“Sir,” says I, “you have hit it, and yet not altogether, for ’tis a woman that hath brought me to this pass, and yet not as you imagine it, for I pretended to her hand in an honourable manner, and she used me better than I deserved. ’Twas my situation and hers made my pretensions dishonourable.”
“Tush!” says he; “dishonourable honour, what is this? Or do you prefer your doings to be named honourable dishonour? Riddle me no riddles, Ned. Many stumble at a straw and leap over a blocke, and I fear lest your honour have brought you perilous near to dishonour. But tell me your tale, and let me hear of your hairbreadth ’scapes and most disastrous chances, and I’ll help you in so far as my conscience will suffer me. Who is the female you speak of, and how hath she brought you into trouble?”
But this seeming to me to reflect somewhat upon Madam Heliodora, whose name and reputation I must ever hold sacred, I made haste to tell Mr Martin with some heat all my history, which he had picked up wrong from my first words, and he listened with prodigious attention, nodding and wagging his head at times, but saying little.
“Ah, Ned, Ned!” quoth he at last, “I would we had never sent you to Goa, and yet, as the proverb saith, Bought wit is best. Perhaps ’tis these very trials that are to make a man of you in time.”
“Nay, sir, when am I to be a man if not now?” asked I.
“Now? when you are still slighting your solemn engagement with your cousin, and all for the sake of a presumptuous passion that sprung up in a week?” said he. “When you are treasuring all manner of spite against this French lady and her friends for their share in your undoing, and even against that nobleman to whom she is betrothed, that never injured you, save unwittingly by the fact of his living at all? No, lad, I shan’t account you a man until you show yourself one. When you award blame to yourself instead of to these other persons, and are ready to atone, so far as may be, for your fault, then I shall esteem you a man, and worthy to win a woman’s love.”
I was silent from very shame, for Mr Martin had read my thoughts better than I myself, and they looked black enough when he uttered them aloud. He laid his hand upon my shoulder kindly—
“I spake lightly at my first seeing you, Ned, calling you a man grown. This you an’t yet, but I hope to see you one. There is much for you to learn yet, and it may be to suffer, but He runneth far, that never turneth againe.”
Thus did this good man gently admonish me, with all imaginable kindness, at a time when (God knows), I needed both counsel and admonition only too much. For, when working hours was over, and Mr Martin would fain have carried me to his own lodging, there to tarry until my own former chamber could be prepared for me, there come one from his honour the President (to whom Mr Martin had sent intelligence of my return), desiring me to consider myself as suspended from the Company’s service until such time as the Council might sit upon my case, and deliberate whether I was to be restored to my room or not. And this seemed to me but a piece of formality, though a strange one; but Mr Martin looked grave thereat, and showed himself more concerned than I had looked for. Howbeit, he found me a lodging in one of the guest-chambers for that night, and did also send back to me my old servant Loll Duss, whom he had kept all this while in his own service for his faithfulness to me. And at supper I had the honour to make the acquaintance of divers of the gentlemen that were arrived in the factory since I had left Surat, and likewise to present myself afresh to the knowledge of those that I had seen before. The President I did but salute in passing him, and likewise Mr Secretary, that sat at his honour’s table, and possessed his ear. One or two persons among those present (and notably Mr Spender), showed themselves somewhat cold towards me, but the greater part, following the lead of Mr Martin, did discourse with me very agreeably, and were mighty desirous to hear of my adventures.
Now the next day, when the Council sat, I was summoned before them for to give account of myself, and quickly perceived that ’twas well for me that I had Mr Martin for my helper, since Mr President was prodigiously evil affected towards me. I could not forbear crediting some of this ill-will of his to Mr Spender, that was present for to assist Mr Secretary, so that they two had plenty of chances to turn his honour against me, but I would not forget myself so far as to declare my belief before the Council. And indeed, now that I am come to consider the matter calmly, I can’t but perceive that there was nothing extraordinary in all this precaution, if they believed the tales they had heard touching me, for it was hinted (I don’t know by whom), that I was escaped from the Inquisition by denying my faith and betraying the Company’s secrets. On the contrary part was there at present only my bare word, and I can’t be surprised that the Council hesitated to believe so singular and monstrous a tale, the like of which had scarce ever been heard before, either in England or the Indies.
But at that time I was extreme hot and indignant that some proof of my story was demanded, beyond my own word, and I might have gone on to have grievously damaged my own cause by my intemperate words, had not my good friend Mr Martin once more come to my help. For this excellent man offered immediately to be bound for me, and to answer for my conversation and general trustworthiness until Captain Freeman should be returned from his voyage into Bengall, when he with his ship’s crew might testify to the truth of my relation. And this the Council did accept, and further allowed Mr Martin to use me in the business under his own eye, he seeing to’t that the Company took no damage. And this decided, we returned to Mr Martin’s lodging, where I threw myself in anger into a great chair.
“Sure, sir,” says I, “I’m worse off, now that my word is doubted, than even that king I have once heard you speak on, for I have lost all, and honour beside.”
“Nay,” says he, “your honour can’t be took from you, without you allow it. Do you be careful to keep it safe.”
“But how to withstand the power of slander?” I asked.
“I’ll allow,” says he, “that the accusation as to the manner of your escape comes as from an enemy, for Malice never speaks well. But for the rest, ’tis but a reasonable precaution, and I will see to’t that when Captain Freeman is returned to prove your honesty, this time shall be credited to you as a part of your service. You have in me, Ned, a friend in court, and he, saith the proverb, is worth a penny in purse. So be of good cheer, remembering that As a man is friended, so the law is ended.”
Having received this assurance, I found my heart something lighter, and I went to work with such zest as delighted Mr Martin, though he knew not, as I supposed, that ’twas chiefly done that I might have no leisure left for thought. I took much advantage from his ripe experience and long knowledge of the Eastern trade, and he was wont to tell me, laughing, that I bid fair to be as keen a merchant as himself. Having some knowledge of French, I was often sent to carry through any needful business with the gentlemen at the French Factory, whom I found very agreeable, but more of merchants and less of soldiers than those I had seen at St Thomas. I had heard from Mr Martin and others that they wan’t well liked among us, being regarded as interlopers, and also because they had assisted Sevi Gi with fusees and powder on his second coming hither in the year 1669-70, when again our poor Englishmen were shut up in the Factory, which they defended with great obstinacy, and so beat him off. And beside this also, the French suffered the Morattys to march through their factory to attack part of the town and a certain Prince of Tartary that had his lodging there, which put them in very ill odour both with the Moguls and with us, but for this they cared little, being set upon an alliance with Sevi Gi, after the design conceived by my lord Marquis of Tourvel.
Now after I had been near six months back at Surat, there come one day a message saying that the Boscobel had cast anchor in Swally Road, and an hackery was sent at once for to fetch Captain Freeman to be examined by the Council touching my matter, without any speech had betwixt us. And he, though greatly astonished to hear of my safety and return, did so stoutly declare me to have escaped from imminent peril and death at Goa, and that not by recantation, but by God’s working with him and his crew, that the Council became convinced, and sending a messenger to summon me to their presence, informed me that I was restored to my place in the Company’s service. But this wan’t all I demanded, for I should by rights, without that journey of mine to Goa on the Company’s occasions, and all that followed it, have been by now a senior factor, with the hope to become a full merchant in two years or so. And this I had often spoken of with Mr Martin, and did now again, both with him and with my other good friend, Captain Freeman, until Mr Martin declared that something must be done, and offered to undertake the matter for me. Having then in his hands all my savings, which had been much increased by his care during my absence, he demanded of the Council that I should be permitted to enter into the bond of £1000 that is required of a factor, and be placed in the same situation as I should naturally have held had all gone well, receiving also pay for all the time of my absence.
