Presently the first dawn of daylight appeared, giving fresh hopes to the few survivors. There were now only some six or eight standing by the window, and a few standing or leaning against the walls around. The room itself was heaped high with the dead.
It was not until two hours later that the doors were opened, and the guard entered; and it was found that, of the hundred and forty-six Englishmen inclosed there the night before, but twenty-three still breathed. Of these, very few retained strength to stagger out through the door. The rest were carried out, and laid in the veranda.
When the nabob came into the fort in the morning, he ordered Mr. Holwell to be brought before him. He was unable to walk, but was carried to his presence. The brutal nabob expressed no regret for what had happened, but loaded him with abuse, on account of the paucity of the treasure, and ordered him to be placed in confinement. The other prisoners were also confined in a cell. Ada, the only English female who had survived the siege, was torn, weeping, from Charlie's arms, and conveyed to the zenana, or ladies' apartments, of one of the nabob's generals.
A few days later, the English captives were all conveyed to Moorshedabad, where the rajah also returned, after having extorted large sums from the French and Dutch, and confiscated the whole of the property of the English in Bengal.
The prospect was a gloomy one for the captives. That the English would, in time, return and extort a heavy reckoning from the nabob, they did not doubt for a moment. But nothing was more likely than that, at the news of the first disaster which befell his troops, the nabob would order his captives to be put to death.
Upon the march up the country Charlie had, by his cheerfulness and good temper, gained the goodwill of the officer commanding the guard; and upon arriving at their destination, he recommended him so strongly to the commander of the prison that the latter, instead of placing him in the apartment allotted to the remainder of the prisoners, assigned a separate room to him; permitting Tim, at his request, to occupy it with him. It was a room of fair size, in a tower on one of the angles of the walls. It had bars, but these did not prevent those behind them looking out at the country which stretched around. The governor of the prison, finding that Charlie spoke the language fluently, often came up to sit with him, conversing with him on the affairs of that unknown country, England.
Altogether, they were fairly treated. Their food was plentiful and, beyond their captivity, they had little to complain of. Over and over again, they talked about the possibilities of effecting an escape; but, on entering the prison, they had noticed how good was the watch, how many and strong the doors through which they had passed. They had meditated upon making a rope and escaping from the window; but they slept on the divan, each with a rug to cover them; and these, torn into strips and twisted, would not reach a quarter of the way from their window to the ground; and there was no other material of which a rope could possibly have been formed.
"Our only hope," Charlie said one day, "is in Hossein. I am sure he will follow us to the death; and if he did but know where we are confined, he would not, I am certain, rest day or night, till he had opened a communication with us.
"See, Tim, there is my regimental cap, with its gold lace. Let us fasten it outside the bars, with a thread from that rug. Of course, we must remove it when we hear anyone coming."
This was speedily done and, for the next few days, one or other remained constantly at the window.
"Mr. Charles!" Tim exclaimed in great excitement, one day; "there is a man I've been watching, for the last half hour. He seems to be picking up sticks, but all the while he keeps getting nearer and nearer, and two or three times it seems to me that he has looked up in this direction."
Charlie joined Tim at the window.
"Yes, Tim, you are right. That's Hossein, I'm pretty sure."
The man had now approached within two or three hundred yards of the corner of the wall. He was apparently collecting pieces of dried brushwood, for firing. Presently, he glanced in the direction of the window. Charlie thrust his arm through the bar, and waved his hand. The man threw up his arm with a gesture which, to a casual observer, would have appeared accidental; but which the watchers had no doubt, whatever, was intended for them. He was still too far off from them to be able to distinguish his features, but they had not the least doubt that it was Hossein.
"And what's to be done next, Mister Charles? That's Hossein, sure enough, but it don't bring us much nearer to getting out."
"The first thing is to communicate with him in some way, Tim."
"If he'd come up to the side of the moat, yer honor might spake to him."
"That would never do, Tim. There are sure to be sentries on the walls of the prison. We must trust to him. He can see the sentries, and will know best what he can do."
It was evident that Hossein did not intend doing anything, at present; for, still stooping and gathering brushwood, he gradually withdrew farther and farther from the wall. Then they saw him make his sticks into a bundle, put them on his shoulder, and walk away. During the rest of the day, they saw no more of Hossein.
"I will write," Charlie said, "—fortunately I have a pencil—telling him that we can lower a light string down to the moat, if he can manage to get underneath with a cord which we can hoist up, and that he must have two disguises in readiness."
"I don't think Hossein can read," Tim said, "any more than I can, myself."
"I daresay not, Tim, but he will probably have friends in the town. There are men who were employed in the English factory at Kossimbazar, hard by. These will be out of employment, and will regret the expulsion of the English. We can trust Hossein. At any rate, I will get it ready.
"Now the first thing we have to do is to loosen one of these bars. I wish we had thought of doing it before. However, the stonework is pretty rotten, and we shall have no difficulty about that. The first thing is to get a tool of some sort."
They looked round the room, and for some time saw nothing which could in any way serve. The walls, floor, and wide bench running round, upon which the cushions which served as their beds were laid, were all stone. There was no other furniture, of any kind.
"Divil a bit of iron do I see in the place, Mister Charles," Tim said. "They don't even give us a knife for dinner, but stew all their meats into a smash."
"There is something, Tim," Charlie said, looking at the door. "Look at those long hinges."
The hinges were of ornamented ironwork, extending half across the door. Upon one of the scrolls of this ironwork they set to work. Chipping a small piece of stone off an angle of the wall, outside the window; with great difficulty they thrust this under the end of the scroll, as a wedge. Another piece, slightly larger, was then pushed under it. The gain was almost imperceptible, but at last the piece of iron was raised from the woodwork sufficiently to allow them to get a hold of it, with their thumbs. Then, little by little, they bent it upward; until at last they could obtain a firm hold of it.
The rest was comparatively easy. The iron was tough and strong but, by bending it up and down, they succeeded at last in breaking it off. It was the lower hinge of the door, upon which they had operated, as the loss of a piece of iron there would be less likely to catch the eye of anyone coming in. They collected some dust from the corner of the room, moistened it, and rubbed it on to the wood so as to take away its freshness of appearance; and they then set to work with the piece of iron, which was of a curved shape, about three inches long, an inch wide, and an eighth of an inch thick.
Taking it by turns, they ground away the stone round the bottom of one of the bars. For the first inch, the stone yielded readily to the iron; but below that it became harder, and their progress was slow. They filled the hole which they had made with water, to soften the stone, and worked steadily away till night; when, to their great joy, they found that they had reached the bottom of the bar. They then enlarged the hole inwards, in order that the bar might be pulled back. Fortunately, it was much decayed by age; and they had no doubt that, by exerting all their strength, together they could bend it sufficiently to enable them to get through.
At the hour when their dinner was brought they had ceased their work, filled up the hole with dust collected from the floor, put some dust of the stone over it, and smoothed it down, so that it would not have been noticed by anyone casually looking from the window.
