“Indeed, dear sir, I’ll endeavour not to disappoint you,” I said, the tears coming into my eyes at the kind and flattering style in which he spoke. Truly, my dear, I can conceive nothing that would grieve me more than to disappoint the dear gentleman in any particular, though I fear I shall never attain to the high ideal he has so obligingly formed of me. My Amelia would, I am convinced, discover a perpetual fund of amusement in the mutual dread which Mr Fraser and I entertain of losing each other’s good opinion. I must tell her that so many years spent on shipboard have rendered my spouse an adept in what he prefers to callmaking things fast. His apartment at the Agency made me laugh, for everything that could by any means be packed up, put away, rolled up or hung up, had been so treated, until the place looked as bare as my hand. Observing my surprise, Mr Fraser told me that he liked to have things shipshape; and when I asked him whether he anticipated a flood, in which the whole house might sail gaily away, he looked at me as though I had displayed a design to attack his nation. It needs a woman, my dear, to diffuse that air of elegant disorder without which the finest apartment has an uninhabited air. To our sex alone does it belong to be easy without being untidy; for if men dispose things neatly they become also stiff. But seeing that Mr Fraser piques himself on his neatness, I allow him to do as he pleases at present, and to devise all manner of expedients for stowing everything away, until even the water-jar is furnished with a sort of rack on the wall. And here at Moidapore, when I had put on my riding-dress, he showed me a device of his by which my little bundle of clothes (containing my only gown, Amelia) might serve me for a cushion when I rode behind him, and was so pleased with his contrivance that I could not find it in my heart to rebuke his ingenuity by asking him what he thought the gown would look like when I wore it next. En’t I a pattern wife, my dear?
“Alas, alas!” cried Mr Ranger, when I joined with the rest of the party, “sure the shade of good Mr Addison must wander distressed to-night. His fairest disciple has forsook him, and adopted the equestrian habit he detested.”
This was said because I was forced to complete my riding-dress with a laced hat and undress frock of Mr Fraser’s, suiting very well with my skirt, which is of a dark blue colour, but giving me (I can’t deny) something of the air of the young ladies rebuked by Mr Spectator for aping men. Indeed, I think I should figure very passably in Hyde Park, unless the mode has altered since I left England.
“Don’t tease the lady, sir,” says Mr Watts. “She has acted like a woman of sense in dressing herself so as to attract as little attention as possible to our party. She might pass for a man at a very short distance.”
If this was said to comfort me it failed of its effect, but I said nothing as we walked out through the garden to a spot remote from the servants’ quarters, where the horses were waiting, each with its groom, called asyce, who can keep pace with his beast for several hours, even when the speed is very great. The Tartar, who had seen to the security of all the straps and buckles, was already mounted, and several dogkeepers, holding greyhounds in leashes, were present to give our evasion the air of a simple hunting-party. Having mounted (Mr Fraser had devised a sort of side-saddle for me, with the aid of a stirrup fastened over a peg) we rode out gently to the southward for some miles, feigning to be very eager in the search for antelopes or game of any kind, but displaying the utmost care not to fatigue the horses. Mr Ranger seemed to find this leisurely progress very wearisome, for he began presently to rally Mr Fraser on his appearance in the saddle, diverting himself with various odd comparisons respecting sailors on horseback. This mockery I should have found very annoying had I believed it to be well grounded, but Mr Fraser was accustomed to riding in his early youth, and has never neglected the accomplishment when on shore, so that he acquits himself with as much elegance as any gentleman need exhibit, and was able to endure Mr Ranger’s raillery with the greatest complaisance. The young gentleman was so good-humoured as not to turn his attention to me, or I should have been less happy than my spouse, not having mounted a horse for over a year, but riding gently over level ground I found myself easy enough. Having started on our ride when it wanted about an hour to sunset, we had gone over six miles before darkness began to come on, which happens very suddenly in these countries, and Mr Watts drew rein at the summit of a slight eminence.
“See here,” he said to the dogkeepers, “we don’t seem to discover any game, so ’tis scarce worth while to keep the dogs out longer. Take ’em back to Moidapore at once. The gentlemen and I will ride quietly round by Cossimbuzar, and sup there before returning, and we’ll hope for better luck another evening.”
The dogkeepers obeying without any reluctance (for the Indians have a great fear of the darkness, both on account of wild beasts and of evil spirits), Mr Watts called upon us to follow him, and rid smartly down the further side of the rise.
“A moment back,” he said, “before it was grown so dark, I catched sight of two men coming from the south, and if they en’t wanderingjuggies[01]they’recossids.”
We came upon the men before long, for it seemed that they had perceived our figures against the sky upon the hill-top, and directed their steps towards us. One of them was known to Mr Watts, who cried out to him to say where he had left Colonel Clive, to which he replied that ’twas at Chandernagore, but that he was only halting there for the night on his march to Muxadavad. This news served to raise all our spirits, which thecossidobserving, he increased the effect by delivering to Mr Watts a letter which he had carried concealed in the folds of his turbant (for so scanty is the clothing of these swift messengers that they have no other place in which to deposit the missives with which they are charged), and which caused our leader infinite delight.
“Good!” he cried. “Here’s the Colonel’s letter desiring me to quit Muxadavad and join him with all possible speed. He will send forward boats with a military escort to the point where the Jelingeer[02]River meets this from Cossimbuzar, which will cut a fine slice off our journey, and he looks to have reached Culnah before we meet him.”
Bidding thecossidscontinue their journey to the factory and refresh themselves there, Mr Watts saw them out of sight and then turned to us.
“Now, my good friends, our real work is to begin. Madam, allow me to assist you to dismount. Mr Fraser will put his saddle on your horse, and you’ll find it best to ride behind him. Mirza Shaw will lead t’other nag, and you can change to it again half-way. Are your pistols charged, gentlemen, and your swords loose in the scabbards? We may have to fight our way to-night—indeed it’s scarce probable we shall escape without a tussle with the blackfellows—and in such a case all will hang on our being able to ride ’em down before they see how few we are.”
