CHAPTER XVI.CONTAINING THE MEMOIRS OF A CAPTIVE.

From Miss Sylvia Freyne to Miss Amelia Turnor.

Muxadavad,End of October, 1756.

Although I have finished the history of the misfortunes that brought me to this place, I yet continue to write, more for the sake of occupying my mind than from any hope that the letter will ever reach my Amelia. It has taken me a whole month to complete my narrative, for so weak was my hand in commencing that I could not manage above half a page a day, though now I can with little weariness fill the best part of one of the thick gilt-edged sheets of paper with which Meer Sinzaun has furnished me. But why make such a business of it? my dear girl will cry. Because, Amelia, I must find something to do, or I believe that the sufferings I endured before coming here, and the apprehensions natural to my present frightful situation, would drive me mad. Meer Sinzaun was wiser than I thought him when he permitted his prisoner to divert herself with pen and ink, for he don’t desire (no more than Lovelace did) to find himself the gaoler of a wretch whose intellects are disordered. Figure to yourself, Amelia, that for near four months, which I have spent in this prison, I have seen no one but Misery and the two or three women belonging to the house, and now and then a gardener or other low-castperson in the distance, without it be that I get sometimes a stolen peep into the street through a small barred window in the upper storey, but only when Misery is absent, for she threatened me with having my one spy-hole bricked up when once she catched me indulging myself with a glimpse of the world. Shamefully though this wicked old woman abused me in the matter of bringing me here, I can’t say but she is civil and respectful enough at most times, making her chief exception when she chances to find me praying. This she appears unable to endure, and makes a point of interrupting me, or of fidgeting about so as to disturb my thoughts. It seems to me that Sinzaun must have threatened her very severely in case I contrived to escape, and that she fears some miracle being wrought by Heaven to assist me. If the poor creature knew how often I have prayed in vain that I might die, sure she would experience no further alarm at the sight of my prayers; but, indeed, she is right enough in imagining that if I should ever effect an escape from this house it must be by means of a miracle.

Do you remember, Amelia, that day when the Rector’s brother came to pay his respects to the gentlewomen at Holly-tree House, and discovered us all sitting round in tears, our needlework neglected, while Mrs Eustacia read aloud to us from the pages of ‘Clarissa’? The good bluff gentleman, you’ll recollect, sat for a while listening, with a snort or a “Pshaw!” at intervals, as though determined not to be moved, but at last, taking advantage of the moment when Mrs Eustacia herself had been forced to remove her spectacles, in order to wipe away the moisture that was gathered on ’em, he cleared his throat, and looking round very fiercely upon us, demanded what the mischief Clarissa meant by secluding herself in an obscure lodging at Hampstead, and thereby increasing the perils of her dangerous situation, instead of seeking out a magistrate at once and throwing herself upon his protection? You’ll remember how we all cried out that the delicacy of her sentiments, her respect for the punctilio of her family, the fear of directing public attention to her own equivocal position, and a dread of finding herself repulsed, would all prevent a female of elegant feelings from taking so bold and resolved a step. “Then I hope for your own sakes, my pretty Misses,” says the good gentleman, “that you’ll none of you ever find yourselves in that poor girl’s situation, or your delicate sentiments will land you in a worse trouble than mere public notice,” and he stumped away with a prodigious determination.

But if he were here now, I think that good man would confess that I have not even Clarissa’s chance of escape allowed me. My dear girl won’t do me the injustice to suppose that I have sat down tamely to submit to any fate my captor may destine for me. No, I have made the circuit of the garden and the roofs which surround it times without number, seeking to discover some unguarded window or door, some outside staircase, or even some broken place that might afford me the means of getting outside my boundaries, but to show you with what lack of success I need only say that Misery don’t even take the pains to follow me, now that she’s satisfied I shan’t throw myself over. She wraps her head in her cloth and falls asleep, taking occasion when she awakes to ask me, in the humblest style in the world, whether I have yet succeeded in finding a cranny to squeeze myself through? But even if I could elude her vigilance and that of the rest, and let myself down over the wall by any means, in what sort of situation should I find myself on the outside, in a country where women of quality never stir out of their own grounds but in a suitable conveyance and surrounded with armed servants? Without friends or money, knowing the language but imperfectly, what could your poor Sylvia do? Sinzaun was right when he said that she might well find herself in a worse captivity than this.

In fine, my dear Miss Turnor, I can’t see the smallest hope of my escaping unless I can obtain some dye with which to stain my skin, and a trustworthy guide who would undertake to procure me the dress of a low-castfemale, and convey me to one of the European factories near Cossimbuzar. But how hopeless does it appear to seek for such a person in a city where we Britons are now not only hated, but despised! Nevertheless, in the faint expectation of lighting upon some such charitable soul, I have sought to enter into conversation upon indifferent topics with each of the women of the house at various times, intending to broach my subject by degrees, but they all feign not to understand anything I say. Their stupidity must be assumed, Amelia, for if I spoke Moors as badly as they pretend, how could I make Misery understand me, which she does without the smallest difficulty? The truth is, my dear, that it’s useless to seek to work upon people of this sort without you have money to offer ’em, and that I have not, and they know it. Had I command of sufficient sums, I believe I might be able to buy over even Misery herself, for I have seen her eyes sparkle with avarice when I hinted at the quantity of rupees my friends would pay were I restored to them. But alas! I have not so much as anannato give her as the earnest of a reward, and Misery is a prudent soul, preferring not to do business save for money down.

But how then do I occupy myself, my Amelia will ask, in a place where there’s no visitors, no diversions, no walking nor riding abroad, and no books? Indeed, my dear, I make the fruitless journeys I have described round the circuit of my prison, I observe the growth of the flowers and sometimes pluck a few, I write to my dear distant friend, and I work with my needle. Perhaps I have no right to saymyneedle, for you don’t know the odd rules that these people have, all the sewing and embroidering being done, as a general rule, by men. To show you the difficulty I found to obtain this natural and necessary weapon of our sex, I must tell you something about my clothes. When I was first able to leave my bed, Misery had the assurance to bring a complete Persian dress for me to put on. You would have laughed, Amelia, if you had not been in my situation, to picture me wearing first a vest of thin silk, then a little velvet waistcoat ornamented with goldsmith’s work, and a silk petticoat of red and green stripes—the stripes goingroundthe garment, fancy, my dear!—and over all a cloth or veil of silk five or six yards long. Turning away in much displeasure, I bade Misery fetch me my own clothes, which she did with a good deal of grumbling. But alas! though they had been washed while I lay sick, they were so ragged and stained and shrunk that ’twas impossible to put them on.

“You are a Moorwoman now, Beebee,” says the presumptuous Misery, “and of course you’ll wear the Moorish dress.”

“I en’t a Moorwoman, and I won’t wear a Moorish dress,” said I, upon which the old woman had the insolence to mutter that since Meer Sinzaun furnished the clothes I might as well wear what he sent.

“On the contrary,” said I, “I’ll have ’em as unlike as possible to those he sent, that so I may forget the humiliation sooner. How dare you, woman, bring me these shocking gaudy colours, when you know I’m lamenting the loss of the most tender and deeply honoured of parents? Fetch me some decent black stuff, and a tailor to make a gown according to my taste, for I won’t wear these things.”

Finding me so angry, Misery became vastly submissive, as is her way when I assert my will, and entreated with tears that I would pardon my slave, for there was no such thing as a black stuff to be had in all Muxadavad, since none of the Indians wear this mournful hue, and that to send to any of the foreign factories for it would cause suspicion that ’twas a European desired so unusual a fabric.

