On entering the Palace we passed, before reaching the Durbar, through three great courts, each filled with a multitude of soldiers and attendants, and so came into a pretty flower-garden, planted with two rows of trees, and having channels of water running between the borders. At the end of this garden was a terrass, where the Durbar was held, and at the foot of the steps we were constrained to leave our shoes, and to make a salute in the Moorish style, by lifting our hands to our heads from the ground. On the terrass was a sort of square porch, open in front to the garden and on one side to the river, where the roof was supported on pillars hung with flowered muslin, which was caught up with cords and tassels of gold and silver. On the other two sides the walls were covered with shining white chunam, and ornamented with small niches, very regularly placed, while the floor was laid with fine mats, and on the wide sopha[15] was spread a carpet of three thicknesses of muslin. In the midst of this sopha sat the Nabob, his elbow resting on a cushion of brocade. He is a person of middle height, very black for a Moor, his eyes lively and piercing, and his countenance bearing an air of frankness. On his head was a little cap, his vest was of flowered muslin, and his Moorish trowsers of cloth of silver. On his left hand sat his brother Merzee Mundee[16] cross-legged on the carpet, and on his right, but at a greater distance, Roydoolub, Meer Mudden, and five or six others of his great men, the one nearest to him being a person of a dark and forbidding countenance, who pleased me even less when he smiled, which he did whenever the Nabob turned towards him, than when he wore a serious air. All this I had leisure to observe while the Nabob seated Mr Watts on his right hand, with me beyond him, and exchanged with him many compliments in the Persic language, addressing him as his dear friend Watch Siab, without having recourse to the interpreters who stood behind.
Oh, madam, you can’t fancy the sentiments that possessed me as I looked upon the man to whose tyrannic fury and insatiable avarice I owe it that my dear Miss Freyne has been torn from her paternal abode and is at this moment a prisoner among these pagans! As I regarded him the impulse seized me to spring upon him and threaten him with instant death unless he restored me my beloved; but even as I laid my hand on my sword I remembered that he might conceivably know nothing of the matter, and that such an outburst might warn the true criminal if he were present. I endeavoured to turn my glance from the Prince to the officers and guards that stood on either side, but he remarked the motion of my eyes, and said something to Mr Watts with a laugh.
“His Highness desires to be informed whether you’re always so serious of aspect, Mr Fraser,” says Mr Watts, giving me a private sign to make some civil reply, but this was beyond my power. I could only utter a confused word or two, but my chief was more ready than I. “I’ll tell him that you belong to a nation that was never known to smile,” he said, and spoke in Persic to the Nabob. While all the assembly was laughing to see me put out of countenance, the person that sat next me, and whose countenance I distrusted, leaned forward and said something smiling.
“Meer Sinzaun says that you come like a thunderstorm,” says Mr Watts to me. “He felt cold as soon as he caught sight of your gloomy countenance.”
“Pray tell him that thunderstorms bring worse things with ’em than cold, sir,” said I, wondering no longer at the dislike I had felt.
“Are you mad?” says Mr Watts, hastily. “Sinzaun is aiming to make his Highness believe you possess an evil eye.” Turning to the Nabob, he told him, as I learned afterwards, that though I bore a surly air I was well versed in military affairs.
“Aye,” says the Prince, “I would I had a regiment of men of his nation. If they were all as tall and as sour-looking as he, they would frighten away the Pitans by their looks alone,” and every one laughed at his jest. Shortly afterwards the officers of the guard appeared before the terrass to make salam, as they call it, each man at the head of his company, and after this Mr Watts took his leave, the Nabob bidding him farewell in the most obliging manner, but Meer Sinzaun testified by his looks the same dislike for me that I had conceived for him.
April ye 30th.
Alas, madam! I have still no news to give you of our adored Miss Freyne. It appears almost incredible that the minute enquiries and researches of Mirza Shaw should not have produced the slightest result, but so far he can tell me nothing, though once or twice of late I have observed about him an air of mystery that has made my heart leap with groundless joy. My sole comfort is that Meer Sinzaun has again been absent from the city, as we are assured in a sufficiently strange manner. Colonel Clive having demanded of the Nabob to give up Mr Laws and the fugitives from Chandernagore, the Prince sent them away as though to go to Patna, telling the Colonel that he had banished them from his dominions, but despatching to them secret instructions, as we learn, to proceed no further than Rajamahol.[17] They passed through Muxidavad in military array, as we ourselves beheld, having with them no less than thirty small carriages and four elephants, and Sinzaun questionless accompanied them, since we hear from Coja Wasseed that he saw him pass through Ballisore, taking with him a present of an elephant and divers jewels from the Nabob for Mr Bussey.
You’ll guess, madam, that this evasion points to a change in the Prince’s attitude towards us; and indeed the retreat of the Pitans from Delly, coupled with the Colonel’s demand for leave to attack the Sydabad factory, placed us for a time in the most imminent danger, which may be said still to continue. Finding himself no longer in need of our protection, the Nabob took occasion, on hearing that Colonel Clive had despatched a force in pursuit of Mr Laws, to give way to the most violent transports of rage, in which he drove our vacqueel with ignominy from his presence, and threatened Mr Watts with death either by beheading or impaling, unless we made peace with the French or withdrew immediately to Calcutta. Mr Watts met these menaces with the greatest calmness and resolution, refusing both of the Nabob’s conditions, and obtaining leave from the Presidency to send down the treasure and effects of the agency to Calcutta in view of a fresh outbreak of war, since the Soubah has ordered Roydoolub and his troops to advance to Palassy,[18] which is on the way to Calcutta from here. Considering that a rupture was now inevitable, the Colonel sent Captain Grant with forty Europeans and some Tellinghys to Cossimbuzar, with several boat-loads of ammunition concealed under rice, but these were stopped and turned back at Cutwah without being able to reach us. In this melancholy and mortifying situation Mr Watts has displayed the utmost resolution and intrepidity, attending every day at the Durbar (for when he did not appear there the Nabob sent for him to come), and supporting the insults of the ungracious tyrant with all the temper and calmness imaginable, although they have preyed so sadly upon his mind that he could not have persisted in his task but for the consolation imparted by the kind letters of Colonel Clive and the Admiral. These gentlemen have themselves suffered under the waywardness of the Soubah, Colonel Clive receiving from him in one day as many as ten letters, wrote in the most opposite styles, the whole of which he has answered suitably to their contents, and with all the punctuality and complaisance in the world. At last the Nabob, perceiving, apparently, that he was alienating those who might be of service to him, changed his behaviour suddenly, and sending for our vacqueel, presented him with a serpau, summoning Mr Watts also to his presence and caressing him, seeming to consider that this condescension should atone in full for all his insulting behaviour.
But this last outbreak of the inconstant Prince has persuaded all that have to do with him that there’s no confidence to be placed in any of his assurances, and this sentiment has now spread from the British to his own courtiers, whom he has used with the utmost arrogance, heaping insults upon the Buxey, Meer Jaffier, who married his great-aunt, fining Monickchund and throwing him into prison for stealing a portion of the Calcutta plunder, placing his worthless favourite Moonloll[19] over the head of Roydoolub, and keeping the Seats in a perpetual apprehension lest he may deprive them suddenly of their wealth. Questionless, the youthful tyrant has prepared his own destruction. A week ago Mr Watts was approached by a Mogul named Godar Yar Caun Laitty,[20] who commands 2000 horse in the Soubah’s service, but is entertained by the Seats to protect them in case of danger, and was acting now upon their motion. This person, opening his mind to Omichund, who was sent to confer with him, proposed that when the Soubah, who was about to take the field at Patna against the Pitans, had started on his campaign, the British should assist Roydoolub and the Seats to seize Muxidavad, and immediately make Yar Caun Laitty Nabob, in return for which he would enter into any engagements we pleased. Almost before Mr Watts had imparted this notion to the Presidency, there comes also the Armenian Coja Petruce, bringing the same proposition from Meer Jaffier, and he having so much larger a force at his command Mr Watts inclines to him.
