CHAPTER XIV.
TELLS OF A VOYAGE ACCOMPLISHED FROM SCYLLA TO CHARYBDIS.
_From Miss Sylvia Freyne to Miss Amelia Turnor._
Muxadavad, _End of September_ 1756.
At last I find myself once more able to take up a pen for the purpose of writing to my Amelia, but how vastly different is my situation from any that she has yet been made acquainted with! My last letter was scribbled on my knee in the chamber at Fort William where I sat watching by my papa’s side, and was handed to Mr Hurstwood to be conveyed on board the ships. Whether it has ever reached my dear girl I know as little as whether her eye will ever rest on this. To write some account of what has befallen our factory and my wretched self is an exercise that offers me the pleasing prospect of a moment’s forgetfulness of my present situation, and to write it in the form of a letter to my dear Miss Turnor is only just, in view of the compact entered into between us before we parted. To say that I have neither the means nor even the hope of advancing the epistle towards its destination might seem to pronounce it a sad waste of time to write it, but since the Moors (they say) preserve with the most scrupulous care imaginable any piece of written paper they may find, lest it should chance to bear upon it the name of _Alla_, it may happen that some scrap of this letter may yet reach the hands of my Amelia Turnor, and serve to shed a little light both upon the destruction of our Calcutta settlement, and upon the fate of the unhappy Sylvia Freyne. But if this is to be the case, I must set down in order the whole history of our calamities.
(_Here follows the narrative incorporated into chapter xii._)
How long this merciful swoon lasted, which rendered me insensible alike to the horrors of the prison and the miserable deaths of my best friends, I don’t know, but on recovering my senses I found myself laid on a native bedstead in an apartment which I took to be the cabin of a boat, since I could see the shining of water reflected upon the roof through the _checks_ at the sides. The only other person in the chamber was a female wrapped in a blue cloth and seated in a corner. Rising when she found my eyes fastened upon her, I saw her to be an elderly Moorwoman, decently but poorly clothed.
“_Salam, Beebee_!” says she in Moors (which is as much as to say, Your ladyship’s humble servant), approaching me with an air of great timidity and respect.
“Where am I?” I said, putting my hand to my head, for I was in the strangest state of mind, my dear, conscious that something terrible had taken place, but knowing no more what it was than if I had been dead. I remembered nothing; I suppose I could not have declared my own name had I been asked it. My eye fell on my clothes,--they were torn to rags, frightfully soiled, and stained with blood. I lifted my arms,--they were covered with bruises, and the knuckles and elbows grazed. My hair hung in a great mat, all rough and dishevelled, and I had the notion that there was something relating to it that I could not recollect. It had to do with my pocket, surely, and turning with difficulty, I pulled out a cap and a parcel of hairpins, tied round with two or three ribbons. Then I remembered everything--the Captain’s disguising me, my papa’s death, our being hurried into the black hole of the Fort, and the awful night that we passed in that horrid prison. Reaching this point, my spirits could no longer endure the recollections that came crowding upon ’em, and I burst into a passion of sobs and tears that seemed as if it could never cease, so that the old woman, who stood patiently by, became alarmed, and sought to quiet me.
“Alas, Beebee,” she said, “why should a young lady of your fine prospects indulge yourself in such transports of grief? ’Tis true you have been roughly used, but you was fated to undergo a short trial, that it might bring you the greater felicity thereafter. Your slave has no such hope, and has lost more than you, but she bows to the decrees of fate.”
“And is it possible,” I cried, “that there’s a human being on this earth more unfortunate than I? Pray, good woman, tell me your history, that I also may learn to endure my miseries with something of your philosophy.”
“Indeed, Beebee,” says she, “the tale’s but a mean one to relate to a lady of your quality. Your slave was mistress of no more than a small house and a decent business in the Great Buzar, but she rejoiced in the company of her children and grandchildren. When the Nabob’s army came, her shop was plundered, her house burnt, and her family slain or dispersed until she was left alone. In the morning, yesterday, she was weeping over the ruins of the beloved spot, when there came along a parcel of soldiers, who seized her also.”
“Alas, my poor woman, you have indeed suffered!” I cried. “But pray tell me your name, that I may know how to call you.”
“I am named Misery, Beebee. In the Buzar they call me Misery Bye.”[14.01]
I could scarce restrain myself from crying out when I heard this ill-omened name, but fearing to hurt the poor woman, “Tell me, Misery,” I said, “was you carried off to attend upon me?”
“Even so, Beebee. They said there was a servant needed to wait upon a young lady of very great birth, who was to be sent to Muxadavad for a present to the Nabob.”