It was late at night before they finished their work. Their hands were sore and bleeding, and they were completely worn out with fatigue. They had saved, from their dinner, a good-sized piece of bread. They folded up into a small compass the leaf from his pocketbook, upon which Charlie had written in Hindostanee his letter to Hossein, and thrust this into the centre of the piece of bread. Then Charlie told Tim to lie down and rest for three hours, while he kept watch; as they must take it in turns, all night, to listen in case Hossein should come outside. The lamp was kept burning.
Just as Charlie's watch was over, he thought he heard a very faint splash in the water below. Two or three minutes later, he again thought he heard the sound. He peered out of the window anxiously, but the night was dark, and he could see nothing. Listening intently, it seemed to him, several times, that he heard the same faint sound.
Presently something whizzed by him, and looking round, to his delight he saw a small arrow, with a piece of very thin string attached. The arrow was made of very light wood. Round the iron point was a thick wrapping of cotton, which would entirely deaden its sound, as it struck a wall. It was soaked in water, and Charlie had no doubt that the sound he heard was caused by its fall into the moat, after ineffectual trials to shoot through the window.
Round the centre of the arrow a piece of greased silk was wrapped. Charlie took this off, and found beneath it a piece of paper, on which was written in Hindostanee:
"If you have a bar loosed, pull the string and haul up a rope. If not, throw the arrow down. I will come again, tomorrow night."
Tim had by this time joined Charlie, and they speedily began to pull in the string. Presently a thicker string came up into their hands. They continued to pull, and soon the end of a stout rope, in which knots were tied every two feet, came up to them. They fastened this to one of the bars, and then took hold of that which they had loosened; and, putting their feet against the wall, exerted themselves to the utmost. The iron was tougher than they had expected, but they were striving for liberty and, with desperate exertions, they bent it inwards until, at last, there was room enough for them to creep through.
"Can you swim, Tim?"
"Not a stroke, yer honor. Shure you should know that, when you fished me out of the water."
"Very well, Tim. As I kept you up then, 'twill be easy enough for me, now, to take you across the moat. I will go first, and when I get into the water, will keep hold of the rope till you come down. Take off your boots, for they would be heard scraping against the wall. Be sure you make as little noise as possible, and lower yourself quietly into the water."
Charlie then removed his own boots, squeezed himself through the bars and, grasping the rope tightly, began to descend. He found the knots of immense assistance, for had it not been for them, unaccustomed as he was to the work, he would have been unable to prevent himself from sliding down too rapidly. The window was fully sixty feet above the moat, and he was very thankful when, at last, he felt the water touch his feet. Lowering himself quietly into it, he shook the rope, to let Tim know that he could begin his descent.
Before Tim was halfway down, Charlie could hear his hard breathing, and muttered ejaculations to himself:
"Shure I'll never get to the bottom at all, my arms are fairly breaking. I shall squash Mr. Charles, if I fall on him."
"Hold your tongue, Tim," Charlie said in a loud whisper.
Tim was silent, but the panting and puffing increased, and Charlie swam a stroke or two away, expecting every moment that Tim would fall. The Irishman, however, held on; but let himself into the water with a splash, which aroused the attention of the sentry above, who instantly challenged.
Tim and Charlie remained perfectly quiet. Again the sentry challenged. Then there was a long silence. The sentry probably was unwilling to rouse the place by a false alarm, and the splash might have been caused by the fall of a piece of decayed stone from the face of the wall.
"Tim, you clumsy fellow," whispered Charlie, "you nearly spoiled all."
"Shure, yer honor, I was kilt entirely, and my arms were pulled out of my sockets. Holy Mother, who'd have thought 'twould be so difficult to come down a rope! The sailors are great men, entirely."
"Now, Tim, lie quiet. I will turn you on your back, and swim across with you."
The moat was some twenty yards wide. Charlie swam across, towing Tim after him, and taking the greatest pains to avoid making the slightest splash. The opposite side was of stonework, and rose six feet above the water. As soon as they touched the wall, a stout rope was lowered to them.
"Now, Tim, you climb up first."
"Is it climb up, yer honor? I couldn't do it, if it was to save my sowl. My arms are gone altogether, and I'm as weak as a child.
"You go, Mister Charles. I'll hould on by the rope till morning. They can but shoot me."
"Nonsense, Tim! Here, I will fasten the rope round your body. Then I will climb up, and we will pull you up after me."
In another minute, Charlie stood on the bank, and grasped the hand of his faithful follower. Hossein threw himself on his knees, and pressed his master to him. Then he rose and, at a word from Charlie, they hauled Tim to the top. The rope was taken off him and, noiselessly, they made their way across the country. Not a word was spoken, till they were at a considerable distance from the fort.
"Where are you taking us, Hossein?" Charlie asked, at last.
"I have two peasants' dresses, in a deserted cottage a quarter of a mile away."
Not another word was spoken, until they reached the hut, which stood at the end of a small village. When they had entered this, Charlie first thanked, in the warmest terms, his follower for having rescued them.
"My life is my lord's," Hossein answered simply. "He gave it me. It is his again, whenever it is useful to him."
"No, Hossein, the balance is all on your side, now. You saved my life that night at Ambur. You saved it that night at Calcutta, for, without the water you brought us, I question whether we could have lived till morning. Now you have procured our freedom. The debt is all on my side now, my friend."
"Hossein is glad that his lord is content," the Mohammedan murmured. "Now, what will my lord do?"
"Have you any place in the town to which we could go, Hossein?"
"Yes, Sahib. I hired a little house. I was dressed as a trader. I have been here for two months, but I could not find where you were confined, although I have tried all means, until I saw your cap."
"It was foolish of me not to have thought of it before," Charlie said. "Well, Hossein, for a little time we had better take refuge in your house. They will not think of searching in the city; and, as Calcutta is in their hands, there is nowhere we could go. Besides, I must discover, if possible, where Miss Haines is kept a prisoner; and rescue her, if it can be done."
"The white girl is in the zenana of Rajah Dulab Ram," Hossein replied.
"Where is the rajah's palace?"
"He has one in the city, one at Ajervam, twenty miles from here. I do not know at which she is lodged."
"We must find that out presently," Charlie said. "It is something to know she is in one of two houses.
"Now, about getting back into the town?"
"I have thought of that," Hossein said. "I have bought a quantity of plantains, and two large baskets. After the gates are opened, you will go boldly in with the baskets on your heads. No questions are asked of the country people who go in and out. I have some stain here, which will darken your skins.
"I will go in first in my merchant's dress, which I have here. I will stop a little way inside the gate, and when I see you coming, will walk on. Do you follow me, a little behind. My house is in a quiet street. When I reach the door, do you come up and offer to sell me plantains. If there are people about, I shall bargain with you until I see that no one is noticing us. Then you can enter. If none are about, you can follow me straight in."
Hossein now set about the disguises. A light was struck, and both Tim and Charlie were shaved, up to the line which the turban would cover. Charlie's whiskers, which were somewhat faint, as he was still under twenty-one years old, gave but little trouble. Tim, however, grumbled at parting with his much more bushy appendages. The shaven part of the heads, necks, and faces were then rubbed with a dark fluid, as were the arms and legs.
They were next wrapped in dark blue clothes, in peasant fashion, and turbans wound round their heads. Hossein then, examining them critically, announced that they would pass muster anywhere.
"I feel mighty quare," Tim exclaimed; "and it seems to me downright ondacent, to be walking about with my naked legs."