Now when Mr Martin had told me what he had asked, I cried out in amazement at this monstrous demand, but he smiling said that a man ought always to ask twice as much as he hoped to receive, for then there was some chance of his getting the half. And capping this, as was his wont, with the proverb, ’Tis good riding at two anchors, men have told; for if the one faile, the other may hold, he disarmed my opposition and maintained his point. And the Council demurring to his proposition, as he had expected, though the President, Mr Secretary not being beside him to poison his ear, did not show himself so averse from it as might have been looked for, Mr Martin did argue the matter with ’em, so that at last they came to an agreement. By this instrument I stood to receive only the pay of a writer for the past six months since my return, and none at all for the time of my absence, after my falling into the hands of the Inquisition, but I was to be made at once a senior factor, and after serving my three years in that situation, was to receive promotion in due course. In the arranging this equitable settlement Mr Martin gave himself no small pains, and was very eager about it until all was agreed, and the record thereof sent home to be approved by the Committee in London. But when this was all done, there come upon me a strange restlessness and misanthropy, so that I would fain have fled into the wilderness, to be away from all men, and yet I must needs labour continually for to keep myself from thinking. And Mr Martin, seeing this, cast about for some means to relieve me, but found none at first. But at length, perceiving that the ceremony and sociableness of the life in the Factory was very displeasing to me, he spake to Mr President in my behalf, and gat me appointed to a post in our house at Amidavat.[100] Now this is a town that lies some way inland from Surat, on the road to the emperor’s great city of Agra, and a place of some importance. And sending me here, where there was but two or three white men beside myself, he trusted I should find the solitude I desired, for ’tis a strange thing in the Indies that when you are once become accustomed to the native Indosthans around you, you heed their presence little more than if they were dogs or cats.
I went, then, to Amidavat, being grateful to my good friend for his kindness, but guessing little of his sorrow on parting with me, that was like a son to him. “He must needs goe that the devill drives, Ned,” says he to me, with the water standing in his eyes, the while he bid me farewell; “and I fear lest the devil had driven you into some harm, had you abode here. At Amidavat, whither you go, there is more hard work, and less chance of evil companions, but you may come to ruin even there, if you will let the devil drive you, instead of yourself driving him away.”
Now I don’t purpose to describe particularly the three years that I did spend at Amidavat, for although, through the goodness of God, I did not come to ruin, yet I approached tolerably near thereto, falling under the assault of such temptations as everywhere await a young man when he hath some time of his own, and little hope nor fixed faith for to guide him past ’em. It seemed to me that my life was ended, or at least all the happiness on’t, before it was well begun, and that I had naught to which to look forward, and this bred in me such a coldness and deadness of spirit as made me do ill because I had no care to do well. And yet, although in these three years I did many things the recollection whereof now makes me sorry, and many also whereof I am now ashamed, it is false to say that I behaved myself unfaithfully towards my employers, or that I was at all slack as regarded business. For with respect to the first, the confidence wherewith I was afterwards honoured by the Committee is a sufficient answer, and for the second, that my own wealth grew in a surprising manner. To heap up money, that I might fulfil my father’s desire, was now my only endeavour, and ’twas to fill up the hours when I could not well be making money, that I resorted to those pursuits whereto I have alluded. And moreover, for my credit’s sake, I must say also this, that even in my most desponding and careless hours, the recollection of Madam Heliodora and her last words to me would come back into my mind, and this remembrance did hold me back from some sins that I might otherwise have committed.
Now while speaking of Madam Heliodora, I must not omit to set down a matter that did cause me much concern—viz., that about the end of the year 1674 news reached us at Amidavat that St Thomas was fallen at last into the hands of the Dutch, but with such credit to the besieged that ’twas permitted ’em to march out with all the honours of war, and to proceed whither they would. And upon this certain of them did repair to the vicinage of Gingee, in the kingdom of Visiapour, where they had obtained a grant of land from the king of the place, and did set up there a town called Phoolcherry.[101] Others of them came to Surat, to their own factory there, but on enquiring of ’em concerning my lord marquis and his household, I learned that he had been summoned back to France, and was departed thither, but whether upon a sealed letter or not I can’t tell, and with him his family. And for this I was much grieved, both for the failure of so great and fair-seeming an enterprise, and also that Madam Heliodora was now so far removed from me.
Now about six months before my time at Amidavat was expired, there come to me such a piece of news as might well have caused me to repent of my evil deeds and resolve to lead a better life, but God suffered me to go on still in my ungrateful courses, that my punishment might be the more grievous when it came. For I received a great packet of letters from England, some of ’em wrote a year and a half, and others but nine months ago (the first sort having been delayed on the high seas owing to some mischance that befell the vessel carrying ’em), but the burden of them all was the same, for they brought me the news that my father was dead. And this, as you may suppose, came upon me prodigious sharp and sudden in the midst of my toiling and sparing for to gather together the moneys that my father had looked for, but the more so by reason of this—viz., that I had had no letters wrote from Ellswether since I sent that one from St Thomas, boasting of my presumptuous hopes, nor in my own letters had I been able to bring myself to explain and describe the destruction of these hopes, but had wrote of indifferent matters without so much as making mention of ’em, although I had feared that my father would be sore troubled touching me. I had intended at some time in the future, when the pain of my rejection was less poignant, to write and declare to him the whole affair, and my present situation, but this was now removed out of my power by death.
The letter earliest in time was wrote by my cousin Dorothy:—
Sir,—I had not trobl’d You wit. ys. my poore Hand, weare itt not for ye mornfull Accident yt. ’tis fitter forr mee yn. for an Other to mak knowen too You. Yr. honred. Father, Syr Harry Carrlion, is no moer, hauing departed out of ys. Lyfe ye 10th Daie of ys. last Moneth. Wee being wth. him continuelly had observ’d a grate Chaunge in hys Condicons of late, noting yt. hee was become strangely gentle & quiett, sighg. often too Hym Selfe in his slow Walkyng in ye Garrden on his Crotches. Allsoe since yr. Letters was arriv’d, yt. weare wrote at St Thomas, it seem’d too us yt. Sirr Harry did desire to write to You, getting out oftimes Penn & Paper, & prepareg. too beginn, bot nevr. beginning. And I asking if it shd. pleas hym yt. I writ forr hym, hee saith No, for yt. he shd. see You before Long. And ys. Asssurc. growing vpon Him, he was wont to spend moch Tyme in ye Arbour at ye End of ye Fir Walke, yt. lookes over ye Rode, watching agst. Your Comming. Being becom at last soe feable as he myght not leaue ye House, he satt all Day beside ye Windowe lookyng on ye Aproch, saying yt. he beleeu’d You was coming. Yn. alsoe, wn. he was seis’d wit. a Retorn of yt. old Disorder yt. had plag’d hym in his Campayns of Germany, he desir’d mee to sett open ye Dore of ye Chambre, soe yt. hee might heere You mountg. ye Staires. And I, seeing yt. he was not long for ys. Werld, did ask of hym some Message for You, for Feare least You shd. not be in Time to see hym. And hee, giuing mee his Blessing most swetely & fatherly, dyd sende ye same to You allso, bidding You (said he), bee a brave & honrable Man, & shew yr. Silf worthie.… Now on ye last Daie of his Lyfe, hee wander’d sore in his Mynde, spekyng as if too ye late Kynge & to Others yt. bee now dead. Bot at last, sitting upp & speaking veray loud & strong, “Nedd is com,” saith he; “I heare hym on ye Staire.” And wee, looking yt. Way yt. he pointed, sawe no One, bot returning too hym, found him falln back deade, all ye Chambre & Bedd being still hong wit. Blacke, as alwaies since yr. Moder dy’d.