Almost as soon as Mr Watts had finished speaking, the saddles had been changed and Mr Fraser was mounted again, when Mr Ranger helped me to spring up behind him, and we started afresh, moving cautiously at first, but soon quitting the road and striking to the left. Here the country for a prodigious distance is uninhabited, and covered with thickets of an extraordinary denseness, along the skirt of which we rode at the utmost speed of which our beasts were capable, still maintaining a southerly direction. My dear, I have no inordinate desire, I hope, to establish myself as a heroine, nor to indulge in any extravagant descriptions of that night’s sufferings, but since I contrived at the moment to refrain from any expression of the miseries I endured, in order not to incommode my kind protectors further, I may, perhaps, be permitted to confide them to the faithful bosom of my Amelia. Oh, my dear girl, the heat, the dust, the rough paces of the horse when we passed over a tract of hard parched ground, the thirst, the constant alarms, and worst of all, the sounds! Do you know what it is tohearthe heat, Amelia? Don’t think my intellects are disordered when I tell you that I heard it come rolling up like huge waves. I imagined it to be thunder until the gentlemen had assured me positively there was none. Then the sounds of the horses’ feet multiplied themselves into the tramp of an immense army marching upon us, or there was a continual roar, such as might be made by a whole mighty river pouring over a precipice, and from the thickets we skirted came shrieks and groans and cries, which I was told were due to night-birds and wild animals, but which sounded at once more alarming and more mysterious from the uncertainty with which they reached the ear. These terrors did not, of course, attain their greatest height immediately. During the first part of the journey Mr Watts astonished us all by the gay good-humour with which he encountered the situation. Whenever we slackened speed for a rise in the ground, he would break into such agreeable and rallying discourse as made us forget our discomforts. The skill and temper with which he had braved the Nabob’s threatenings and disarmed his suspicions, while at the same time plotting with his courtiers for his overthrow, formed his chief theme, as though, like the great Roman commander, he would have banished our fears by reminding us that we were in company with himself and his fortunes. Again, as though the sudden removal of the heavy anxieties under which he had laboured so long had left him as careless as a boy, he would set to rallying one of the other gentlemen, as when we stopped once that Mr Fraser and I might transfer ourselves to the fresh horse, and I sat panting on the ground while the saddles were changed.
“Come, doctor,” he cried, in answer to a Greek quotation from Dr Dacre, “confess that you’re cherishing a grudge against me at this moment for dragging you away from your books. I’m persuaded that in your heart of hearts you’d prefer to die with your dear classical authors rather than be saved without ’em. The blackfellows will make a fine bonfire of them, I’ll warrant you.”
“Indeed, sir,” said the doctor, with something of a guilty air, “I must confess I would not trust the Indians with any of my treasures.”
“Would not, sir? Pray what does that mean? I have observed your horse flagging very painfully—sure your saddle-bags are prodigious hard, and your pockets. Oh, doctor, doctor! can it be that you have loaded the poor dumb beast with the weight of your library—and you aburra Padra?”
“Only the most precious volumes, sir, I’ll assure you.”
“The cruelty’s the same. Come, doctor, pitch ’em all out. Lighten the ship, as Mr Fraser would say. Will you exhibit less strength of mind than his lady, who was content to bring the smallest possible package with her?”
“Ah, sir, Mrs Fraser had no more to bring,” said the poor divine with a deprecating air, which made Mr Watts laugh heartily. But having alarmed Dr Dacre sufficiently, he was good-natured enough to relieve him of the weight of one or two of the books, and Mr Ranger doing the same, the doctor’s horse displayed a good deal more vivacity than before. On starting on our journey again, Mr Watts changed our course, remarking that we must have rode over twenty miles since parting with thecossids, so that there were thirty miles at least between us and Muxadavad, and ’twas now safe to turn our steps westward, and seek to come upon the river. Horses and riders were now alike fatigued, and even Mr Watts appeared to lose his cheerfulness as we rode on through the night, with the poorsycesstill keeping close to the heels of their beasts. Occasionally there was an alarm that a village might be near, when the Tartar, who was considered to possess the most perspicuous eye of the party, would ride forward alone and return to report his discoveries, but we succeeded in avoiding almost entirely the habitations of man, although, to speak truth, I could almost have welcomed the being taken prisoner, if it had signified that I was at liberty to leave the horse and throw myself on the ground. Longing only to be still and to slumber, it caused me the extremest agony to be borne along in this unceasing motion, afraid to indulge the drowsiness that tormented me lest I should lose hold of Mr Fraser’s belt and find myself dashed to the ground. My dear Mr Fraser lost no opportunity of endeavouring to raise my spirits, praising my endurance in the kindest terms (oh, had he but known that I could barely keep myself from crying out to him for mercy’s sake to stop the horse and suffer me to rest!), and cheering me constantly with anticipations of arriving shortly at the boats, but I fear he met with but slight response. I felt as though all the strength I possessed was needed for maintaining my hold, and yet I must have been able to speak, for on a sudden I found Mr Fraser addressing me with great concern.
“Why, what’s the matter, sir?” I asked him, as he checked the horse.
“You cried out that you was forced to let go of your hold, my dearest life.”
“I didn’t know it, sir,” I said, and laughed, and my voice had so droll a sound that I laughed again, “but indeed I can’t wonder.”
“Don’t get light-headed, child,” said my spouse, sharply. “Hold the bridle for me a moment,” and when I reached forward and obeyed him, he unbuckled his sword-belt, and slipping it off, fastened it round himself and me both, so that I could not fall even though I loosed my hold. This occupied but an instant, but Mr Ranger came riding back to see what had detained us, and was very merry with Mr Fraser on his riding with his sword out, as though at a review. After this I must believe that I fell asleep in spite of the awkwardness of my position, for when the horse stopped suddenly I should have fallen off had it not been for the belt. As it was, I slipped helplessly from the beast’s back when Mr Fraser unfastened the strap, and should have fell to the ground if Mr Watts had not catched me.
“Come, madam, keep your heart up,” says the good gentleman. “We have made huge progress, and met with the most marvellous good luck throughout.”
“How, sir?” I asked him.
“Why, we have encountered no enemy nor wild beast, there’s light enough to see our way, and the rains en’t begun, as they might well be, since last year they commenced so late. Figure to yourself what our flight would have been with rain falling, and the entire country a swamp!”
“Come, my dear, you must rest while we halt here,” says Mr Fraser, while I endeavoured with my confused brain to picture the situation suggested by Mr Watts, and I resigned the attempt thankfully, lying down on the cloak my husband had spread for me on the ground, and suffering him to cover me with another. I must have fallen asleep immediately, for I dreamed that Mr Fraser came and looked at me very earnestly, but without speaking, and then went away, and waking, I found that he was gone. In the obscurity of the grove in which we were, I could discern the figures of Mr Watts and Dr Dacre, wrapped in their cloaks and stretched upon the ground; at a little distance were thesyces, crouched upon their heels close to the horses, and Mirza Shaw, with his scymitar drawn, stood guarding his master with the most extreme vigilance, but my spouse and Mr Ranger were not to be seen.
“Where’s Mr Fraser?” I cried out to the Tartar, sitting up in my place, but it was Dr Dacre that answered me.
“Why, madam, your spouse believed you asleep. He’s but this moment gone forward with Mr Ranger to ascertain our position. There was some talk of a force of the Nabob’s horse encamped in the village ahead of us, and blocking our way to the river, and Mirza Shaw has wounded his foot with a thorn——”
“But you’ve sent him into the midst of the enemy? Sure they’ll murder him!” I cried, but Mr Watts, waking, silenced me roughly.