Charlie laughed.
"Why, Tim, you are accustomed to see thousands of men, every day, with nothing on but a loincloth."
"Yes, yer honor, but then they're hathens, and it seems natural for them to do so; but for a dacent boy to go walking about in the streets, with a thing on which covers no more than his shirt, is onnatural altogether. Mother of Moses, what a shindy there would be, in the streets of Cork, if I were to show myself in such a state!"
Charlie now lay down for a sleep till morning; while Tim, who had had three hours' repose, settled himself for a comfortable chat with Hossein, to whom sleep appeared altogether unnecessary.
Between Hossein and Tim there was a sort of brotherly attachment, arising from their mutual love of their master. During the two years which Tim had spent apart from all Europeans, save Charlie, he had contrived to pick up enough of the language to make himself fairly intelligible; and, since the day when Hossein had saved Charlie's life at Ambur, the warmest friendship had sprung up between the good-humoured and warm-hearted Irishman, and the silent and devoted Mohammedan.
Tim's friendship even extended so far as to induce a toleration of Hossein's religion. He had come to the conclusion that a man who, at stated times in the day, would leave his employment, whatever it might be, spread his carpet, and be for some minutes lost in prayer, could not be altogether a hathen; especially when he learned, from Charlie, that the Mohammedans, like ourselves, worship one God. For the sake of his friend, then, he now generally excluded the Mohammedans from the general designation of heathen, which he still applied to the Hindoos.
He learned from Hossein that the latter, having observed from a distance the Europeans driven into the cell at Calcutta, perceived at once how fatal the consequences would be. He had, an hour or two after they were confined there, approached with some water, but the officer on guard had refused to let him give it. He had then gone into the native town, but being unable to find any fruit there, had walked out to the gardens, and had picked a large basketful. This he had brought as an offering to the officer, and the latter had then consented to his giving one bowl of water to the prisoners, among whom, as he had told him, was his master. For bringing a second bowl, contrary to his orders, Hossein had, as Tim saw, been struck down; but had the satisfaction of believing that his master, and Tim, had derived some benefit from his effort.
On the following morning, to his delight, he saw them issue among the few survivors from the dungeon; and had, when they were taken up the country, followed close behind them, arriving at the town on the same day as themselves. He had, ever since, been wandering round the prison. He had taken a house, so close to it that he could keep a watch on all the windows facing the town; and had, day after day, kept his eyes fixed upon these without success. He had, at last, found out from one of the soldiers that the white prisoners were confined on the other side of the prison; but until he saw Charlie's cap, he had been unable to discover the room in which they were confined.
In the morning, they started for the town. Groups of peasants were already making their way towards the gate, with fruit and grain; and, keeping near one of these parties, while sufficiently distant to prevent the chance of their being addressed, Charlie and Tim made their way to the gate; the latter suffering acutely, in his mind, from the impropriety of his attire.
No questions were asked, as they passed the guard. They at once perceived Hossein, standing a little way off, and followed him through the busy streets. They soon turned off into a quieter quarter, and stopped at a house, in a street in which scarcely anyone was stirring. Hossein glanced round, as he opened the door, and beckoned to them to enter at once. This they did, and were glad, indeed, to set down the heavy baskets of plantains.
"My lord's room is upstairs," Hossein said, and led the way to a comfortably furnished apartment. "I think that you might stay here, for months, unsuspected. A sweeper comes, every day, to do my rooms downstairs. He believes the rest of the house to be untenanted, and you must remain perfectly quiet, during the half hour he is here. Otherwise, no one enters the house but myself."
Hossein soon set to work, and prepared an excellent breakfast. Then he left them, saying that he would now devote himself to finding out whether the young white lady was in the town palace of the rajah. He returned in the afternoon.
"She is here, Sahib," he said. "I got into conversation with one of the retainers of the rajah; and by giving him some wonderful bargains, in Delhi jewelry, succeeded in opening his lips. I dare not question him too closely, but I am to meet him tomorrow, to show him some more silver bracelets."
"It is fortunate, Hossein, that you have some money, for neither Tim nor I have a rupee."
"Thanks to the generosity of my lord," Hossein said, "I am well supplied."
The next day, Hossein discovered that the windows of the zenana were at the back of the palace, looking into the large garden.
"I hear, however," he said, "that the ladies of the zenana are, next week, going to the rajah's other palace. The ladies will, of course, travel in palanquins; but upon the road I might get to talk with one of the waiting women, and might bribe her to pass a note into the hands of the white lady."
"I suppose they will have a guard with them, Hossein?"
"Surely, a strong guard," Hossein answered.
The time passed, until the day came for the departure of the rajah's zenana. Charlie wrote a note, as follows:
"My dear Ada,
"I am free, and am on the lookout for an opportunity to rescue you. Contrive to put a little bit of your handkerchief through the latticework of the window of your room, as a signal to us which it is. On the second night after your arrival, we will be under it with a ladder. If others, as is probable, sleep in your room, lie down without undressing more than you can help. When they are asleep, get up and go to the window, and open the lattice. If any of them wake, say you are hot and cannot sleep, and wait quietly till they are off again. Then stretch out your arm, and we shall know you are ready. Then we will put up the ladder, and you must get out, and come to us as quickly as possible. Once with us, you will be safe."
This note was wrapped up very small, and put into a quill. As soon as the gates were open, Hossein and his companions left the town, and proceeded as far as a grove, halfway between the town and the rajah's country palace.
"They are sure to stop here, for a rest," Hossein said. "I will remain here, and try to enter into conversation with one of them. It will be better for you to go on, for some distance, and then turn aside from the road. When they have all passed, come back into the road again, and I will join you."
After waiting two hours, Hossein saw two carts full of women approaching, and had no doubt that these were the servants of the zenana. As he had expected, the drivers halted their cattle in the shade of the trees; and the women, delighted to enjoy their liberty, alighted from the carts and scattered in the grove. Presently one of them, a middle-aged woman, approached the spot where Hossein had seated himself.
Hossein drew out a large and beautiful silver bracelet, of Delhi workmanship.
"Would you like to buy this?" he asked.
"How should I buy it?" she said. "I am only a servant.
"It is very beautiful;" and she looked at it, with longing eyes.
"I have two of them," he said, "and they will both be yours, if you will do me a service."
"What is it?" she asked.
"They will be yours, if you will give this quill to the little white girl, who is in the zenana."
The woman hesitated.
"It is dangerous," she said.
"Not at all," Hossein replied. "It only gives her news of a friend, whom she thought was dead. It will cheer her heart, and will be a kind action. None can ever know it."
"Give them to me," the woman said, holding out her hand. "I will do it."
"No," Hossein replied. "I will give you one now, the other when I know that the note is delivered. I shall be watching, tomorrow. If she places her handkerchief in her lattice, I shall know that she has got it. When she does this, I will bury the other bracelet, a few inches in the ground, just under that window. You can dig it up when you will."
"I understand," the woman said. "You can trust me. We all like the white girl. She is very gentle, but very sad. I would gladly give her pleasure."
Hossein handed to her the bracelet, and the quill. She hid them in her dress, and sauntered away.
