“Be at this same spot as soon as it’s dark this evening, and watch for a second ball of yarn, which wind up gently until you find a piece of twine in your hands. Pull that in also, and there will be a rope at the end of it. Make this fast securely to some solid body, and wait for your friends. Be secret and speedy, but feel no alarm. You will yet be saved.”
“Be at this same spot as soon as it’s dark this evening, and watch for a second ball of yarn, which wind up gently until you find a piece of twine in your hands. Pull that in also, and there will be a rope at the end of it. Make this fast securely to some solid body, and wait for your friends. Be secret and speedy, but feel no alarm. You will yet be saved.”
I had only time to glance at this delightful message when I heard Misery returning, and thrust it into my bosom with the yarn as the old woman came up the steps to look for me. Her discourse on the folly of exposing myself to the sun at such an hour I endured with becoming meekness, and laid myself down again, with my face turned away from Misery. A new thought was come to me. The writing of the billet, though hasty and careless, appeared familiar. Scarce daring to credit the notion, I compared it, on the first opportunity, with the precious post-scriptum belonging to Mr Fraser’s letter, which has never left me night or day, and I could not doubt but the same hand had wrote both. Picture my feelings, Amelia! So far from finding myself alone in India, there was close at hand, and at large, the very person I would have chose to be there! You’ll wonder to find me calm enough to write this, but indeed, if I had not my writing to occupy me, I believe I should go mad with joy, or at least arouse Misery’s suspicions by my transports. My smarting fingers are stiff, but my heart is so light that the pen fairly flies over the paper. Misery believes I am making my will, or so she told me just now. My will, Amelia! But oh, my dear, think—if Heaven had answered my impious and undutiful prayers last night, I should have lost this happiness. I was repining against the prospect of the most charming day that has ever opened to me! And moreover, while I have been murmuring that God wrought no huge and signal miracle to save me, I have overlooked the constant succession of miracles that has preserved me thus far—my being brought out alive from the dungeon at Fort William, the plot of Misery and Sinzaun, my fever even, and all those exactions of the Nabob that have kept Sinzaun perpetually occupied in going to and fro with messages for Mons. Bussy, instead of remaining here to torment me, not to speak of the extraordinary crowning mercies of to-day!
Moidapore,June ye10th.
Oh, my dearest friend, I have the strangest, the most charming and perplexing news to tell you. You can’t be more surprised to hear than I am to write it. I give you my word, I scarce credit it myself. But how my pen is running away with me! Iwillbe orderly; I won’t, after my usual fashion, impart to my Amelia the end of the history first and then proceed to turn back to the beginning.
Well, then, my dear, where was I? Oh, yes; I was writing to my sweet girl in Sinzaun’s house in Muxadavad, with my hands all swathed up in rags, and it was only two days ago. Only two days! But I am wandering again. Back to your proper course, Miss Sylvia Fr—ah, well, I mean my good Sylvia—and recount your tale in a methodical style from its earliest original. That day of anticipation came at last to an end, Amelia, and at sunset Misery went as usual to gossip with the rest of the servants at supper, and also, questionless, to watch for the coming of the Nabob and Sinzaun. She had done her best to induce me to put on the Persian dress she had brought me long before, alleging that ’twould render the Nabob more kindly disposed towards me; but when I told her roundly that was the very last thing I desired, she gave up her attempts, and was so good as to leave me alone. My Amelia will find no difficulty in picturing with what delight I gathered my papers together, and tying them into a pacquet, with two or three garments (all the baggage I possessed!), hastened up the stairs to the roof, and waited there while darkness came on. Never, it seemed to me, had night been so long in falling—never had the people in the streets been so late in seeking the decent shelter of their abodes. At last I heard the Cotwal, who is the head of the city watch, pass with his constables, and knew that he was clearing the streets of belated passengers, so rendering them all the safer for my escape!
As soon as the watch were fairly passed out of the vicinity, I heard something soft fall close beside me, and on picking it up, found it to be the promised ball of worsted, which I began to wind up very gently and delicately, in the most horrid fear lest I should break it. But ’twas not long before I felt a knot, and the twine came to my fingers instead of worsted, and when I had wound that for a little, I found the hard end of a stout rope in my hands. You won’t be surprised, my dear, to hear that I found no little difficulty in securing this rope, having no experience in such matters; but I twisted it round and round the stone pillar that stood at the head of the stairs, and fastened it with as many and as tight knots as I could devise. Then, guessing that my friends on t’other side would look for some signal from me, I pulled the rope smartly three times, and waited, breathless. Presently the rope began to creak and strain, as though it felt the weight of some heavy body, and almost at the same moment I observed that my knots appeared to be slipping. In a frightful agony of fear I threw myself on the rope, kneeling upon it and gripping it with all my strength, scarce able to believe that it was not sliding through my fingers. I heard more creaking, and then all on a sudden there stood on the parapet a huge tall figure in the dress of a Moorman, and I’ll assure you I had screamed if I could have uttered a sound.
“Are you there, madam?” says a voice that I knew, though it was but a whisper.
“Here, sir!” I answered; “but I fear this rope en’t safe.”
The man let himself down softly from the parapet, and undoing my knots, fastened the rope again in the twinkling of an eye, with so much art that the harder he pulled the firmer the knot became. Then, leaving the rope, he dropped down at my feet, and seizing my two hands covered them with his kisses, in which, as I can’t help fancying, there was mingled not a few tears.
“Oh, dearest madam, do I behold you at last?” he said.
“Dear, dear sir,” I murmured, shaking from head to foot, for his warmth deprived me of all my self-command, “pray—oh, pray—this kind, this obliging behaviour—indeed I can’t support it—I had given up all hope—I fear I shall swoon.”
“No, that you must not do,” said Mr Fraser, rising and supporting me in his arms. “Forgive me, dear madam, for agitating you to such a degree with my transports of joy. But I know my dear Miss Freyne won’t endanger the lives of those that are come to save her by yielding to a feminine weakness at this moment. Compose yourself, madam, and let me bring you across the gulf.”
Drawing me to the parapet as he spoke, he clambered up it with an extraordinary agility, and having seated himself at the top, turned and held out his hands to me. I don’t know whether I climbed or whether the gentleman pulled me up, but I reached the ledge of the parapet in some way, only to shrink aghast from the next stage of the journey. The means of accomplishing this was nothing more nor less than a basket, Amelia—a shallow sort of car made of wickerwork, hung on the rope by its handles, and swinging at the side of the house over the black chasm of the street. Do you wonder that I shuddered?
“Oh, dear sir, I can’t,” I cried; if it be possible to cry out in a whisper.
“Oh, pardon me, madam, you must,” says Mr Fraser. “Only permit me to lower you into the basket, and if you remain perfectly still you’ll be drawn across in absolute safety. I worked myself across with my hands on the rope.”
Was this said to remind me what danger he was braving for my sake? I don’t know, but if it was so I had deserved the rebuke. I thought of Sinzaun and of my desperate resolves of the night before, and took shame to myself for my cowardice. Mr Fraser was holding the basket steady with his left hand, and, extending the right to me, I found myself somehow or other in the machine, but how I don’t know, for I was not sensible of having moved—indeed I felt powerless to do so.
“Keep quite still,” says Mr Fraser with a cheerful air, perceiving, perhaps, that my trembling imparted a rocking motion to the basket; and making a low hissing sound, I found myself drawn along the rope by a cord attached to one of the sides, while Mr Fraser moderated the speed by means of one that he held. I suppose I was not left swinging in this way between heaven and earth for more than a minute, but it might have been a life-time, and when I reached the parapet of the house opposite, the Tartar who stood there was forced to lift me out of the basket as though I had been an infant, before he sent it spinning along the rope back to Mr Fraser.