“Very well,” I said, “I en’t unreasonable. You may bring me white or gray or purple, and I’ll wear it, provided the tailor knows his business.”

But at this Misery fell down at my feet again, and struck her head against the floor, lamenting that ’twas impossible to employ a tailor. He would demand a muster,[01]she said, and when he had my old gown given him, there would be no concealing that ’twas part of a European dress. This was true enough, and I resigned with some regret the notion of the tailor, for these men are extraordinary ingenious in copying any pattern given to ’em, and produce wonderful pieces of work with their rusty needles and scissors that scarce hang together at the rivet. “Come,” I said to Misery, “you and the other maid-servants shall do the sewing, and I’ll tell you what I wish done.” But to hear the cry she raised, you would think she had never touched a needle in all her life, which I can hardly credit. Then, imagining that she had vanquished me, she sat up upon her heels with a smile of assurance to see me put on the Persian clothes. But this I was resolved not to do, for the dress would have been the very livery of slavery, implying that I laid down willingly the privileges of our own free and enlightened land to take up the wretched degraded existence of the Indian women. “Not at all, Misery,” I said; “see that the stuff is got, and I’ll do the sewing myself.” At this there was another shriek of protest, but this time I was firm, and when next the steward came to the curtain to enquire my wishes, I demanded stuff and needles and thread. (My own needles were gone out of my hussy. I fear Misery knows more about them than she feigned to do.) The steward appeared to consider my request in the highest degree extraordinary, more especially when Misery had spoke to him for some time in the Persic[02]language, which I don’t understand, but upon my recalling to him sharply his master’s orders, he besought my pardon humbly for his hesitation and promised obedience. More, he asked me whether I was content with my woman, or if I found her saucy, and would prefer another, but to this I answered that she was well enough, and I desired no change. You perceive, my dear, I know that Misery is false to me, but with another I might be in doubt whether she was to be trusted or no, and so perhaps be led into rash confidences. My forbearance gained me much credit with Misery, who came to me afterwards and placed my foot upon her head, thanking me, in her usual insinuating, deceitful style, for my goodness in passing over her pert behaviour.

Well, Amelia, I had my stuffs fetched me at last, white muslin for gowns, and a sort of dark purple satin, very rich and thick, for a petticoat. You’ll smile to think of your Sylvia setting up as a mantuamaker and milaner,[03]but I found the benefit of Mrs Abigail’s instructions while at the school, and I don’t think my work would disgrace me, even in England. But oh, my dear, the difficulties of making a gown where there’s no such thing as lining or buttons or hooks and eyes, or even lace or trimming! I wish I could show my Amelia my wonderful devices of muslin frills, and ribbons made of strips of satin, and gold clasps used for buttons. But at least I have shown Misery which of us is mistress and which maid, and I have refused to be turned into a Moorwoman to please the taste of my wicked persecutor, who—

Oh, my dearest girl, I am in such a tremble I can’t go on writing. Misery is just come to tell me that Meer Sinzaun is returned to the city with the Soubah after a wholly successful campaign against the Purranea Nabob, and that he’ll do himself the honour to wait on me this evening. I think I had almost forgot the wretch; at least I never believed he would return so soon. What shall I do? what can I do?

Nov. ye10th.

I have delayed, Amelia, to write you the history of my interview with Sinzaun, because day after day, whenever I thought of the wretch, I was seized with such a shuddering that I could not put pen to paper. But to-day I am resolved to do my utmost to conquer this weakness, since if the mere thought of Sinzaun in his absence make me tremble, in what condition shall I be the next time he chooses to force his presence upon me?

As soon as I could collect my thoughts after receiving Misery’s announcement, I came to the desperate resolution to behave towards my captor in as easy and cheerful a style as I could assume, affecting to regard him merely as a charitable person that had saved me from the Nabob with the object of restoring me to my friends, and ignoring as the creations of a mind diseased all my terrors respecting him in the beginning of my fever. If I could play my part discreetly enough, this expedient might, I thought, procure me some short respite, and perhaps give time for help to reach me,—for surely, unless Britons were prepared to sit down tamely under the most shocking oppression and ill-usage, some attempt must soon be made from Madrass to redress our wrongs. With this in my mind, I prepared to receive Meer Sinzaun. Misery, seeing me, as she believed, resigned to my situation, fell in joyfully with my imagined compliance, and was so presumptuous as to weave in with my hair, as she dressed it, some flowers she had plucked from the garden. This bold device I quickly discovered, and punished the woman by compelling her to take out the flowers and comb my hair up tightly under my cap. At least the odious wretch should have no occasion to fancy that I had dressed myself fine to meet him.

Seated, at the appointed time, in the outer room of the garden-house, which I have taken for my saloon, I awaited the approach of my enemy. Presently I saw him crossing the garden, muffled very ingeniously in the robes of a Moorman of quality, which were drawn up about his face, but of these he disencumbered himself with great agility upon the varanda, and on Misery announcing him, entered my presence in a European habit of great magnificence, bowing in the most submissive manner. I rose and made him my best curtsey. “Your servant, sir,” said I. (You must remember, Amelia, that all our intercourse was in French, since Meer Sinzaun don’t speak English; and indeed I have reason to be grateful for the pains our good Mrs Abigail and Mrs Eustacia took to make us speak their own language with fluency and correctness.)

“Nay, madam, behold your slave at your feet,” he replied, offering his hand to conduct me to the settee. His touch sent a shudder through my frame, but I did my best to conceal the repulsion with which he inspired me.

“Pray be seated, sir,” I said, as he still stood before me in a humble attitude.

“Madam, your commands can’t but be obeyed,” he said, and seated himself opposite to me. For the instant I imagined—so complaisant was his tone—that my fears might after all be unnecessary, but stealing a glance at his countenance I perceived that here was still the old Sinzaun, the man that had got me into his power and meant to keep me there. To hide the despair that seized me, I made shift to speak.

“You are returned from your campaign, sir?”

“Yes, madam, and not only in safety but in triumph,—thanks, as I can’t doubt, to your kind prayers on my behalf.” Oh, Amelia, if you could have seen the horrid smile on the wretch’s lips as he said this! “Or rather, permit me to say, ’twas the beneficent influence of my goddess herself that accompanied me in the fight, and preserved me from harm. Clarissa will deign to accept my poor thanks?”

I was almost choked by the wretch’s assurance, but struggled on.

“You found the time pass agreeably, sir, I trust?”

“Agreeably enough, madam, but prodigious slowly. The charmer who knows where I had left my heart won’t ask me why the days seemed so long. And now may I put the same question to Clarissa? Whatever answer she may please to make will content me, for though she be cruel enough to find the time of her adorer’s absence pass quickly, yet she will but be recognising his devices for her entertainment.”

“The time is always long, sir, when one is parted from one’s friends.” I said this with great seriousness, designing him to receive it as a rebuke for detaining me from my friends so long, but what was my horror and disgust when he bowed with his hand on his heart, crying—

“Oh, madam, you overwhelm me! A thousand thanks for your charming condescension! That Clarissa should miss her slave is indeed the height of bliss for him.”

I clasped my throat with my hand, my dear, or I should have cried out, to see this wretch sitting there complacently to torment me. But I felt assured that he was endeavouring to drive me to some hysterical outburst that might display his power over me, and I resolved to disappoint him if I died for it. While he continued romancing for a moment or two, uttering all the extravagancies he could think of to rob me of my self-command, I recovered myself a little.