Hossein lay back, as if taking a sleep, and so remained until, half an hour later, he heard the shouts of the drivers to the women, to take their places in the carts. Then the sound of retreating wheels was heard.
Hossein was about to rise, when he heard the clatter of horses' hoofs. Looking round he saw eight elephants, each carrying a closed pavilion, moving along the road, escorted by a troop of horsemen. In the pavilions, as he knew, were the ladies of the rajah's zenana.
After the cavalcade had passed, Hossein rose to his feet and followed them, allowing them to go some distance ahead. Presently he was joined by Charlie and Tim, and the three walked quietly along the road, until within sight of the rajah's palace.
In front stood a great courtyard. Behind, also surrounded by a high wall, was the garden. As this was always devoted to the zenana, they had little doubt that the rooms of the ladies were on this side; and, two hours later, they were delighted at seeing a small piece of white stuff, thrust through one of the lattices. The woman had been faithful to her trust. Ada had received the letter.
They then retired to a distance from the palace, and at once set to work on the fabrication of a ladder. Hossein, followed by Charlie, who better enacted the part than Tim, went into a village and purchased four long bamboo poles, saying he wanted them for the carrying of burdens. Charlie placed these on his shoulder, and followed Hossein.
When they arrived at the grove they set to work, having brought with them all the necessary materials. The bamboos were spliced together, two and two; and while Charlie and Tim set to, to bore holes in these, Hossein chopped down a young tree and, cutting it into lengths, prepared the rungs.
It took them all that evening, and the greater part of the next day, before they had satisfactorily accomplished their work. They had, then, a ladder thirty feet long, the height which they judged the window to be above the terrace below. It was strong, and at the same time light.
They waited until darkness had completely fallen; and then, taking their ladder, went round to the back of the garden. They mounted the wall and, sitting on the top, dragged the ladder after them, and lowered it on the other side. It was of equal thickness the whole length; and could, therefore, be used indifferently either way.
They waited patiently, until they saw the lights in the zenana windows extinguished. Then they crept quietly up, and placed the ladder under the window at which the signal had been shown; and found that their calculations were correct, and that it reached to a few inches below the sill.
Half an hour later, the lattice above opened. They heard a murmur of voices, and then all was quiet again. After a few minutes, Charlie climbed noiselessly up the ladder and, just as he reached the top, an arm was stretched out above him; and, a moment afterwards, Ada's face appeared.
"I am here, dear," he said, in a whisper. "Lean out, and I will take you."
The girl stretched out over the window. Charlie took her in his arms, and lifted her lightly out, and then slowly descended the ladder. No sooner did he touch the ground than they hurried away; Ada sobbing, with excitement and pleasure, on Charlie's shoulder; Tim and Hossein bearing the ladder; Hossein having already carried out his promise of concealing the second bracelet under the window.
In a few minutes they had safely surmounted the wall, and hurried across the country, with all speed. Before leaving the town, Hossein had purchased a cart with two bullocks; and had hired a man who was recommended to him, by one of his co-religionists there, as one upon whose fidelity he could rely. This cart was awaiting them at a grove.
Paying them the amount stipulated, Hossein took the ox goad and started the bullocks, Tim walking beside him, while Charlie and Ada took their places in the cart. They were sure that a hot pursuit would be set up. The rage of the nabob at the escape of Charlie and his servant had been extreme, and the whole country had been scoured by parties of horsemen; and they were sure that the rajah would use every possible means to discover Ada, before he ventured to report to the nabob that the prisoner committed to his charge had escaped.
"Of course, I can't see you very well," Ada said, "but I should not have known you, in the least."
"No, I am got up like a peasant," Charlie answered. "We shall have to dress you so, before morning. We have got things here for you."
"Oh, how delighted I was," Ada exclaimed, "when I got your note! I found it so difficult to keep on looking sad and hopeless, when I could have sung for joy. I had been so miserable. There seemed no hope, and they said, some day, I should be sent to the nabob's zenana—wretches! How poor mamma will be grieving for me, and papa!—
"Ah! Captain Marryat, he is dead, is he not?"
"Yes, my dear," Charlie said gently. "He was killed by my side, that afternoon. With his last breath, he asked me to take care of you."
"I thought so," Ada said, crying quietly. "I did not think of it at the time. Everything was so strange, and so dreadful, that I scarcely thought at all. But afterwards, on the way here, when I turned it all over, it seemed to me that it must be so. He did not come to me, all that afternoon. He was not shut up with us in that dreadful place, and everyone else was there. So it seemed to me that he must have been killed, but that you did not like to tell me."
"It was better for him, dear, than to have died in that terrible cell. Thank God your mamma is safe, and some day you will join her again.
"We have news that the English are coming up to attack Calcutta. A party are already in the Hoogly; and the nabob is going to start, in a few days, to his army there. I hope, in a very very short time, you will be safe among your friends."
After travelling for several hours, they stopped. Charlie gave Ada some native clothes and ornaments, and told her to stain her face, arms, and legs, to put on the bangles and bracelets, and then to rejoin them. Half an hour later, Ada took her seat in the cart, this time transformed into a Hindoo girl, and the party again proceeded.
They felt sure that Ada's flight would not be discovered until daybreak. It would be some little time before horsemen could be sent off in all directions, in pursuit; and they could not be overtaken until between eleven and twelve.
The waggon was filled with grain, on the top of which Charlie and Ada were seated. When daylight came, Charlie alighted and walked by the cart. Unquestioned, they passed through several villages.
At eleven o'clock, Hossein pointed to a large grove, at some little distance from the road.
"Go in there," he said, "and stay till nightfall. Do you then come out, and follow me. I shall go into the next village, and remain there till after dark. I shall then start, and wait for you half a mile beyond the village."
An hour after the waggon had disappeared from sight, the party in the grove saw ten or twelve horsemen galloping rapidly along the road. An hour passed, and the same party returned, at an equal speed. They saw no more of them and, after it became dark, they continued their way; passed through the village, which was three miles ahead; and found Hossein waiting, a short distance beyond. Ada climbed into the cart, and they again went forward.
"Did you put the rajah's men on the wrong track, Hossein? We guessed that you had done so, when we saw them going back."
"Yes," Hossein said. "I had unyoked the bullocks, and had lain down in the caravanserai, when they arrived. They came in, and their leader asked who I was. I said that I was taking down a load of grain, for the use of the army at Calcutta. He asked where were the two men and the woman who were with me. I replied that I knew nothing of them. I had overtaken them on the road, and they had asked leave for the woman to ride in the cart. They said they were going to visit their mother, who was sick.
"He asked if I was sure they were natives, and I counterfeited surprise, and said that certainly they were; for which lie Allah will, I trust, be merciful, since it was told to an enemy. I said that they had left me, just when we had passed the last village; and had turned off by the road to the right, saying they had many miles to go.
"They talked together and decided that, as you were the only people who had been seen along the road, they must follow and find you; and so started at once, and I daresay they're searching for you now, miles away."
Their journey continued without any adventure, until within a few miles of Calcutta. Hossein then advised them to take up their abode in a ruined mud hut, at a distance from the road. He had bought, at the last village, a supply of provisions, sufficient to last them for some days.