“Why don’t the young Saeb come?” I heard him murmur to himself in Moors, when he had placed me safely on the roof itself, and stood waiting, as I guessed, for the signal to pull the basket across again. Still he waited, and still no signal came, and in a prodigious agitation I clutched at the man’s foot.
“Why does he delay? Have they killed him?” I gasped out.
“They won’t kill the young Saeb so easy as that,” he growled, without looking at me, his eyes still fixed on the house I had just left.
“Oh, if they have taken him, let me go back and give myself up instead!” I cried; but the man shook me off, and bade me roughly be silent.
“Here he is!” he muttered at last, and almost as he spoke Mr Fraser appeared on the parapet, having crossed as before, without giving the signal.
“I fear I alarmed you, madam,” he said, breathlessly; “but at the moment when I was about to leave the roof, I heard a slight jingle of ornaments, and, glancing towards the stair, saw a woman creeping away. To allow her to give the alarm would have been fatal to our hopes, and I sprang upon her like a wild cat. She was old, but she fought fiercely enough, and ’twas more than a minute before I could get her gagged and bound with strips of her own cloth. She was more frightened than hurt, I fancy; but I trust I han’t inconvenienced any friend of yours?”
“Oh, sir, ’twas my woman Misery, the second worst of my enemies,” I said, almost sobbing, as Mr Fraser paused in unfastening the basket from the rope, and looked at me.
“Why, then, save that she’s a woman, I could wish I had used her worse,” said he, cutting the rope, and so leaving it to hang down from the side of Sinzaun’s house. “Is she likely to be soon discovered, do you fancy, madam?”
“When Sinzaun brings the Nabob to the feast he has prepared, which may be at any moment. Oh, dear sir, take me away,—save me; don’t let me be dragged back to slavery after enjoying this one taste of liberty!”
“Why, no, madam; we’ll carry you to the Agency at once, and there you’re on British ground. Put this on over your clothes,” and he handed me just such a white wrapper as the woman had worn who had directed me through the window at noon, and who I now perceived must have been himself in disguise, “and we’ll set out.”
While speaking, he and the Tartar had been excessively busy in hacking to pieces the basket and other traces of their occupation that lay about; then Mr Fraser took up my pacquet of papers, and the Tartar led the way down the stairs and so through a passage and two doors into the street. Do you realise, Amelia, that I had not stood in a street for near a year? ’Twas that time, also, since I had walked any distance, and the Moorish slippers I wore were not the easiest of foot-gear to walk in. Seeing my difficulty, Mr Fraser offered me his hand, and though the Tartar grumbled at the civility, as being inconsistent with our disguise, we held each the other’s hand for the whole distance, to my great comfort, under the cover of my veil. Stealing along thus in the darkness, with the Tartar going first to watch for any danger, and choosing out the narrowest and darkest by-ways for us to pass through, we saw at a distance a glare of lights, and heard the sound of music and shouting.
“Sure his Highness is on his nightly rounds,” says the Tartar.
“The Nabob? Then he’s going to Sinzaun’s house—for me!” I murmured, and would have fallen, had not Mr Fraser supported me.
“Courage, madam! We’ll reach the Agency before he can discover your evasion. Which way, Mirza Shaw?”
“This way,” said the Tartar, and led us down a lane and into an open doorway, where we stood and trembled, for although our party might have hoped to pass the Cotwal, with the help of a suitable present, as two respectable Moormen guarding some relative to her abode, we knew that the Nabob and his loose companions were accustomed to maltreat any unoffending person they met, and only to release such an one, after loading him with shocking insults and the most degrading injuries, with the loss of all the property he might have about him. But the riotous rabble passed the end of our lane without discovering us, though they turned their lights into most corners in the hope of catching sight of some crouching wretch, and when they were gone we left our concealment and hastened on, Mr Fraser cheering me with the assurance that we had not now far to go. The words had scarce left his mouth, when the music, which had been dying away, became on a sudden louder again in our ears.
“Some one from the house has met ’em and given the alarm,” says Mr Fraser.
“Pray leave me, sir, and save yourselves,” said I. “You have done your utmost.”
“Pray, madam, what do you take me for?” he asked.
“Here’s the door,” said the Tartar, who had been groping with his hands along a wall, and Mr Fraser whistled softly. The door opened, and I was hurried inside, and into a sort of closed shed filled with packages.
“Pray, madam, be so good as to rest here for a moment, while we acquaint Mr Watts of your arrival,” says Mr Fraser, and I was left alone in the dark.
(Miss Freyne’s next letter appears unfortunately to have been lost.)
From Colvin Fraser, Esq., to Mrs Hurstwood.
Muxidavad,June ye8th, Evening.
My pen, madam, ought by rights to be dipped in joy, since it has the charming task of announcing to the most faithful of friends that the dear sufferer, in whose fate she and I have experienced a joint concern, is now safely restored to the society of her countrymen, and that no long time will, I trust, elapse, before she hastens to Calcutta to embrace her Mrs Hurstwood. This agreeable news, you’ll say, should stimulate me to impart it in fitting terms, but to tell you the truth, madam, I have begun this letter already three times over, for I can’t satisfy myself in communicating the rest of my intelligence. ’Tis not only that I lack the fitting words for so tremendous an announcement, my heart fails me in imagining Mrs Hurstwood’s scorn and resentment on hearing of my presumption; yet I would cheerfully brave even these did my mind supply me with terms appropriate to my situation, but rather than degrade the occasion by my poverty of speech, I’ll leave my news untold. In short, madam, I can’t write; my heart is too full. My revered and obliging friend Dr Dacre will take up the task I have abandoned, and permit me to subscribe myself, Mrs Hurstwood’s most obedient, humble servant,
C. Fraser.
From the Rev. Dr Dacre to Mrs Hurstwood.
Mucksadabad,June ye8th, Midnight.
In obedience, madam, to the urgent entreaty of my young friend Lieutenant Fraser, I venture to intrude myself upon the notice of Mrs Hurstwood, confiding in that sprightly and indulgent temper of which none can be ignorant that have been in company with the gentlemen whom she honours with her acquaintance—a favoured band in which it is my earnest desire to be numbered at the earliest possible period. In the joyful confusion of mind which is the natural accompaniment of Mr Fraser’s present situation, he has been unable to direct me in any way in the task I have undertaken, and I purpose, therefore, to follow the extremely just precedent which I understand him to have established in his former epistles to Mrs Hurstwood, and relate the events of this evening in their proper historic order. If, in so doing, I should lay myself open to that reproach which has been recorded against old men by my honoured friend Mr Samuel Johnson, that they too often grow narrative in their age, and weary where they hope to please, let my fair correspondent be so gracious as to ascribe the fault to the respectful awe in which I stand of her, and not either to my subject or my ill-will.
Seated this evening, madam, upon the varendar here with my obliging host, Mr Watts, I took occasion to remark upon the absence of the two young gentlemen, Mr Fraser and Mr Ranger, neither of whom I had seen since early morning.
“Mr Ranger I sent to Maudipore on an errand as soon as it was cool,” replied Mr Watts, “and I heard him come in a while ago. As for the Lieutenant, he’s engaged on his own business, but what that is I don’t know, nor do I ask it.”
“What’s this noise of shouting and singing that I hear approaching?” I asked him. “Sure there’s no idol-pagoda so close as that?”