“Be quiet, madam, and pray let other people rest if you won’t do it yourself. Mr Fraser’s in no such terrible danger. If he’s the wise man I fancy him, the enemy will have no chance so much as to catch sight of him.”
Mr Watts fell asleep again at once, but I could not follow his example. The desire for sleep, which had tormented me so long, seemed to have left me, and a hundred horrid visions took its place. I saw Mr Fraser discovered, tracked, pursued, seized, tortured, slain, in all the circumstances that my apprehensive mind could suggest, and even the most ordinary sound that reached me was the signal to start a fresh train of horrors. I was a prey to the most cruel, the most poignant anxiety, and at the same moment to the liveliest remorse, and this because I had not awaked when Mr Fraser came and regarded me, thus losing what I persuaded myself was his last farewell. The shocking selfishness, which had caused me a year ago to destroy my dear Captain Colquhoun in obtaining for me the water that cost him his life, I saw repeated now in the insensibility I had shown to the presence of the person to whom I owe everything, and my heart was almost broken with the thought of such unparalleled ingratitude. Trembling all over with apprehension, I sat leaning against a tree, listening for a distant shot or shout that might confirm my worst fears. Presently Mirza Shaw, catching sight of me, limped across the glade to recommend me in a low voice to lie down.
“Is it near morning yet?” I asked him.
“Why, no, Beebee; only a little past midnight.”
“But sure we must have been riding a dozen hours at least.”
“Less than six, Beebee.”
“Why, how long is it then since Mr Fraser started?”
“Twenty minutes, Beebee.”
“But that’s not possible. I have been listening for him for hours.”
“Not so, Beebee. He has scarce had time to reach the village yet, much less to return to us. Beebee Fraser need not fear for him.”
This was excessively consoling, questionless, but it failed to calm my fears, and I sat and shuddered until there was a rustling of the bushes, and the two missing gentlemen crept back safe into our midst. Mr Watts, awake at once, questioned them eagerly, and they told him they had reached the village, which is named Augadeep, and found the Nabob’s force encamped on both sides of the road, but all fast asleep and without a single sentinel, after the manner of the Indians in war, so that they believed it possible to ride straight through them undiscovered, and reach the river on the further side.
“And so we will!” cried Mr Watts. “Wake up, doctor. The Retreat of the Ten Thousand will be naught to ours. Straight through the enemy’s camp!”
Thesycesbegan saddling the horses again immediately, Dr Dacre arose with a good deal of sadness, and unwound himself from his cloak, Mirza Shaw put up his sword and led up Mr Watts’ beast for him to mount, and Mr Fraser approached softly the spot where I was, intending to awake me gently.
“What, my dear, awake? and I recommended you to rest!” he cried.
“Excellent, sir!” cried Mr Watts. “You might have been married ten years, Mr Fraser.”
“Save that then he would scarce have looked for his lady to obey him, sir,” says Mr Ranger; but I paid no heed to their raillery.
“Oh, dear sir,” I cried, throwing myself into Mr Fraser’s arms, “how could I sleep when I imagined each instant that you was fallen into the enemy’s hands?” and the remembrance of my frightful imaginations overpowering me, I burst into a passion of tears and sobs, which I endeavoured in vain to check.
“My dearest creature,” said Mr Fraser at last, “these transports will endanger all our lives if you don’t moderate ’em. Come, that’s my brave girl! But you en’t fit to ride any further to-night.”
“Pray, Mr Fraser, do you purpose settling down for life in this patch ofjungul?” cried Mr Watts, who was waiting impatiently. “No man can sympathise more heartily with your lady than I do, but delay will mean her destruction as well as ours.”
Mr Fraser made no further protestation, but when Mr Ranger approached to assist me to mount, he gave him a sign, and together they lifted me to the saddle before my husband, so that he could hold me with his left arm, and still have his right at liberty. Mr Watts murmured a little, representing that in the event of a fight Mr Fraser would find himself sorely encumbered, but he was good-humoured enough, and we rode out of the wood. Before we had gone very far, Mr Ranger declared that we were approaching Augadeep, and the speed of the horses was checked. The road was happily deep in dust, so that there was no sound made, and we approached the village in dead silence, the ashes of expiring watch-fires alone showing where the Nabob’s troops were encamped. And now I am about to record a confession that will force my Amelia to despise me, but not more heartily than I despise myself. As we passed between the watch-fires to right and to left, there came upon me the most horrid temptation imaginable to shriek aloud. I tried to reason with myself, in vain; I felt that I must scream, although I knew that all our lives would be the forfeit. Sure it was a heavenly inspiration that saved me, for I seized my handkerchief and stuffed it into my mouth with all my strength. “At least there’ll be no sound now, even if I should scream,” I said to myself, and then I must have swooned, for I knew no more until I found myself laid flat on a pile of cloaks in a small boat, with Mr Fraser endeavouring to force some spirit between my teeth. I wondered in a foolish sort of style whether he would succeed in getting it down, but never thought of assisting him in any way, even by opening my mouth, until he ceased his efforts and turned with a hopeless air to Mr Watts, who, with a pistol in one hand and t’other on his sword, was watching the black men that were rowing.
“’Tis too late, sir!” said Mr Fraser, heavily.
“What’s too late, sir?” I asked him, finding my tongue all of a sudden, and Mr Watts broke into a loud laugh, which he sought anxiously to check.
“Why, the dram, madam. Here has your spouse been tearing his hair and vowing you was dead, and he your murderer. Pray why did you try to throttle yourself? That had more the air of suicide.”
“I—I was afraid of crying out, sir. But where are we, and where are all the rest?”
“Why, madam, we are rowing down the Cossimbuzar river, as fast as these rascallydandieswill take us. The Padra and Mr Ranger are in another boat, but since we could find no more than two, and there was no room for the horses, Mirza Shaw refused to abandon his nag, and preferring the beast to his master, remained behind with thesyces, undertaking to save the whole caravan. Pray, Mr Fraser, keep an eye on thatmangeethere. I doubt he’s purposing to run us aground.”
“Now, my dearest life, I must have you try to sleep,” said my kind spouse, making at the same time a threatening motion towards the helmsman, as Mr Watts desired. “My good girl won’t be alarmed, knowing her Fraser is close at hand?”