“You was so obliging as to furnish me with writing implements, sir, before you left,” I said when he ceased, “and I must be permitted to show you that I have made no use of ’em such as you would disapprove. There were thirty sheets of paper in all, I believe. Here’s the thirty still, though in part used,” and I counted ’em over to him.

“Oh, sweet innocence!” he cried, “that combines the sprightly simplicity of Pamela with the majesty of the divine Clarissa! Sure my charmer never thought so meanly of her Sinzaun as to imagine he would call her to account for the indulgences he was allowed to furnish her? Thirty sheets that have been touched by Clarissa’s fingers! Fifteen or so that bear the impress of her hand! Give me, madam, at least those blank sheets, that I may wear ’em next the heart where your image dwells. I would ask for one of those that are wrote on, but that I know they’re too precious to be parted with, and I would not put my Clarissa’s tender heart to the pain of refusing her adorer. But the blank sheets I must have.”

“Oh, sir, would you deprive me of my sole diversion?” I cried.

“Deprive you, madam? Oh, this carping mercantile spirit don’t become my Clarissa! You shall have two fresh sheets for each one that I take—will that lift the storm-clouds from my charmer’s brow? How is it my star among women will so seldom permit her worshipper to bask in the light of her smiles? He don’t deserve the indulgence, that he knows, but for the sake of Clarissa’s reputation for clemency were it not well that she should show herself more complaisant?”

I gazed at him wildly while he uttered these words in a tone of tender reproach, gathering up the blank sheets the while. “Like Pamela’s Mr B.,” he continued, in a meditative style that checked the sobs which would otherwise have burst from me, “I can’t find it in my heart to deprive my charmer of the pleasure she takes in writing, even though she use it to revile myself. To be sure, I can’t read what she writes, and so improve my disposition, but then, no more can the thrice-happy being to whom it’s addressed. How could I rob Clarissa of a diversion that pleases her, and can injure no one, even myself?”

I think the wicked man looked to see me fly into a passion and demand how he knew that I had wrote anything against him, but I reflected that he could scarce imagine I should deal with his name in my letters with any great tenderness, and that he had but made a guess at what they contained, and I said no more than—

“Sure you must be very well acquainted with Mr Richardson’s works, sir?”

“Madam,” he replied, “they are the study of my life. In the French translations, they are my greatest treasures, and I admire them continually more and more. I think I may say that there en’t a virtuous sentiment, nor a neat touch of humour, that I could not give you chapter and verse for on the instant, in the whole three novels.”

Is it not extraordinary, Amelia, that a person like this can actually take pleasure in such works as Mr Richardson’s, whose whole course and tenor must be a standing rebuke to him? They say that the devil can quote Scripture, as indeed is proved by the Gospels, and this shows that evil beings will read good books without being improved by their study.

“And more,” he continued, “’tis to the good Mr Richardson that I owe the honour of meeting the lady whose portrait he had surely drawn by anticipation in his ‘Clarissa.’ When, in the dress of our great sovereign, I penetrated unknown into the Masquerade at Calcutta, drawn by the fame of a certain lady’s beauty that had reached me, I found myself attracted by one who seemed to me to be none other than Clarissa herself. ‘Here, Sinzaun,’ I said to myself, ‘is a fellow-student of the books you reverence, one who has perceived what is the crowning-point of Clarissa’s history, and has ventured to outshine all other beauties by the simplicity of her attire and the piteousness of her aspect!’ Judge, madam, what were my feelings when I discovered my Clarissa to be the very being at whose shrine I was come to worship!”

“Alas, sir!” was all I could say.

“Yes, madam,” he went on, “I have learned much from Mr Richardson. You won’t find me falling into the error of Lovelace, and making use of barbarous force to constrain my charmer, while her mind and heart remain unsubdued. It is Clarissa’s favour that I desire to gain; she must become mine by her own free consent. I can wait until she choose to oblige me, for I know she’ll make me happy at last.”

He spoke with so much confidence and security that I began to feel as they say birds do when a serpent approaches ’em, powerless to withdraw from the noxious influence, however heartily I hated it, wondering almost whether this man could force me in spite of myself to consent to become his. I broke the spell with a vast effort by asking him the day of the month, which he told me, and shortly afterwards took his departure, leaving me to spend the night in sobs and tears, and urgent prayers to Heaven to save me or let me die.

December ye15th.

Since my last writing, Amelia, I have endured three interviews with Sinzaun. Such is the horrible cunning of this wicked man, that he don’t present himself at regular intervals, nor inform me of his intended visit until a short time before he appears, so that I spend my whole time with the dread hanging over me of being suddenly confronted with him. This garden seems to be haunted with his image; the slightest footstep—even a shadow falling on the path—drives me into an agony of fear, and the wretch can’t help perceiving, when he comes, the condition my terror throws me into. This alone would prove his cruel nature, that with all the respect and admiration he professes for me, until I’m sick of hearing it, he continues to force himself upon me with the sole purpose of tormenting the being he feigns to love. Indeed, he goes so far as to rally me upon my apprehensions, telling me once that my lofty courage recalled to him some personage of one of the French poets who declared that he feared God and had no other fear,—“a sentiment,” says Sinzaun, “that I’ll venture to commend to my Clarissa, since it describes so exactly her own absence of alarm.” Oh, my dear, is it come to this, that my timidity is bringing a reproach upon the religion I humbly profess? And yet, who could avoid fearing this man? Sure to feel at ease in his presence would come near to sharing his evil deeds.

My dear girl will scarce credit it, but I am convinced that my persecutor entertains himself during his absences with devising fresh miseries for me. He comes to the house muffled in various disguises, and is at huge pains to explain to me that he runs an incredible risque of being tracked by spies, and that he can’t set out to pay me a visit save when he has seen the Nabob engrossed in some new and delightful plan of wickedness. “Then,” says he, “I fly on the wings of love to my charmer, confident that one short hour in her presence will stimulate my invention even to the point of devising fresh pleasures for Saradjot Dollah, such as may gain me a further audience of her.”

“Indeed, sir,” I said, “I can’t but think it a pity that you don’t attempt to lead the Nabob into the paths of virtue. In so novel a pursuit the Prince—and perhaps Meer Sinzaun also—would find a freshness and singularity far more agreeable than the dulness of the evenings you are so obliging as to sacrifice to the poor prisoner here.”

“Dulness! sacrifice!” he cried, brushing away my suggestion lightly; “sure Clarissa must be seeking for compliments. I’m hugely grateful, madam, for your obliging thought, but I’ll assure you that I amuse myself infinitely during these visits. I can’t recall any occasion of my life on which I have been better entertained.”