As though to prevent any sentiment of compunction on our part for thus plotting against him, the Nabob has thought fit to exhibit again the utmost hostility towards us. In place of removing his army from Palassy, as Colonel Clive requested him, he has patched up a peace with Meer Jaffier and sent him there with reinforcements for it. At the same time, having heard from his spy Mooteram the absurd report that in spite of his stopping Captain Grant’s detachment at Cutwah, we had half our army concealed at Cossimbuzar, he sent a mob of servants and troops to search the factory, but they found there only forty Europeans, of whom twenty were the artillerymen that were lent to him in February. More than this, we learn that he has wrote to Mr Laws requesting him to remain with his men at Boglipore[21] as his guests until he sends for them, and that he is despatching Sinzaun afresh to Mr Bussey to promise him twenty laacks of rupees if he’ll come to his assistance, while he has stopped with stakes the entire breadth of the Cossimbuzar River at Sootey, twenty miles below this place, with the design of preventing the passage of our ships, of whose armament he cherishes the wildest notions, although they could never come up so far. Thus, madam, we are placed between an infuriated despot and a parcel of timid conspirators, all afraid the one of t’other, Meer Jaffier refusing to trust Omichund and the Seats jealous of him, while Yar Caun Laitty may at any moment revenge himself for being set aside by revealing the whole affair. ...
Madam, I must add one word to the end of this letter. We have hope at last. Mirza Shaw has just approached me with an air of the utmost secrecy, and informed me that last night he tracked Sinzaun in disguise to an obscure house on the outskirts of the city, where, as he learns from the gossip of the neighbourhood, he entertains a lady whom he has given out as his ward. She is called Nezmennessa Beeby, but she is very white, and wears an outlandish dress, so that they believe her a woman either of Persia or Cashmere, and Sinzaun talks with her through a curtain with great respect. So cautious is the fellow that no one in the vicinity knows who he is, but they believe him to be a slave-merchant, who intends a most delicate gift for the Nabob. Oh, madam, picture to yourself the horror of the situation! What’s to be done? We can’t be sure that this lady is Miss Freyne, and to rescue the wrong captive would but plunge us in fresh difficulties. How to obtain a sight of her, open communication with her—above all, how to release her? But of that I can say more when the Tartar has conducted me to-night to view the house.
May ye 23rd.
I am conscious, madam, that you’ll be justly indignant with me for leaving you so long in suspense after the affecting news contained in my last letter, though indeed I have put off writing from day to day in hopes to find something certain to communicate to you, but in vain. On the night after my letter was despatched, Mirza Shaw attended me to the house of which he had spoken, both of us wearing the Moorish dress, and we traced its extent and examined the outside walls, which are high and in good repair, and (as is common with the houses here) destitute of any openings by which a secret entrance might be effected. The only means that suggested itself to me for scaling them was a ladder of ropes furnished with a hook at one end, which might be thrown over the summit of the wall, and catching there afford us an ascent, but the Tartar objected very pertinently that without knowing who was to be found on the other side of the wall we might well terminate our lives and our hopes of rescuing Miss Freyne at once in our first attempt. Other expedients we discussed, without finding any that commended itself to our prudence, and we left it at last that Mirza Shaw was to linger in the vicinity of the house, and representing himself as a boxwaller,[22] insinuate himself into the confidence of the servants, and so perhaps gain access to Nezmennessa Beeby herself, or at least discover who she may really be.
This prudent decision has met with an incredible want of success, and I fear that had it not been for the threatening posture of public affairs your correspondent, madam, would have brought the entire enterprise to destruction by rushing hastily upon some solution of the difficulty. But events of importance have followed so close upon one another, and Mr Watts has found it needful to make such constant demands upon my humble services as scribe, that even the question of Miss Freyne’s release has been occasionally driven from the forefront of my mind. Nine days ago Mr Watts arrived at an agreement through Coja Petruce as to the treaty to be made between Meer Jaffier and the British, the Buxey assenting to all our demands, but repeating his entreaty that Omichund should not be informed of the affair. In this Mr Watts endeavoured to content him, but the old Gentoo had already been told too much to render it possible to keep him in ignorance, and was also anxious to know why no favourable answer was to be given to Yar Caun Laitty, whose proposals had at first been so warmly entertained. Finding that the disclosure could not be avoided, Mr Watts at length unfolded to him the compact with Meer Jaffier, which has roused in Omichund an implacable hatred, since he could not fail to perceive that the explication was only extorted by necessity. This passion he gratified immediately by threatening to disclose the entire scheme to the Nabob, unless the possession of one-sixth of that Prince’s jewels, and a huge dussutary[23] besides on the rest of the spoils, were secured to him by the treaty. This Mr Watts was unable to promise on his own authority, but, soothing the traitor with agreeable words, referred the matter to the Select Committee at Calcutta, while Omichund took occasion to exhibit that wild prodigality of deceitfulness in which he takes delight. Obtaining access to the Nabob, he informed him very circumstantially that he had discovered a plot between the English and Mr Bussey, who were about to unite their forces with the object of hurling him from the throne. Absurd though such a notion is, it commended itself to the Nabob, who rewarded Omichund by ordering the repayment to him of a sum of money which he had lent so long before as almost to have lost hope of receiving it again, and this was an ample satisfaction to the wily Gentoo, although Surajah Dowlah was undeceived almost immediately by the arrival of the news that Mr Bussey, far from allying himself with us, was reported by advices from Ballisore to be five days’ journey this side of Cuttack, marching against us with 700 Europeans and 5000 Seapoys.
Immediately after this, Mr Scrafton arrived suddenly from Calcutta, bearing a letter that had been delivered to Colonel Clive by a stranger Gentoo known to none of the gentlemen there, and giving his name as Govindroy.[24] This letter purported to be from the Maharattor leader Badgerow,[25] offering the Colonel an alliance for the purpose of crushing the Nabob, and it fell in so pat with our desires that no one could consent to accept it as genuine, all conceiving it to be a trick of Surajah Dowlah’s to entrap us. In this difficulty, Colonel Clive took the courageous step of sending the letter to the Nabob as a proof of our good faith, but he designed to reap the additional advantage from Mr Scrafton’s journey of establishing communications with Meer Jaffier, who had proceeded unwillingly with his army to Palassy after the Soubah’s feigned reconciliation with him. In this, however, Mr Scrafton was anticipated by the Nabob’s spies, who (whether guessing his intention or not I can’t say) turned him back and forced him to take the straight road, but the Soubah, receiving the letter, appeared much moved by the confidence reposed in him by the British, and also by the affecting remonstrances on his late unfriendly behaviour addressed to him by the Colonel, so that he ordered Meer Jaffier with his army to return to Muxidavad. But the unsteady Prince is now too late in this last change of front.