For Consolacon, Sir, wt. can I offer You in ye Losse of soch a Part., bot too remember yt. hee departed full of ye greatest Lov & Kindness toward You, & is now, without Doubt, tho’ abst. from Us, yet happily prest. wit. yr. dere Mother & all ye Blest? You haue ye Praiers of yr. poore Cosin in ys. sadd Afflicktion.
Understand mee, Sir, to remayn yr. faithfull Servt.,
D. Brandon.
With this come two letters from my father’s attorney, Mr Sternhold, the first wrote not long after my cousin’s, and confirming her narration, adding also that they had buried my father in the church at Ellswether beside my mother, and that many persons of quality in the neighbourhood had followed in the funeral with great respect. The second was wrote eight or nine months later, and contained a full relation of the posture of my father’s affairs, and the condition of the estate. And after this come a piece that did bring the water to my eyes, for to see the sadness and perplexity that I had brought upon that my good father, although that which followed drew me back again to my former state of hardness and despondency.
As often (writ Mr Sternhold) as I was admitted of late to the Presence of your Honour’s Father, my esteem’d Patron, I perceiv’d that he was desirous to draw up some Instrument or Deede that might have a binding Effect, and by certain Words that he once let drop I saw that he wish’d to make some Provision for Mrs Brandon, his Ward. Being of Opinnion (doubtless on the best Authority), that you, Sir, were minded to set aside your Contract enter’d into with that Lady, Sir Harry desir’d to secure to her some Maintenance that should not be dependent upon your Honour’s Generositie, since this should doubtless be disagreeable to her. ’Twas the Impossibility of laying any further Burthen on the Estate that convinc’d him that he could not do this, and I fear it added some Sorrow to his last dayes, tho’ I believe that he need not have troubl’d him Selfe with Regard to this yong Gentlewoman. For to you, honour’d Sir, I may say with all Discretion, that during my late mournfull Vizitts at Ellswether, I have grown more and more sensible of the Perfections of Mrs Brandon, who is now growne into such splendour of Form and such surpassing Loveliness of Countenance as to be without any Equall, and that others are affected like My selfe, and to more Purpose. Tho’ no Fortune, the young Lady hath, by Reason of her Beauty and her Witt, as many Lovers as she can well intertain. Among ’em is my young Lord Harmarthwaite him Selfe, who, with my Lady his Mother, vizited upon me the t’other Day, and sent, thro’ me, as her nearest Guardian, a most handsome Compliment to Mrs Brandon. His Lordshipp declar’d himselfe willing to espouse her without a Peny, nay, my Lady assur’d me he would wed her in her Smock if need were, and be proud at that. My Lady shew’d herself as well enclin’d to the Match as her Sonn, saying that she should be proud to receive into her Family a Lady of whose Parts and Prudence she had heard so much, whispering me allso that she would make Interest, thro’ my Lord Harrington her Bro., with his Ma’tie to revive the Barony of Brandon in Favour of my Lord and Mrs Dorothy, so leving a fine Inheritance to their Children. But this Proposition of Marriage Mrs Brandon declin’d, as she hath done all other, tho’ I felt it my Duty to counsell her to entertayn this one. Some says upon this Matter that she is aiming at my Lord Duke of London (Son to your Honour’s ancient Patron), who greatly commended both her Figure and her Dancing at the great Ball danc’d at Belfort Castle some Time since, and some that her Heart is given to a certain Gentleman at present in Forrayn Parts, that shall be nameless.
“Alack, poor little Doll!” quoth I, when I had read this, “thou art well enough, in truth, but not for him that hath loved Madam Heliodora de Tourvel. Thy English ways should show poor indeed beside her languorous grace. Make thy choice while ’tis in thy power. Thy lordly servant[102] shall suit thee better than thy poor cousin.”
Thus you shall see how despitefully I used this jewel, for the which I had afterwards willingly given all I possessed, if I might thereby gain it. Such poor blind creatures are we mortals, that cast aside the diamond in our path for the glowing bubble that Fortune holds beyond our reach!
Now when I had read these letters that were come to me (and that not without great sorrow and anguish, yea, and many tears also, as well for the pain I had caused to my honoured father as for his loss), I did set myself to indite an answer to them in good time, although knowing well that I could not despatch this until I myself should go down to Surat for the shipping season. And first I perceived, from a saying of Mr Sternhold in his second epistle, that he looked for me to have espoused Madam Heliodora by this time, since he asked when he and the tenants should have the honour and pleasure of bidding me welcome and my noble lady. But it seemed to me that now, still less than before, could I endure to set down particularly the history of my presumption and the issue on’t, and thus I did but remark in my answer that I was not yet wed, and did not believe that I ever should be so.
And this I said, not at all imagining that they would put upon my words the interpretation they did, for they supposed my letter wrote in the natural impatience of a lover made angry by some delay in the realising his hopes, and took it to mean that my marriage was but postponed for a season, and must take place at some time. And this wan’t all, for I took the occasion of Captain Freeman’s carrying his ship home to send by him a considerable sum of money out of my savings to Mr Sternhold, desiring him to place it out at interest in such way as he thought best for my cousin’s benefit, leaving her to believe, if so it might be, that ’twas some provision that my father had been able to make for her. But Dorothy, scenting a plot through some chance word let slip by my good friend, did, as I heard afterwards, demand to know the whole truth of the matter, and so refused altogether to touch the money (which I had designed as a portion for her, whether she married or remained a maid, that so she might not have the pain to find herself depending on me, the man that had rejected her), desiring Mr Sternhold to apply the whole sum to the partial releasing of the estate from its burdens. All which was wrote to me in due time by Mr Sternhold, he being in some trouble of spirit touching it.
Now in that I was eager to spare my cousin all the humiliation in my power, providing for her as though she had been my own sister, you may see cause to commend me, but so unalterably fixed did I deem my resolution never to wed her, that I considered it needful to impress her once again with the same, and this I did, as now seems to me, in the rudest and most churlish manner imaginable. For when I writ to Mr Sternhold my answer, having first desired him to request of my cousin, as an especial favour granted to myself, to continue dwelling in the Hall, and to retain in her service Mrs Skipwith and a sufficient quantity of servants, and had begged of him to furnish her, out of my moneys in his hands, with a convenient allowance for the maintenance of herself and the household, I ended my letter thus:—
Have the Goodness, Sir, to make my most respectfull Compliments to Mrs Brandon, and acquaint her from me of my desire—viz., that should she hereafter receive any Proposition of Marryage that may at the same time be agreeable to herself, and such as is sanction’d, Sir, by you, she shall at once intertayn and accept the same, assur’d of the Approvall and Consent of her loving Cosin and Gardien,
Ed. Carlyon.
