cost, I fear, to my papa and to this place. Throughout the whole of Saturday, the day before yesterday, Mrs Freyne was vapourish and difficult to please—not spending the better part of her time in her own closet as usual, but wandering from room to room, taking up and casting down again now this piece of employment and now t’other, and crowning her uncertain behaviour by despatching a messenger to say she would not be present at Mrs Mackett’s rout, just when it was time to start. My papa and I were playing chess on the varanda when she joined us, still in her undress.
“You’ll be late, madam,” says Mr Freyne.
“Oh, I sent a chitt to say I’m not coming,” said she, approaching us to look at the board. “There’s a move I want you to show me, sir—that which you was discussing t’other night with the Captain.”
“When I’ve had my revenge on Miss, you’ll find me at your service, madam.”
“But sure you’re finished with your game already, Mr Freyne.”
“Yes, madam, but Miss has beat me, and in doing so she has let me see a means of defeating a plan of attack that she employs vastly too often for her own safety. I have made up my mind to conquer her this time.”
“But pray, sir, show me this first,” and Mrs Freyne began to move the pieces on the board; “and perhaps Miss will oblige me by fetching the book of plays which I was reading this afternoon and left in the arbour at the end of the garden. Then there’ll be no time wasted.”
“The servants are at your disposal, madam, to run your errands.”
“Indeed, sir, how you can call these two steps an errand I don’t know. Miss can take her iya with her if she’s frightened.”
“Frightened, madam? The girl don’t wander down to the end of the garden at this hour without me and half-a-dozen peons besides, all well armed, I can tell you that.”
“I’ll assure you, sir, you are become a laughing-stock in Calcutta, with these absurd precautions. Do you forbid your daughter to oblige me?”
“Unless she desire to disoblige me, madam.”
Upon this Mrs Freyne burst into tears, lamenting that she was the most miserable woman in Bengall, and that Mr Freyne had not the slightest consideration for her, and encouraged his daughter to insult over her, and so went sobbing to her own chamber, while my papa continued his game.
“Perhaps, sir, Mrs Freyne is sick?” I ventured to say.
“No, miss, I fancy she’s sorry, and I’m glad of it.” Mr Freyne would say no more, and I durst not ask him his meaning.
It must have been about midnight—perhaps somewhat later, for I had been asleep some time, after the customary struggle with the heat—that I was woke up by a tremendous clatter. Voices, the clash of swords, and pistol-shots were all resounding close at hand, and Marianna, who sleeps across my door, came screaming to tell me that the house was attacked, and we should all be murdered. As I sat up in bed, all trembling, to listen, my papa, in his night-cap, suddenly looked in at the door. He was buckling on his sword over his morning-gown, and there was a pair of great pistols sticking out of his pocket.
“Get into your tuszaconna[06] with your iya, miss,” he cried, “and lock yourself in, and don’t unfasten the door for any one until I bid you.”
I lingered only to throw on a wrapper and a pair of shoes, and obeyed him. The tuszaconna, or as we should say wardrobe, is the closet in which my gowns and jewels are kept, lighted only by one small window high in the wall. Here Marianna and I locked ourselves in, and not satisfied with that, dragged one of my trunks against the door, and sat upon it (and upon my honour, I don’t know which of us trembled the most. The poor wench had lost all her English in her fright, and bewailed herself in some Indian tongue, calling at times upon her Popish saints in scraps of Latin, while your cowardly Sylvia shook so much that the door trembled against which she leant).
The confused noise of fighting now ceased suddenly from the front of the house, and there was a rushing along the varanda outside our place of refuge. My heart was in my mouth, for I knew that the robbers must be making for my chamber, “and in a minute (I thought) they’ll guess our hiding-place and break open the door, and then——” But almost at the same moment I heard the door of the chamber burst open again, and my papa’s voice cheering on the servants; and so well did they second him that the invaders never penetrated inside the room, but were turned back on the varanda. The noise of the fighting was so dreadful that I could not remain without seeing what went on, and, climbing on a great wooden chest, I peeped out of the window, in time to see the robbers driven off by my papa and the servants, leaving two of their number prostrate on the ground. One of these was a European wearing a masque, who had been knocked down with a blow from a club by our head-peon.
“Throw some water over him and revive him, Jemmautdar,” says Mr Freyne. “He has to answer to me for the night’s work.”
But when the Jemmautdar obeyed, and plucking off the fellow’s masque showed his face as he began to recover his intellects, I could have screamed, for it was Mr Menotti. He looked about him like one dazed.
“Your servant, sir,” says my papa, standing before him with his sword out. “When you’re ready, I’ll trouble you to draw.”
“At your service, sir,” said the villain, fumbling for his sword, which one of the servants, at a glance from Mr Freyne, picked up and gave to him, whispering something at the same time to my papa.
“What, the Cotwal[07] coming round with his peons?” cried Mr Freyne. “Why don’t he come when he might be some use? However” (looking scornfully upon Mr Menotti, who was risen from the ground, but stood swaying uneasily about), “you look none too steady upon your legs, sir, and I’ve no desire to murder you, though I could wish my Jemmautdar had done his work more thoroughly. You shall hear from me very shortly. Two of you take him and set him in the road outside.”
“I shall anticipate with pleasure the arrival of any friend of yours, sir,” the hardy wretch succeeded in saying before he was seized by two of the servants and run across the compound and through the gates. By this time I was descended from my perch and had opened the door of the hiding-place.
“Oh, dear sir,” I cried, catching my papa’s arm, “you en’t going to fight that barbarous man?”
“Why, miss, would you have me let him go free? I would shoot him as I would a mad dog.”
“But, sir, a mad dog could not shoot my papa. Why give this miscreant the chance of doing further harm?”
“Would you have me shoot him from behind a wall, miss? Or do you wish all our family affairs spread out for the gossips of Calcutta to feast upon by a trial at the law? No, leave these matters to me, and go to bed again. You may be thankful I took it into my head to sit up to-night, for the pyke was bribed.”