Of the course which the Council at Calcutta have thought fit to adopt with regard to Omichund’s unjust demands I can’t speak with certainty, but I fear I have a very fair notion of it. Four days back a messenger of the country brought to Mr Watts the treaty drawn up and signed by the Council, ready for presentation to Meer Jaffier, and the good gentleman enlarged to Dr Dacre and myself with a good deal of merriment on the clauses which had been added at Calcutta, stipulating for donations of money, in excess of the sums named in restitution of last year’s losses, not only to the army and the fleet, but also to each member of the Council. There was no mention of Omichund’s name, which surprised me, but before I could remark on the omission Omichund himself was announced, when Mr Watts immediately doubled up the treaty and thrust it into his breast.
“Be so good as to pass me that lol coggedge,[26] Mr Fraser,” he said, indicating a red paper that had been in the same pacquet with the white one he had just concealed. Glancing carelessly at it, I perceived that ’twas another copy of the treaty, but with a clause added, in which I saw Omichund’s name.
“Sure there’s something wrong here, sir,” I said, looking at the list of signatures; “I could swear that Admiral Watson never writ his name in that style.”
“Have I asked your opinion on the matter, sir?” says Mr Watts.
“Why, no, sir; but the hand is far liker Mr Fisherton’s than the Admiral’s.”
“You’ll oblige me infinitely if you’ll hold your tongue, sir,” said Mr Watts very angrily, as Omichund was brought in.
I did hold my tongue, for the business was none of mine, but I can’t help being persuaded that Colonel Clive and the Council have devised some plan for hoodwinking Omichund with a false copy of the treaty, which they have not dared to ask the Admiral to sign. There’s something ironically suitable, questionless, in the old deceiver’s being thus deceived; yet I can’t but regret that a body of Britons should voluntarily decline to his pagan level in order to get the better of him. The device, whatever it may be, succeeded so far that he departed satisfied; but he has since exhibited fresh apprehensions, and Mr Watts is doing his best to induce him to return to Calcutta with Mr Scrafton, under colour of removing him out of danger, but this kind solicitude is perpetually defeated by Omichund himself, whose avarice forbids him to leave Muxidavad until he has recovered certain further sums due to him, thus continuing from day to day our anxiety as to his intentions.
Mr Watts, meanwhile, continues with the greatest coolness imaginable to attend the Durbar, as though he were not in danger of being denounced as one of those who are plotting to dethrone and kill the Nabob, and is received with varying favour. Since the visit I described to you, madam, I have not attended at Court, but while waiting upon Mr Watts to the Kella, have remained in one of the anterooms until his business was finished, and there I have to-day met with a notion that I hope to employ for the rescue of our dear Miss Freyne. Waiting among the Nabob’s inferior courtiers, I observed that some of these were passing the time by listening to a person that appeared to be relating an improving history of some sort. Mr Watts’ mounshy being with me, I invited him to interpret what was said, and this the story-teller took as an extraordinary great compliment, and told his tale with an eye to me, pausing between the sentences in order to leave the interpreter time. I’ll own that I was not a little disappointed at first with the narrative, which contained none of those wonders that the Easterns are wont to import into their romances. To be brief, madam, it concerned a vizier that had robbed the king his master, and was sentenced to be imprisoned without food or water in the topmost apartment of a lofty tower, there to starve to death. But happening to possess a faithful wife, the lady came by night to the foot of the tower, and desired, weeping, to know how she might gratify her unlucky spouse. “Why, my dear,” says he, “you may save me if you will.” The lady on this dried her tears, and requested the vizier’s commands. “To-morrow night,” says he, “bring here a beetle, some butter, a skein of silk, a ball of twine, and a long and stout rope, and I’ll show you how to employ ’em.” The lady came punctually the next night, bringing with her the desired articles, and at her spouse’s direction placed a small lump of butter on the head of the beetle, and fastened the end of the silk about its body, setting the insect on the wall of the tower as high up as she could reach. The beetle, discovering by the odour of the butter that there was a feast in the neighbourhood, which it judged to be somewhere in advance of itself, crawled up the side of the tower, led on perpetually by the fallacious delight, and came at last into the hand of the vizier, who unfastened the silk from its body, and desired his lady to attach the end of the twine to that of the skein. Pulling up the silk, he then obtained possession of the twine, by the means of which he next drew up the rope, and, fastening it to a pillar of his apartment, descended the tower in safety. This conclusion was much applauded by the audience, and I desired the mounshy to make my compliments to the narrator, which appeared to gratify those who stood round, though it had surprised them prodigiously to guess to what a degree the fellow had really obliged me.
In order that you, madam, may understand my gratification, you must know that Mirza Shaw and I have been seriously disturbed this three weeks by the difficulty of throwing a rope (of a size sufficient to be safe to descend by) from the ground to the roof of a house without making such a clatter as to rouse the whole neighbourhood, even though we had succeeded in opening communications with Miss Freyne. The notion of a grapnel we have been forced to relinquish, owing to the tumbledown and uncertain state of the parapets even in the best houses here, which might involve us in a serious catastrophe should the wall break away. But with the new plan suggested by the tale I had heard it seemed to me that I saw my course marked out, and I opened my mind to the Tartar as soon as we were returned to the house and I could catch him alone. He did not accept my proposition with that eagerness I had anticipated, but I perceived that this was because he was piqued that the suggestion did not come from himself.
“Sure you’ve forgot the situation of the place, Siab,” says he. “The sight of two men carrying such a paraphernalia will rouse the whole quarter against us.”
“Why, as to that,” said I, “we must have the rope of silk, and I’ll wind it round me under my coat.”
“If you look to see your Beeby touch a beetle with her fingers, and fasten a rope so as ’twill be safe, and then consent to descend by it, you’re a rash man, Siab.”
“The lady will forget her feminine fears in such a case,” said I. “We must trust her to fasten the rope safe, and as soon as that’s done I’ll ascend it and lower her down.”
“But think, Siab. You’ve caught your beetle, let us say, and started him on his journey up the wall. But all beetles may not be charmed by butter, or even if he be, a beetle travels but slowly. For us to remain in an attentive posture outside a house in a frequented place until he had reached the top, would infallibly lead to our seizure by the Cotwal, even if we had not a crowd to observe our doings.”
This was, indeed, a grave objection, and one that I could not get over, since ’twas not reasonable to suppose we could control the motion of the insect to our liking. The place stands in a pretty crowded part of the city, and we could not hope the neighbours would permit us to play at house-breaking for several hours uninterrupted; while even should they prove so complaisant as to do this, their very observation would be fatal to our design. I was altogether taken aback, and stood staring at Mirza Shaw. Suddenly a notion entered my head, suggested by the narrow streets that surround on all sides the English house, on whose roof we were standing.
“Are you well acquainted with the lanes about this house of Sinzaun’s, Mirza Shaw?”
“Seeing that I have lately spent the best part of my time there I should be but a dolt if I were not, Siab,” he answered.
“Then have you observed whether in any of them there’s an empty house that might be hired? It must be a large house, as high as Sinzaun’s or even higher, and it must face it.”
“I don’t say but there might be such a place found, Siab.”
“Then hire it this very day. Tell what tale you choose, and come to me for the money.”
“Ah, I perceive your honour’s meaning.” Mirza Shaw put on a thoughtful air. “But a beetle won’t walk from roof to roof on the air, Siab.”
“No, but we’ll do without the beetle, and make our task the easier. Trust a seaman to throw a ball of twine safe across the gap.”