I can well believe it, Amelia. I never look at him if I can help it, for so great is the loathing with which the man inspires me that I can’t bear to meet his eye, but when through inadvertence I have done so, I perceive in it a sort of sombre ferocity united with delight in my sufferings that makes me tremble. Can my dear Miss Turnor figure to herself the being forced to enter a tyger’s cage for the purpose of diverting the tyger? Which would be the worse, does she think, this, or that the tyger should be so obliging as to exert himself to entertain you? I think she’ll say that one is as bad as the other, and this is my case with Sinzaun. I suffer equally when he compels me to speak and when he speaks himself, for the man, my dear, is an atheist. I would not write this terrible charge, lest my indignation against him should have caused me to judge him harshly, if I had not heard it from his own lips, but he has assured me more than once that the one deity in which he believes is gain, and the one incentive that moves men is advantage. “I believe in my Clarissa,” was the utmost I could get from him when I pressed him strongly on the point, and he added that his life had taught him there was no Providence, either to punish the evil or protect the good, but only a blind fate, out of whose unsteady dispositions the wise man must shape his own road to success. En’t this cruelty indeed, to seek to deprive a poor creature of her faith in God just when she needs it most? But sure Meer Sinzaun has overreached himself in this, for I need not go far to learn of the existence of the devil, and to disbelieve in God on the devil’s word would questionless be the extremest folly in the world. But having thus unfolded to me what he called the wise man’s creed, which he said he had gathered both from European philosophers and from the sages of the East, Sinzaun went on to show its practical application, desiring to prove that there was no truth nor honour nor virtue in the world, any more than Divine justice nor providence, and proceeded to turn into ridicule the very books he had been praising to me a month before. I can but be grateful he don’t know his Bible as well as he does Mr Richardson’s works, for sure ’twas only ignorance, and not good will, made him stop short of attacking that. He cited instance after instance to prove that there was no virtue in goodness, and no reward for’t if there were, and no shame in sin, nor punishment neither, and I could not hope to contend with him. You know, Amelia, I was always the one to be worsted in an argument. How I wished that my dear Mrs Hurstwood were present, with her ready tongue, to give the assailant as good as he brought, and to silence, if she could not convince him, whereas I could but sit quiet, or protest without hope of moving him, while he attacked everything in which the Christian believes. At last he took his leave, and summoning my courage, I said as I curtseyed to him—

“Permit me to say, sir, that I’m entirely at variance with the opinions you have chose to utter this evening.”

“A thousand thanks for the assurance, madam!” was the wretch’s reply. “My mind is inexpressibly relieved. I should be desolated if I thought my Clarissa shared those opinions I have indicated as my own.”

As much as to say that he would prefer his mistress to remain a believer in Christianity, because she would then be the better wife to him! Oh, Amelia, how can anything that is said or done move such a man? I dread and detest him more and more, and my only comfort is based on his assurance that he would wait patiently until he had gained my favour. If he can wait, so can I, if he don’t drive me mad first.

January ye24th, 1757.

I have been favoured with several further visits from Meer Sinzaun, but to describe these miseries at length would be as unprofitable to my dearest friend as it would be painful to myself; yet of the last I must say something, for the pitiless wretch told me he must take leave of me for a season, since he was about to attend the Soubah into the neighbourhood of Calcutta, there to destroy the last remnants of British trade and enterprise in Bengal.

“Sure, sir, your prince has done more than enough for his honour already in that line,” I cried, in an agony to see my countrymen still further threatened.

“Why, indeed, madam,” he replied, “if there had been only your brave Calcutta gentlemen, Mr Drak” (so he pronounced it), “and his two chief friends, in the matter, we had been contented to leave them alone. The persons who deserted their posts and connived at the destruction of their factory in order to satisfy their enmity against their unfortunate colleague, Mr Holwell, might well have been suffered to remain at Fulta, subsisting on the charity of Omy Chund and the French and Dutch factories, until they could be taken off and carried to England by their ships arriving this season. But there was a certain restless troublesome fellow named Clive, who may be known to you by reputation, at Madrass when the news of the fall of Calcutta reached there, and this pestilent wretch has proposed to himself to establish the British again in Bengall. Sure the beginning of his enterprise can’t have given him much hope for its ending; for, embarking with all the forces he could command on board of the fleet lying at Madrass, he set forth in the worst season of the year, with the result that the whole of the ships was destroyed by storms, and but a few score of men, with Mr Clive himself, escaped in boats and landed in the river.”

“Oh, sir, what is it you say?—all the fleet destroyed?” For you know, Amelia, who is serving on board Admiral Watson’s fleet, if Sinzaun don’t.

“All, madam, so far as my information serves. Whether the Admiral or any of his officers and men are among those saved by the boats, I can’t of course say. But I should judge by his actions that Mr Clive is alone. What do you say, madam, to his being kindly received and used by his Highness’s garrisons at Tanners and Buzbudgia, and taking advantage of their hospitality to make an attack upon them by surprise, inflicting some loss, though but a trifling one?”

“Why, sir, that if Colonel Clive acted so, he must first have perceived treachery on the part of the Moguls.” But to myself I added, “If this man can tell me a tale so manifestly false respecting Colonel Clive, he may be deceiving me also with regard to the fleet.”

“If that’s so, madam,” replied Sinzaun, “I’m sorry for the poor gentleman, for you must see that even a warrior of such renown can’t be permitted to defy his Highness in this style in his own province, and his Highness proposes to prove this to him shortly. But there’s more trouble in store for poor Mr Clive, for he has committed the grave military error of neglecting his base of operations. For this adventure in Bengall he deprived Madrass of all its troops, ignorant that Mons. Bussy was leagued with Salabatzing[04]against the place, and that our new great fleet under Lally wasn’t far off.[05]I fear Britain will lose more than Bengall by his rashness.”

“Alas, alas!” I cried, with tears.

“I have the greatest respect, madam, I’ll assure you, for Mr Clive, and it shall be my endeavour to see that his life is spared and himself put safely on board of a ship bound for England. These Indians will questionless desire to see him led in fetters and rags through the streets of Muxadavad, as was done six months ago with Mr Holwell and his companions, but he shall be saved this if I can compass it.”

“Oh, sir, is it true that good Mr Holwell was used in this barbarous fashion, and exposed to the insults of the citizens, after enduring the miseries of that terrible night?”

“Why, yes, madam. Poor Mr Holwell was hardly used indeed, being sacrificed first to the pique of his colleagues, and then to the resentment of Omy Chund, whom he had left in prison when he took command of Fort William. You may chance to have heard it said that Omy Chund never forgives, and he had old grudges also to avenge, and so the four gentlemen found it who were sent here after the fall of Calcutta. There’s a gay young spark belonging to your Cossimbuzar factory that would say the same, I think. Being permitted to refuge with the Dutch, Mr Hastings thought fit to abuse his Highness’s clemency by stirring up his subjects to revolt against him; but a whisper from Omy Chund,[06]to whom he had opened his designs, warned Saradjot Dollah, and sent the young intriguer flying to join his friends at Fulta. A most useful worthy fellow is Omy Chund, and I myself have good cause to be grateful to him. But this brings me to the object of my troubling my charmer with a visit to-night. Will Clarissa permit me to make preparations for our union when I return from Allynagore?”

“Our union, sir?” I stammered.

“Why, yes, madam, that delightful event which has shone like a beacon before your adorer throughout these long months. What! did Clarissa wrong her Sinzaun by imagining that he purposed to keep her immured within these walls, remote alike from the society and the enjoyments of her sex? No, madam; permit me to seek a priest at Chandernagore, and bring him with me on my return (you see my care for your punctilio—I offer you no Moorish marriage), and Clarissa shall discover what delights can be offered for her acceptance by the man she has so infinitely obliged. A palace instead of this rustic abode, such clothing and jewels as no queen in Europe could show, a place and credit second only to that of Ally Verdy Cawn Begum herself, and the eternal adoring devotion of her attached Sinzaun.”

Now why was it, Amelia, that I could not refuse this proposition at once? “Oh, sir, you overwhelm me——” I faltered, with my eyes on the ground.

“Nay,” replied my suitor, “Clarissa has certainly misjudged me. Did she imagine that I destroyed Calcutta merely that I might keep her a prisoner?”

“You destroyed Calcutta, sir?”