“No, ’tis but the pagans holding one of theirtamashes, or as like as not the Nabob is taking an evening walk with his intimates. One of my correspondents in the Durbar brought me word to-day that Meer Sinzaun’s influence with his master is on the wane, and that he was endeavouring to re-establish it by presenting him with some very choice entertainment this evening at a house he has on the skirts of the town. Questionless the Prince and his favourites are now on their way thither. If there was the faintest touch of spirit in Meer Jaffier, he would sally out and capture Surajah Dowlah when he’s passing through the streets with all this riot and noise, but the fellow has no more enterprise than anybawboo. However, provided the Nabob don’t pay me a visit, there’s nothing to trouble us in his nightly perambulation.”
“Am I mistaken, or is the noise stopping before the gate?” said I.
Mr Watts raised himself on his elbow to listen, just as Mr Ensign Ranger approached us from the direction of the gate, having the liveliest contempt imaginable depicted upon his visage.
“Sir,” says he to Mr Watts, “there’s Rajah Moneloll[01]at the gate, with a whole rabble ofloucheesat his heels. They say there’s a slave-girl—a country-born wench—missing from the seraglio, and demand to know whether she has took refuge here. I have assured ’em of the contrary, but they require to see you.”
“See me they may, but they won’t find the door opened to ’em,” said Mr Watts, turning towards the gate, whither we were accompanied by Mr Fraser and the servant Mirza Shah, who had just joined with us. We found Moneloll very particular in his enquiries, though he offered no reason why the wench should seek refuge with us.
“I have told you that she en’t here,” says Mr Watts at last. “The only woman in the place is thechokeydar’sgrandmother, and she’s near a hundred years old, but if you’re desirous to see the old lady, I’ll have her step this way.”
This handsome offer raised a laugh, but the favourite represented that the Nabob would be better satisfied if his men were permitted to search the house in order to assure themselves of our innocence.
“Then I fear his Highness won’t be satisfied,” said Mr Watts, “for no one enters this house to search it but over the bodies of these gentlemen and myself, and for that you’ll have to answer to Saubut Jung Behader.”[02]
“Why do you feign to take my jest for earnest, Watch Siab?” says Moneloll, with an air of reproach, and withdrew with his followers.
“Because it would have turned to deadly earnest when once these fellows had laid hands on the treasonable papers I have in the house,” said Mr Watts to me in a low voice.
“They’re setting guards to watch the house, sir,” says Mr Ranger, “so as to allow no one to enter unperceived.”
“This might have been serious a week ago,” said Mr Watts, “but now——”
“Sir,” said Mr Fraser on a sudden, “I must ask your pardon for correcting what you said a moment back, but the lady that Moneloll seeks is in the house.”
“In the house, sir? Where?”
“In the godown at the back of the courtyard, close to the small door, sir.”
“And you choose this moment, sir, when all our lives hang upon a thread, and spies among our servants are watching not only our motions, but our looks and words, to embroil me with the Nabob for the sake of a half-castwench?”
“Sir! the lady is she of whom I told you, who survived the fall of Calcutta.”
“Pray, Mr Fraser, remember I warned you that I could not listen to any account of your aspirations in coming here. Still, you have set the affair in a better light, and kept me from handing the woman back at once to the Nabob, as I was about to do. But if I may presume to ask it, what’s your object in bringing her here?”
“To procure for her your protection, sir, and the means of rejoining her friends.”
“And this when every foot of the way to Calcutta swarms with enemies! Perhaps you en’t aware, sir, that to-morrow you’re to repair to Maudipore with Dr Dacre and Mr Ranger, in order to be ready should I be compelled to quit Mucksadabad suddenly. Pray, is the lady to go with you or remain here with me? How, pray, do you hope to convey her to Calcutta? Sure you had better have left her where she was.”
“Had I done so, sir, I would be the most calculating coward that ever breathed.”
“Say you so, indeed? Come, sir, what’s your relation to the lady?”
“I honour and esteem her infinitely, sir.”
“Pray, are you her humble servant?”
“That’s the position to which I aspire, sir.”
“Well, will you marry her to-night?”
“To-night, sir? But I han’t asked her.”
“That’s an omission can quickly be repaired. Will you do it?”
“But, sir, such haste—indecent haste—her friendless situation—she would feel her delicacy outraged by the mere suggestion——”
“Oh, we won’t press you, sir. Mr Ranger, you’re acquainted with the lady. Will you assume the office of protecting her?”
“With all my heart, sir, this very moment.”
“Sir!” cried Mr Fraser to Mr Watts. “Jem!” to Mr Ranger.
“Why, what a selfish cur art thou, Colvin!” cried the young gentleman. “A true dog in the manger, and sullen at that. Because the poor girl don’t find favour with thee, would’st have her lose all chance of a kind spouse?”
“Put up your sword, sir,” cried Mr Watts angrily to Mr Fraser. “How will you quarrel with Mr Ranger for obliging me where you refuse? Have you anything to say against him?”
“This, sir,” said Mr Fraser, standing and confronting Mr Watts very stiffly. “Shortly before the fall of Calcutta I received a letter from my cousin Colquhoun, with whom you was acquainted, saying that in response to my urgent desire expressed to him, he was setting on foot a treaty of marriage between Miss Freyne and myself, but beyond adding that she had offered no opposition to the match, he told me nothing of her temper towards me. The troubles that followed brought the negotiation to an abrupt conclusion, so you’ll perceive I can’t tell how I stand with regard to the lady.”
“I’ll promise you this, at least,” says Mr Ranger; “I won’t run off with your mistress before your eyes, Colvin.”
“Pray, sir, be silent,” says Mr Watts. “Am I to understand that you’re willing for the completion of the treaty, Mr Fraser, if the lady be the same?”
“Why, yes, sir, with all my heart. But how approach the subject without seeming to the lady to presume upon such slight service as I have been able to render her? She is the very soul of delicacy, and to be lowered in her eyes would be intolerable to me.”
“Give me your hand, Mr Fraser!” says Mr Watts, warmly. “You’re a youth of spirit, and I honour your scruples. You shan’t have this odious task forced upon you. I will myself approach the lady on your behalf, and take her mind in the matter.”
I have never, madam, seen a young gentleman with so astonished an air as Mr Fraser. “But, sir,” he stammered, “the haste will be the same.”
“My good sir,” says Mr Watts, “I’ll assure you the lady shall be told that you’re about to be forced to the altar at the sword’s point. I’ll swear to her that you’d wish to delay the ceremony for ten years if it could be compassed. In fact, to satisfy you I’ll intimate to her that you marry her but to oblige me. What, en’t this enough?”
“Sir, sir!” cried the unfortunate young man, and stopped, unable to say more.
“Come, sir,” said Mr Watts, “trust me to guard both the lady’s punctilio and your own. Her father was one of my most intimate friends, and I desire nothing but good to his daughter. If she’s reluctant to have you, I’ll say no more, but if you’re both willing, why delay? Come, doctor, you shall add your persuasions to mine.”
Taking the lantern which the Tartar brought him, Mr Watts led the way to the godown, leaving Mr Fraser a lively image of despair, and his friend plying him with mocking consolations. Mr Watts unlocking the door, we passed into the warehouse, and discovered a female form seated on one of the bales. To you, madam, who enjoyed for so long the felicity of being continually in company with Miss Freyne, I need not express the sensations with which my friend and myself beheld the extraordinary loveliness of this young creature, more especially when we remembered the affecting situation in which she was placed, as she rose and saluted us with an air of modest dignity that added, if that were possible, another to the many graces of her aspect.