As much as to say, Warn her that Mr Carlyon is beyond her reach, and that if she can assure herself of another match, ’twill be well for her to accept of it, while she is yet young and handsome!
I don’t know what devil possessed me to write this, for sure, ’twas a cruel thing thus to wring the heart that, as I knew, had never beat for any but myself; but when I had wrote it, I considered it again, and judged it to be an extreme neat and well-turned piece, and so hugged me in my self-conceit, like a brain-sick fool as I was. It may have been (for I conceive that this should well please the devil aforesaid) that I was desirous to render my innocent cousin as miserable as myself, who was but suffering the due reward of a foolish presumption and of a stubborn and stiff-necked resistance to the wise rulings of Providence.
Now when my time at Amidavat was ended, and I went down to Surat, and opened to Mr Martin the condition of my affairs, showing him the account of the wealth that I now owned, and also of that which was still embarked in divers trading ventures, my good friend, after hearing all that I had to say, and asking me certain questions thereupon, shook his head sadly.
“Vertulesse gentilitie is worse than beggerie,” says he.
“Pray, sir,” says I, “what would you have more? I am essaying to employ my savings in such ways as you’ll approve,” and I told him concerning that sum I was about sending home for to provide a portion for Dorothy; “have you anything against me in this particular?”
“Ned,” says Mr Martin, “Tread upon a woman, and she’ll turne. Ay, and He that will not when he may, when hee would he shall have nay.”
“Sir,” said I, “you deal in riddles to-night.”
“Do I so, Ned?” quoth he. “Perhaps you will read one of my riddles when you find out that a woman to whom love is owed an’t to be bought off with money, and the other when you come to desire that which you now despise. Are these still riddles to you, lad? Well, well; Young men thinke that olde be fooles, but old men do know that young men be fooles.”
“I thank you, sir,” says I, half-vexed and half-diverted with his persistence, but I was used to bear with the strangeness of his humour, and loved him far too well to take offence at him. And he, perceiving that my mind was made up upon the topic of marriage, spake no more to me thereupon, but fell to asking me whether I would choose, if I might, to visit the court of the great Mogul emperor in this next year. And I making answer that such a journey should gratify one of my dearest wishes, he told me that there was a project on foot for sending a caphalay to Agra, which is a prodigious great city situate on the river Geminy,[103] and whither the princes of this house do always love to resort. Such caphalays are wont to be sent pretty frequently from Surat to several towns in the inland country, but ordinarily they are headed only by banyans or other Indosthans. With this one, on the contrary, there was to go four English merchants as ambassadors, for to bear to the emperor Auren Zeeb certain gifts on the Committee’s behalf, and obtain from him the confirmation of divers privileges granted some time since to the Factory, that his governor at Surat had neglected to recognise. Two ancient and experienced persons among the senior merchants had been appointed to the conduct of the party, and Mr Spender, now a full merchant for more than a year, was also to go, as being related to Mr Secretary, who had made interest for him with his honour the President.
“Now,” says Mr Martin, “if you desire it, Ned, I don’t doubt but I shall be able to have you named as the fourth, and ’twill be an agreeable jaunt for you. You are well enough seen[104] in both the Persian and Indosthan tongues to make yourself of use, and you have already enjoyed more experience of business than most young persons of your age, while you stand to gain more in this.”
“I’ll endeavour myself to gain all the knowledge I may, sir,” said I.
“I fear lest your life at Amidavat han’t done that for you that I wished,” said Mr Martin, somewhat sadly, “but I would fain hope that the change I look for will soon come.”
I felt myself took aback by his words respecting my life while away from Surat, and muttered something, I don’t know what, saying that I wan’t no worse than others.
“No worse!” saith he. “But I would have you better than others, Ned. A man far from his good is nigh his harme, and I fear lest it be so with you. You should be a man now, lad, in virtue of your years; but there seems to me to be much trouble before you yet.”
“But you will have me made of the party for Agra, sir?” says I, a little fearful lest he should be repenting of his offer.
“All that I can compass shall be done for you in the matter, Ned. God grant it may be for good, and not again for evil.”
Captain Freeman then coming in for to bid us farewell before going on board of his ship at Swally, we left speaking of the matter, and turned to other topics. But Mr Martin was as good as his word in speaking for me to the Council, and thereafter, in due course, all was appointed as I most desired, and I was given the vacant place in the party that was about being made up. The shipping season was now at its height, when the life in our Factory at Surat is the busiest imaginable, and I had already had much ado to see to my private matters, being forced at last to trust them almost entirely to the discretion of that good friend of mine, Captain Freeman, than whom, as I may truly say, there never was a discreeter person. He being at last departed, and with him all the other India ships, sailing in company for fear of pirates and other enemies, we were at liberty to set about our preparations, which being finished, we started on our journey.
In our company was there we four merchants, together with twelve English soldiers for the better protecting of our goods and the rich gifts we carried for the emperor, and also several banyans with their servants and followers. It was counted proper for us to travel in some state, with banners borne before us, as persons of quality in the East use to do, and with a sufficient retinue of attendants. The Europe merchants in the Indies do never journey but they carry with them their own cooks, both for the avoiding of danger from poison and for the better satisfying of their palates, and many other servants also are needful, for to look to the beasts and the merchandises and for to prepare the night lodging. Journeying by way of Brodra[105] and Cambaya, both of ’em considerable towns, and so to the Company’s house at Amidavat, was all old ground to me, but when, after some days’ rest at the place last named, we passed on and came into the country of the Rashpoots,[106] I found there much that was new to me. And these Rashpoots, or as some render the word, Rasboutes, are a kind of highwaymen, or Tories, such as gain their livelihood by attempting and plundering travellers, so that it behoved us all to keep good watch against ’em. And this was to us a matter of no small anxiety, so as we were almost fain to ask for a guard of soldiers from the Moorish governor of Oudyepour,[107] which was a great town we come to, but refrained, fearing lest they should prove worse to us than the robbers themselves, being, like all the Mogul armies, ill paid and worse disciplined. But it so fell out, thanks to the kind care of Providence, that we were able to travel with little molestation or stoppage, having at Amidavat changed our Europe clothes for garments made after the Indian fashion, and so reached safely the great city of Agra, the goal of our journeying.
This city is a place of prodigious force, being defended on every side by a good wall of red freestone and a ditch of thirty fathoms broad. The circuit of the walls is extreme extensive, and the streets very fine and spacious, though to our eyes the common houses and shops seem mean enough, and in divers cases the upper rooms, projecting out on either side of the way, do meet overhead in the midst, making, as it were, a vaulted passage for to go through. Of public edifices there is a prodigious quantity, and these so fair and stately as ’tis said no city in Asia can surpass them, both in the fashion of their architecture (which is after the Persian style), and the conveniency of their ordering. Chief among these in our opinion on our first arriving was the eighty caravan-serawes[108] or inns of the place, whereof we chose one, on the advice of them that knew the city well, and there took up our abode, finding therein such noble lodging as I had never imagined to myself. For these caravan-serawes are many of ’em of three storeys high, with fine sets of rooms for travellers, together with good vaults and cellars for their goods, and suitable stabling for their beasts, and all the chambers opening one into another with private doors and galleries for the conveniency of those that occupy ’em. To each caravan-serawe is there a keeper appointed, for the better safeguarding of the goods therein and the comfort of the travellers, and he, in return for the payment of a decent sum of money, will provide for you both forage for your beasts and victuals and firing for yourself, and all this with mighty care and respect.