“Why, yes, madam, though I would have spared it had you deigned to listen to my vows, as I expressed in the first chitt I writ you.” I remembered the billet I had read aloud to my dear papa and Captain Colquhoun, and shuddered. “Had Clarissa yielded to my entreaties, could I have done less than spare her countrymen for her sake? My influence thrown on the side of clemency, instead of into the opposite scale, would have turned his Highness from his purpose, or at the least I could have delayed the march by some accident to the artillery, and so given time for the rains to begin, which would have saved Calcutta. But since Clarissa remained obdurate, I could do no less than destroy the place whose capture meant that I should obtain possession of her.”

“But, sir, you could not—oh, I don’t know what I am saying—my head is in a whirl—’twas the merest chance——”

“There was no chance at all, madam. My plans were all concerted with Omy Chund. Who prevented you from going on board the ships with t’other women? Omy Chund, through his servant. Who raised the panic that drove Mr Drak to fly before the time he had intended? This same servant. Who was prepared to protect you against his Highness’s soldiers by asserting my authority? The fellow again. Who suffered you to slip through his fingers that night, but redeemed his fault nobly the next day by sending an agent of his with you as your attendant? Omy Chund himself. Sure Clarissa can’t talk of chance now, any more than she can pretend to mistake my design in thus making myself master of the being I adored.”

Was ever such a cruel coil of deceit and trickery wound about a poor creature, Amelia? If you could know the horrid feeling of helplessness that seized me in face of this man’s plottings! Oh, my dear, your Sylvia is a sad coward. She durst not look the perfidious wretch in the face, and declare her hatred at once of his proposition and himself. Instead, she had recourse to a miserable equivocation that darted into her mind.

“Sir, you can’t but be aware that ’tis only seven months since I lost the best of fathers. What have you seen in Sylvia Freyne to make you think so meanly of her as that she would outrage all the laws of decorum and filial piety by listening to a proposal of marriage in such circumstances?”

For one instant, my dear, the man was taken aback. “I declare, madam, you’re cleverer than I thought you!” was in his eye, and the unhappy fool before him rejoiced. Then he said, “I accept the rebuke, madam, and Clarissa shan’t be troubled again with my ill-timed importunities for the present, unless there’s any reason for infringing her pious punctilio in her own interest.”

He left me soon after, and for three days I have been in a continual terror lest his departure should only be a pretended one, meant to throw me off my guard. But I have seen and heard nothing of him, and the steward assuring me to-day that the Soubah had left Muxadavad with his army, I begin to feel that I may look forward to a short period of peace.

February ye21st.

Sinzaun is returned, Amelia, bringing such tidings as have reduced your unhappy Sylvia to the lowest depths of despair. Immediately upon entering the saloon he acquainted me that Colonel Clive, after a gallant resistance, in which he was nobly supported by his troops, had been forced to surrender, and was now in captivity until some Dutch or other European ship could be found to convey him to England, while the last traces of British influence in Bengall were now destroyed. As if this grievous news, putting an end to any extravagant hopes that might have crept into my mind, were not enough, my persecutor must needs add a keener edge to my suffering by saying—

“Will it please the amiable Clarissa to learn that she had some hand in this overthrow? I was told by one of the captive British officers that ’twas the knowledge of Miss Freyne’s carrying-off by the Moors that had played a principal part in inducing her generous countrymen to attempt this rash expedition in the vain hope of rescuing her.”

Was not this an excess of cruelty, Amelia? Not content with bringing about the destruction of Calcutta, I must involve in my misfortunes the forces of Madrass and our great, our only commander on Indian soil. Blame me, my dear, if you will, but I think you’ll scarce wonder that the impulse seized me to unite my unhappy fate with that of the sneering wretch seated opposite me, and draw down upon him some of those calamities which seem to follow every one with whom I have to do. Almost as the thought crossed my mind, Sinzaun remarked, with great deliberation,—

“If I cursed the unfortunate Mr Clive a month ago for tearing me from the side of my charmer, I have some hopes of finding reason before long to bless him. The Soubah has been pleased to appoint me a mission to visit Mons. Bussy, who is advancing hither from the Carnatic, and welcome him in his triumphal course. Now in this agreeable jaunt I shall be accompanied with my own tried troops, and no one can question my actions. I see that Clarissa’s health is suffering from her close confinement within these walls, and perhaps she may find the prospect pleasing of a journey that would carry her through the most charming region of Bengall, in the company of a man that would spare no pains to make it enjoyable to her. The past can’t be undone, but if Clarissa will relax her prohibition, and suffer her adorer to seek the priest he spoke of, it may be that she’ll find it easier to banish from her mind the sad images which can’t but cloud at present the spirits of a creature of so much sensibility.”

Sure it must have been that Providence in which he affects to disbelieve that directed Sinzaun’s tongue to the mention of the past at that instant, thus recalling my mind from the shocking scheme of vengeance that had presented itself to me to a frightful question which I had been led to ask myself during his absence.

“Before I answer you, sir,” I said, “permit me to ask you a question. You have acknowledged making use of Omy Chund’s servant to keep me in the Fort at the time the rest of the European females escaped. You know by what means he effected your purpose—by bringing word to me of his finding my father wounded to death in one of our outposts, when the gentlemen who had last seen him declared that he was well and unhurt. Was this, sir, a part of your plan? Did you bring about the murder of my father in order that you might carry into execution your designs against his unhappy daughter?”

I stood up and regarded him, and his eyes fell before mine, but he sought to speak with his usual lightness of tone. “If Clarissa seeks to hold me responsible for all the deeds done by my agents, I fear the record will be but a black one,” he said. “Can she imagine that her adorer would desire to raise his hand against one dear to her? The Gentoo fellow had his orders given him to carry out, but the means of doing so were left to himself.”

“Enough, sir!” I said. “Hitherto I have thought you might not be guilty of this crowning infamy, but now I am persuaded that you suggested if you did not order it. And in return for the murder of the father you seek to obtain the hand of the daughter! The reward may be but a poor one, but it’s beyond your reach. I will never become your wife, sir—never, never, never!”

“I think you will, madam. This display of heroics don’t displease me, even without the entertainment it affords. One can allow some degree of passion to the last female of your nation in India.”

“The last female of my nation in India, sir?”

“Why, yes, madam, the last. You en’t aware that when Mr Clive had forsook Madrass, Mons. Bussy swooped down upon the place by land, and Count Lally by sea, finding it an easy prey. Bombay was already fallen into our hands, and the smaller factories were dealt with by a detached squadron. The few English that survived these misfortunes have been embarked in their vessels and despatched to their own island. Britain don’t own a foot of Indian soil to-day—save for a huge quantity of graves. And is this the moment for Clarissa to use these bitter reproaches to her adorer, whose faults are all to be set down to the excess of his passion for herself? She’ll deign him a gracious answer?”

“The same answer, sir, as if she were the last female of her nation in the world—never—a thousand times never!”

“We shall see, madam. I think you en’t yet fully acquainted with Sinzaun’s disposition. Don’t consider it presumptuous if he tell you that when he returns from his journey you’ll plead to be allowed the favour he now offers you;” and he departed, leaving me more dead than alive.

The last female of our nation in India, Amelia! Is there any use in leaving these records of her fate, when there’s no one can read them or convey them home? Perhaps some future age may bring them to light, and I won’t destroy them. Do you remember my name in your prayers daily, my dear friend, as I do yours, and as we promised to do when we parted? If you knew at this moment that your Sylvia’s earnest prayer was for death, would you have the humanity to join your petitions with hers? If you truly loved your poor girl you would, for death is now her only hope. Clarissa died, you’ll remember, but I am so frightfully strong, and—I am the only female of our nation left in India.