“Why, no, dear sir,” said I, and composed myself to sleep upon the cloaks, as though this strange situation were the most natural thing in the world. It seemed I had slept but a moment, when I was awaked with a great sound of cheering and huzzaing, and saw that we were arrived at a point where two rivers met, and off which there were lying several large boats. On board of these boats was a number of Europeans (whom I judged to be soldiers by the clothes they had hastily catched up), and these were all testifying their delight in seeing us by excessive shouts of joy. It needed no telling that we had met with the guard sent by Colonel Clive to greet us and bring us to the army, and there was little delay in rewarding the Indian boatmen who had done us such good service against their wills, and sending them about their business, while we were taken on board the Colonel’s boats. My Amelia will set me down as a sad lazy creature, but I’ll confess to her honestly that no sooner had I laid myself down in a cabin than I fell asleep again, and slept—how long does she imagine?—why, my dear, for twelve hours! Your idle girl never woke once until the boats reached Culnah at three o’clock in the afternoon, and I can quite believe she would have slumbered again after that but for the agitating news that reached her. Mr Watts has since rallied me more than once upon this feat, and says there’s not a European in India but would gladly purchase the secret of sleeping so well in the hot weather, though I doubt they would scarce choose to earn their slumber by riding from Moidapore to Augadeep. But what, you’ll ask, was the agitating news that I mentioned? Why, my dear, while I was eating some breakfast at four in the afternoon on board the boat, in comes Mr Fraser, who had gone on shore with Mr Watts to pay his respects to Colonel Clive, with an air of huge triumph.
“The Colonel made particular enquiry how you did, my dearest life, and desired his compliments to you. He also requested the honour of your company at his table to supper this evening if you feel sufficiently restored.”
“Oh, dear sir—sup with Colonel Clive! But I have no gown.”
“Why, madam, where’s that thin white thing you wore at Moidapore?”
“That muslin? ’Tis a simple rag, sir, nothing more, and all in the most frightful creases.”
“’Twill but set off my lovely girl’s face all the better. Come, dear madam, you wouldn’t have me disoblige the Colonel? He showed me extraordinary kindness before I set out on my quest for my lost mistress, and I would wish him to see her now she’s found.”
“Oh, if you desire it particularly, dear sir——” Did you ever know a young woman more sweetly obliging than your Sylvia, Amelia? How otherwise could she have consented to appear at the table of the first general of the age in a horrid limp muslin gown without a hoop, made by her own hands, and a cap hastily fashioned (yes, my dear, I’ll own it) out of one of her spouse’s pocket-handkerchiefs? But there was no other ladies present, so that at least no comparisons could be drawn to her disadvantage, and the gentlemen were all in undress, as was, indeed, only proper at an entertainment held in a captured town in the middle of a campaign. Distinguished with the most flattering civilities by Colonel Clive, who came himself to the gate of his quarters to hand her out of her palanqueen, and set her at his right hand during the meal, won’t you give your girl some credit, Amelia, that her head was not turned? But I must not leave my dear friend in ignorance of one fact that should surely have prevented the lightest mind from being uplifted by the elegant kindness of the Colonel. Among the officers and others that were invited, and whom Colonel Clive presented to me, were Mr le Beaume, now a captain in the Company’s army, and Mr Fisherton, who is advanced to be the Colonel’s secretary. When you remember, Amelia, the scenes in which I last beheld these two gentlemen, Captain le Beaume carried wounded into Fort William after the batteries had been abandoned, and Mr Fisherton in that place of horror, the Black Hole itself, will you wonder that they both approached me without a word, and that their feelings came near to overcome them when they touched my hand? Those who stood round were sensibly affected, and I needed but a little encouragement to give way to the melancholy recollections that thronged upon me. This the Colonel had not observed, for he was searching among those present for one whom he did not appear to find.
“Where’s Captain Grant?” he said at last. “I hoped to present all your old friends to you, madam, and you must have been well acquainted with him.”
“Here, sir, at the lady’s service,” said a gentleman wearing the dress of Adlercron’s Regiment.
“No, not you, Major,” says the Colonel. “’Twas Captain Alexander Grant of the Bengall Service I was seeking, an old acquaintance of Mrs Fraser’s.”
“The Captain sent his most humble apologies, sir, but he’s indisposed this evening,” says Mr Fisherton, and his eyes chanced to meet mine. You know in what posture I saw Captain Grant last, Amelia. Perhaps it en’t to be wondered at that he should shrink from meeting the woman whom, in his eagerness for his own safety, he had refused to turn back to save. Something of this I think Colonel Clive must have read in our faces, for he muttered angrily to himself as though he had remembered something suddenly, and brought forward another gentleman, whom I recollect seeing once or twice at Calcutta, although he belonged to the Cossimbuzar factory.
“Mr Hastings, madam,” said the Colonel. “Like Mr Fraser he’s a new-married man,[03]but unhappily he han’t had the foresight to bring his lady with him on this campaign, when Mrs Fraser and she might have exchanged confidences and allayed each other’s fears.”
Mr Hastings replying very genteelly that he hoped before long to have the honour of making his wife acquainted with Mrs Fraser, we went to supper, I being placed, as I said, on Mr Clive’s right, with Dr Dacre on t’other side. The Colonel conversed continually with me in the most agreeable manner, asking me whether I had seen much of the army yet, and what I thought of hisloll pultun?[04]This is a regiment of Seapoy soldiers which he has clothed and drilled like Europeans, thus giving them a much more martial air than our oldbuxerries, who were dressed after the Indian fashion in the long breeches calledpanjammers,[05]acabayor vest, and a turbant. I told him that I had observed a number of these men as I passed through the place on my way to his quarters, and been much pleased with their air of neatness and discipline, and then, his words recalling to me that old mystery of Misery’s and the other servants respecting theloll addama, I ventured to inform him with what awe and submissiveness the Indians were watching his progress, counting it to be of little use opposing him.
“I hope Mrs Fraser is so obliging as to share this persuasion of theirs?” said he.
“Why, yes, sir. How could I look to see a cause so good as ours permitted to suffer defeat at the hands of such a wretch as the Nabob?”
“Pray, madam, is it the case in your experience that Providence always awards the victory to the most deserving side?”
“Alas, sir, no! But I can’t bring myself to believe that so great a commander as Colonel Clive would have been brought to Bengall merely to add another trophy to the blood-stained laurels of Surajah Dowlah.”
“I thank you, madam, for the thought, which comes in pat enough with one that has occurred to me before. There was a young fellow of my acquaintance once that was sunk to the lowest depths of melancholy. He was poor and proud and in debt, and had not a friend that he could call his own, for besides being of a sad unsociable temper, there was a petulant roughness about him that alienated his acquaintances and outraged his superiors. The severities of this climate, added to his misfortunes, so affected the lad that he resolved to put an end to his existence. There was a loaded pistol at hand, and he placed the muzzle to his head, and pulled the trigger. The piece missed fire, but he was not to be put off. After examining the condition of the charge, he pulled the trigger a second time. Again it missed, and the youth, wondering at this unaccountable failure, determined that he must be intended for some great work, and laid aside the thought of self-destruction. I was that young fellow, madam, and it has seemed to me more than once that the liberation of Bengall may be the task I was destined for.”