We then, having settled ourselves in this place, did send word to the emperor of our being come, and ask his permission to wait upon him for the presenting our letters of commendation, and did also send to certain Armenians that did represent the Honourable Company in this city, that they might come and examine the merchandises we had brought, and carry away musters of them for to show to them that dealt with ’em. And this business being ended, we did set to work to make ourselves at home (as they say), as being likely to spend some months in the place (for if Justice be slow anywhere, sure her course is scarce swift enough to be perceivable here), and so divided among ourselves the apartments that we held, taking each two chambers, very decent and seemly, and a part of the gallery before ’em.
Now the day after our coming, a Brachmine,[109] which is an Indian priest (for such are commonly used for clerks and messengers among the Moguls), brought to us the emperor’s reply to our letter, bidding us welcome very graciously, and counselling us to take certain days to refresh ourselves after our journey, and then he would admit us to an audience. And this counsel we followed, diverting ourselves with going about and examining the place, with one of the Armenians, a pretty young fellow enough, and one that spake English passably, having been bred up in the house they have at Surat, for our druggerman,[110] which is interpreter. For there are in Agra a prodigious number of metchids or mosqueys,[111] where the Moguls used to worship, and chief among ’em that wonder of the world and delight of all beholders,[112] built by the late emperor Shaw Jehaun,[113] the father of Auren Zeeb, for the glorification and remembering of his queen. But so strict is the watch maintained over these temples, that it cost us prodigious pains to see more than the outside only of one or two, and this with much reluctance on the part of their keepers and of those that we found worshipping therein. Likewise we visited many tombs of holy men among the Moors, that are held in great honour and veneration, and divers fine public baths, where you may be bathed and anointed in the greatest luxury imaginable for a trifling small sum.
Then lastly, when the day was come that the emperor had appointed, we took our presents that we had brought for his majesty, and being borne in palenkeens in our best array, started for to come to his court. The palace of the Great Mogul is a mighty pretty piece of building, well fortified against all attempts, and ornamented with much curious work after the Moorish fashion. Passing in at a great gate that looks towards the west, we were showed the cistery,[114] that is, the emperor’s place of decreeing justice, where all men, even the poorest, may demand admittance, and seek redress at his hands. And next we saw a great tower, covered all over with gold, where the emperor’s treasury is kept, and after this they brought us into a court paved with marble of divers colours, very pretty, and at the upper end thereof, under a rich portal with pillars of silver, we found the Great Mogul himself, sitting upon a platform with silver railings, and a carpet thereon fringed with gold. So bright and shining was the magnificence of this throne and of all the appointments on’t, that for a time our eyes were verily dazzled thereby; but I was able to perceive that the emperor was a man beyond middle age, very grave and reverend of countenance, and most majestical of person. His habit consorted well with his air, being a cassock of white satin, very delicately flowered, and oddly wrought with broidery of silk and gold, and a shash[115] of rich woollen stuff about his middle. His turbant was of gold cloth, with a string of great pearls woven therein, and a plume set with very fine diamonds in the forefront thereof. Round about the platform whereon he sat was all the ombrahs[116] of his kingdom, and many famous soldiers and generals, all in very rich apparel.
The emperor received us with much affability, and accepting our gifts, heard what we had to say, I being interpreter, and then dismissed us very graciously, assuring us that our matters should have his attention before very long. And we returning to our lodging, found a great store of goods sent thither after us, for this is the custom of the East, but we must needs put them to the credit of the Company, whose servants we were, and not keep them ourselves. Bringing these gifts from his majesty come a Europe gentleman of his household, a Frenchman as I believe, that had studied medicine at the great school of Montpellier, and was now, after many wanderings, become the emperor’s physician—a very ingenious person, and well skilled in all manner of curious knowledge. He having been of late absent from the city, visiting one of the emperor’s sons at Dhilly, had but just heard of our arrival, and came to visit upon us with great kindness, rejoicing that he might once more find himself in the company of Christians. And he sat and talked with us until very late, delighting us mightily with the variety of his information and the extent of his travels, and departed at last, being as earnestly desired to visit upon us again as he himself was anxious to do this. So great was the esteem (and that, as I believe confidently, well-grounded) that the emperor felt for this gentleman, that he made him the depositary of all his secrets, and even sent him on divers occasions to confer with Mr Kidder, the head of our party, as to the immunities that were desired to be confirmed. And thus it arrived that the doctor became a very near friend to us all, and opened and explained to us many things that we could not understand, and made himself in general so needful to us, that we felt that day to be empty wherein he came not to pass some time at our lodging.
Now upon one of these days was it that Mr Kidder and I rid abroad upon an elephant, which beast’s paces are extreme disagreeable to them that han’t accustomed themselves thereto, so that when we came to dismounting by the means of a short ladder, I, being somewhat giddy, catched a slip, and fell to the ground. As it so chanced, I was not hurt in nowise, but only my watch, the which was sorely crushed and broken in the fall. And I was the more grieved at this, that the watch was a gift from Mr Martin, he having sent for it as far as to Swisse,[117] intending it for me on my return from Goa, and keeping it by him all the time wherein he knew not whether I were alive or dead, gave it to me before my going to Amidavat, and a mighty fine piece of workmanship it was, and cost him a great sum of money. I then lamenting loudly the loss of so precious a thing from among my possessions, when as we sat the next evening under the colonnade before our lodging, our friend the physician bid me take comfort, saying that there was a Christian prisoner in the court that was either a Frenchman or a Swisser, and was most cunning in mending of clocks and in all work of that kind. And I asking where I might find this person, he promised to direct him to me, and that as soon as might be. And being thus a little comforted, I put away the watch for the night, little dreaming into what company it should bring me.
But the next day, towards noon, when I was in my own chamber, smoking that strange fashion of pipe that they call hucca,[118] I was disturbed by my servant Loll Duss, who come to say that the workman sent by the gentleman physician (this is their civil and respectful way in speaking of the doctor) was arrived and waited my pleasure. Then I bade Loll Duss carry him to the gallery, being minded myself to talk there with him as he worked, and learn through what strange turns of Fortune’s wheel he was come into such a plight. Going out to him, therefore, I found him a person of a very fine stature and an air of great nobility, though poorly apparelled in a Moorish habit, his eyes dark and piercing, his hair and beard long and untrimmed. And he receiving me with a prodigious low reverence, as elegant as any I had seen in my lord marquis his court at St Thomas, I felt myself moved to return his civility, and wondered what his quality might be. Showing him then the watch, and explaining how I had broke it, he sat down and took out his tools and set to work with great skill and diligence, I sitting by and watching him.
“ ’Tis easy to see, sir, that you were bred to this trade,” says I to him at last in French. He left his work for a moment, and looked upon me with a smile.