“But that would make a noise, Siab, if the Beeby did not catch it.”
“But a ball of woollen yarn would not, and would serve as well to pull the twine across as the Vizier’s skein of silk, if ’twas paid out gently. Go and hire the house, Mirza Shaw, and I’ll perfect my plan. I have in my head the hint of a device for the lady’s rescue.”
June ye 8th.
At length, madam, the day is arrived on which it’s possible to make a serious endeavour to open communications with Miss Freyne, and since the attempt can’t take place before nightfall, Mrs Hurstwood won’t be surprised that I have taken refuge in writing to her to escape from the tumult of my own too eager thoughts. There’s another reason also why I would set down the events of this last week, and that is, that in case our lives, Mirza Shaw’s and mine, should fall a forfeit to the audacity of our attempt, or that a general catastrophe should tear from us the fruits of victory by means of the destruction of the entire agency, Mrs Hurstwood may be assured that not the will, but only the power, was wanting for the rescue of her friend.
At the extreme end of last month the importunities of Mess. Watts and Scrafton prevailed on Omichund to allow himself to be transported from the city. The business of obtaining the Nabob’s permission he effected by feigning to claim from the Prince on behalf of the British the huge sum of money he had promised if they supported him against the Pitans, whereupon he was drove out of the palace with ignominy, and commanded to quit Muxidavad immediately. Yet when this had been happily accomplished, and the journey begun, the aged miser succeeded in evading Mr Scrafton at the first halting-place, and returned to scrape together some further petty sums that were owing to him, though he continued the journey later in the day. His departure relieves us from some anxiety, though not from all, for Mr Scrafton writes that he shows himself perpetually troubled with suspicions and apprehensions, and Coja Petruce tells Mr Watts that Omichund has wrote to bid him prevent matters coming to a head until he has assured himself that his ill-gotten gains are faithfully secured to him.
Since getting rid of Omichund, our chief concern has been with the treaty, which had then been signed only by the British. Meer Jaffier returned to the city on the 30th, in obedience to the Nabob’s order recalling him with his army from Palassy, but he was received by Surajah Dowlah with so much contumely that he retired at once to his own palace in the south part of the city, which he placed in a posture of defence, and summoned his friends to join him. Four days later Roydoolub, returning with his division, examined the treaty in concert with Meer Jaffier, and raised difficulties with regard to the sums of money allotted in it to the British, which he declared the whole contents of the treasury would not suffice to furnish. Being promised, however, by Mr Watts the entire management of the affair, and a genteel dussutary for his pains, the worthy duan overcame his scruples, and in conjunction with Meer Jaffier signed the treaty four days ago. On the very day this was done, the Nabob, not because he was acquainted with it, but merely to gratify his feelings of enmity, and as though to stifle any remorse that his kinsman might have been entertaining, removed Meer Jaffier from his office, setting up Coja Haddee, a favourite of his own, as Buxey.
Although the treaty was now signed, it was not yet complete, for Meer Jaffier had still to swear his resolution to observe it, but there was difficulties in the way of his doing this. Meer Jaffier durst not quit his palace, nor durst he receive a visit there from Mr Watts, even had Mr Watts been prepared to brave the suspicions of the Nabob so far as to go thither, while no confidence could be reposed in any inferior person as a witness of the solemnity. In this strait Mr Watts displayed an intrepidity such as few would have credited him with possessing, for confiding in the fidelity of his servants and the manners of the country, he entered three days ago a covered palanqueen, such as women of distinction are wont to ride abroad in, and caused himself to be carried through the city and into the inmost recesses of Meer Jaffier’s seraglio, where that nobleman, placing one hand upon the Alcoran (the accustomed pledge of the Moors’ falsehood), and t’other upon the head of his son Meerum,[27] took an oath to observe the compact. And here I must remark upon the extraordinary zeal and resolution with which Mr Watts has conducted all this business, which is the more wonderful when his readiness to confide in and submit to the Nabob in the surrender of Cossimbuzar is recalled. That the animadversion excited by his behaviour on that occasion has stimulated him to prove it untrue may well be believed, yet how seldom do we behold an error in judgment or a moment of timidity thus courageously repented of! Would that this gentleman’s superior, Mr Drake, had shown any signs of retrieving in a similar manner his far greater fault, instead of bending all his energies to the amassing of wealth by the efforts of others, whom he yet has not sufficient spirit even to support in their designs!
But I have wandered from my mention of Mr Watts’ intrepid journey, from which he returned safely, and which brought to me such a confirmation of my hopes as served to repay me in full for all my arduous labours for Miss Freyne’s release. For Mirza Shaw, coming from attending his master in his dangerous passage, approached the varendar where I sat.
“Siab,” he said, “Nezmennessa Beeby is the Beeby you seek.”
“What!” I cried, “have you spoke with her?”
“Nay,” said he, “but it chanced that as we passed the house to-day one of the gwallers that was bearing Watch Siab’s palanqueen slipped and fell, and the rest raised a great talk and shouting. There’s a small barred window high in the wall just there, and when I glanced at it I saw a woman looking out. She was very white, and she wore a head-dress such as the Beebies of Calcutta wear.”
“Heaven be praised for this certainty!” I cried. “Did the lady make any sign to you?”
“Nay, Siab; how should she know who I might be? She disappeared from the window suddenly as I looked at her, and your honour’s servant saw no more.”
“But wait, Mirza Shaw. Was the lady in good health? How did she look?”
“Why, Siab, she appeared pale, as the European Beebies always do. I can’t tell if she was ill, since I never saw her before.”
And this cold-hearted rascal had beheld my beloved, yet could tell me no more of her than this! Pity me, madam, seeing me so tantalised. But this en’t the last of my trials. Yesterday Mr Watts despatched Omar-beg, a Moorman, an officer of Meer Jaffier’s, to Calcutta with the treaty (I fear I would be right in saying the two treaties, the white and the red), but announced to us his purpose of remaining at Muxidavad until the last extremity. Dr Dacre is still here with us, and we have just been joined by Mr Ranger, whose occupation is now gone, since the garrison of the Cossimbuzar factory, which was reduced at the end of April to no more than a corporal and six European soldiers besides the bucksarries, has now been wholly withdrawn by Colonel Clive’s orders, and the men are on their way to Calcutta. My pleasant friend refused to accompany them, being determined, as he says, to be in at the death, which will be his own, indeed, as much as ours. Mr Watts has desired us all to be ready on the shortest notice to take flight, or at least to remove to Maudipore,[28] a country house that he occupies two miles to the south of Cossimbuzar, whence we may seek to refuge at Calcutta. This order has filled me with apprehension, for what’s to be done if Mr Watts desire to send us away before we have released Miss Freyne? and work as hard as we may during the hours of darkness, the Tartar and I have not yet been able entirely to complete our preparations. Worst of all, Miss Freyne has no knowledge of ’em, for Mirza Shaw has in vain endeavoured to obtain access to her in his disguise as a pedlar. The women of the house, even, I believe, her own attendant, will come and examine his wares, but he can’t get sight of the lady. And now the Nabob, who has shut himself up in his castle of Herautjeel, in the midst of the city, is exchanging menaces with Meer Jaffier, whose fortified palace is separated from his by the river, and it’s expected that the Prince will shortly call up his army, and open upon our friend the pretender with his cannon, when Mr Watts will questionless order us out of the city....