“Your servant, gentlemen,” said she.
“Madam,” says Mr Watts, “your most humble servant. My old comrade Hal Freyne’s daughter don’t, I hope, hear for the first time the name of William Watts? This here is my friend Dr Dacre, a learned divine and most ingenious author.”
Miss Freyne curtseyed again, in acknowledgment of my host’s too partial mention of myself, but methought her eyes rested with a more assured confidence on Mr Watts, who (worthy man!) experienced, as I thought, some embarrassment in fulfilling the task he had chosen, but in this I was to find myself mistaken.
“Doctor,” he said, turning to me, “you was right and I wrong.”
“Indeed, sir, this handsome acknowledgment——” said I, altogether ignorant of his meaning.
“Yes, indeed. I thought the young gentleman’s fears uncalled-for, but now I’m inclined to believe him rather presumptuous than modest.”
I began to understand. “He seemed to me to carry himself very properly, sir.”
“But in face of so much beauty, sir! Why, Prince George himself would have good cause to tremble in the presence of such a lady. The assurance of these young fellows is prodigious! I’m unwilling to prejudice the foolish youth in the eyes of a person he reveres so highly, but I must confess I should be glad to see his arrogant pretensions suitably rebuked.”
“Sure, sir, you’re too hard,” I said, while Miss Freyne turned her eyes in bewilderment from one of us to the other. “The young gentleman displayed a very proper sense of his own unworthiness as compared with the lady, and after all, he has done his best to serve her.”
“A plague on his services, sir!” cried Mr Watts. “Is it to be endured that the mere risque of finding himself dismissed the navy, together with a paltry five months’ residing and working here for Miss Freyne’s release, should inspire the coxcomb with the notion of possessing a claim on the lady’s gratitude?”
Here Miss Freyne interrupted us. “Sir,” she said, with the most charming blush imaginable, “I can’t help guessing that you speak of Mr Fraser. I trust I han’t been so unfortunate as in any way to injure his prospects in life through the generous ardour that impelled him to attempt my release?”
“Why, madam,” says Mr Watts, pushing his wig on one side, as one greatly perplexed, “this is the fact of the matter—though indeed, if I didn’t know that Miss Freyne’s wit and discretion are reported to exceed, if possible, her beauty, I should not venture to lay it before her. I can’t deny but Mr Fraser is in bad odour with his superiors, and runs some risque of being put on his trial for desertion, owing to his exceeding the time allowed him here by the Admiral; but as I said just now, any man should count himself honoured in being permitted to run some risque for Miss Freyne’s sake.”
But here I thought that Mr Watts was gone too far, for the unfortunate lady fell back against the goods behind her, as pale as death. “Alas!” she murmured, “must I involve yet another in the miseries I bring on all concerned with me—and this one my brave deliverer?”
“Nay, madam,” cried Mr Watts, “the young gentleman is of opinion that you may compensate him if you will for any risques to which he may have been exposed. But, as I was saying, who could expect Miss Freyne to sacrifice herself for such an insignificant person?”
The lady’s face was whiter than before. “Sacrifice myself? I offered that very thing, but he refused,” she breathed, so low that we could scarce hear her, “and now he sends to ask it of me! No, sir,” she cried out suddenly, “’tis unpossible. You must have mistook him. He could not be so base.”
“Why, madam,” said Mr Watts, in extreme surprise, “I have said that I think the young gentleman presumptuous, but I can’t see that there’s any baseness in asking you to be his.”
“What! is that all?” she cried, and immediately fell to laughing and weeping in a style that I found vastly alarming. “I thought you was telling me that he desired I should give myself up again to Meer Sinzaun, sir.”
“Oh, madam,” said I, “indeed you wrong the young gentleman.”
“I know I do, and I’m an ungrateful wretch!” she cried, still sobbing.
“Well, madam, ’tis in your power to make him full amends,” said Mr Watts. “May I inform him that you have no objection to marry him to-night?”
“Sir!” cried Miss Freyne, drawing herself up with all the dignity in the world.
“Why, madam, here are you in extreme need of a protector, and out yonder is Mr Fraser, languishing under the conviction that he’s offended you beyond pardon in hinting at his desires by my lips. Here also is Dr Dacre at your service. If this be the right moment for exhibiting severe justice towards the man that loves her, I’m convinced Miss Freyne will show it; but if it’s possible for mercy to override punctilio, then I believe she has sufficient greatness of mind to lay aside the privilege of her sex, and make Mr Fraser happy without tormenting him further—unless,” added Mr Watts with great anxiety, “you have already, madam, entered into any engagement of marriage that would forbid this?”
“No, sir, I am happily free. Refusing Meer Sinzaun’s addresses, he desired to revenge himself by resigning me to the Nabob; but from this frightful slavery I was rescued—by Mr Fraser. I hope, sir, you don’t expect me to agree with you in the remarks you was pleased to pass on the gentleman just now? I have such a confidence in him, and I am so deeply indebted to his kindness, that I could not hesitate a moment in making him happy, as you are obliging enough to call it, if I could believe it really for his advantage. But this extraordinary haste—my desolate situation—the want of the merest necessaries of life—” the lady looked at her gown, and blushed again; “and also—— But pray, sir, if Mr Fraser’s feelings are so deeply engaged, why don’t he approach me himself on the matter? Sure you’ll agree that he owes me the compliment of declaring his own wishes and enquiring mine?”
“Why, madam, the poor young gentleman is in so sad a state, from apprehension of his own unworthiness and your deserved severity, that I refused to allow him to plead his own cause, lest he should do himself less than justice. And that reminds me, we are prolonging his agony with the most exquisite cruelty. Madam, you’ll consent?”
“Oh, sir—oh, Dr Dacre, you are a clergyman—advise me. I don’t desire to be unkind, but——”
“Why, madam, I can but advise you to follow your own heart.”
“And that,” says Mr Watts, “Miss has been good enough to show us already. Come, doctor, let us inform Mr Fraser of his good fortune. Madam, I’ll attend you again in a few minutes.”
“Sir—Mr Watts!” I heard Miss Freyne cry, but my host shut the door behind him.
“I think you’ll say I know how to humour the ladies as well as the Indians, doctor?” he said to me, very complacently, as we came to the house. “Come, Mr Fraser, your mistress consents to make you happy. Go and get ready, sir.”
“But, pray tell me, sir—she en’t offended?”
“Be thankful for what you’ve got, sir, and ask no questions.”
“Don’t be too curious in your enquiries, Colvin,” says Mr Ranger. “Come at once and get rid of that undress of yours. I must have you wear your uniform to be married in.”
“Stop, Mr Ranger!” cried Mr Watts. “Have you forgot that we must keep this wedding a secret from the servants? What will Mr Fraser’s boy say to see him in full dress?”
“I vow, sir, I had quite forgot it; though, indeed, most of the servants are gone to their houses for the night. But sure, sir, you won’t forbid me to oblige our friend with the loan of a ruffled shirt, and the merest sprinkling of powder? Why, the lady might cry off from her bargain if she discovered the true colour of his hair!”
This having the desired effect in inducing a smile on Mr Fraser’s serious countenance, Mr Ranger led away his friend in triumph, while Mr Watts and I disposed the room as orderly as we might for the marriage. Presently the two young gentlemen rejoined us, demanding earnestly what was to be done for a ring? Incredible though it may appear, not one of us was provided with this essential feature of the ceremony.