"I shall now," he said, "go into the town, sell my grain, bullocks, and cart, and find out where the soldiers are."
As soon as the news of the nabob's advance against Calcutta reached Madras, Mr. Pigot, who was now governor there, despatched a force of two hundred and thirty men, under the orders of Major Kilpatrick. The party reached Falta, on the Hoogly, on the 2nd of August, and there heard of the capture of Calcutta. By detachments, who came down from some of the Company's minor posts, the force was increased to nearly four hundred. But sickness broke out among them and, finding himself unable to advance against so powerful an army as that of the nabob, Major Kilpatrick sent to Madras for further assistance.
When the news reached that place, Clive had recently arrived with a strong force, which was destined to operate against the French at Hyderabad. The news, however, of the catastrophe at Calcutta at once altered the destination of the force; and, on the 16th of October, the expedition sailed for Calcutta. The force consisted of two hundred and fifty men of the 39th Foot, the first regiment of the regular English army which had been sent out to India; five hundred and seventy men of the Madras European force; eighty artillerymen; and twelve hundred Sepoys.
Of the nine hundred Europeans, only six hundred arrived at that time at the mouth of the Hoogly, the largest ship, the Cumberland, with three hundred men on board, having grounded on the way. The remainder of the fleet, consisting of three ships of war, five transports, and a fire ship, reached Falta between the 11th and 20th of December.
Hossein had returned from Calcutta, with the news that the party commanded by Major Kilpatrick had been, for some weeks, at Falta; and the party at once set off towards that place, which was but forty miles distant. Travelling by night, and sleeping by day in the woods, they reached Falta without difficulty; and, learning that the force was still on board ship, they took possession of a boat, moored by the bank some miles higher up, and rowed down.
Great was their happiness, indeed, at finding themselves once more among friends. Here were assembled many of the ships which had been at Calcutta, at the time it was taken; and, to Ada's delight, she learned that her mother was on board one of these. They were soon rowed there, in a boat from the ship which they had first boarded; and Ada, on gaining the deck, saw her mother sitting among some other ladies, fugitives like herself.
With a scream of joy she rushed forward, and with a cry of, "Mamma, Mamma!" threw herself into her mother's arms.
It was a moment or two before Mrs. Haines could realize that this dark-skinned Hindoo girl was her child, and then her joy equalled that of her daughter. It was some time before any coherent conversation could take place; and then Ada, running back to Charlie, drew him forward to her mother; and presented him to her as her preserver, the Captain Marryat who had stayed with them at Calcutta.
Mrs. Haines' gratitude was extreme, and Charlie was soon surrounded, and congratulated, by the officers on board, to many of whom, belonging as they did to the Madras army, he was well known. Foremost among them, and loudest in his expressions of delight, was his friend Peters.
"You know, Charlie, I suppose," he said presently, "that you are a major now?"
"No, indeed," Charlie said. "How is that?"
"When the directors at home received the report of Commodore James, that the fort of Suwarndrug had been captured entirely through you, they at once sent out your appointment as major.
"You are lucky, old fellow. Here are you a major, while I'm a lieutenant, still. However, don't think I'm jealous, for I'm not a bit, and you thoroughly deserve all, and more than you've got."
"And this is Tim," Charlie said. "He has shared all my adventures with me."
Tim was standing disconsolately by the bulwark, shifting uneasily from foot to foot, with the feeling of the extreme shortness of his garments stronger upon him than ever.
Peters seized him heartily by the hand.
"I am glad to see you, Tim, very glad. And so you've been with Major Marryat, ever since?"
"For the Lord's sake, Mr. Peters," Tim said, in an earnest whisper, "git me a pair of trousers. I'm that ashamed of myself, in the presence of the ladies, that I'm like to drop."
"Come along below, Tim. Come along, Charlie. There are lots of poor fellows have gone down, and uniforms are plentiful. We'll soon rig you out again."
"There is one more introduction, Peters. This is my man, Hossein. He calls himself my servant. I call him my friend. He has saved my life twice, and has been of inestimable service. Had it not been for him, I should still be in prison at Moorshedabad."
Peters said a few hearty words to Hossein, and they then went below; returning on deck in half an hour, Charlie in the undress uniform of an officer, Tim in that of a private in the Madras infantry.
Mrs. Haines and Ada had gone below, where they could chat, unrestrained by the presence of others; and where an attempt could be made to restore Ada to her former appearance. Mrs. Haines had heard of her husband's death, on the day after the capture of Calcutta, Mr. Holwell having been permitted to send on board the ships a list of those who had fallen. She had learned that Ada had survived the terrible night in the dungeon, and that she had been sent up country, a captive. She almost despaired of ever hearing of her again, but had resolved to wait to see the issue of the approaching campaign.
Now that Ada was restored to her, she determined to leave for England; in a vessel which was to sail, in the course of a week, with a large number of fugitives. Mr. Haines was a very wealthy man, and had intended retiring, altogether, in the course of a few months; and she would, therefore, be in the enjoyment of an ample fortune in England.
Among those on board the ships at Falta was Mr. Drake, who at once, upon hearing of Charlie's arrival, ordered him to be arrested. Major Kilpatrick, however, firmly refused to allow the order to be carried out, saying that, as Charlie was under his orders as an officer in the Madras army, Mr. Drake had no control or authority over him. He could, however, upon Clive's arrival, lay the case before him.
A week later, Mrs. Haines and Ada sailed for England, the latter weeping bitterly at parting from Charlie, who promised them that, when he came home to England on leave, he would pay them a visit. He gave them his mother's address; and Mrs. Haines promised to call upon her, as soon as she reached England, and give her full news of him; adding that she hoped that his sisters, the youngest of whom was little older than Ada, would be great friends with her.
Very slowly and wearily the time passed at Falta. The mists from the river were deadly, and of the two hundred and thirty men whom Kilpatrick brought with him from Madras, in July, only about thirty remained alive; and of these, but ten were fit for duty when Clive, at last, arrived.
The fleet left Falta on the 27th of December, and anchored off Moiapur on the following day. The fort of Baj-baj, near this place, was the first object of attack; and it was arranged that, while Admiral Watson should bombard with the fleet, Clive should attack it on the land side.
Clive, who now held the rank of lieutenant colonel in the army, had manifested great pleasure at again meeting the young officer who had served under him at Arcot; and who had, in his absence, obtained a fame scarcely inferior to his own, by the defence of Ambur and the capture of Suwarndrug. A few hours after Clive's arrival, Mr. Drake had made a formal complaint of the assault which Charlie had committed; but after hearing, from Charlie, an account of the circumstances, Clive sent a contemptuous message to Mr. Drake, to the effect that Charlie had only acted as he should himself have done, under the same circumstances; and that, at the present time, he should not think of depriving himself of the services of one gallant soldier, even if he had maltreated a dozen civilians.
As Clive had been given paramount authority in Bengal, and as Mr. Drake had every reason to suppose that he, himself, would be recalled as soon as the circumstances attending the capture of Calcutta were known in England, he was unable to do anything further in the matter, and Charlie landed with Clive on the 28th. The force consisted of two hundred and fifty Europeans, and twelve hundred Sepoys, who were forced to drag with them, having no draft animals, two field pieces and a waggon of ammunition.