I had wrote thus far, madam, when Mirza Shaw, who has been spending the night in the house we have hired facing Sinzaun’s, came to me a few minutes back with what seemed a piece of rag in his hand.
“This, Siab,” he said, “was thrown out to me just now from the window where I saw the Beeby t’other day. Hearing a slight noise, I looked up and perceived one edge of the grating move a very little way, just enough for this to be pushed out. I beheld no one, for I was too close beneath the window.”
He presented me with the rag, which I found to be a handkerchief with a stone tied up in it—this to give it weight, as I suppose. The letters S. F. were worked very finely in one of the corners, but on the stuff itself were traced rudely in blue thread the words, “Save. Quick.” The sight almost deprived me of my senses.
“Wretch that I am!” I cried. “We are too late.”
“Nay, Siab,” says Mirza Shaw. “The Beeby’s there still, though she may be exposed to a sudden peril. We may questionless save her yet.”
“But what do you imagine this danger to be?” I asked him.
“Why, Siab, I think Sinzaun is about to give her to the Nabob.”
I sat down again, sick at heart, remembering that the Soubah’s parasite, Moonloll, had gained his position by handing over to the Prince his own sister, a young lady who was reported to be the most delicate figure in the world. Sinzaun might well be put to it to surpass such a gift as this, but he has the means ready to his hand in our beloved and unhappy sufferer.
“Mirza Shaw,” I said, suddenly, “you and I will forestall him yet.”
“So be it, Siab. I have finished the ropes and the basket, and I will fetch you as soon as it’s dusk.”
“No,” I said; “the lady must be warned as we designed, or we may miss her in the darkness. I’ll go to our house in a dooley.”
For you must know, madam, that my disguise for going about my business with Mirza Shaw is no other than the outer garment of a Moor-woman, veil and cloak in one, which covers me from head to foot, concealing even my eyes with a netting. This passes well enough in the dusk, but in daylight I fear that so strapping a wench might excite more attention than would be desirable, so that the privacy of a dooley was needed for my conveyance. Mirza Shaw required no second bidding. He departed to find a dooley, while I sought to curb my impatience by finishing my letter to you. Sure there never was a dooley so hard to find. The rascal must have been gone a whole day. No, there he is returning. Madam, I trust you are remembering in your prayers this enterprise of ours, and your obedient, humble servant,
C. Fraser.
From Miss Sylvia Freyne to Miss Amelia Turnor.
Muxadavad, April ye 29th.
For more than two months, Amelia, I have been free from the oppression of Sinzaun’s presence, and have not taken up my pen, having nothing to record. Not that my persecutor’s errand to Mons. Bussy has occupied the whole of this period, for I am assured that he has visited the house more than once, and that Misery has spoken with him, but he has been so gracious as not to force himself upon me. I wish I could believe that this abstinence sprang from any desire to show me kindness, but I am convinced it is designed to make me sensible that I am in disgrace. Indeed, since even the steward has ceased to pay his weekly visits, and the women of the house refuse to permit me to speak to them—running away if I come near—I think Sinzaun must desire to force me into a compliance with his wishes through the mere dulness and emptyness of my lot. One poor black girl there was—a Hobshee or Habashy, as the inhabitants of Abyssinia are called here—in whose grotesque countenance I fancied I could detect the signs of a greater humanity than her fellows possessed, and endeavoured accordingly to awaken her compassion, although I got no further than to tell her I was a captive like herself. I fancied she sympathised with me, but when I looked for her next, hoping to advance in my purpose, she was not to be found, and Misery, on my asking what was become of her, would do nothing but laugh in the most horrid, unfeeling style. Since that time, also, the other women have avoided me with this extraordinary care, making off as soon as I approach them, as though fearing punishment if they listened to a word from me. Were the disgust I feel towards my gaoler less deeply rooted, I’ll own I think he would succeed in bringing me to compliance, for what could be more painful to a rational creature than to remain pent up between four walls, seeing and conversing with no one but Misery, and deprived of every semblance of occupation? But however calculated may be his designs, he shan’t induce Sylvia Freyne to entertain her father’s murderer as a suitor for her hand.
But perhaps you’ll say I am relinquishing hope too easily, in thus choosing deliberately to sink into imbecility (as appears but too likely to be my fate) instead of making some attempt to escape. Why, Amelia (I can’t help writing to my dear girl as though she were ever likely to receive this letter), where should I, in my present unhappy situation, take refuge, even if I were once outside these walls? Do you remember that there’s not a person in India would be willing to shelter me; or, if willing, would not be deterred by fear of Sinzaun and the Nabob? And how should an unhappy creature, that has already contributed to destroy her country’s settlements here, have the assurance to involve any other community, as that of the Armenians or the Prussians, in her misfortunes? But even to do this further mischief I must find means to leave this house, and how? Misery, the only creature I speak to, and that will speak to me, is impenetrable, incorruptible. Do I try to move her on the grounds of mercy or forbearance? “Beebee,” she cries, “you talk very fine language—too fine for your slave to understand.” While if I seek to appeal to her in the name of religion, she will shut her eyes and begin to chaunt, “There’s no God but Alla, and Mahomet is his prophet!” until I am gone away from her in disgust.
I have but one faint semblance of hope, and that’s very much akin to despair. Now and again I hear the servants talking of some enemy that’s invading Bengall, and seems to be driving the Soubah’s forces before him. This invading army they call by the name of the loll addama,[01] which means the red men, and speak of its leaders only by the titles of Saubut Jing and Dilleir Jing Bahadre, or the Tryed and the Courageous in Battles. From which side it comes I can’t say, for the only time I have heard anything certain of its advance was more than a month ago, when one of the other women called out to Misery that the red men had captured the city of Farashdanga, and made Zubdatook Toojah[02] and his army prisoners; but I don’t know where this city may be, and the name of the chief man I never heard before. Should these red men continue to succeed in their campaign, and go so far as to seize Muxadavad, I might perhaps find a chance of safety,—not that there’s any reason to anticipate a change of gaolers to be an improvement, but that in the confusion of the moment I might be able to elude the vigilance of Misery and the rest, and slip out of the house. But this is only foolishness, for so far from the red men’s taking Muxadavad, they seem to have retired, or at least made no further advance, since the capture of Farashdanga, and my hopes have sunk with their fortunes. And to-night, says Misery, Meer Sinzaun will attend me here.
April ye 30th.
Well, Amelia, I have received my last warning, and the next interview with which my gaoler favours me is to bring me my last chance. Oh, how I wish that all were over now, and that I had not this perpetual tormenting apprehension besetting me continually! For I don’t even now know the worst; I can but guess at it.
Yesterday evening Sinzaun presented himself at his usual hour, some time after sunset. Approaching me with an air of assurance he sought to kiss my hand, but this I was able to prevent, trusting the repulse might inform him of my temper towards him without entering upon a controversy. This hope appeared to be fulfilled, for he opened his discourse by apologizing for the length of time he had absented himself from my saloon, remarking that he had undertaken several journeys to Mons. Bussy and other French officers in the interval. But having finished his excuses, he changed his topic on a sudden.