“Oh, sir, what cause has Britain to thank Heaven that your rash resolve was frustrated!” I cried. “Sure you can’t now entertain a doubt of your ultimate success, for which all you have yet achieved is but a preparation?”
“Do you know what are the odds against us, madam? Do you know that this army which is called mine is held together only by the memory of my past successes? One disaster and my officers will recollect that their general was bred a clerk, and failed as a writer, and the Tellinghies will forsake the standard of the man whose luck is gone. For myself, madam, I may say without boasting that I have sufficient courage and patience to retrieve a disaster, if I may but retain the confidence of my friends. But to find myself forsaken by those on whose fidelity I had relied, to meet contempt where I had once inspired respect, and distrust where I looked for loyal confidence, that would be intolerable to me. To renew acquaintance with the miseries of my early Madrass days after having tasted of success and public favour, this I could not support—and the pistol is at hand now as then.”
“Oh pray, dear sir, don’t tempt Heaven a second time to alter its designs.”
“Why, madam, have I not told you that so long as I am sure of my friends I can go on boldly? and I thank Heaven that’s the case at present. But how solemn and serious is this discourse for so joyful an occasion! Sure it’s very unkind in Mrs Fraser to tempt me into such melancholy recollections and confessions.”
“May I venture to ask a favour of you, sir?” I saw Mr Clive desired to change the subject.
“Any favour Mrs Fraser asks is already granted. But perhaps I can guess what it is. You would have leave, madam, for your spouse to quit the army when we advance from hence, and attend you at once to Calcutta—en’t that it?”
“Why, no, sir, I was about to entreat you to find some situation for Mr Fraser in which he may contrive to take part in the battle you expect.”
“What, madam! tired of him already?” cried the Colonel; but seeing me covered with confusion and my eyes filled with tears at this unkind remark, he testified extreme penitence, and begged me to explain my desire more fully.
“Indeed, sir, I can’t help being sensible that Mr Fraser lost his share in the taking of Chandernagore by his concern for my safety, which detained him at Muxadavad, and I would not be the cause of depriving him of this also.”
“Why, madam, I thought there was but one woman in the world, and she my own wife, that would extend any sympathy to the concern a man has in his calling, but now I see there’s another. I’ll promise you to find a post for your spouse, if I have to make him Lord High Admiral of my fleet of rowboats.”
“But, sir, you’ve only heard half my request. You’ll permit me to accompany him?”
“Oho, madam, is that it? A battlefield’s no place for women.”
“Oh pray, dear sir, don’t send me away from him. Picture the miserable apprehensions I should be under for his safety. Indeed I’ll give no trouble.”
“Will you be contented to remain with the sick and the baggage when the army marches out to fight, madam? Otherwise I’ll have none of you.”
“Oh yes, sir, provided you won’t leave me too far behind.”
“Madam, I’m not to be conditioned with by non-combatants. If I see too much of you, I’ll send you down the river again under a guard. Our good Mr Watts is minded to accompany the army[06]and see the coping-stone set on his labours for the liberation of Bengall, and you’ll be under his orders. Mr Fraser, I need volunteers for the artillery, sir, since I was forced to leave Lieutenant Hay and near all his seamen to garrison Chandernagore. What do you say to giving us the advantage of your sea-experience? Your lady tells me she won’t let you out of her sight, but I hope we may be able to oblige her without losing your services.”
“Indeed, sir, I’ll be only too much honoured in being permitted to place myself at Colonel Clive’s disposal.” Mr Fraser’s face was so full of delight, Amelia, that I felt rewarded for my sacrifice. After all, one must do one’s best to oblige a man that’s so ready to oblige you, and at least I shan’t be parted from him.
This letter is frightfully long, Amelia. I wrote a good piece of it at Culnah, where the army remained until the 16th, and went on with it at Pultee, where we halted that night and part of the next day, while Major Coote with a portion of the army went forward to receive the surrender of the fortress of Cutwah, which had been promised by the governor of the place, although he thought it expedient to make some slight show of resistance. After a little firing the garrison retreated, leaving Cutwah, with a vast quantity of grain and considerable military stores, to us, and none too soon, for yesterday the rains began, and the army, who had spent the night in their tents, were forced to seek refuge in the houses of the town. I am finishing my letter in a commodious apartment of the fortress, overlooking the river Agey,[07]while all around preparations are making for the next advance. On the day of our reaching Culnah, Mr Watts despatched a messenger to our ally Meer Jaffier informing him of his safety and of the approach of the army, while almost at the same moment there arrived from this nobleman an Armenian, called Cojah Petroos by the Europeans and by the Moors Aga Bedross, to entreat Colonel Clive to hasten his advance. (I must not omit to say that Mr Watts’ servant, Mirza Shaw, arrived safe on the 15th, with thesycesand all the horses, which, having contrived to find another boat, they had swum across the river, holding them with the bridles lengthened.) From Muxadavad the Colonel hears that on learning of Mr Watts’ evasion the Nabob exhibited the most abject terror, and breaking off the attack he was about to make on Meer Jaffier’s castle, humbled himself so far as to seek a reconciliation with him, and received his oath of allegiance, which has caused some apprehension here. Elated with this triumph, Surajah Dowlah has wrote in terms of defiance to the Colonel, and though hindered by a mutiny of his troops, which was only appeased by the distributing among them a vast sum of money, is about taking up his ancient position at Placis,[08]a spot where he has a hunting-lodge, some fifteen miles from here. He has summoned Mons. Law and the other fugitive French to join him from Bogglypore, and Sinzaun and the rest of his countrymen that are with him already have shown the first taste of their quality by plundering and burning the Cossimbuzar factory in their rage at Mr Watts’ escape. I write on June the 20th. What happened a year ago this day I need not remind my Amelia, but sure it’s strange enough that the avenging of Calcutta should arrive at a time so closely joined with its fall.
Cutwah,June ye23rd.