From Colvin Fraser, Esq., to Mrs Hurstwood.

The English House, Muxidavad,Feb. ye28th.

Being now arrived at Muxidavad, madam, I take up my pen to fulfil my promise to keep Mrs Hurstwood informed of the progress made towards the release of her incomparable friend. But first, lest I would raise too high the anticipations of my kind correspondent, let me say that the three or four days I have spent in this place have brought nothing but disappointment, both private and public. We can’t obtain any news of Miss Freyne, and our natural enemies, the French, have sought the aid of the inconstant barbarian, to whom Mess. Watson and Clive taught so lately a needed lesson, to defeat our plans for their overthrow. Mrs Hurstwood won’t have forgot that, either in my last letter or in that before it, I writ that Colonel Clive had demanded permission of the Soubah to attack Chandernagore, but met with a temporising answer, which neither accorded the desired liberty nor refused it. The Colonel, taking advantage of this ambiguous quality of the Nabob’s reply, continued his preparations for the enterprise with all the speed and secrecy imaginable, considering it of prime importance to break the power of the French in Bengal before they could seize the moment of his returning to Madrass to attack our weakened factory, and ten days ago he crossed the river with his army.

But now begun a din indeed! The French writ urgent letters to the Nabob, which reached him at Augadeep,[01]a village some forty miles south of this place, imploring his protection against the wicked and rapacious British, and so it was, that all his favourites concurred with their entreaty. Monickchund feared that in the event of our succeeding with the French we would fall to remembering that he had possessed himself of a huge portion of the spoils of Calcutta, and request of him to disgorge it, Coja Wasseed, who manages the French trade, was naturally loath to lose his office, and the Seats, to whom the Sydabad factory is indebted in the extraordinary sum of thirteenlaacks, were drove near distracted by the prospect of seeing themselves deprived of the hope of regaining it. Hence, when Mr Watts arrived at Houghley, he learned through Omichund, who travelled with him, from the Phousdar Nuncomar,[02]that the Nabob had sent two of his servants, Seen Bawboo[03]and Montra Mull, to Chandernagore with a present of alaackof rupees, and had ordered the Houghley garrison to render the French every assistance in the event of an attack by us. This last peril was averted by the address of Omichund, who was able to bring Nuncomar over to our side by a bribe of 12,000 rupees, but on reaching Augadeep, Mr Watts discovered that to attack the French at present would only serve to precipitate a conflict with the whole army of the Soubah. The weak prince received our agent with the most violent demonstrations of displeasure, nor was it until Omichund had sworn on the foot of a Bramin, as the most solemn oath he could take, that the British had no ill designs, that Surajah Dowlah would consent to await even an explication from Colonel Clive. Urged by Mr Watts’ recommendations to prudence, the Colonel withdrew his troops, writing to the Nabob a friendly letter to assure him of our regard for his wishes. Thus the affair came to an end for the present, but with what humiliation for us and triumph for our enemies Mrs Hurstwood won’t need me to tell her.

As to Mr Watts, who shares to the full the Colonel’s suspicions of the French, I can’t but think his disappointment would have killed him, had he not found so much to be done in repairing our damaged influence at the Court. When I reached Muxidavad, he was still smarting under his defeat, and while receiving Dr Dacre in the most handsome manner, showed signs of desiring to avenge a portion of his wrongs on me. He could not well refuse me a lodging, since I carried the Admiral’s despatches, but all his words and looks exhibited the most undisguised hostility, in so much that he failed even to invite me to his table on the evening of our arrival. My revered Mrs Hurstwood will understand with what apprehension I viewed this enmity on the part of the person to whom I looked most for help in discovering my beloved, and with what resentment mingled with resolution I obeyed a summons the next morning to Mr Watts’ closet.

“Be seated, sir,” says the good gentleman, throwing a fiery glance at me. “Pray, sir, what are you doing in Muxidavad?”

“I am the bearer of Mr Watson’s despatches, sir.”

“Sir, I know that, but it don’t give you any more right here.”

“I protest, sir, you’re using very strange language towards me.”

“The Admiral is behaving monstrous strangely towards me, sir. I put my neck in a noose by coming here, endeavouring to serve the Company by my long experience of these Indians and my knowledge of their politics and customs, and he must needs spy upon me by means of an insolent Scotch——”

“Stop, sir, pray, before you utter words that I’ll be under the necessity of resenting. Permit me to say that you’re entirely mistaken in Admiral Watson’s design. True, he has honoured me with the carriage of his despatches, but only as the cloak to an errand of my own. He had no desire to spy upon you, sir, far less to interfere with your arduous labours here.”

“I’m infinitely obliged by your remarks, sir, but they’re contradicted by Mr Watson’s choosing to send his letters to the Soubah by another messenger than myself.”

“Indeed, sir, there’s no question of my delivering the despatches in person. I hope never to meet the Soubah save on a battlefield. I am instructed to hand the letters to you, to be delivered as you see fit.”

“That sounds fair enough,” says Mr Watts, regarding me with something less of suspicion, “but I should still be glad to know the reason of your presence here, sir. Acossid, or good Dr Dacre himself, might have served to bring the letters.”

“Why that, sir, is the very matter I desired to unfold to you. May I hope you’ll treat it as confidential, whether you approve it or not?”

“I hope, sir, you en’t come here to get us into trouble with any wild notions? But pray open your mind to me.”

“I am here, sir, on the behalf of a lady who survived the fall of Calcutta only to become a prisoner to the Moors. She contrived to throw out from her prison a paper, from which it has been gathered that she’s in the hands of the renegado Sinzaun, somewhere in this city, but we know no more than that.”

“And you hope to rescue her? Young sir, take the advice of a man that has seen more of the world than you, and let the lady alone. Whether she be a willing or a reluctant captive, you can do her no good.”

“If you had the honour of the lady’s acquaintance, sir, you’d know that no weak compliance would make of her a willing captive. If for any reason she believe it her duty to remain in captivity, I hope I won’t persecute her to leave it, but if she be detained against her will, as I can’t doubt, I would be lacking in every manly quality if I suffered her to pine in vain for a deliverer.”

“You talk very fine, sir, but what do you purpose to do?”

“Why, sir, with your kind permission, I hope to remain here, and do my utmost first to discover the lady, and then to devise means for releasing her.”

“Indeed, sir, it’s well you’re speaking to me in an unofficial manner. Do you perceive that you’re gravely purposing to place all our lives in jeopardy? This Sinzaun is very great with the Nabob, and any attempt to interfere with his women would lead to our destruction. Are you minded to rush upon your death?”

“At least not until I have rescued the lady, sir.”

“And why then, sir? But pray give a thought to me and to the other gentlemen here, and also to the Company’s business in our hands. Sure you must see I can’t permit you to raise a hornets’ nest about us, and cause the ruin of the interests committed to my charge, which are those of the British nation?”

“Nay, sir, I don’t desire to jeopardise your endeavours by any rash action of mine. I am seeking your advice in the hope of attaining my end in a secret manner. You don’t need to tell me that on any inkling of my business reaching Sinzaun he would at once convey the lady to some distant place beyond our power to discover.”

“Come, sir, I see you’re a person of sense. But tell me, has Sinzaun any reason to believe you interested in the lady?”

“To the best of my belief, sir, he has none, and I’m sure the lady won’t give him any.”