“When Clarissa’s humble servant last had the satisfaction of beholding her, it may be that he approached with too much precipitation the subject which is nearest to his heart,” said he, “and that the passion which possesses him rendered him oblivious of the usual proprieties. But although he may adore Clarissa without asking to know more of her than that she returns his affection, it en’t reasonable to expect the same of her. Know then, madam, that the individual who is so happy as to find himself at your feet is a son of one of the highest families in France, and in that favoured country enjoys the style of Count of St Jean, which the pagans here corrupt into Sinzaun. Certain youthful excesses on my part, coupled, perhaps, with too ardent a love of political activity, induced my family to set before me the alternatives of the Indies or the Bastille. As a young person of spirit I chose the Indies, and at Pondicherry should have reaped, I don’t doubt, much fame and glory, had not adverse circumstances again conspired to drive me from my post there. Having had the misfortune to kill another officer in a duel, I was challenged afresh by his brother and father-in-law, of whom I killed one and wounded t’other. All three were persons of consideration in the place, and it appeared desirable that I should quit it. The cause of the duel it’s unnecessary for me to explain to a young lady of Clarissa’s penetration. Your charming sex, madam, are answerable for many miseries that afflict their adorers—but I don’t desire to cast blame on any one. I left Pondicherry somewhat hastily, and not finding it desirable to attempt to take service with any of our allies in the Decan, made my way to Bengall, where Ally Verdy Cawn was glad enough to engage my help in his struggle with the Morattoes, and I rose before long to a situation of confidence in his army. Perceiving, however, that the old Soubah had not long to live, I made my court to his grandson, and succeeded in establishing myself in the favour of Saradjot Dollah, to whom I was so happy as to render considerable service in the measures he took for assuring the throne to himself on Ally Verdy’s death. ’Twas in this employment that I fell in with the unlucky Genoese Menotti, who might still be alive and wealthy had not Clarissa’s virtuous example seduced him to leave off his evil ways and desire to marry and live honestly. But I won’t speak hardly of one to whom I owe the felicity of this moment——”
The wretch paused, and regarded me with his evil smile, as if expecting me to speak, but I have learned to endure a prodigious amount without contradicting him, and he went on—
“Of the consequences of this acquaintance I don’t need to speak, for the unhappy man contrived to oblige me in the most extraordinary manner while endeavouring only the opposite; but I desire to reassure my Clarissa, whose apprehensions I have observed with regret, as to the future. Some persons, madam, having rose to the position I now occupy in the Soubah’s favour, would bend their minds to the task of supplanting him and obtaining the Soubahship in his stead—nay, there are some plotting to do so at this moment. But such en’t Sinzaun’s ambition. His eyes are fixed on Paris, not on the Indies. To present this potentate as the ally and vassal of France is my aim, and in constituting myself at once his protector and his servant I perceive the means to attain it. By winning his battles for him——”
“Against the loll addama, sir?” I asked him, moved by I don’t know what impulse. To my surprise he gave a huge start.
“Pray, madam, what do you know of the loll addama?” he cried, with an oath.
“Why, sir, I have heard the servants talk of ’em, that’s all.”
“I’m glad it’s no more, madam. Their doings en’t for Clarissa’s ears. Yes, the loll addama are among the enemies to be defeated, questionless. Well, then, having made myself a position here, I intend it shall serve me in Europe. You know something, madam, of the frequency of revolutions in these countries, and you’ll guess that any wealth I may possess en’t locked up in houses or lands. No, ’tis all invested in precious stones, such as neither kings nor great ladies can resist. When I make my appearance at Versailles as the embassador of the friendly Saradjot Dollah, bringing with me gifts that may well seem unsurpassable to those that don’t know the East, is there any fear that the amiable follies of my youth, whether in Paris or Pondicherry, will be remembered against me? No, the Court will be at my feet, grovelling there in the hope of picking up a diamond or two, and I shall be a greater man than the great Mons. John Laws himself. But to me the keenest delight will be the introduction of my little Puritan Clarissa into the great, the polite world.”
“Sir,” I said, my voice trembling, as he glanced at me with an odious air that was at once gallant and malevolent, “pray be so good as to leave me out of your designs. I am neither fitted nor eager to take part in them.”
“Why, that’s my great inducement, madam,” he cried. “So long as I have had the honour of Clarissa’s acquaintance, it has been my perpetual entertainment to perceive that she never thought with me on any single topic. Had she displayed an accommodating temper I might soon have wearied of her, but how can I tire of observing the pains that so agreeable a young lady takes to disoblige me? And if I find the diversion so much to my taste here, what will it be when my charmer becomes acquainted with the life of Paris? Her frequent blushes and her ready tears, and the speaking eyes in which I can read every thought of her innocent heart as in a book, will all be so many additions to my delight in returning to my ancient home.”
Oh, Amelia, if you knew how I hated the man as he said this! It makes me writhe (there’s no other word for it), to be forced to submit to the degradation of listening to such words from him. You’ll wonder, perhaps, to hear me say that I could wish he did indeed cherish for me the affection he pretends. But then, my dear, I might have some hope of moving him by my entreaties—for true love, they say, will take part with the beloved object in opposition even to its own desires; but how can I hope to make any effect upon a wretch that owns he seeks but to divert himself by tormenting me?
“So, then,” the odious creature proceeded, “when Clarissa consents to make her Sinzaun happy, she need not fear a life of perpetual seclusion here. While we remain in Bengall, ’twill, alas! be necessary for her to conform when abroad to the usages of the country, but within the walls of her house she shall enjoy the most complete freedom, and when we reach France, the more liberty she demands the better shall I be pleased.”
“Oh, sir!” I cried, and, unable to bear more, threw myself at his feet, choking with sobs, “pray don’t mock me in this cruel manner. I have done you no harm. If this poor face has catched your fancy, it en’t by my good will; but if you have any kindness for the unhappy creature you say you love, let me go—suffer me to return unharmed to England.”
“Won’t my dear unreasonable one understand,” said the audacious, catching my hand and seeking to draw me towards him, but this I resisted, “that if I had designed to let her depart to England, all the trouble and pains I have been at would have been thrown away? Don’t she perceive that for all I have done and spent for her I must have a return? Must I be so harsh as to inform her that if I mayn’t attain my ambition for her, it must be through her?”
“I don’t take your meaning, sir,” I faltered. Could the man intend to sell me for a slave? “I have friends in England who en’t wealthy, but would impoverish themselves without a murmur to reimburse you any expenses to which you may have been put, if that’s your condition.”
“Oh, no, madam, Sinzaun en’t a trader. Nothing could please him better than to have the happiness of winning your affections, but he has a foolish prejudice against using force to compel ’em, and piques himself upon his genteel treatment of you. But there’s others that don’t share this prejudice, and he might find himself forced, in his own interest, to resign his concern in you to them. Pray don’t suspect him of the vulgarity of employing menaces. He seeks no bride but one that comes to him of her own free will, for he don’t desire that either here or in Europe his Clarissa should proclaim herself his only upon compulsion.”
“At least, sir, let me know what I have to fear,” I groaned.
He smiled. “Why, no, madam; that’s my affair. You don’t choose to give me a favourable answer to-night, perhaps? No? then we’ll leave the matter until our next meeting. I can’t advise you to continue to resist me, for I have so much interest in you as makes me deplore the notion of putting you to any inconvenience, and i’ faith, I see no hope for you if you persist in your present frame of mind. You have, I believe, learned something of my disposition since coming to Muxadavad, and you won’t suspect me of going beyond my intentions when I say that in justice to myself I must soon abandon this struggle in favour of a more certain good. Believe me, I can’t but pity your obstinacy, and you’ll remember this too late.”
May ye 17th.