“Not precisely, sir,” says he, and said no more for the time; but shortly after, as though fearing he had been churlish, he observed—
“When I was still a young boy, sir, my parents were compelled by calamity to seek refuge in Swisserland, in a town wherein near three parts of the inhabitants lived by watch-making. Being always of a lively and inquisitive constitution, I was used to go continually in and out of the houses and watch the people at their work, and so gathered some slight knowledge of their craft, which my parents remarking allowed me to be trained in’t like any ’prentice-boy of the place, thinking that I might one day be thankful for the power of working in this sort, which indeed I have now proved.”
“I had not thought that one of your trade should find much to do here,” says I.
“The emperor, as indeed all the Moguls, hath a very pretty taste in clocks and watches,” he made answer, “and owns a prodigious quantity of ’em; but there is no man here can put ’em in order but I, and though not bred thereto, I am thankful to possess the skill for this honest toil.”
Now all this was to me somewhat of a perplexity, for though it ben’t counted wrong among us for a gentleman to engage himself in trade, especially that to the East, where no apprentisage is needed, yet it should assuredly be considered disgraceful for him to exercise such a craft as this. But on that head I kept silence, being convinced that I had a gentleman before me.
“Sir,” I said, “I perceive that your quality is above your present situation. May I ask to whom I have the honour of speaking?”
“Sir,” says he, “with all deference to you, and recognising your kind intentions in asking it, I must still withhold my name. I care little for the blows of Fortune myself, but I have friends that I desire to spare from any pain or disgrace that might be supposed to attend upon the general discovery of my present manner of life, and for their sakes I am resolved not to disclose myself.”
“I will respect your wishes, sir,” said I, much taken with his manners, and desiring the more to discover his real name and quality.
“Should you desire me to attend upon you again, sir, for any matter of this kind,” says he, holding up the watch, “you will hear of me by the name of the Ferringhee,[119] which the Moguls call me, meaning Frenchman, as I suppose. I am considered to be a guest at the emperor’s court, and to receive my victuals from his table; but when he is vexed or busy I am at times forgot, and must be thankful to earn my bread as I may.”
“At the least, sir,” said I, when his work wan’t far short of being finished, “you will stay and give us the honour of your company to dinner? I can answer for my chief that he will be rejoiced to bid you welcome.”
“No, sir,” says he, again smiling, “while I withhold my name from you, I won’t place myself at your table. What security have you that I an’t some mean fellow masquerading as a person of quality?”
Thus he ended his work, and restored me the watch, that was now become whole and sound once more, and so prepared to depart. Now I was in some disquiet, fearing to offend him by offering him money, and yet not desiring to send a servant to settle the matter; but he, seeing the strait I was in, named a convenient price, and received it from me with great gravity, saying only that it would provide for his wants for a week, and so departed, saluting me very civilly, but without any servility. And I, remembering thereafter his words and looks, mused long concerning him, wondering who he might be, so that when our friend the doctor arrived that evening I was eager to discover from him all that he knew. And first I desired him to tell me this gentleman’s name, if he were acquainted on’t.
“If I know it,” says he, “ ’tis in strict secrecy, and not to be revealed, but that I won’t tell you. Yet this I may disclose, that this unfortunate gentleman declared his name and quality to certain Hollanders that were sojourning here, asking their good offices with the emperor for his release, but they repaid his confidence only with mockery, and jeered both at him and at the friends whose honour he desires to spare. Since that time, he has vowed not to disclose himself to any but one of his own countrymen.”
“But how came he here, sir?” said I.
“Why, that I may tell you,” says he. “He was sent ambassador from some factory on the coast of Malabar to the princes of these parts, and had the ill luck to visit Seva Gi, the Moratty rebel, on his way hither. Having won his favour and obtained great countenance from him, he came on to Dhilly, where the emperor then was, but his majesty had him at once arrested and clapped in prison, accounting him a spy of Seva Gi. After some time, his imprisonment was made less rigorous, and now ’tis permitted him to go about within the city as he lists, though the emperor hath often looked black at him when news come of Seva Gi’s successes in the war. He will hearken to no entreaties to let him go, even from myself, and ’tis my continual fear lest he shall revenge himself on him in the event of any further victory of the rebel’s.”
“He appears to be a very agreeable person, and one of good parts and conditions,” says I.
“Agreeable? Yes, truly,” said the doctor, “and with an air of contentment also, despite his trials. Of his parts and conditions you may judge by this, that the emperor thought so highly thereof that he would fain have given him high preferment in his army, would he but turn renegado, but he hath always steadfastly refused this compliance. ’Tis a brave man and a patient,” and the doctor sighed heavily; “but I see no chance of his ever being released, nor can I help him to’t. It may be that you, sir,” turning to me, “will be able to bring some solace to this unhappy gentleman by the pleasure of your company and discourse. He is a Hugonot, like yourself, and you should therefore the more readily become friends.”
At this point the doctor was engaged in discourse by Mr Kidder, and I was left to ponder over the hard fortunes of this gentleman, whose appearance and carriage had already aroused in me so much interest. Now as I pondered, it seemed to me that I had heard some part of this history before, though I could not at first decide in my mind when or where this should have been. Considering silently with myself the discourse of our friendly physician, I lit on some two or three words that he had last said, which seemed to stick in my mind and would not be dislodged. He is a Hugonot, like yourself,—when had I heard this before? For some time I could not recall it, but at last, repeating them several times in my mind, there come back to me the recollection of that morning when I had stood with Madam Heliodora upon the veranda at St Thomas, and had heard from her lips those words that had made my life since that time a dreary desert. ’Twas in these very words that she had spoke to me touching that gentleman to whom she was betrothed, the person that, as Mr Martin had showed me, I had hated ever since then with a sullen hatred,—the Viscount de Galampré. Was this gentleman he? Now at first, thinking thus, I was very much tumbled up and down in my mind, finding myself unable to reconcile my hitherto antipathy to Madam Heliodora’s servant, with the kindness that now possessed me on behalf of that Ferringhee, as he called himself, and I thought long upon the matter, coming at last to no decision, save that I must hear from his own lips the truth or falsehood of this phantasy of mine.
Having thus determined, I found next day a ring that Mr Marigny had given to me on our parting at Maderas, whereof the diamond that was set therein was become loose, and sent Loll Duss to seek for him that was called the Ferringhee, and beg of him to wait upon me once more. It wan’t long before he brought him again to my chamber, but to me it seemed a prodigious length of time, so eager was I to be confirmed or contradicted in my guess. But when he was set down, and I had showed him the ring, and explained what lacked therein, I began to cast about in my mind with great uneasiness as to the manner in which I should put to him my question, seeing that once already he had refused me his name, and might deem me unmannerly and prying in asking it again. But while I hummed and hawed, and cast about for some way to begin, he spared me by speaking himself.
“I perceive that this is a French ring, sir,” says he.
“ ’Twas from a French gentleman I had it, sir,” says I, “on my leaving St Thomas.”
“Sir,” says he, laying aside his work and looking upon me eagerly, “you have visited St Thomas? You are acquainted with the French inhabitants there, with my lord Marquis of Tourvel, with mademoiselle his daughter, perhaps?” regarding me all the while with such an air as made me think of some poor wretch that hath been slowly starved, and sees food brought suddenly within his reach. But I was minded to try him further, and so said, as if angry—
“I have the honour of that lady’s acquaintance, sir. May I ask by what right you inquire concerning her?”
“By what right?” cries he, prodigious angry, and I had almost looked for him to strike me. “By the highest right of all, sir. Mademoiselle de Tourvel is my betrothed wife.”