“That’s better, for I was beginning to think you had destroyed any hope of success by showing yourself in these parts. But, as it is, we may be able to do something. Since returning to Muxidavad, Sinzaun han’t appeared outside his abode, under the plea of illness, but my spies give me to understand that the Nabob has despatched him on a secret errand to Bussey. No, sir, don’t assure yourself of success too soon. You must make no appearance in the affair, but remain in this house, or attend Dr Dacre to view the sights of the city, as though you had no design in hand. For a European lodging here to set on foot enquiries regarding a woman in native custody would be to excite the town against us, and endanger our lives. You must employ some Indian as your spy, who may worm himself into an intimacy with some hanger-on of Sinzaun’s, and so discover whether your belief be well grounded. As for finding such a person, Omichund will do the business for us.”

“Pray, sir, don’t let Omichund have any hand in the matter. ’Twas he betrayed the lady into Sinzaun’s power.”

“What, sir? make no use of Omichund? Then, indeed, you must do your business for yourself as you choose, for the fellow has all our lives in his hand, and would imagine himself betrayed if we employed any one else. You may have heard that he never forgives, and I don’t pretend to desire such usage for myself as he brought on poor Mr Holwell.”

“But pray, sir, what am I to do? As a man of honour, you can’t bid me leave the lady to perish, and to appeal to the enemy for help would be a strange piece of folly.”

Mr Watts thought for a while. “Look ye here, sir,” said he; “since you have approached me in my private capacity, and as a person of honour and sensibility, I can’t but choose to advise you. You have seen my Tartar servant, Mirza Shaw[04]Buzbeg—unfold your history to him. Being a Musselman, he goes in and out among the townspeople as one of themselves, and he is faithfully attached to my service, since I did him a benefit eight years ago at Patna. I believe the old rascal has a wife in the city—maybe two—and women might be useful in finding out such things as you desire to know. Strike a bargain with Mirza Shaw, but don’t let him drive you too hard—though that’s a caution I need scarce offer to a gentleman of your nation—and set him to work. You may find him slow, but don’t let your impatience lead you to take any steps for yourself. If you get into any difficulty, I can give you no help—nay, I must if necessary disown and punish you, for my first consideration is my business here. The Calcutta gentlemen think fit to point the finger of scorn at me, because, say they, I surrendered Cossimbuzar without firing a shot, when twenty-four hours’ resistance would have saved Calcutta, and Surajah Dowlah has asked for me here because he believes me a mild-spirited person, harbouring no resentments. So be it. Mr Clive and Mr Watson may fight if they choose, but when the Soubah’s power is broke, ’twill be thanks to William Watts as much as to either gentleman.”

“Indeed, sir, your boldness in returning here has been much admired.”

“And not without reason, sir. There was one of my young gentlemen in the Cossimbuzar factory—Hastings is his name—who thought he would rise upon my downfall, and earn eternal gratitude as the destroyer of Surajah Dowlah. Refuging with the Dutch at Calcapore[05]after the troubles, he begins to plot with the Seats and others against the Nabob. That’s all very well; but my young conspirator can’t conceal his importance in having devised an actual plot, and by some indiscretion lets the affair come to the Soubah’s ears, when at once we have excursions and alarms, exit Mr Hastings from Muxidavad, and enter one more fugitive at Fulta. I think better of you, sir, than to expect you to follow such an example, but I hope you perceive I can take no official notice of your errand here, nor can’t afford to protect you should you incur the Soubah’s resentment.”

I assured Mr Watts at once of my confidence in his kindness and my prudence in making use of it, and proceeded to come to an agreement with the Usbeck Tartar by whom the good gentleman is so oddly attended. This is a shrewd fellow enough, and agreed willingly to act as my correspondent in the city, testifying a prodigious antipathy for the man Sinzaun, as an apostate that had encouraged the Nabob in his debaucheries, and introduced him to other vices than those native to the country. While waiting for any discovery of Mirza Shaw’s that may afford me a chance of action, I have made bold to offer my services to Mr Watts to assist him in the huge quantity of writing that falls to his lot, which has tended still further to conciliate his kind opinion towards me. Mrs Hurstwood has been pleased to rally me more than once upon my style in writing, but I hope she’ll grant now that I am putting it to the best use in thus placing it at the disposal of my country, and saving Mr Watts’ time, since both he and Omichund are incessantly occupied in attempting to gain over the Nabob’s intimates to our party. Ramramsing Rajah, the head of the spies, has been bought over entirely to our interests, but the rest still tend to the side of the French, although Mr Watts, with undaunted boldness, is now sending letters to Colonel Clive recommending him in the most persuasive manner to advance against Chandernagore without considering the lives of those at this agency.

March ye20th.

I have now been near a month at this place, but alas, madam! as yet I have nothing to report as regards any success in the enterprise in which Mrs Hurstwood’s heart, no less than my own, is engaged. Mirza Shaw assures me positively that there’s no person of British birth in Sinzaun’s household, nor can he discover that such a one has at any time been a member of it. The conclusion to which we are driven is that the villain has concealed the dear sufferer in some mean and remote part of the city, desiring to possess his prize without fear either of the greed of the Nabob or the jealousy of his own seraglio, and the Tartar is now devoting his efforts to discovering such a retreat. But this is an endless task! you’ll cry. Indeed, madam, it is sufficiently appalling, but I would search Muxidavad house by house sooner than leave Miss Freyne to languish in captivity.

But if my private chronicle be destitute of events of any moment, this en’t the case with public affairs, which indeed have beset us round with so many threatening waves that we are like to find some difficulty to keep our heads above water. The first event that disturbed the current of our politic dealings with this Court was the news that arrived immediately after the despatch of my last letter, that the Mogul Emperor’s great city of Delly had been captured by an army of Pitans and Afguhans[06]from the north, which plunged the Soubah into the most abject fear imaginable. Apprehensive lest the Pitans would next proceed against his own rich province, he sent for Mr Watts, and besought the aid of the English against this common foe, promising to pay Colonel Clive alaackof rupees a month if he would but defend him with his army. Almost at the same time came news from Calcutta of the extraordinary obstinacy of the French at Chandernagore in their negotiations with us, by which they may, indeed, be said to have rushed upon their own destruction. Willing to oblige the Nabob, and at the same time to provide for the safety of Calcutta when he should be forced to return to Madrass, Colonel Clive had proposed to the French that a strict neutrality should be observed in Bengal between the armies and fleets of the two nations, in spite of the war in England and the Carnatic. In this measure Mr Watts concurred, suggesting that the observance of the treaty by the French should be guarantied by the Seats, to whom they are so deeply indebted, and the Colonel, in order to secure the guarantie without offence, requested the Soubah to undertake it, which he did.

But when matters were adjusted thus far, the French fancied it a good chance to refuse suddenly to conclude any treaty at all, alleging that nothing they might promise would bind their head factory at Pondicherry, which is true enough, as all agreed when they remembered the breach of faith committed eleven years back at Madrass, when Mr Dupleix chose to destroy the town which his own Admiral had admitted to ransom. The recollection in itself was sufficiently sinister, but when the news came that Salabadjing, owing to our failure to support him in the Carnatic, and the diversion of our forces for the recapture of Calcutta, had been compelled to receive Mr Bussey again into favour, and hand over to him the provinces of Masulipatnam, Ganjam, and Vizagapatnam, thus bringing him within two hundred miles of Fort William by way of Cuttack, we could not doubt but the French were preparing a blow against us, and amusing us with negotiations while they collected their troops. On this our commanders lost no time in preparing to anticipate the threatened danger, Colonel Clive writing to the Nabob that he was advancing with his army to assist him against the Pitans, and halting on his way at Chandernagore, while the Admiral, who would not yet consent to act without the Prince’s leave, wrote him a letter in a very moving style, pointing out not only the presumption of the French in invoking his name as the guarantie of a treaty they had no power to conclude, but also the delay of his own subjects in fulfilling the terms of the Calcutta agreement, and threatening him with ruin and destruction if these were not performed punctually and at once. This epistle was carried to the Nabob by Mr Watts, who, finding the Prince very apprehensive alike of the Pitans and the English, took occasion to represent the ingratitude of the French to him very forcibly, wringing from him at length a permission for the attack upon Chandernagore. Of this signal triumph we were apprised by the good gentleman himself on his return from the Kella,[07]which is the Soubah’s palace here.