“Has no one so much as a signet-ring?” cried Mr Watts. “Come, Mr Fraser, sure you possess one with a coat-of-arms on it, to show the noble house from which you’re sprung? I never knew a Scotchman yet that did not carry with him so convenient a testimony to his ancestry.”
“Any small article of the required shape will serve,” said I, observing that Mr Fraser appeared to regard this jest as a reflection cast upon his nation. “I have known the handle of the church-key masquerade as a ring.”
“Why, then, we need make no further trouble,” said Mr Watts, taking a seal from his watch chain, and unfastening the ring that held it. “This will about fit your lady’s finger, Mr Fraser, and she’ll be able to say that she was married with the seal of the Cossimbuzar factory. I’ll have some goldsmith make me another.”
“Sure, gentlemen, we are keeping the bride waiting,” says Mr Ranger. “Pray, Dr Dacre, lend me a prayer-book, and let me be clerk. As the lady has no bridemaid, Mr Fraser won’t need a brideman, but some one must deliver the responses.”
Having a second prayer-book with me, I was able to oblige Mr Ranger, and Mr Watts departed to fetch the bride. I had observed that Mr Fraser was wearing an extraordinary resolved air, and as soon as the lady appeared he stepped forward to meet her, saying very earnestly as he took her hand—
“Madam, the happiness you offer me is so extravagantly great that I scarce dare accept it, for I can hardly believe that you would condescend to bestow it of your own accord. Pray, madam, don’t think I desire to press you unduly. If you have any doubt of my sentiments towards you, or hesitate to honour me by confiding yourself wholly to my affection, say so, and I will hint no more of marriage, but swear to convey you safe to Calcutta and restore you to your friends, if it cost me my life.”
“Will you assure me on your honour, sir, that you desire this marriage?” The lady raised her eyes, and regarded him earnestly.
“Why, madam, ’twould make me the happiest man on earth,” he stammered, meeting her glance with a sort of modest resolution which I thought one of the prettiest things I had ever seen.
“I thank you, sir. I have had my answer, and there’s yours,” and she placed her other hand in his, an action that transfigured Mr Fraser’s face with delight. But Mr Watts, declaring that the lady was anticipating the service, and seeking to supersede him in his duty of giving her away by doing it for herself, took her hand again to conduct her where I stood, and I proceeded with the office in a low but distinct voice, the Venetian blinds being drawn to prevent any of the servants catching sight of what was going on, and the Tartar keeping guard in the varendar, armed with a sword and buckler. I observed that Mr Fraser made the prescribed answers in a clear tone, instead of merely bowing, a careless custom of thisærathat has nothing to excuse it, and the lady also could be heard without much effort.
“Come, sir, salute your lady,” said Mr Watts, when the service was over, compassionating the bashfulness of the married pair so far as to refrain from commencing the usual indecorous struggle (which a politer age will sure abandon) for the first kiss from the bride. “What, will you put a public affront upon Mrs Fraser?” for the bridegroom offered only to salute the lady’s hand. “Well, sir, fools make fortunes, and wise men spend ’em,” and Mr Watts saluted her cheek very gallantly. I won’t deny that I put in my claim for the parson’s fee, or that Mr Ranger exceeded his duty as clerk by demanding one also, but ’twas Mr Fraser observed that his bride was trembling, and hard put to it to restrain her tears. With a delicacy that I had scarce expected in him, he led her to a seat and begged her to compose herself, while Mr Watts, bustling about with a great air of mystery, brought out a bottle of champaign.
“Here,” he said, “this is my last bottle. I was reserving it against the day Colonel Clive enters Mucksadabad, but now we’ll drink Mrs Fraser’s health in it. At least the liquor won’t be wasted if our schemes miscarry. Put on a brighter countenance, doctor, or I shall congratulate myself in having foiled you in a design to run off with the lady yourself. I don’t wonder you have a shame-faced air.”
“Why, indeed, sir,” said I, following with his humour in the hope of bringing a smile to Mrs Fraser’s face, “I should have been sore tempted but for the remembrance of a remark of my friend Mr Samuel Johnson. Asked whether he regarded it as expedient that a young divine should make a runaway match with the object of his affections, ‘Why no, sir,’ he cried, ‘for who should then perform the ceremony?’ Sure that would have been my case also.”
Perceiving my design, as I can’t help believing, the lady smiled slightly, but Mr Watts took advantage of her cheerfulness to dash her spirits afresh. “Our next business, Mr Fraser,” he said, “will be to devise some plan for getting your lady safely out of the city.”
“Sure, sir,” said I, “the Moors would not venture to lay hands on the wife of a British officer?”
“I would not recommend Mrs Fraser to ride out openly and put the matter to the test,” says Mr Watts, “since even if they were disposed to respect a British officer’s wife, what could be easier than to make her his widow?”
“Oh, sir!” cried Mrs Fraser, starting up from her seat.
“I don’t purpose to assist ’em to do it, madam. I should fancy ’twould be quite possible to smuggle you out dressed as a boy.”
The lady blushed deeply, and was silent, but her spouse interposed—
“Pray, sir, oblige us with some other expedient if you can. That you name is excessively repugnant to Mrs Fraser’s feelings.”
“I’ll take Beeby Fraser in a palanqueen openly through the city and out at the gate,” put in the Tartar, “if she’ll wear anotch-girl’s dress.”
“Who asked you to speak, Mirza Shah?” cried Mr Watts angrily, while a deeper crimson spread itself over the poor lady’s face.
“Sir,” she said to her husband, “I’ll submit even to this frightful degradation, if it be necessary for your safety and that of these gentlemen, but I know you’ll spare it me if you can.”
“I’ll ride out with you openly, madam,” he answered, “before you shall be forced to it.”
“It appears to me,” said I, “though I speak with some diffidence, that we might hope to put in practice successfully a device mentioned by several ingenious authors. Cleopatra, on being denied Cæsar’s presence, caused herself, we are told, to be conveyed into his apartments concealed in a bale of carpets. Without for a moment resembling Mrs Fraser to the too-notorious queen, I think it might be possible to conceal her, when we quit the city to-morrow, among those wadded quilts we use for mattresses.”
“Now, doctor, you talk like a man of sense!” cried Mr Watts. “Your device spares the lady’s punctilio, and avoids endangering her spouse. Are you prepared, madam, to submit to a certain measure of inconvenience for the sake of freedom?”
“Indeed, sir, I am,” she replied.
“Why then, Mr Fraser and Mirza Shah shall carry out the affair. But remember, sir, your lady is Mirza Shah’s care on the journey, and not yours. If you was perpetually hovering about the baggage, the simplest Syke could not fail to discover your secret. Doctor, we owe you many thanks.”
Pray, madam, don’t take it ill in me thus to conclude my epistle with my own praises. Mrs Hurstwood won’t misunderstand me, I’m convinced. The having served her friend, however slightly, will commend to her kindness her most obedient, humble servant,
Jno. Dacre.
(The preceding letter, as well as those written by Mr Fraser, was transcribed, as is afterwards explained, by Mrs Fraser, and sent with her own to her friend Miss Turnor, by whom they were preserved. The curious fragment which follows may be found in No.17of the thirty large MS. volumes containing Dr Dacre’s miscellaneous remains. As no transcript of it has been discovered among the Johnson papers, it is probable that the letter was never sent.)
From the Rev. Dr Dacre to Saml. Johnson, Esq., M.A.
Maudipore,June ye13th, 1757.