Sinzaun is departed again upon an embassy to Mons. Bussy, carrying with him, so Misery tells me, a gift of two lacks of rupees from the Soubah to the French leader. So long as he is absent I may hope for a respite, but he can’t now be away much longer. For some days I have had the thought of seeking to discover from Misery the fate that he designs for me, but this morning it chanced that she approached the matter herself, by asking me whether I would give her my hussy when I left this place.
“Why, Misery, you can’t sew,” I said. “What will you do with scissors and needles?”
“Oh, they’ll be useful in other ways, Beebee. Europe goods are stronger and more delicate than country-made, and your slave has served you faithfully for close upon a year.”
“But I’ve no thought of leaving this place,” I said. “Whither should I go?”
“Why, Beebee, to the Killa. Meer Sinzaun destines you for the Nabob.”
I shivered, for the same thought had come to me several days before. “How do you know this, Misery? Has Meer Sinzaun told you?”
“How should Meer Sinzaun tell his doings to his slave, Beebee? I have guessed it a long time, and I’m making ready to go my own way.”
“Then you purpose to forsake me, Misery?”
“Indeed, Beebee, if I saw any signs that you’d accept your lot, and be content to win the favour of his Highness, I would never be separated from you, but since you seem to be as obstinate as ever, I won’t risk my head. I have provided for my escape, and now that Calcutta is built up again, I shall return to my old trade and seek customers among the ladies there.”
“But is Calcutta built up again? By whom?”
“Why, by the Moors, of course, Beebee,” very hastily. “Do you think the Moorish ladies don’t value the services of the Mother of Cosmetiques as much as the English Beebees?”
“Oho, so you was the Mother of Cosmetiques, Madam Misery?” I cried, remembering the part the woman had played in my former history.
“Yes, Beebee, your slave is she,” with a sort of proud humility. “If you would have suffered it, she could make you so beautiful! Even now, if you’ll invite her to attend you to the palace, she’ll engage that there shan’t be a lady to compare with you. His Highness——” she saw my angry gesture of silence, and dropped her fawning tone. “Well, I have neglected my trade for a year to attend on you, Beebee, and now I must return and take it up again. I only hope you won’t be sorry that you’ve so often spurned the counsel of your poor Misery.”
“For that you must blame the badness of the counsel,” said I, pretty coolly, for I disliked the woman’s assurance in presuming to advise me; but she leaned forward as she sat at my feet, and raised her eyes to mine in the most entreating style imaginable.
“Oh, Beebee, suffer your slave to say a word. If you have indeed been resolved all these months to repulse Meer Sinzaun in the hope of finding yourself presented to the Nabob, let your slave share in your triumph. This is what Meer Sinzaun believes of you, for how else could you have resisted his constant assiduities? and ’tis this makes him so angry, and well it may, for he’s dying for love of you.”
“If you can’t speak truth, my good woman, at least try to talk sense,” said I, and tearing my gown from her hold, left her, for I was prodigiously vexed to find that she had devised all this scene in Sinzaun’s interest, and was seeking to bend me to his will lest, forsooth, he should misconceive my motives! You’ll agree with me, Amelia, that Sinzaun’s opinion would be the last in the world to weigh with me in considering any matter of right or wrong.
June ye 5th.
I have a strange thing to tell my dear girl this evening. Happening to be in the house for greater coolness during the heat of the day, I found myself not far from the small barred window of which I have spoken before, and hearing a great uproar and noise of voices in the street, went to look out. Below me was a palanqueen attended with several servants. One of the bearers had chanced to fall, and received some hurt, and the rest were scolding and consoling him by turns, while the palanqueen rested on the ground. As I watched, one of the checks was withdrawn a little way, and a face looked out. It was the face of a European, Amelia, an Englishman, if I don’t mistake—an elderly person of respectable appearance. That was all I could see, for the servant that seemed the chief over the rest—a Moorman, but with a turbant such as the Tartars wear, having the puckery twisted round a high pointed cap instead of a small round one—pulled back the check with an extreme haste and violence, and rebuking the bearers for their confusion, bade them take up the palanqueen again. Hearing Misery approaching, I durst not remain at the window, but at least I had gained something on which to meditate. There’s one Englishman, then, left in India—a prisoner, questionless, from the secrecy and severity with which he was secluded, but not used apparently with any great harshness. Sure he might help me in some way, if only I could get speech of him. But how to reach him, since I am secluded at least as rigorously as he? I have passed my time to-day devising a thousand plans, all suggested by this extraordinary event, for opening communications with my fellow-captive, but since he don’t know of my existence, nor I of his place of confinement, and since I can neither leave this house nor find a trusty messenger, I have been forced to reject my designs one by one, as each more wild and extravagant than the last. And to-night, as Misery is just come to tell me, Sinzaun purposes to do himself the honour of paying me a visit. Oh, Amelia, this unfinished sheet may prove to contain my last farewell to you.
June ye 7th.
My sentence is pronounced, Amelia, and your poor friend is now like no one so much as the criminal in Newgate, who knows that the day is his last. I was still writing the words with which my letter of yesterday closed, when I became sensible that there were eyes regarding me, and looking up, I found Sinzaun standing in the doorway. The start I gave on seeing him there almost overturned the smoky native lamp by the light of which I was writing, but I saved it in time to prevent the destruction of my papers, while he complimented me on the assiduity I showed in keeping up a correspondence with my friend. I put up my writing implements hastily, my sole anxiety being to bring the hateful interview to a close, and for this once Sinzaun appeared inclined to second my efforts.
“May I take it that Clarissa has done me the honour to turn over in her mind the proposition I submitted to her at our last meeting?” he asked.
“I have considered of the matter carefully, sir.”
“And may I hope she’ll condescend to make me the happiest of men?”
“I’m sure, sir, I wish you happiness, but I won’t marry you.”
“No, madam? and yet I offer you such advantages of wealth, situation, dress, and jewellery, as would tempt the gross of women.”
“None of these, sir, can break down the barrier caused by the measures you thought fit to take to get me into your power.”
“You take a vastly high tone with me, madam. I could almost fancy I had been so unfortunate as to lay siege to a heart already occupied by some happier rival.” He looked curiously into my face, but I summoned resolution enough to appear unmoved, not knowing to what further trial he might be about to subject me. “Can it be that the fortress had surrendered before my arrival to one of those gay young gentlemen that fluttered about Clarissa at Calcutta?”
“Sir,” I said, “all this is beside the mark. Pray believe that I must refuse to marry you were you the only man in the world.”
“And that’s final?” he cried, springing up and seeming to tower above me. “Then on your knees, madam! Unsay those words, and ask my pardon for ’em, or”—and he swore a horrid oath—“by this time to-morrow you’ll be in the hands of a man that will take no refusal from you. I saved you from the Nabob once, but not for this. Unless you’ll pleasure me, you shall pleasure him.”
“I am a weak woman, sir, and if you deliver me by force to the Nabob I can’t hope to resist. But yield to you by my own will I won’t.”
“What!” he cried, sneering, “you’d have me employ force, as a salve to your conscience? But I won’t gratify you, madam. You’ll marry me of your own free will, or go to the Killa.”
“Then Heaven’s will be done, sir.”
“What—you expect deliverance from this dilemma that I’ve set before you? What friend have you in the world that can assist you now?”
“None, sir—except God.”
“And you have never appealed to God until this moment? He has not left any prayer of yours unanswered? You anticipate seriously a miracle of deliverance after a whole year in which your God has done nothing for you? Fie, madam! the days of miracles are past—even if you believe they ever existed.”