“This, gentlemen, is the first nail in Surajah Dowlah’s coffin!” he said, laying a pacquet on the table before Dr Dacre and myself. “In less than two days Colonel Clive and the Admiral may proceed to attack the French.”

“But have you succeeded in gaining the Soubah’s leave, sir?” I asked him.

“He gave me a grudging assent, sir, and foreseeing that it needed but the next comer to induce him to reverse it, I applied at once to theHuzzoor Nevees,[08]whom I had already secured by means of a genteel present, and had him write the letter of permission in a proper style, and seal it with the Soubah’s ring. Thecossidis now making ready to start, and the pacquet will reach Admiral Watson in thirty hours or so.”

“But en’t I to carry the letter, sir?” I asked, for the Admiral had desired my return as soon as there should be any hope of attacking the French.

“Why no, sir. Would you have me lose all my pains? You can’t travel near so fast as one of these fellows, and the passing of a European would set the whole riverside agog. ’Twould be surmised that only a pacquet of prodigious importance could demand such a messenger, and if the friends of the French didn’t detain you, at least they would delay your progress.”

“But I have Mr Watson’s orders, sir.”

“I vow, young gentleman, you’ll drive me to lock you up, for stir from here you shan’t. Don’t be afraid; I’ll assure the Admiral that you’re too useful for me to spare you, and if you lose the fight, at least you won’t be further parted from your mistress than you are.”

This consideration went some way to reconcile me to my absence from the battle I anticipated, but I can’t deny, madam, that I have been in a perfect fever since thecossidleft, torn one way by my duty to the Service and t’other by my affection for Miss Freyne. I am forced even to envy Dr Dacre, who remains calm amidst all the alarms surrounding us, thinking only of thePunditwith whom he is studying theSanskerreet[09]language, or of the venerable Moors whom he visits for the purpose of questioning them on their religion. Our situation is the most precarious imaginable, for only a few hours after the despatch of the letter there arrived another from the Prince, forbidding any hostile action in the most peremptory terms, which Mr Watts sent off with as little speed as he dared employ, and we understand that the Soubah is perpetually despatching messengers of his own, bearing menacing letters, to the Admiral and Mr Clive, while he has ordered Roydoolub to march with his army to the support of the French. It is our fervent hope that these discouragements will arrive too late to deter our gallant commanders, who may be trusted to have acted at once upon Mr Watts’ motion.

March ye31st.

Our patriotic anxieties have been happily relieved, madam, by the arrival of Mr Scrafton, of the Company’s Service, on his way to Dacca, bringing news of the glorious triumph of our arms in the capture of Chandernagore, which surrendered eight days ago to Admiral Watson. Our success was not without alloy, being attended with a very heavy loss of life and great damage to the ships, while a parcel of French took advantage of the respite allowed for considering the terms of surrender to slip out and make their way to Sydabad, their factory near Cossimbuzar, where Mr Laws[10]has ’em concealed. So stubborn, indeed, was the enemy that we would scarce have been able to subdue them before Colonel Clive had drawn lines of investment about them on the land side, had it not been for the assistance rendered by a deserter named Mr Terrano,[11]who upon some affront received from theDirecteur, Mr Renault, came over to us, and pointed out to the Admiral the only channel for the ships to pass up the river, which the French had blocked by sinking six vessels there, besides mooring two great booms across the stream with chains. In spite of this advantage the passage was so dangerous that the Kent, which suffered most, has been condemned, being an old vessel, and is fallen down to Calcutta to be broke up, while only one officer on board of her escaped unwounded, poor Billy Speke, among others, sustaining an injury that is like to be mortal by the same shot that wounded his father, the Captain.[12]My own ship, the Tyger, came off somewhat more lightly, although among the wounded was Admiral Pococke, who, arriving at Culpee in the Cumberland from Madrass, and finding the action imminent, was so resolute to take a share in it that he came up the river in his long-boat, and hoisted his flag on the Tyger, to the excessive mortification of Captain Latham, who saw himself cruelly deprived of the honour of fighting his ship. As for the army which the Nabob sent by Roydoolub to the assistance of the French, it was detained at Houghley by the address of our friend Nuncomar, who persuaded the commander that Chandernagore would be fallen before he could reach it. The letters sent to forbid the attack, arriving after that which permitted it, were treated by the Admiral and Colonel Clive with unconcern, a treatment accorded also, as we hear from Mr Scrafton, to Mr Drake, whose speech at the council held before starting on the expedition was so hesitating and contradictory that no one could make anything of it, and on the Colonel’s suggestion it was unanimously voted that the President’s opinion was no opinion at all.

And what (I am so vain as to imagine I hear Mrs Hurstwood cry), what of the few British left in Muxidavad at a time when their countrymen were thus defying the wrath of the tyrant? Indeed, madam, I think you’ll agree that the protection of Heaven was extremely manifest in our case, for in the midst of the raging fury of the Soubah over the news there arrived two pieces of intelligence that recalled to him his need of our protection. By means of a private messenger (his favourite Sinzaun, as we understand), he learned that Mr Bussey, who was universally believed to be marching to the support of Chandernagore, had been compelled to turn back in order to put down the troubles which were arisen, as soon as he turned his back, in that part of the Decan where the French pretend to domination. At the same time the news came that the Pitan army, having made an alliance with Balagerow,[13]the Maharattor general, was marching upon Behar, and in this extremity the Soubah dissembled his indignation at the capture of Chandernagore, and writing insinuating letters of felicitation to the Admiral and Colonel Clive, reminded them of their promise to assist him, and went so far as to restore a portion of the Calcutta spoils of which he had dishonestly retained possession. Nothing could exceed his obliging behaviour to Mr Watts, which he extended also to Mr Scrafton, who, being admitted to a share in the plans of Mr Watts and Omichund, was glad to find himself introduced at Court, that he might the more readily observe the demeanour of the Prince and his attendance. With such excessive affection for the British has the Soubah been filled during these last few days, that hearing from Omichund, who attends his Durbar regularly, that there was in our house here one of Admiral Watson’s officers, whom he had not seen, he chid Mr Watts for his negligence, and bade him bring the gentleman to pay his respects to him, in order that he might show favour to the servant of his dear friend, theArmiral Dilleer-jing-behauder,[14]for so they call Mr Watson, meaning the Courageous in Battles. This demand was very disagreeable to Mr Watts, who had been rejoicing in that my desire to keep out of the Nabob’s sight jumped so well with his own wishes, but he signified his compliance with a feigned air of readiness, and warned me not to let my temper get the better of me in my intercourse with the Soubah. Mrs Hurstwood will be at no loss to imagine my feelings in prospect of being confronted with this monster in human form, but since I was warned that my refusal might bring destruction upon the agency, I prepared, though with a vastly poor grace, to attend Mr Watts to the Kella, and am but now returned from the visit, which I will endeavour to describe to you, madam.


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