My dear Sir,—You will questionless experience some surprise to receive a communication from me out of my usual order, and dealing with none of those important matters to the elucidation of which my present journey is directed, and the surprise will be increased when you are good enough to examine the enclosed Pastoral Piece, belonging to a species of composition never yet attempted by me. It has so chanced, however, that the necessity of inditing to an elegant and virtuous lady an epistle in a somewhat more lively style than ordinary, has inflamed me with the desire of turning to the improvement of others the history of two young persons in whom I have conceived a paternal concern. Remembering my honoured friend’s design of composing at some future period a second series of papers similar in their treatment to his immortal ‘Rambler,’ I have ventured to compile this little anecdote for his acceptance, disguising slightly the names of the persons affected, and adhering with the utmost strictness to the just rules he has propounded for the writing of Pastoral. I had, I’ll own, some notion of following the precedent set by the erudite Sannazarius, and presenting my personages as fishers instead of shepherds (and this in relation more especially to the gentleman, who pursues the maritime calling); but the recollection of the arguments which you, my good sir, have directed against this innovation, quickly dissuaded me, for how should one whose chief passport to favour, even in these distant regions, is the fact that he is the friend of Samuel Johnson, oppose himself to the erudition of his preceptor? In one point, sir, I’ll confess you will discover me to have forsook your example, and this is with respect to the introduction of the scenery and products of the East. The bird of Paradise, I am informed, is not a native of Indostan, nor does it utter any song worth mentioning, while the oak and the primrose are not to be discovered among the spice-groves of these countries.[03]To enter into a discussion of the subject would be impertinent in a work of the imagination, and I have therefore contented myself with citing such natural objects as I required, without describing them. Any criticisms that my honoured friend may be so kind as to offer will be welcomed by his most obliged, obedient servant,
Jno. Dacre.
The Exacting Lovers. A Pastoral.
Colin and Silvia were two young persons who appeared to all their acquaintance to be formed for each other. His mind was something of a gloomy cast, while she was possessed of a sprightly turn of humour; he was apt to be overbearing in his air, and she was endowed with that easy softness which is the most admirable characteristic of her sex; his disposition was of the sort that is on the watch for slights, hers inclined her to believe anything of her friends rather than that they were intentionally unkind. The chain that bound their lives in one was forged out of a long series of affecting incidents, which it is not convenient to include in the present tale. It will suffice to say, that Sinzonius, the tyrant of a town adjacent to the pastoral region in which Colin and Silvia fed their flocks, captivated by the beauty of the lovely maid, carried her away to his stronghold, proposing to himself to keep her immured until she consented to his desires. This execrable project was foiled by the resolution of Colin, who, assembling hastily his brother-shepherds, took advantage of the tyrant’s absence to release the imprisoned fair. Such a service, in the estimation of all around, entitled the rescuer to the highest recompense that Silvia could bestow, and attended with a numerous throng of swains and nymphs, the youthful pair betook themselves to the temple of Venus, where they plighted their eternal vows amid the acclamations of all present. There being among the ministers of the temple, however, a spy in the pay of Sinzonius, this fellow hastened to inform his patron of what he had witnessed, whereupon the haughty prince vowed to be avenged upon those who had so successfully defied him, although he did not venture to attack them openly.
In a commodious cave that extended into the mountains overhanging the vale in which Colin and Silvia had fixed their modest abode, resided a venerable and pious hermit named Damœtas, who had beheld with a paternal satisfaction the establishment of their humble household. Living remote from the converse of men, he had not become sensible of the alarming menaces of Sinzonius when, quitting his rugged solitudes, he repaired one morning to the smiling plains beneath for the purpose of enquiring into the welfare of his youthful friends. His progress was frequently interrupted by the respectful greetings of the shepherds he passed, who, leaving their pastoral avocations, hastened to implore his benediction; but arriving at length in the vicinity of Colin’s hut, what was his astonishment to discover in the youth, who lay stretched on the turf in an agreeable glade, a prey to the liveliest manifestations of grief. The garlands were fallen unheeded from his locks, and his sheep wandered at will, unrestrained by his idle crook. Profoundly affected by the sight of such extreme melancholy, Damœtas made haste to ask him how he did, and whether all was well with the amiable Silvia.
“Alas, Damœtas!” sighed the unfortunate Colin, “my imagined felicity is no more. I find myself shipwrecked when I fancied I was arrived in port.”
“Unhappy youth, unfold your sorrows to me,” said the sympathising hermit. “Have wild beasts attacked your flock, or is the herbage parched with drought?”
“Such misfortunes as these,” replied Colin, “would be trivial to that which is befallen me. My adored Silvia repents already of her condescension.”
“Is it possible?” cried the hermit; “she repents that she plighted her vows to you?”
“That, my kind patron, is Colin’s unhappy case. You will bear me witness that I felt my happiness too extreme to continue, and it is already eclipsed. I have become sensible that ’twas not, as I dared to hope, the return of my own affection, but that obliging softness of temper which distinguishes my charmer, that induced her to be mine. A mere rude shepherd, I felt myself infinitely unworthy of so much beauty and virtue, but I fancied that the continual society of my beloved girl might in time elevate me nearer to her. But when I find her regarding me with apprehension, if not with aversion, what hope can I cherish?”
“Pray, good youth, inform me what has led you to this mournful conclusion.”
“Indeed, Damœtas, I discover in my Silvia such a fixed melancholy as affects me inexpressibly. She beholds me depart in the morning with tears, and welcomes me with tears when I return at night, while coming upon her suddenly I have several times found her weeping. Add to this that she avoids my caresses, and won’t permit me to enjoy her company in peace even at our frugal meals, but is for ever rising to peer round the corner of our hut, or among the trees, as though she anticipated the approach of some enemy, although I have assured her repeatedly that there’s none in the vicinity. Whence can this uneasiness proceed but from aversion for her Colin? But even worse than this is the passion she displays for serving me and anticipating my desires (in all but the matter I have most at heart), such as the merest slave might exhibit. This morning only I bade her be seated, and told her with some sharpness that ’twas for me to serve her, when she cried out with tears that this was the sole recompense she could make me for the horrid injury she had done me.”
“And this injury—what do you understand it to be, Colin?”
“Oh, sir, what can it be but the permitting herself to listen to my addresses, merely in order to oblige her friends? I don’t deny but she hoped to oblige me as well, her grateful spirit estimating far too high the slight service I had rendered her, and indeed, my sentiments towards the dear creature are such that I could be content with being allowed to serve her, in the hope of bringing her in time to regard me with affection, but for the thought of the wrong I am inflicting on her in keeping her bound to a spouse she abhors.”
“But you have made no attempt to enquire of your Silvia whether you have judged her aright?”
“Oh no, sir; how would it profit me to hear the dreadful truth confirmed by the lips of the woman I adore? No, I won’t pain her by exhibiting what she has made me suffer. I may serve her better than that.”
The good hermit folded his hands upon his staff, and looked fixedly at Colin. “Rash youth,” he said, “what are these wild dreams in your mind?”
“There are none, Damœtas, but if in the strife with Sinzonius’ forces an arrow should penetrate to this sad heart, my charmer would once more be free.”
“I don’t, I won’t believe,” said the hermit, “that she desires her liberty. Accept my counsel, Colin. Meet your Silvia always with a smiling and affable countenance, consult her wishes, and disregard her melancholy, which may be dissipated when once her spirits are recovered from her imprisonment. If you don’t succeed in banishing it, at least you won’t have added to it.”