The march was an excessively fatiguing one. The country was swampy in the extreme, and intersected with watercourses; and, after a terribly fatiguing night march, and fifteen hours of unintermittent labour, they arrived, at eight o'clock in the morning, at the hollow bed of a lake, now perfectly dry. It lay some ten feet below the surrounding country, and was bordered with jungle. In the wet season it was full of water. On the eastern and southern banks lay an abandoned village, and it was situated about a mile and a half from the fort of Baj-baj.
Clive was ill, and unable to see after matters himself. Indeed, accustomed only to the feeble forces of Southern India, who had never stood for a moment against him in battle, he had no thought of danger. Upon the other hand the troops of the nabob, who had had no experience, whatever, of the superior fighting powers of the Europeans; and who had effected so easy a conquest at Calcutta, flushed with victory, regarded their European foes with contempt, and were preparing to annihilate them at a blow.
Manak Chand, the general commanding the nabob's forces, informed by spies of the movements of the English troops, moved out with fifteen hundred horses and two thousand foot. So worn out were the British upon their arrival at the dried bed of the lake that, after detaching a small body to occupy a village near the enemy's fort, from which alone danger was expected; while another took up the post in some jungles, by the side of the main road, the rest threw themselves down to sleep. Some lay in the village, some in the shade of the bushes along the sides of the hollow. Their arms were all piled in a heap, sixty yards from the eastern bank. The two field pieces stood deserted, on the north side of the village. Not a single sentry was posted.
Manak Chand, knowing that, after marching all night, they would be exhausted, now stole upon them, and surrounded the tank on three sides. Happily, he did not perceive that their arms were piled at a distance of sixty yards from the nearest man. Had he done so, the English would have been helpless in his hands. After waiting an hour, to be sure that the last of the English were sound asleep, he ordered a tremendous fire to be opened on the hollow and village.
Astounded at this sudden attack, the men sprang up from their deep sleep, and a rush was instantly made to their arms. Clive, ever coolest in danger, shouted to them to be steady, and his officers well seconded his attempts. Unfortunately the artillerymen, in their sudden surprise, instead of rushing to their cannon, joined the rest of the troops as they ran back to their arms, and the guns at once fell into the hands of the enemy.
These had now climbed the eastern bank, and a fire from all sides was poured upon the troops, huddled together in a mass.
"Major Marryat," Clive said, "if we fall back now, fatigued as the men are, and shaken by this surprise, we are lost. Do you take a wing of the Sepoy battalion, and clear the right bank. I will advance, with the main body, directly on the village."
"Come on, my lads," Charlie shouted, in Hindostanee; "show them how the men of Madras can fight."
The Sepoys replied with a cheer, advanced with a rush against the bank, drove the defenders at once from the point where they charged, and then swept round the tank towards the village, which Clive had already attacked in front.
The loss of Charlie's battalion was small, but the main body, exposed to the concentrated fire, suffered more heavily. They would not, however, be denied. Reaching the bank, they poured a volley into the village, and charged with the bayonet; just as Charlie's men dashed in at the side. The enemy fled from the village and, taking shelter in the jungles around, opened fire. The shouts of their officers could be heard, urging them again to sally out and fall upon the British; but at this moment, the party which had been sent forward along the road, hearing the fray, came hurrying up and poured their fire into the jungle.
Surprised at this reinforcement, the enemy paused as they were issuing from the wood, and then fell back upon their cavalry. The British artillerymen ran out, and seized the guns, and opened with them upon the retiring infantry. Clive now formed up his troops in line, and advanced against the enemy's cavalry, behind which their infantry had massed for shelter.
Manak Chand ordered his cavalry to charge, but just as he did so, a cannonball from one of Clive's field pieces passed close to his head. The sensation was so unpleasant that he at once changed his mind. The order for retreat was given, and the beaten army fell back, in disorder, to Calcutta.
After the defeat of the enemy, who had surprised and so nearly annihilated him, Clive marched at once towards the fort of Baj-baj. On the way he met Major Kilpatrick, who was advancing, with a force which had been landed from the ships when the sound of firing was heard, to his assistance.
The fleet had, at daybreak, opened a heavy fire upon the ramparts; and by the afternoon effected a breach. As his men were greatly fatigued, and had had but an hour's sleep, Clive determined upon delaying the attack until the morning; and a party of two hundred and fifty sailors, with two guns, were landed to take part in the storming.
Many of these sailors had drunk freely before landing, and as night fell, some of them strolled towards the fort. One of the number, named Strahan, moved along, unobserved by the enemy, to the foot of the breach, climbed up it, and came suddenly upon a party of its defenders sitting round a fire, smoking. Strahan immediately fired his pistol among them, with a shout of, "The fort is mine!" and then gave three rousing cheers.
The enemy leaped to their feet and ran off for a little way. Then, seeing Strahan was alone, they rushed back and attacked him, firing as they came. Strahan, drawing his cutlass, defended himself vigorously for some time; but his weapon broke off at the hilt, just as a number of Sepoys and men of the 39th, who had been awakened from their sleep by the shouting and firing, came running up. Reinforcements of the garrison also joined their friends, but these were dispirited by the sudden and unexpected attack; and, as the troops continued to stream up the breach, the garrison were pressed; and, losing heart, fled through the opposite gate of the fort.
The only casualty on the British side was that Captain Campbell, marching up at the head of the Sepoys, was mistaken for an enemy by the sailors, and shot dead. Strahan was, in the morning, severely reprimanded by the admiral for his breach of discipline; and, retiring from the cabin, said to his comrades:
"Well, if I am flogged for this here action, I will never take another fort, by myself, as long as I live."
Manak Chand was so alarmed at the fighting powers shown by the English in these two affairs, that, leaving only a garrison of five hundred men at Calcutta, he retired with his army to join the nabob at Moorshedabad. When the fleet arrived before the town, the enemy surrendered the fort at the first shot, and it was again taken possession of by the English.
Major Kilpatrick was at once sent up, with five ships and a few hundred men, to capture the town of Hoogly, twenty miles farther up. The defences of the place were strong. It was held by two thousand men, and three thousand horsemen lay around it. The ships, however, at once opened a cannonade upon it, and effected a breach before night, and at daybreak the place was taken by storm.
Two days after the capture of Calcutta, the news arrived that war had again been declared between England and France. It was fortunate that this was not known a little earlier; for had the French forces been joined to those under Manak Chand, the reconquest of Calcutta would not have been so easily achieved.
The nabob, furious at the loss of Calcutta, and the capture and sack of Hoogly, at once despatched a messenger to the governor of the French colony of Chandranagore, to join him in crushing the English. The governor, however, had received orders that, in the event of war being declared between England and France, he was, if possible, to arrange with the English that neutrality should be observed between them. He therefore refused the nabob's request, and then sent messengers to Calcutta, to treat.
The nabob had gathered an army of ten thousand foot and fifteen thousand horse, and advanced against Calcutta, arriving before the town on the 2nd February, 1757. Clive's force had now, owing to the arrival of some reinforcements from Europe, and the enlisting of fresh Sepoys, been raised to seven hundred European infantry, a hundred artillerymen, and fifteen hundred Sepoys, with fourteen light field pieces.