“Sir,” said I, “I ask your pardon. I conceive then that you are my lord Viscount de Galampré, of whom I heard while at St Thomas.”
“The same, sir, at your service,” saith he, but quickly, as though it mattered not. “Tell me concerning ’em, I entreat you. For four years I han’t received any news of ’em. Are they still at St Thomas, or no?”
I perceived then that he had never so much as heard of the fall of that place, and took pains immediately to tell him all that I knew touching the fortunes of its garrison (though without mentioning, as you may well guess, my pretending to my lady’s hand), and answered all his questions in the best way I might, and so until dinner-time, when he rose up suddenly and would have departed, saying that he had detained me too long, but that I entreated of him to remain and dine with me, my companions being all gone to see the emperor’s fine gardens. And this he accepted of with pleasure, and indeed I never saw a man so grateful, nor so eager to hear all that I could tell him. And so at last he departed, loading me with his thanks until I was ashamed, and desiring to be my friend all my life.
Now because of this strange chance that was come to me—viz., to discover the Viscount de Galampré in a mean disguise in the city of Agra—I was much plunged in thought, and this of so opposite a nature, that it pulled me two ways at once. For since I had left Surat, and undertaken this journey that had brought me already so tremendous a surprise, I had been able to contemplate with, I trust, a more wholesome and sound mind, my passion for Madam Heliodora and the consequences that had followed thereon. For that which I had seen, though dimly, even when I was still pressing my suit upon her, and now perceived clearly, and blushed to perceive it—namely, my great presumption in so addressing myself to her—seemed to me to bring a perpetual sting in the remembering it, so that I wondered how I had ever had the face to look for any answer other than that I got. It had rightly served me had my lady called upon her father to chastise me for my intolerable rudeness, but in the stead thereof she had listened to me patiently, and counselled me with such kindness and gentleness as seemed to me almost angelical. More than this, she had done me the honour to tell me of her contract with Mons. de Galampré, which she might well have kept to herself, but deigned in her kindness to impart to me, and this piece of news I, in my blindness, had received worse than all that went before, and hated without cause the gentleman that it concerned.
Nay, had it not been for the extraordinary liking I conceived for this excellent person when he was still in his disguise, and his name and quality unknown to me, I had still, as I was fain to confess, remained in this uncharitable and unchristian temper. But now, having seen him and noted the fire and ardour wherewith he did thirst for news of my lady his mistress, I was seized with pity for him,—in part, I don’t doubt, because from my own example I knew well the pangs and torments of a love that seemed hopeless. I was never one to be able to go with that poet that consoles himself for the unkindness of his mistress by declaring that if she scorn him, he will scorn her scorn and turn his vows elsewhere, and I considered still that my life was blighted and that no happiness was ever to be found for me in love, but it seemed to me that ’twould ease my sad heart to bear some part in making those happy that deserved the same but wan’t like to attain thereto. And this feeling was strengthened by the viscount himself, when I had occasion to desire him next to visit me, upon some mischance that was happened to Mr Kidder’s stop-watch.[120]
“I am sorry to incommode you again so soon, sir,” said I.
“Sir,” says he, “the agreeableness of your discourse hath left me longing for this day since last I saw you. You did bestow upon me then new life, and yet I han’t never ceased teasing myself with questions that I should have asked of you, but had forgot. You can’t tell, sir, what it is to me to hear credible intelligence from one that hath himself seen my friends. During these four years I have taught myself to regard Mademoiselle de Tourvel almost as though she were dead, so entirely did she seem lost to me, but your coming has awakened again in me such a flood of thoughts as that I can scarce contain myself for eagerness to get some satisfaction of ’em.”
And with that he poured out such a throng of questions touching Madam Heliodora that I was moved almost to tears to perceive how he must have noted and remembered every particular of her daily life. And perceiving from my answers, as I suspect, the respect and admiration that possessed me towards this noble lady, he did open his heart to me still further, discoursing upon her many perfections in a strain of such lofty and yet tender eulogy, as I had never imagined outside the covers of a romance, so that I, listening, felt more than ever ashamed of the cursed presumption of my behaviour, since I had gone so far (though only in my own mind) as to disparage my lady for her insensibility towards me. What chance, pray, had I had, even though I had been as worthy of my lady as I was in reality unworthy, to gain a heart garrisoned with the remembrance of such a love as this? And here the viscount, seeing in my countenance how deeply I was moved, looked upon me sadly, though without any bitterness, and said—
“Ah, sir, sure you are happier than I, for you have seen her later. Was ever so much beauty and virtue enclosed before in a single form? Can you wonder that her image is impressed upon my heart, and that since I can’t behold my lady herself, I seize the occasion to discourse with one that hath both seen and spoke with her? You are free to depart, you may perhaps enjoy the felicity of beholding her once more, though you have remained insensible to her perfections, while I, to whom she is as much as all the world, must stay here a prisoner.”
And with that he left speaking, and remained for some time plunged in melancholy, while I considered his words, though not without some pain, and took counsel with myself whether I might in any way help him. And venturing to interrupt his melancholical musings by declaring respectfully my desire and readiness to assist him, he looked up with his usual cheerfulness, and answered—
“Sir, you have very much helped me already, and do continue to help me so long as you are good enough to speak to me of my lady and to let me speak with you of her. I don’t know why I should thus burden you with my sad and passionate humours, but I have feared now and again lest I should go mad through having none with whom I might speak on this topic, and in you I find always a sympathy that encourages me to continue.”
Methought that I might well have sympathy with him, since my case was even worse than his own; but this I did not say, only declaring to him that whatever I might do for his comfort should be done, and entreating him to take courage and look confidently for deliverance and enlargement. And this he did, following my counsel with a very childlike and perfect trust in God that moved me to admiration, since he strove always to accustom himself to the will of Providence, and would pass quickly from despondency to comfort, reminding himself of the many blessings he enjoyed that one in his situation could not have looked for nor expected.
And this I may as well say now as afterwards—viz., that that which time led me most to admire in this gentleman was that he bare all untoward chances with a great patience, receiving them as from the hand of God, which at first did much surprise me; for my bane in life hath ever been a certain heat and rashness, such as hath carried me on without reflection to do deeds that had been better undone. And these deeds once done, ’twas natural to me to sit down in a sort of sullenness and as it were pagan resignation, as who should say, ’Tis done now, and can’t be undone. Let Fortune do her worst. ’Tis naught to me. But the viscount was wont to take the buffets of fate most calmly, as though they were but parts of a lesson that it should be well for him to learn, and to strange chances and vicissitudes he endeavoured always to fit himself, since it was God’s will for him to undergo them. And I once making him some compliment upon the firmness and constancy of his carriage, “Mr Carlyon,” says he, “you don’t know what it is to belong to an oppressed people. In France we Hugonots are thankful if it be permitted us to breathe in peace, and we are glad to seize upon any opportunity of quiet living that offers itself without dishonour. ’Tis a good school for the teaching contentment.”