Once more, my dear, I am left solitary, and as of old turn to my Amelia for consolation. My dear Mr Fraser quitted me early yesterday morning, and proceeded to Placis with Colonel Clive and the army, and here in the fort at Cutwah there remains a meagre company, awaiting with an incredible eagerness and anxiety every morsel of intelligence that may reach them. Nor is this apprehension excessive in view of the situation. We Britons, as my Amelia knows, are said to be too prone to undervalue our enemy, and that this is so is questionless Colonel Clive’s opinion, although he himself offers no example of the fault. He has no fear, I heard him say two days ago, for a favourable result of the approaching battle, if every man of his force do his duty and his Indian allies keep their promises, but a single piece of carelessness or treachery may prove the ruin, not only of the army, but of the entire British cause in this region of the world. With another commander this unflattering estimate of the future might be expected to damp the spirits of the soldiers, but so great is their confidence in Mr Clive that they are sensible of no resentment even for his implied doubt of them, and are resolved to support him to the utmost of their power. The Indian allies are less to be trusted, I fear. Immediately after I closed my letter to you on Monday there arrived from Muxadavad the messenger despatched by Mr Watts from Culnah to Meer Jaffier, declaring that he had been received with distinction by that nobleman in private and assured of his fidelity, but that on the entrance of some intimates of the Nabob’s, Meer Jaffier changed his tone immediately, while his son Meerham threatened to have the messenger put to death for a spy, uttering the most extravagant menaces against the English should they venture to advance towards the city. This unaccountable behaviour, coupled with the ambiguous epistles brought by Meer Jaffier’s own messengers, startled Colonel Clive and induced him to waver in his design of advancing, insomuch that on Tuesday he summoned a council of war (the first, so Mr Fisherton tells me, that he has ever held) to determine whether to go forward against the enemy at once, or to strengthen this fortress of Cutwah and maintain ourselves here until the rains are over. To the great scandal of all the officers, the Colonel, instead of taking the opinion of the youngest gentleman first, and so through all the members until his own turn came as president, began by giving his own vote for delay, in which he was followed by the majority, although Major Coote and a few others spoke stoutly on the other side, the Major declaring with great warmth that he would rather abandon Cutwah and retire at once to Calcutta than give the Nabob the triumph of shutting up our army here. However, the council broke up, after doing nothing but invite the Raja of Burraduan to join the army with any reinforcements he could command, and the officers dispersed with the most dissatisfied air imaginable. The Colonel, whose ordinary resolved aspect was changed for a dejected and uncertain look, shunned the company of the other gentlemen, and as I sat at my window in the tower which has been assigned to us for an abode, I saw him wander away into a grove of trees near. He must have spent over half an hour in solitude, when up comes Mr Watts to me and demands to know whether I had perceived which way the Colonel went. After directing him, I ventured to hope that he was the bearer of good news.
“Why, yes, madam,” said he. “Here’s acossidjust come in with a message sent from Meer Jaffier by word of mouth, and containing very satisfactory assurances. It seems he’s honest after all.”
“Pray Heaven you may get the Colonel to believe it, sir.”
“Indeed, madam, you can’t desire it more than I, since my credit hangs on Meer Jaffier’s honesty. I know Mr Clive would have chose to advance had he been acting alone, but our valiant Calcutta gentlemen, and the excellent Quaker in especial, have worked hard to imbue him with their own fears, so that he can’t resolve to risque a second destruction of the factory. Yet he’s excessive uneasy to find himself hanging back for the first time in his life, and I would lay alackof rupees that he’s seeking some good argument that would justify him in going forward. I hope to supply him with it.”
And Mr Watts departed to seek the Colonel, finding him, as we learned afterwards, seated under a tree, and plunged in a gloomy meditation. What arguments were used I don’t know, but presently, watching eagerly from my window, I saw the two gentlemen returning in company, both wearing a determined and confident air, and Colonel Clive’s eyes, which are the keenest I have ever seen, full of the most unbending resolution. Meeting Major Coote, the Colonel exchanged a few words with him, and no long time after Mr Fraser came leaping up the stairs to my room to tell me that the army was to commence its advance at daybreak on the morrow.[01]
“And am I to ride, sir?” I asked him; “or will it be possible to proceed by boat?”
Mr Fraser turned his face aside. “Why, my dearest life,” he said, “considering this frightful weather and the danger from the enemy, I fear——”
“Oh, dear sir, you would not leave me behind?” I cried. “Sure the Colonel promised——”
“But my beloved girl won’t press that promise to an extreme when she knows how much it would add to her Fraser’s anxiety? She’ll do him the favour to believe that ’tis only his concern for her makes him entreat her to remain here under good Dr Dacre’s care, and I think she’ll oblige him by consenting to stay behind.”
The tears were in my eyes. “Dear sir, how could I bring myself to refuse a request which you are good enough to express in such a charming style?”
“Nay, dearest madam, your complaisance in gratifying me would make me ashamed to ask a favour if I did not know that it caused you a pleasure to grant it,” said Mr Fraser, but perceiving that what he had said might be taken in two different styles, he came and embraced me kindly, begging me with the utmost earnestness to remain behind at Cutwah, where the sick were to be left under a small guard, and not to insist upon exposing myself in the neighbourhood of the battle. I could not refuse to oblige him, having once consented, and that’s the reason, Amelia, why I am writing to you from my tower in the fortress, instead of accompanying my spouse to the field.
At sunrise yesterday the army began crossing the river, but the transit was not accomplished until four in the afternoon. By this time Colonel Clive had received another reassuring letter from Meer Jaffier, stating that the Nabob was encamped with his army at a village called Muncarra, some little way to the north of Placis, and suggesting that the Colonel should march thither to attack him. The march was at once commenced, the boats carrying the camp equipage being towed against the stream, and the troops making their way along the bank, although, thanks to the inundation caused by the heavy rain, they were forced to plod through water up to their waists. The rain fell continuously almost the whole of the day, driving me from my station at the top of my tower, whence I had hoped to view a great part of the march, since it commands a vast extent of country, and I passed the weary hours in unravelling lint and sewing bandages for the surgeon here, although the damp weather has made my needles and scissors almost useless with rust. The need I felt of occupying my mind made me work so prodigiously hard that when I asked the doctor this morning whether he had anything more for me to do, he laughed, saying that he had already sufficient dressings to bandage the whole army from head to foot, and thus rejected, I fell back naturally into my old habit of making my Amelia the depositary of my anxieties. Indeed, my dear, I don’t know what can be better, in such a situation as mine, than a faithful friend like yourself, unless it be the practice I have always pursued of writing to her constantly.
But my dear girl must not imagine that I have been left to pine, uncheered by any scrap of news, since daybreak yesterday. My dear Mr Fraser was so good as to despatch me a billet this morning, wrote with infinite difficulty in the most unpropitious circumstances. Reassuring my anxious mind by declaring that he has suffered no inconvenience from the discomforts of the march, he says that a halt was called soon after midnight in a grove of mango-trees close to the Nabob’s seat of Placis, and that in this grove the troops encamped in the greatest comfort imaginable. (I fear this is only said to console me, Amelia, for you must remember the rain and the floods.) The sound of drums and other barbaric instruments was clearly to be heard from the enemy’s camp a mile distant (for on hearing of the Colonel’s advance from Cutwah, Surajah Dowlah had at once quitted Muncarra and marched to confront him), but this served rather to soothe than to disturb the grateful slumbers of our wearied army.