“My duty remains the same, sir.”
“Very well, madam. To-morrow night—no, the night after. To-morrow the Nabob has ordered a great fight of wild beasts for the diversion of the Court—two nights hence, I’ll offer the Nabob an entertainment at this house, and Clarissa will assist me in providing it. That is, unless I should receive a message from her to-morrow. After that, ’twill be too late.”
Oh, how I prayed last night, Amelia, that it would please Heaven to give the lie to this man’s jeers by permitting me to expire before morning! But morning is come, and I still live.
June ye 8th.
I can’t tell how the hot hours of yesterday passed, my dear friend. I was too wretched to write, even had I found anything to make known to you. I roamed restless through the apartments here, or sat crouched in a corner, murmuring that God had cast me off and left me helpless before the cruelty of my enemies. At night, as I tossed upon my bed unable to sleep, there came to me a thought, but whether from a good or evil source I can’t pretend to guess. Does my Amelia remember a sentence that our good Rector at home once cited in describing the character of the excellent and devout Athanasius? It pleased us so much that when we were writing out our recollections of the sermon the next day we were so bold as to ask the Rector to give it to us exactly, that we might copy it into our commonplace-books, and he told us it was wrote by the Judicious Hooker. Comparing the situation of Athanasius with that of his adversaries, this learned author spoke of the uncertainty that existed “which of the two in the end would prevail; the side which had all, or else the part which had no friend but God and death, the one a defender of his innocency, the other a finisher of his troubles.”
“Alas!” I cried, as the words returned into my mind, “but what of me, since God will neither defend my innocency, nor permit death to finish my troubles?”
“Why,” said a voice in my mind, “seek death, since death won’t come to you.”
The notion was plausible enough, and I had soon formed a plan. From a certain spot on the varanda I had often observed that ’twould not be difficult to climb upon the roof of the garden-house, which is fantastically ornamented with a cupola and many small towers. There, I determined, would I conceal myself before the Nabob’s arrival, and perhaps it might please Heaven to keep my persecutors from looking for me in that place. If so, well; but if not, there was the tank, washing the very walls of the pavilion, and to plunge myself into the water from such a height could scarce fail to bring me the death I sought. Do you blame me, Amelia? Then I hope you may always continue to do so, for that will show that my dear girl has never found herself in my desperate situation.
This frightful resolution taken, I fell asleep, and (such is the effect of coming to a decision, however shocking) was able in the morning to contemplate my affairs with something more of coolness and composure than yesterday. Misery and I were banished early from the pavilion into the house, for the mollies were busy setting rows of small earthen lamps everywhere in the gardens, in readiness to illuminate them at night in the Indian style, while other men were preparing a feast in the garden-house—all seeming as though they made ready for my execution. This was the thought in my mind when, passing up the stairs with Misery, I catched sight through the window of the man in a Tartar dress whom I saw two days ago in attendance upon the English prisoner. He had some fruit in his hand that he seemed to have bought from a street-hawker, and entering into the house facing this one, he shut the door upon himself. Oh, how this sight rekindled the hopes that I had persuaded myself were all extinct! How I blamed myself that I had not kept watch at the window more constantly, and so discovered that the man frequented, or perhaps inhabited, that house, or even, it might be, that ’twas there the prisoner was confined, for then I might have prepared some means to catch their attention. A written paper might not tell anything of my history to the Tartar, but finding strange characters upon it he would questionless take it and inquire of the prisoner what they could signify. Then I remembered that although the man was gone into the house, ’twas not necessary he should remain there always. He might come out at any moment. Misery had left me, and I ran to my writing materials, intending to prepare a small billet that I might push through the grating. But even as I laid hands on the pen and ink, I recollected the promise I had made to Sinzaun not to use in endeavouring to escape the writing implements with which he had furnished me. Here was a dilemma indeed. “Sinzaun has proved himself unworthy of credit and of the remorse you experienced towards him,” said that voice which had spoken to me in the night. “Nay, but that makes no difference in my duty,” said I. “But sure you never thought to prevent yourself escaping when you gave the promise,” said the voice. “If promises were to be kept only when they were easy, and broke whenever we found them press hardly upon us, they would be fine things!” said I. “Will you perish on a point of honour?” says the voice. “Not if I can be saved otherwise,” said I, taking the handkerchief from my pocket. In my hussy I had a needle threaded with the purple silk I had used for sewing at my petticoat, and before Misery returned I had worked roughly on the cambrick, close to my cypher in the corner, the words “Save. Quick.” If Sinzaun’s words were true, and my history as well known as he declared, I thought the prisoner would be at no loss to perceive who it was that demanded his aid. How he was to help me I did not know, but at least this one hope of safety should not be lost.
Misery departing again before very long, I broke off a loose piece of stone from the wall, and tied it in the handkerchief, lest it should flutter in the air as I threw it out, and then flying to the window tried to thrust the little bundle through the grating, intending to hold it by one corner until the Tartar appeared again. But the holes were too small to permit it to pass through, and as I tried in turn to break the stone smaller and to force the grating aside, I saw the man come out of the opposite house and begin to lock the door behind him. The sight drove me to desperation. With my scissors I began to chip out the mortar that held the grating in its place, and when both the points broke off I picked at it with my nails. The blood ran down my fingers as I worked, but just as the Tartar was turning away from his door the edge of the grating moved. I had not thought I was so strong, but I twisted it aside far enough to thrust the handkerchief through. It rolled down the window-ledge, then struck against some inequality or projection, and stopped. I thought I should have screamed, for the man was now out of sight, having crossed the street to gain the shade cast by our wall, but I forced my hand through the gap I had made, and succeeded in giving the tiresome missive a push that sent it safely over the edge. I could not tell whether it had reached the proper person, but I had enough to do to pull the grating back to its place and hide the traces of my doings before Misery came back. I was bathed in sweat and trembling with fright, and my wounded hands alone would have betrayed me had my Abigail’s sharp eyes catched sight of ’em, but I was able to huddle them up in my gown, pretending that I was tired after my wakeful night, and desired to rest, and so threw myself upon my couch and waited.
Misery sat down opposite to me, and smoked her water-pipe very contentedly for I don’t know how many hours, until one of the other women came to tell her there was that boxwaller again at the door, that had visited the house before, and called her to come and see his wares. None of these Indians can ever resist the delight of chaffering over a bargain, and away went Misery, her anklets clattering. No sooner was she out of sight than I, who had been enduring her presence in a tumult of eagerness and impatience that I can’t attempt to describe, nor would my Amelia appreciate it if I did, sprang up from my bed, and catching up a piece of rag, began to bind up my hands, standing at the window as I did so. Opposite me was a similar window in the other house, and as I threw a glance across the street it seemed to me that there was something white behind it. Looking more intently, I perceived that this was the white wrapper of a Moor-woman, who was lifting her hand and making vehement signs to me to go up to the roof. My dear girl will judge that I did not delay, but as I reached the top of the stairs I saw something thrown, which struck the stones with a hard sound. Running to it, I picked it up, to find that ’twas only a piece of plaster from a wall, to my great disappointment. The parapet was too high to permit me a view over it, but I was doing my utmost to raise myself so as to peer over its edge, when something soft came over it and struck me in the face. Astonished, I seized it, believing it at first to be nothing but a common ball of worsted, but soon perceived an edge of white paper peeping out. In an instant I had the worsted unwound, and was reading the billet, which runs thus:—