“Alas, Damœtas, this is mournful counsel for a man not three days married!” sighed the unhappy shepherd, and resumed his melancholy musings, to which the hermit sorrowfully left him. Continuing his journey, Damœtas arrived presently in view of Colin’s rustic cot, which was seated on a gentle eminence, commanding a charmingly diversified prospect. Here he discovered the beauteous Silvia, who had thrown herself weeping on the ground in the delicious shades of the grove, paying no heed to the whispers of the balmy gale, nor to the music of the rill that murmured beside her. Hearing the approaching footstep, however, she sprang up from her lowly couch.
“Oh, sir, what of Colin?” cried the lovely nymph. “Is he safe?”
“I left him but now in perfect safety,” replied the good Damœtas. “But what ails the fair Silvia, and why is she concerned for her Colin’s safety?”
“Oh, sir,” she replied with tears, “I think I have not enjoyed one easy moment since hearing of the menaces uttered by Sinzonius. I can’t endure that Colin should be out of my sight, and yet when he is with me I am tormented with apprehensions of beholding him murdered before my eyes, and it is I have brought this danger upon him. Thoughtless and wicked damsel that I was, I consented to unite my own evil fate with his, forgetting the misfortunes that are come upon all connected with me.”
“But sure Silvia was acquainted with this when she consented to oblige Colin?”
“Alas, sir! I forgot it, as I have said, for the moment, transported as I was with joy to think that I might hope to render him happy. But ’twas a deceitful hope. Colin has already learned his mistake.”
“Has he discovered that his Silvia can’t make him happy?”
“Alas, sir, yes! I have observed his uneasiness grow continually these two days. He has questionless determined that his poor Silvia en’t worth the perils that the possessing her involves. My tears distress him, and I seek to hide them, but my apprehensions I can’t conceal, and they tease him excessively. If I had but the assurance of his affection I could be happier, but the cup of my misery is filled by the thought that he was persuaded by his friends to take pity on me owing to my desolate situation. This very day I sought to express to him something of the distress I experience for the wrong I have done him, when he answered me very shortly that we had both made a mistake, but that ’twould do no good to weep over it.”
The hermit, now become fully sensible of what the tragedians call the irony of the situation, was at some loss how to proceed, but said at length—
“In that remark, as I can’t deny, Silvia’s spouse was justified. I would have her dry her tears and meet Colin with a cheerful countenance. Let her dress herself in her best——”
“Ah, sir, I have but this one gown,” said the lovely girl. How will this pastoral simplicity be despised by the ladies who read these pages!
“True,” said the frugal Damœtas, “and ’tis a credit to Silvia that she can say so. But at least she may welcome her spouse in a cheerful style, and abstain from vexing him further with her tears. Did she entreat of him any explication of his unkind remark? It may be she misunderstood his words.”
“Alas, sir, how could they be mistaken? Their meaning was too plain.”
Finding himself again at a loss, Damœtas remained for some moments plunged in thought, until the notes of a melancholy strain discoursed on a shepherd’s pipe heralded the return of Colin, which Silvia, absorbed in the violence of her grief, had not observed. Rubbing his hands merrily, the venerable hermit went forth to meet the mournful youth, and leading him into the cot, presented him to Silvia.
“In the glade,” he said, “I met with a shepherd who was inconsolable because the nymph he worshipped did not return his affection, and in this hut I find a young woman refusing to be comforted because her adored spouse don’t love her. Perhaps they may console one another.”
“Is’t possible?” cried one. “’Twas all my fault!” cried t’other, and they embraced with all imaginable tenderness, while the good Damœtas went on to say—
“Indeed, I can’t but declare you both in the wrong. You, Colin, erred in permitting your gloomy constitution to persuade you of your wife’s aversion for you, and in neglecting to enquire particularly into the truth; and you, Silvia, because you suffered your apprehensions to blind you to the care of that Providence which has so often assisted you in the past, and to go far to alienate the affection of your spouse. Learn then, both of you, to be wiser in the future.”
In this strain Damœtas continued for some time to improve the occasion, until, perceiving with regret that his auditors were so profoundly engrossed in each other as to be altogether unconscious of his exhortations, he withdrew, and left them alone.
From Mrs Fraser to Miss Amelia Turnor.
Culnah,June ye15th.
I have amused myself not a little, my dear friend, during this last few days, in picturing the manner in which my Amelia would receive the astonishing news contained in my last letter, which I was so eager to place in her hands that I writ it in scraps, as the time offered, at Moidapore, and despatched it the night of last Saturday (the 11th), by acossidthat was carrying an epistle from Mr Watts to Colonel Clive, and called at the hunting-lodge for any private letters the gentlemen might wish to send. ’Tis true I have been inclined to repent of this precipitancy, for since arriving at the army we have heard a rumour that the fellow, being pursued bydecoytsor highway robbers, lost in his flight some of the missives with which he had been entrusted. Still, I can’t bring myself to believe that the epistle in which I acquainted my dear girl of all the incidents (whether alarming, affecting, or comical) of my marriage, and of the misunderstanding that, but for the interposition of good Dr Dacre, might have wrecked for ever my happiness with my dear Mr Fraser, could be the one of all the rest to go astray. Should it prove to have been thus ill-advised, I fear my Amelia must be the sufferer, for I could not bring myself to write that letter again.
At Moidapore, which is a country-house situated about onecoss, or rather over two miles, to the south of Cossimbuzar, we spent in all five days, a period during which I was apparently as much a prisoner as when in Sinzaun’s house, but with how great a difference! Carried into the place rolled up in a bundle of mattresses (believe me, my dear, I could have imagined myself again in the Black Hole, such was the heat and the want of air on my journey), I had allotted to me theGinanah, or women’s part of the house, with an agreeable small garden on which it looked; and here I remained without my presence being so much as suspected by any of the domestics, with the exception of the gentlemen’s body-servants, who, being honest fellows, and continually employed about the house, were admitted into the secret. Of the anxious kindness shown me by Mr Fraser I need not speak, for the generosity of his mind is abundantly testified by the history I gave you of our first quarrel, if quarrel it may be called, which was so productive in misery at the time, but yet has something droll in it. The consideration of the other two gentlemen displayed itself in the most engaging manner, as my Amelia will perceive when I tell her that I had not to resent a single free remark from Mr Ranger, and that Dr Dacre was so obliging as to translate for me on the spot all the quotations from the ancient authors that he happened to employ in his discourse. What can I say more? As long as our stay lasted, my spouse and Mr Ranger occupied themselves during the morning and evening principally in hunting, which was necessary to give colour to their removal to the place; and your Sylvia found plenty to do in cutting out and making up from the stout cotton cloth of the country a riding-dress for herself, which Mr Watts had warned her she might need at any moment; while Dr Dacre, pursuing his studies with the most philosophical composure in the world, was so polite as to read aloud to her occasionally certain extracts from the work he is preparing on the relation of the Sanskerreet to the classical tongues, to cheer her labours.
During this blessed period we were not left entirely without news from the outer world, for Mr Watts despatched a messenger to us on some pretext or other once a day. The first of his messages was that which awoke in your foolish Sylvia’s bosom all the apprehension which her Fraser misread so unfortunately. It acquainted us that Sinzaun had accosted him that day in a very affable style at the Durbar, asking his pardon for Moonloll’s attempted invasion of the night before, and saying he was certain the female who had escaped was not at the Agency, for he had found a clue to her presence in a different part of the city, and expected to recover her immediately. To this Mr Watts had added: “I can’t doubt but this complaisant address was designed to throw me off my guard, to the end that Monsieur Sinzaun, who has satisfied himself that Mrs Fraser was not of the party that rid to Moidapore, may find opportunity to introduce his spies into this house. His bribing some of the servants is merely a matter of time, and when by this means he has discovered that the lady en’t here, he will divine that we have succeeded in overreaching him, and will turn his attention to Moidapore. When that happens, gentlemen, look to yourselves.”