And I, truly, agreed with him in this, yet must you not think that he was one of those poor and feeble spirits that seek any shelter rather than face the storm. Of his exploits as a soldier and a captain I need not speak, for all the world knows on’t, yet this I would say,—that in all the rubs and petty trials of that adventure which we did afterwards undertake together, I found him to be at once a most daring and experienced leader, and also the most cheerful and pleasant companion that ever a man had. Of his bravery at this time I will speak in its place, but so indifferent was he to all the praise and credit offered him later upon the matter, that he would put it aside with a laugh, and profess himself to dislike that topic. In a word, he proved himself to me the kindest and sprightliest of cameradoes, and this none the less that in ignorance of the cause I had for sadness, he did discourse to me continually regarding her that was the reason on’t, and look for me to declare my sympathy with him. But in all that I saw of him (and this wan’t little, since he did speedily made it his custom, without any pretext of business, to spend great part of every day discoursing with me at my lodging in the caravan-serawe) I perceived only the more clearly how much better he was fitted than I to awaken the love of Madam Heliodora, and called myself dolt and fool for my ever imagining that I could prevail against him. Also the more I felt my inferiority compared with him, the more I found myself possessed with a prodigious affection for him, and a desire to do what I might for the restoring so excellent a person to the happiness he so well deserved. And this without prejudice to my own resentiments[121] towards her ladyship; for so sadly and yet so tenderly did I feel towards her now, when I saw my love to be without any disguise altogether hopeless, that it seemed to me I would fain see these two happy, and would then be willing to die. But in thinking thus I was ignorant of my own self.
And now I did begin to cudgel my brains for to discover in what manner I might effect the escape of the viscount from this city, and his safe conveying to some port whence he might take ship for France. And first I spake concerning this to our friend the physician, that had first made the viscount known to me; but to my no small surprise, as soon as ever I had opened the matter to him, he clapped his hands to his ears, and cried, as though in great fear—
“Don’t speak on’t to me, sir, I entreat you. I am in his majesty’s confidence, and can’t listen to anything that might touch his state. I don’t dare meddle in this matter of yours further than to counsel you most strongly against making any such attempt to carry our friend out of the city. ’Tis my only hope, to be able to say truly that I know naught of your plan, and did also scout most vehemently the very suggestion on’t.”
Much admiring the good man’s prudence and wisdom, I next applied myself to sound, as the seamen say, Mr Kidder, but with the same result, namely, that I was straitly forbid to involve the embassage in any such mad folly, and warned against mixing myself up therewith, our chief declaring that ’twould undo the work of years, were the Company to be suspected of lending aid to the enemies of the emperor, and in especial to the friends of Seva Gi. And upon this I found that I was thrown back upon myself, and wasted much time in trying to devise plots whereby, in our return from Agra, I might carry the viscount with us in some manner of disguise. For I feared very greatly that, even should I get him safely beyond the city gates, Mr Kidder, urged on by Mr Spender (that affected to disbelieve my friend’s history of himself, and jeered at me perpetually for consorting with jail-birds), might, on discovering the truth, give him up again to the emperor’s officers, and so render his plight worse than ever before. But God, knowing the hard task I was fain to attempt, and my small power of succeeding therein, did come to my help with a certain change and distraction of our plans that wrought for me all I desired.
For to such a pass was the negotiations with Auren Zeeb now come, that Mr Kidder was desirous to send word to Mr President at Surat, and gain his instructions upon the matter, and to this end he determined to despatch me thither. Being loath to part with me, that was wont always to play the interpreter for him, he would fain have sent Mr Spender, but that this gentleman was still too poorly acquainted with the Indosthan tongue to go on such a journey by himself, and having the Armenians to be his mediators with the emperor, he resolved at last to let me depart. But desiring to know somewhat concerning a part of the Mogul’s dominions that an’t commonly visited by persons from Europe, he bid me not return by Oudyepour, as we had come, but by way of Gualleyor and Zauncy,[122] two great towns, very strongly defended, that lie to the south of Agra. And with this intent he procured for me the emperor’s pharmaund, giving me authority to travel where I would, with my servants and attendants, and with the help of this piece of writing, methought I ought to succeed in my great purpose.
And first I consented with myself to reveal my intention to none but to my servant Loll Duss, whom I knew to be faithful to me, and with him to devise my plans. Mr Kidder had begged of me not to carry with me any more of the servants of our party than I should actually need, but to hire cooleys (which is carriers), and other attendants, from town to town. And this being so, of our own Surat men I took with me only Loll Duss, together with my cook, a Moor that was named Eusoff,[123] and an ancient Mogul soldier named Darah, for to look to the hired cooleys. To these two I allowed Loll Duss to open our scheme, knowing that they might be trusted, and needing their help to carry it out, but they were instructed by no means to confide the same to any of the Agra men that should accompany us. And next I told the viscount of my purpose, and of the sorry part he needs must play, and, silencing his words of surprise and gratitude, bade him come to the caravan-serawe before daylight on the morning of the day when we should start. I don’t know how he succeeded in leaving the palace at such an hour unperceived, but God did so order it that he fell in with no one, and outside the caravan-serawe Loll Duss met him and carried him quickly to the stable where I was, looking to the packing of all my equipage. Here were, beside our three selves, namely I, the viscount, and Loll Duss, only Eusoff and Darah, and our business was stowing all our necessaries for the journey in those great baskets wherein the Moguls use to carry victuals and other such things. Then in one of these we hid the viscount, and fastened down the cover on’t, though leaving him a due space to breathe, and those victuals and packets that should have been in that basket we did put into my palenkeen, which was carried with us lest I should tire of riding. And all the baskets being now filled, the cooleys come in and took ’em away, Darah going with ’em, and all passed through the gate as soon as it was opened, the sun being up. I had bid them tarry for me at a certain village some five miles on our road, where was a rest-house, wherein I was minded to pass the heat of the day, but I myself and those with me did not start yet for some hours.
And these hours I did feel to be the longest I had ever spent, such was my terror lest the viscount’s absence should be observed, or some chance lead to his discovery among my goods. I was fain to comfort myself with the remembrance of the great Seva Gi himself, who with his son escaped safely in this manner, but ’twas extreme difficult for me to show myself calm and careless until after I had bid farewell to Mr Kidder and his fellows (Mr Spender taunting me at the last with leaving my jail-bird to his jailers again, spite of all my fair words), and also to our kind friend the doctor, and to the Armenians that had been our druggermen about the city. But at the last I was able to set forth, having my banner carried before me very seemly, and I riding upon a fine horse, with my palenkeen awaiting my disposition if I so pleased, and so went through the city and out at the gate with great pomp.
Now I had had some fear lest the officers of the gate should desire to look inside the palenkeen, but even so I hoped to beguile them, since they should find therein only my stuff, though this should have frustrated my design with respect to the bearers, who I desired should believe that there was a sick man inside. But as it so chanced, we were let pass without any molestation, and travelling at a fair pace, I riding beside the palenkeen as though to cheer him that was therein, came to the rest-house before the great heat came on. And here I found the baskets and other packages all piled up on the veranda, and Darah and the cooleys awaiting my pleasure. But having had my palenkeen carried into the house, I dismissed the cooleys for to take their noontide sleep, as also those that were come with me, and with my own three men released the viscount from his wattled prison, and allowed him to walk up and down inside the house, Loll Duss keeping guard the while. But when the time was come that we should start again, we put into the basket those things that had been in the palenkeen, and the viscount lay down therein in their place, the blinds being close drawn, for ’twas of chiefest importance that the hired cooleys from Agra should not see the face of their passenger, and recognise the Ferringhee. And having made this fresh disposition of our affairs, we started again on our way with much cheerfulness.