At daybreak the Nabob’s army moved out from its entrenchments and disposed itself in the form of a crescent, as though designing to enclose our troops altogether, with the aid of the river, while Meer Sinzaun (oh, my dear, think what it is to me to hear that dreadful name again!) with four guns and his forty vagabond Frenchmen took post on the lofty banks of earth surrounding a tank that commanded the mango-grove. In order to reply to their fire, Colonel Clive posted two hovitzes[02]and two field-pieces at some brick-kilns in advance of the grove, and lest the enemy should imagine him alarmed by their approach, brought his army out of its shelter, and drew it up in order of battle, his left resting on the Nabob’s hunting-lodge. The centre of the line was occupied by the European troops in four divisions, next came three field-pieces on either flank, Mr Fraser being in charge of one of those on the right, and at each extremity of the line a body of Seapoys. The battle began by the Frenchmen’s discharging one of their cannons, which did some damage, and our artillery replying, the action became general, although we were at a huge disadvantage owing to the lightness of our guns. Having endured a heavy cannonade for about half an hour, and finding his losses considerable, the Colonel retired his troops again into the grove, leaving a small detachment at the brick-kilns and another at Placis House, and ’twas at this moment of disappointment and mortification that Mr Fraser wrote his letter to me. Having with the rest of the officers of the train besieged the Colonel in vain for permission to carry all the guns forward to the advanced posts, and finding himself compelled to crouch down among the troops behind a bank to avoid the enemy’s fire, my spouse sought to mitigate his impatience by scribbling in pencil the history of the morning, which he had leave to despatch about half-past nine by a messenger that Mr Watts was sending back to Cutwah. The brilliancy of the spectacle presented by the enemy seems to have affected Mr Fraser a little disagreeably when compared with the travel-stained and wretched aspect of our own men, for he remarks somewhat bitterly on the magnificent display of elephants all covered with scarlet cloth and embroidery, of horsemen with drawn swords glistering in the sun, of heavy cannons drawn by vast trains of oxen, and of countless standards waving in the breeze—all this show being employed by Surajah Dowlah to conceal the badness of his cause. The dear gentleman closed the letter in somewhat better spirits, however, for our retreat having animated the enemy to an extreme degree of vivacity, they were advancing their guns with a great air of boldness, and Colonel Clive had just given orders for holes to be made in the banks of earth surrounding the grove, through which our field-pieces might be fired.
There, Amelia! ’Tis now two in the afternoon, and this pencilled chitt, which reached me about an hour back, contains the latest intelligence we possess. All the morning I have spent at the top of the tower, with every man of our sick garrison that was strong enough to climb so high, watching for messengers, and listening to the distant sound of cannon brought to us on the wind. At noon the rain began again, and drove me indoors and to my writing, and so far as we can discern, forced the cannonade almost entirely to cease. I had no notion that a battle took so long to fight, had you, Amelia? I have wrote this letter with all the minuteness possible, for the sake of filling up the time; how, I wonder, shall I spend the weary hours still before me, until this battle, which is to decide the fate of Bengall, if not of India (not to speak of your poor girl and her beloved Fraser) be ended? Happily the rain is almost ceased again, and Dr Dacre, who has established himself as a vigilant guardian over me, gives me hope of being allowed once more on my watch-tower.
Half-past six o’clock.
Joy, Amelia! we are victorious. Colonel Clive has justified the confidence of his troops rather than his own misgivings, and Calcutta is avenged upon the cruel barbarian who destroyed her a year ago. A breathless messenger, mounted upon a horse that he had ridden almost to death, arrived a few minutes back and brought us the news, although his errand was to demand the despatch of certain stores immediately to the surgeons accompanying the army. It appears that the cannonade begun by our guns in the morning after Mr Fraser closed his letter to me, was successful in keeping off the enemy, and that Meer Modin,[03]one of the Nabob’s generals, and the only one among ’em that was truly faithful to him, was slain. The rain that commenced about noon spoiled the enemy’s powder, while ours was kept under shelter and dry, and the semicircle of Moorish troops was observed to be retiring within the entrenchments where they had passed the night. Even before this, however, Surajah Dowlah, panic-stricken by his fears and by the death of Meer Modin, had mounted a swift camel, and forsaking his army, fled to Muxadavad. It had been agreed between Colonel Clive and his officers that no advance against the Nabob’s camp should be made until night; but seeing the Frenchmen isolated at their tank, Major Kilpatrick could not resist pushing forward to dislodge them, without any orders from the Colonel, who was snatching a brief repose in the hunting-lodge. On being informed of the movement, Colonel Clive hastened out in much displeasure, and reproved the officer smartly for his independent action; but on receiving an apology from him, sent him back to the grove to fetch up the rest of the troops, and placed himself at the head of the detachment, with the determination to bring matters at once to an issue, and not encourage the enemy by a second retreat. Seeing the resolution with which the English advanced, Sinzaun withdrew his force from the tank, and planted his cannon in a redoubt at the corner of the Nabob’s entrenchment, in readiness for the final assault.
All this time, says the messenger, our commander’s spirits had been perturbed by the perplexing behaviour of a portion of the enemy’s troops, which, being under the orders of Meer Jaffier and Yar Cawn Latty, should, in accordance with the engagements entered into by those chiefs, have changed sides during the battle, a manœuvre for which the amplest opportunity was offered by their position in that part of the half-circle nearest our posts and furthest from the Nabob’s entrenchments. Far from taking this step, however, Meer Jaffier, whether moved by timidity or by the affecting entreaties addressed to him by the despairing Surajah Dowlah, did not even embrace the chance afforded him by the retreat of the rest of the army to separate himself from it, but advanced his troops with such a menacing air against our position in the grove that if his designs were amicable no one could have credited it, and a force was detached to hold him in check. Meanwhile Colonel Clive, having reached the tank abandoned by Sinzaun, planted his guns on its banks, and began a brisk cannonade on the entrenchment, following this up by an advance to a second tank and a piece of rising ground nearer still. The fire was replied to by Sinzaun’s field-pieces and a strong force of matchlockmen, the cavalry also offering several times to charge, but being drove back in disorder by our guns. At last the Colonel, perceiving that Meer Jaffier’s troops were moving off the field without attempting to support those in the entrenchments, recognised that he was secure from an attack in the rear, and prepared for the concluding effort. A strong detachment was sent forward from either flank to attack Sinzaun’s redoubt and a hillock near it, the main body following more slowly as a support. The hillock was gained without a shot fired, and the redoubt abandoned by Sinzaun with only a little fighting, our forces entering it at five o’clock precisely. The exact issue of these last movements our informant was unable to describe to us, since he had been despatched by the surgeons to bring up the additional stores before the final attack was made, and only beheld it from a distance, checking his horse for a moment that he might see its success, and bring the news of the victory to us at Cutwah. Nor was he able, again, to furnish us particulars of the safety of any special person, save that he had seen Mr Fraser working his gun unhurt when he quitted the tank, although there were more killed and wounded in that situation than during all the rest of the day. It was commonly reported, said the man, that Colonel Clive would press on with his troops immediately the battle was concluded to the village of Doudpaur,[04]where he had promised to meet Meer Jaffier, so that I must resign myself, I suppose, to a further separation from my dear Mr Fraser; but I can support that with more equanimity, since I am tolerably assured of his safety.