The whole of the town of Calcutta was surrounded by a deep cut, with a bank behind, called the Mahratta Ditch. A mile beyond this was a large saltwater lake, so that an enemy advancing from the north would have to pass within a short distance of Clive's intrenched position outside the town, affording him great opportunities for a flank attack. On the day of their arrival Clive marched out, but the enemy opened a heavy fire, and he retired.
Clive determined to attack the enemy, next morning. Admiral Watson, at his request, at once landed five hundred and sixty sailors, under the command of Captain Warwick of the Thunderer. A considerable portion of the enemy had crossed the Mahratta Ditch, and encamped within it. The nabob himself pitched his tent in the garden of Omichund (a native Calcutta merchant who, though in the nabob's camp from motives of policy, sympathized entirely with the English), which occupied an advanced bastion within the Mahratta Ditch. The rest of the army were encamped between the ditch and the saltwater lake.
Clive's intentions were to march first against the battery which had played on him so effectually the day before; and, having carried this, to march directly against the garden in which the nabob was encamped. The force with which he started, at three o'clock in the morning of the 3rd, consisted of the five hundred and sixty sailors, who drew with them six guns, six hundred and fifty European infantry, a hundred European artillery, and eight hundred Sepoys. Half the Sepoys led the advance, the remainder covered the rear.
Soon after daybreak, the Sepoys came in contact with the enemy's advanced guard, placed in ditches along a road leading from the head of the lake to the Mahratta Ditch. These discharged their muskets, and some rockets, and took to flight. One of the rockets caused a serious disaster. The Sepoys had their ammunition pouches open, and the contents of one of these was fired by the rocket. The flash of the flame communicated the fire to the pouch of the next Sepoy, and so the flame ran along the line, killing, wounding, and scorching many, and causing the greatest confusion. Fortunately the enemy were not near, and Captain Eyre Coote, who led the British infantry behind them, aided Charlie, who led the advance, in restoring order, and the forward movement again went on.
A new obstacle had, however, arisen. With the morning a dense fog had set in, rendering it impossible for the troops to see even a few yards in advance of them. Still they pushed on and, unopposed, reached a point opposite Omichund's garden, but divided from it by the Mahratta Ditch.
Presently they heard the thunder of a great body of approaching cavalry. They waited quietly until the unseen horse had approached within a few yards of them, and then poured a mighty volley into the fog. The noise ceased abruptly, and was followed by that of the enemy's cavalry in retreat.
The fog was now so dense that it was impossible even to judge of the directions in which the troops were moving. Clive knew, however, that the Mahratta Ditch was on his right and, moving a portion of his troops till they touched this, he again advanced, his object being to gain a causeway which, raised several feet above the country, led from Calcutta, across the Mahratta Ditch, into the country beyond. Towards this Clive now advanced, his troops firing, as they marched, into the fog ahead of them, and the guns firing from the flanks, obliquely, to the right and left.
Without experiencing any opposition Clive reached the causeway, and the Sepoys, turning to their right, advanced along this towards the ditch. As they crossed this, however, they came in the line of fire of their own guns, the officer commanding them being ignorant of what was taking place in front, and unable to see a foot before him. Charlie, closely accompanied always by Tim, was at the head of his troops when the iron hail of the English guns struck the head of the column, mowing down numbers of men. A panic ensued, and the Sepoys, terror stricken at this discharge, from a direction in which they considered themselves secure, leaped from the causeway into the dry ditch and sheltered themselves there. Charlie and his companion were saved by the fact that they were a few paces ahead of the column.
"Run back, Tim," Charlie said. "Find Colonel Clive, and tell him that we are being mowed down by our own artillery. If you can't find him, hurry back to the guns, and tell the officer what he is doing."
Charlie then leaped down into the ditch, and endeavoured to rally the Sepoys. A few minutes later Clive himself arrived, and the Sepoys were induced to leave the ditch, and to form again by the side of the causeway, along which the British troops were now marching.
Suddenly, however, from the fog burst out the discharge of two heavy guns, which the enemy had mounted on a bastion flanking the ditch. The shouts of the officers, and the firing of the men, indicated precisely the position of the column. The grapeshot tore through it, and twenty-two of the English troops fell dead and wounded. Immediately afterwards another discharge followed, and the column, broken and confused, bewildered by the dense fog, and dismayed by the fire of these unseen guns, fell back.
Clive now determined to push on to the main road, which he knew crossed the fields half a mile in front of him. The country was, however, here laid out in rice fields, each inclosed by banks and ditches. Over these banks it was impossible to drag the guns, and the sailors could only get them along by descending into the ditches, and using these as roads. The labour was prodigious, and the men, fatigued and harassed by this battle in darkness, and by the fire from the unseen guns which the enemy continued to pour in their direction from either flank, began to lose heart.
Happily, however, the fog began to lift. The flanks of the columns were covered by bodies of troops, thrown out on either side, and after more than an hour's hard work, and abandoning two of the guns which had broken down, Clive reached the main road, again formed his men in column, and advanced towards the city.
The odds were overwhelmingly against him. There were guns, infantry, and cavalry, both in front and behind them. The column pressed on, in spite of the heavy fire, crossed the ditch, and attacked a strong body of the enemy drawn up on the opposite side. While it did so, a great force of the nabob's cavalry swept down on the rear, and for a moment captured the guns. Ensign Yorke, of the 39th Foot, faced the rear company about, and made a gallant charge upon the horsemen, drove them back, and recaptured the guns.
Clive's whole army was now across the ditch, and it was open to him either to carry out his original plan of attacking Omichund's garden, or of marching forward into the fort of Calcutta. Seeing that his men were fatigued, and worn out with six hours of labour and marching under the most difficult circumstances, he took the latter alternative, entered Calcutta, and then, following the stream, marched back to the camp he had left in the morning.
His loss amounted to thirty-nine Europeans killed, and eighteen Sepoys; eighty-two Europeans wounded, and thirty-five Sepoys; the casualties being caused almost entirely by the enemy's cannon.
The expedition, from a military point of view, had been an entire failure. He had carried neither the battery nor Omichund's garden. Had it not been for the fog he might have succeeded in both these objects; but, upon the other hand, the enemy were as much disconcerted by the fog as he was, and were unable to use their forces with any effect. Military critics have decided that the whole operation was a mistake; but although a mistake and a failure, its consequences were no less decisive.
The nabob, struck with astonishment at the daring and dash of the English, in venturing with so small a force to attack him, and to march through the very heart of his camp, was seized with terror. He had lost thirteen hundred men in the fight, among whom were twenty-four rajahs and lesser chiefs, and the next morning he sent in a proposal for peace.
A less determined man than Clive would, no doubt, have accepted the proposal. Calcutta was still besieged by a vastly superior force, supplies of all kinds were running short, the attack of the previous day had been a failure. He knew, however, the character of Asiatics, and determined to play the game of bounce. The very offer of the nabob showed him that the latter was alarmed. He therefore wrote to him, saying that he had simply marched his troops through his highness' camp to show him of what British soldiers were capable; but that he had been careful to avoid hurting anyone, except those who actually opposed his progress. He concluded by expressing his willingness to accede to the nabob's proposal, and to negotiate.