On the day after this alarming letter came a second to say that Aume-beg, an officer of the Buckshy Meer Jaffier, with whom Mr Watts has covenanted to turn traitor to the Nabob, was returned from Calcutta, whither he had gone to convey the treaty between his master and the British, bringing the news that the secret of the alliance had got abroad, and was the common talk of the soldiers at that place and Chandernagore. The wicked old Gentoo, Omy Chund, of whom my Amelia has heard before, having played a leading part in obtaining the treaty, had become alarmed that his advantage was not sufficiently regarded in it, but his apprehensions were pacified (I fear, by what Mr Fraser hints to me, in some not over honourable manner), and he was content to do no more than watch over his interests by accompanying Colonel Clive and his army when they marched against Muxadavad. Since this might take place any day, Meer Jaffier had sent to warn Mr Watts to make his escape, but the good gentleman was resolved to maintain his position until the last extremity, and, if possible, until he had permission from Colonel Clive to leave it. All this time the Nabob and Meer Jaffier, shut up in their respective castles within the city, were making preparations, the one for defence and t’other for attack, and exchanging such bloodthirsty menaces as might well terrify those who heard as well as those who received them.
Last Monday was the day on which our fears arrived at a climax, and our fortunes at a crisis. As soon as the heat of the day was over, Mr Ranger, who was gone to the stables to tell the grooms to have the horses ready for going hunting that evening, found an old woman of one of the gipsy tribes in the compound. On his tossing her the piece of money for which she begged, the crone requested to see his hand, and told him his fortune so accurately as regards the past, and so flatteringly as regards the future, that he was most extravagantly delighted, and carried the old creature to the house, where he summoned Mr Fraser and Dr Dacre, who submitted their hands to her inspection with an equally agreeable result. Mr Ranger’s kind concern for my entertainment next caused him to suggest to Mr Fraser that he should bring the old woman into the Ginanah, that she might tell my fortune also. Always ready to consult my pleasure, and grown now somewhat secure through our continued safety, Mr Fraser came to propose the visit to me, suggesting that I should wrap myself in my Moorish veil, so that the sorceress might not know me to be a European. The notion of admitting this stranger did not commend itself to me, but seeing my spouse so eager, and attributing my reluctance to a foolish shyness springing from my long seclusion, I begged of him to bring her in. I could not doubt her possession of the powers to which she pretended when, after examining my hand very minutely, she informed me that I had of late passed through many trials, hinting not obscurely at their nature, and that I had been married only a few weeks, perhaps even days. To test her further, Mr Fraser asked her whether I had any enemies, to which she made answer that my safety was menaced by a very great person, but that I might rest easy, for his plots against me should not prosper. To this she added further prophecies, such as awoke in Mr Fraser an extraordinary delight, and he carried her out in great good humour. Returning to me, he remarked on the woman’s having contrived to bite the coin he gave her, in order to test its goodness, although she appeared to possess no teeth to speak of. “I observed the marks,” said he.
“Sir,” I cried, a frightful conviction seizing me, “the woman was Misery in a disguise, and with her teeth blackened.”
“What! the hag that betrayed my beloved girl to Sinzaun?” cried Mr Fraser, catching up his sword, and ran out, calling to Mr Ranger to accompany him. But although they searched high and low, and questioned the servants closely, they could find no trace of the sorceress, and returned disappointed, cursing their own credulity.
“How will my dearest life forgive me for bringing her into this new peril?” said my spouse, with the kindest, most melancholy air imaginable. “But at least the hag prophesied the downfall of her own schemes,” he added, seeking to cheer me.
“’Twas but to throw us off our guard, I fear, sir. Relieved from dread of Sinzaun, she looks that we shall grow careless. But, oh, dear sir,” and I catched hold of Mr Fraser’s two hands, “if we are indeed exposed to that wicked person’s attacks, let me alone be the sacrifice. Believe me, ’twould add infinitely to my affliction to know that I had endangered others.”
“I fear, Mrs Fraser,” says my spouse very solemnly, “you forget sometimes that you’re married. How otherwise could you coldly propose that I would resign my wife to that lawless villain? Or perhaps you are good enough to intimate that you prefer him to me?”
“Oh, sir, sir!” I cried; and Mr Fraser embraced me with the most obliging tenderness.
“My foolish girl knows now what I’ll think if I hear her say that again,” he said, and went away to consult with Mr Ranger on plans of defence. But as it chanced, their valour proved unnecessary; for their council was interrupted with the commotion caused by the arrival of a palanqueen, out of which stepped Mr Watts, very cheerful and sedate, while among the servants attending on him was Mirza Shaw Buzbeg, riding a very fine horse of his own. The palanqueen and bearers Mr Watts sent back to Cossimbuzar, saying that he was going hunting with the gentlemen, and would carry them thither with him for supper, which (as he bade them remind the cooks) must be on the table without fail at the hour he had named. Coming in then among us, and rubbing his hands very complacently—
“Come,” he said, “the hour is arrived, gentlemen, and Surajah Dowlah’s knell has begun to toll. Meer Jaffier sent to me this afternoon to entreat that I would leave the city, since a rumour had reached the Nabob that Colonel Clive was advancing from Calcutta as far as Chandernagore with his troops. You’ll guess that I was not catched unprepared, for I think ’twould be scarce kind in me to permit Surajah Dowlah to add to his crimes by compassing all our deaths. Leaving the city house in my palanqueen, I betook myself to Cossimbuzar, as I have done pretty often of late on pretence of business, and ordered the servants there to have supper ready against the time I should bring you back with me, gentlemen; but I fear that supper will be cold indeed before we return to eat it. Pack up your falbalas, madam; you have prepared an equestrian habit as I recommended you, I hope? To horse in half an hour, gentlemen! The beasts are in good condition, I trust?”
“Sure, sir,” I heard Dr Dacre say, as I returned into my own apartment, “you can’t intend to ride the whole distance to Chandernagore? Have you forgot we have a female of our party? Mr Fraser consulted me as to your intentions, and I assured him that you was but proposing to ride as far as some point on the river where we might obtain boats. You won’t contradict me, I hope?”
“Why, look ye here, doctor,” cried Mr Watts, “no man knows better than I do that the length of the journey and the extreme heat of the season will make this adventure of ours excessively fatiguing and not a little dangerous, but our lives are at stake. One of my reasons for lingering on in the city longer was that I was in hopes of hearing from Colonel Clive that he desired our retreat, and had provided boats to meet us on the way. But since he han’t chose to be so considerate, we can only trust that the rumour which has alarmed the Nabob is true, and that we shall find the army on the march to Muxadavad. The Colonel knows our danger, for Aume-beg tells me that it has several times been reported in Calcutta that I had been seen slain, and my head set on a pole, and I don’t doubt but he’ll help us if he can. As for the lady, if I know anything of her, she’ll share our hardships without whining or peevishness, and prefer ’em to the alternative of remaining here. And pray, gentlemen, do me the favour to get ready at once. I may be pursued even now.”
The words were not out of Mr Watts’ lips when the other gentlemen scattered each to his apartment, and Mr Fraser, lifting theantiportaof reeds through which I had heard all their conversation, came to me.
“My incomparable girl must show the stuff she’s made of to-night,” he said, with as great an air of cheerfulness as he could command. “We will have a long hard ride, but I know she’ll do her best to support it for her Fraser’s sake.”