Cutwah,June ye24th.
Alas, my Amelia! I began to rejoice, or at least to feel satisfied, too soon. Having finished writing to my dear girl, I descended to the lowest room of the tower, intending to join Dr Dacre at supper, but even as I entered the apartment the good divine stood forward as though to turn me back, and I saw that he was talking with a man in the dress of a common soldier. I could not doubt what was the matter.
“You’re come to tell me Mr Fraser is hurt?” I said to the soldier.
“Why, no, madam,” said he, and it seemed to me that I had heard his voice before at some very frightful moment of my life. “I was bid to bring you his honour’s loving duty, and to tell you as how there wasn’t truly nothing wrong with him.”
I turned to Dr Dacre. “Oh pray, dear sir, don’t torment me. What is happened?”
“Indeed, madam, there’s so little happened that I had hoped to keep it from you until morning. Our good Mr Fraser has received a bullet through the thigh, but the bone en’t injured, and save for the loss of blood he’ll suffer little inconvenience.”
“But I must go to him, sir. You’ll help me to start immediately?”
“What, madam?” It was the surgeon left in charge of the sick here who came in behind me. “Go to your spouse to-night? and I had believed you a woman of sense! Pray what do you think you could do for him? Nothing but vex his mind and tease his doctors, I’ll assure you. He’ll come down in the boats to-morrow, and if I find you are to be trusted I’ll let you have him to nurse.”
“I’ll assure you, sir, whatever you may find, you won’t keep me from Mr Fraser’s side!” I cried, dashing away my tears.
“Pray, madam, look at me,” says the surgeon, gruffly. “Have I the air of being a man of my word, or not? ’Twill hang upon your behaviour whether I suffer you to approach your spouse. Why, you’re shedding tears, madam! Was you purposing to weep over Mr Fraser? He don’t want to be wept over, but to be kept quiet and cheerful, and that signifies that you’ll take a good rest to-night, and eat your meals in a proper style, for if you don’t, I’ll have your good man brought into hospital and you shan’t come near him. Remember, I must have your word for it in the morning that my prescription has been followed.”
The surgeon went out, leaving me speechless by reason of his coarse and unfeeling language, and Dr Dacre, perceiving my agitation, said with great gentleness—
“Come, madam, our friend’s counsel is sound enough, if rough. If you’ll take your supper, this honest fellow here will join us, and tell us something of the manner in which Mr Fraser met his wound.”
“Aye, madam,” said the soldier, seeing me look eagerly at him, “I was by his honour’s side all day at his six-pounder, first in the grove and then at the tank, and when he got leave to join the storming party I followed him again. We was climbing over the front of the redoubt before the Frenchies scuttled out at the back, and one on ’em, an ugly, black-looking fellow, stood his ground and called out something in French to his honour, who sprang forward in a fury to shoot him, but as he fired, a musket-ball passed through his leg, and his pistol went off as he fell, without doing any harm to the Mounseer. The fellow laughed, and turned to walk off, as cool as you please, but Mr Fraser catched hold of me (I was run to lift him up, as you may guess, madam) and cried out, ‘Kill him, Jones! kill the villain that dares to slander my wife. ’Tis Sinzaun himself, the renegado!’ There was a man of Adlercron’s fell dead just beside me, and I catched up his piece and charged it, and fired twice at the villain, but missed him both times. His honour, seeing me stamp with rage, guessed how ’twas, and presently, ‘Take this, Jones,’ says he. ‘Questionless the wretch bears a charmed life.’ ’Twas a silver button cut from his coat that he held out to me, and I charged the piece with it instead of a bullet—for you know, madam, as how a silver bullet is good against all sorts of wicked charms. Sure enough it brought him down, and I cried out to his honour that he was done for. ‘Well done!’ says he, and faints away, and I carried him back to the doctors. But when I went to look for the villain’s body, I found as how the other Mounseers had carried it off, so as I can’t be certain he was dead, but I do believe it, madam.”
“I know you now,” I cried. “Sure you’re Captain Colquhoun’s sergeant!”
“Yes, madam, and proud to do a service to the Captain’s cousin and his lady.”
“Can I say better of you than that you’re worthy of your Captain, Sergeant Jones? Though you don’t mention it, I can’t doubt but you saved Mr Fraser’s life by carrying him so promptly to the surgeons.”
“Come, my dear madam,” says Dr Dacre; “instead of exchanging compliments with this worthy man, why not give him some supper and join him in the meal? That will refresh him and sustain you.”
To please the good divine I consented to sit down to the table, but you’ll guess that I could scarce swallow a morsel, although the sergeant made an excellent supper, offering profuse apologies for what he fancied his unfeeling behaviour, which indeed I could well pardon, since after fighting all day he had obtained leave to ride fifteen miles to apprise me of my dear Mr Fraser’s situation. As soon as the meal was over I excused myself, and returning to my own chamber, did my best, after offering for my husband’s recovery the most earnest supplications that gratitude and affection could suggest, to put in practice the second part of the surgeon’s prescription. But a person of my Amelia’s sensibility won’t be surprised to hear that my sleep was perpetually broken with fancied alarms, and that I was haunted with the image of Mr Fraser lying prostrate and bathed in blood, and dying at a distance from me.
The morning brought with it something more of cheerfulness, and having satisfied the surgeon of my earnest endeavours to obey his commands, he was so obliging as to consent to “turn my spouse over to me” (that was his odd phrase) for nursing, and to add that if I would but keep a smiling face he would be better off than in the hospital. The boats arrived about eleven o’clock, and by taking advantage of an interval of fine weather the wounded were brought on shore in comparative comfort. Even to my dearest friend I can’t describe my feelings when I beheld Mr Fraser carried in helpless and frightfully pale. The wound had been of such a nature as to produce an extraordinary effusion of blood before the surgeons could attend to him, and he was in a condition of extreme weakness, although his concern for me enabled him to wear a cheerful countenance and rally me on my too evident alarm and apprehension.
“I have a chitt here for you, madam,” he said, as soon as I had assisted the surgeon to make him as easy as possible, “and I desire you’ll read it in my presence.”
I opened the billet he presented to me, and regarded it incredulously, unable to believe that after such a day of fighting, in the interval between deposing one prince and setting up another, Colonel Clive should have found opportunity to write to me.
“The Colonel gave it to me in the evening, when he came to visit the wounded,” said Mr Fraser, “saying that he knew you would not regret my losing a share in the plunder of Muxadavad provided you had me again.”
“Sure the Colonel’s a discerning person,” said I, and read the billet aloud:—