The nabob took it all in. If all this destruction and confusion had been wrought by a simple march through his camp, what would be the result if Clive were to take into his head to attack him in earnest? He therefore at once withdrew his army three miles to the rear, and opened negotiations. He granted all that the English asked: that all the property and privileges of the Company should be restored, that all their goods should pass into the country free of tax, that all the Company's factories, and all moneys and properties belonging to it or its servants, should be restored or made good, and that permission should be given to them to fortify Calcutta as they pleased.
Having agreed to these conditions, the nabob, upon the 11th of February, retired with his army to his capital; leaving Omichund with a commission to propose to the English a treaty of alliance, offensive and defensive, against all enemies. This proposal was a most acceptable one, and Clive determined to seize the opportunity to crush the French. His previous experiences, around Madras, had taught him that the French were the most formidable rivals of England in India. He knew that large reinforcements were on their way to Pondicherry, and he feared that the nabob, when he recovered from his panic, might regret the conditions which he had granted, and might ally himself with the French in an effort, again, to expel the English.
He therefore determined at once to attack the French. The deputies sent by Monsieur Renault, the governor of Chandranagore, had been kept waiting from day to day, under one pretence or another; and they now wrote to the governor that they believed that there was no real intention, on the part of the English, to sign an agreement of neutrality with him; and that they would be the next objects of attack. Monsieur Renault immediately sent messengers to the nabob, urging upon him that, if the English were allowed to annihilate the French, they would be more dangerous enemies than ever; and Suraja-u-Dowlah, having now recovered from his terror, wrote at once to Calcutta, peremptorily forbidding any hostilities against the French.
To show his determination, he despatched fifteen hundred men to Hoogly, which the English had abandoned after capturing it, with instructions to help the French if attacked; and he sent a lac of rupees to Monsieur Renault, to aid him in preparing for his defence.
Clive, unwilling to face a coalition between the French and the nabob, was in favour of acceding to the nabob's orders. The treaty of neutrality with the French was drawn up, and would have been signed, had it not been for the obstinate refusal of Admiral Watson to agree to it. Between that officer and Clive there had never been any cordial feeling, and from the time of their first connection, at the siege of Gheriah, differences of opinion, frequently leading to angry disputes, had taken place between them. Nor was it strange that this should be so. Both were brave and gallant men; but while Watson had the punctilious sense of honor which naturally belongs to an English gentleman, Clive was wholly unscrupulous as to the means which he employed to gain his ends.
Between two such men, it is not singular that disagreements arose. Admiral Watson, impelled by feelings of personal dislike to Clive, often allowed himself to be carried to unwarrantable lengths. On the occasion of the capture of Calcutta, he ordered Captain Eyre Coote, who first entered it, to hold it in the king's name, and to disobey Clive's orders, although the latter had been granted a commission in the royal army as lieutenant colonel, and was, moreover, the chief authority of the Company in all affairs on land. Upon Clive's asserting himself, Admiral Watson absolutely threatened to open fire upon his troops. Apparently from a sheer feeling of opposition, he now opposed the signing of the treaty with the French, and several days were spent in stormy altercations.
Circumstances occurred, during this time, which strengthened the view he took, and changed those of Clive and his colleagues of the council. Just then, the news reached Suraja-u-Dowlah that Delhi had been captured by the Afghans; and, terrified at the thought that the victorious northern enemy might next turn their arms against him, he wrote to Clive, begging him to march to his assistance, and offering a lac of rupees a month towards the expense of his army.
On the same day that Clive received the letter, he heard that Commodore James and three ships, with reinforcements from Bombay, had arrived at the mouth of the Hoogly; and that the Cumberland, with three hundred troops, which had grounded on her way from Madras, was now coming up the river.
Almost at the same moment he heard, from Omichund, who had accompanied the nabob to Moorshedabad, that he had bribed the governor of Hoogly to offer no opposition to the passage of the troops up the river.
Clive was now ready to agree to Admiral Watson's views, and to advance at once against Chandranagore; but the admiral again veered round, and refused to agree to the measure, unless the consent of the nabob was obtained. He wrote, however, himself, a threatening, and indeed violent letter to the nabob, ordering him to give his consent. The nabob, still under the influence of his fears from the Afghans, replied in terms which amounted to consent, but the very next day, having received news which calmed his fears as to the Afghans, he wrote peremptorily, forbidding the expedition against the French. This letter, however, was disregarded, and the expedition prepared to start.
It consisted of seven hundred Europeans and fifteen hundred native infantry, who started by land; a hundred and fifty artillery proceeding in boats, escorted by three ships of war and several smaller vessels, under Admiral Watson.
The French garrison consisted only of a hundred and forty-six French, and three hundred Sepoys. Besides these were three hundred of the European population, and sailors of the merchant ships in port, who had been hastily formed into a militia.
The governor, indignant at the duplicity with which he had been treated, had worked vigorously at his defences. The settlement extended along the river banks for two miles. In the centre stood the fort, which was a hundred and twenty yards square, mounting ten thirty-two pounder guns on each of its four bastions. Twenty four-pounder guns were placed on the ramparts, facing the river on the south. On an outlying work commanding the watergate eight thirty-two pounders were mounted. Monsieur Renault set to work to demolish all the houses within a hundred yards of the fort, and to erect batteries commanding the approaches. He ordered an officer to sink several ships in the only navigable channel, about a hundred and fifty yards to the south of the fort, at a point commanded by the guns of one of the batteries.
The officer was a traitor. He purposely sank the ships in such a position as to leave a channel, through which the English ships might pass; and then, seizing his opportunity, deserted to them.
On approaching the town Clive, knowing that Charlie could speak the native language fluently, asked him whether he would undertake to reconnoitre the position of the enemy, with which he was entirely unacquainted. Charlie willingly agreed. When, on the night of the 13th of March, the army halted a few miles from the town, Charlie, disguising himself in a native dress and accompanied by Hossein, left the camp and made his way to the town. This he had no difficulty in entering. It extended a mile and a half back from the river, and consisted of houses standing in large gardens and inclosures. The whole of the Europeans were labouring at the erection of the batteries, and the destruction of the houses surrounding them; and Charlie and his companion, approaching closely to one of these, were pounced upon by the French officer in command of a working party, and set to work, with a number of natives, in demolishing the houses.
Charlie, with his usual energy, threw himself into the work, and would speedily have called attention to himself, by the strength and activity which he displayed, had not Hossein begged him to moderate his efforts.
"Native man never work like that, sahib. Not when he's paid ever so much. Work still less, no pay. The French would soon notice the sahib, if he laboured like that."
Thus admonished, Charlie adapted his actions to those of his companions and, after working until dawn approached, he managed, with Hossein, to evade the attention of the officer; and, drawing off, hurried away to rejoin Clive. The latter was moving from the west, by a road leading to the northern face of the fort. It was at the battery which Renault was erecting upon this road that Charlie had been labouring. The latter informed Clive of the exact position of the work, and also, that although strong by itself, it was commanded by many adjoining houses; which the French, in spite of their efforts, had not time to destroy.
This news decided Clive to advance immediately, without giving the enemy further time to complete their operations.