At these awful words the full horror of my situation became clear to me, and I fell into a frenzy, crying out that I was indeed undone, and that death was my only hope. Misery stood quiet beside me, save that once she seized my hands, fearing that I designed to dash myself against one of the beams in my madness, and when I was become a little calm, said very earnestly--
“Why this passion, Beebee? You are treated honourably, and you have a great prospect to look forward to. Instead of these rags you’ll wear the finest gauzes and the richest silk and tinsel, your hair will be braided with gold, and such jewels as you have never even imagined will load your hands and feet and face and neck. Only lay aside this frenzy, which will but damage your beauty, and permit your slave to practise the arts with which she is acquainted for soothing your spirits and restoring the charming colour of which your troubles have robbed you, and I’ll assure you that instead of the Nabob’s being your conqueror, you shall be his. You shall have the finest palaces in India for a residence instead of your poor Calcutta houses, and you shall be the envy not only of all the ladies of his Highness’s seraglio, but of all the women in Bengall, and rule the province and spend all its revenues if you will.”
Was ever such a bare-faced proposition made before to a Christian Englishwoman, my dear--nothing less than that I should sell myself, body and soul, to this wicked heathen prince for money and jewels? I sat up on my bed.
“Misery,” I said, looking at her with great sternness, “I have suffered you to speak this once, since you have never learnt better. But you must understand now that for a female that is a Christian and a Briton there could be no greater disgrace and wretchedness than to become the Nabob’s slave, as you propose, were he ten times as great and rich as the Emperor of Delly himself. I can die, if it please Heaven so to decree, but I had rather die a hundred times over than purchase a dishonoured life by a weak compliance.”
“Your slave is a poor ignorant Moorwoman, Beebee,” she replied, “and don’t understand such fine notions. What good would they be when you was dead? But it is fate, and it en’t for your slave to complain that you design to slay her as well. She has but to submit.”
“Pray,” said I, but feebly, for the warmth with which I had spoke had wearied me, “how can my persistence injure you?”
“Alas, Beebee! your slave has incurred the displeasure of Ally Verdy Cawn Begum, his Highness’s grandmother. Knowing that I was skilled in treating the sick, the Begum sent to me when I lived at Muxadavad for a medicine to cure a favourite slave-girl of some ailment. Unhappily the remedy fell into the hands of another slave--a rival of the young person in the good graces of the Princess--who mingled poison with it, and succeeded in effecting the death of the favourite. The unhappy event was attributed to me, and had I not fled precipitately to Calcutta, I had fallen a victim to the Begum’s resentment. You are carrying me back to Muxadavad, Beebee, and what can I look for but death? If you enjoyed the Nabob’s favour you might protect your slave, but resolved as you are to withstand him, there’s nothing but destruction for both of us. But it is my fate.”
She sat down again in her corner, and covered her head with her cloth, wailing to herself in a subdued manner, while I tossed and turned upon my bed, endeavouring to discover some means of saving the poor soul from sharing my destruction while maintaining my own punctilio.
“Misery,” I cried at last, “there’s no need for you to perish with me. The soldiers will surely permit you to walk on the deck, since you are their countrywoman, and you must seize your chance and slip on shore at some place we touch at. They won’t even perceive your absence if you are prudent.”
“Nay, Beebee,” said she, with a dogged air, “I was carried hither to attend upon you, and I’ll do it. If I am fated to die, die I must, but I won’t abandon the lady I have the honour to serve.”
And as though to show that the matter was put aside, she brought some water, and asked whether she should wash my face and dress my hair; but when this was done, and I found myself somewhat refreshed, she returned to her corner and her lamentations in the oddest and most resolved manner. I can’t be quite sure how the time passed after this, for I had a great deal of fever, but in the intervals of my disease, if Misery were not waiting upon me, which she did with a curious sort of skilfulness that I found very soothing to my aching frame, I heard her still bewailing herself. This did not add to my comfort, as my Amelia will guess, indeed it perturbed my spirits extremely; but I could not see that I was called upon to sacrifice myself for the sake of this unfortunate woman, even though ’twas her unaccountable fidelity to me that kept her from saving herself. Also, I must confess, I had sometimes the notion that she was endeavouring to work upon me to play the infamous part she had proposed, through my pity for her, but in this I did her an injustice, as you’ll perceive. I suffered more and more from the fever as the time went on, regaining my senses less frequently, and finding myself continually weaker, and this gradual decline served to suggest an expedient to Misery.
“Beebee,” she said to me, as she tried to make me drink some sort of broth she had brought in, “your slave would fain offer you her counsel.”
“Say on, Misery,” said I, too weary to do anything but wish she would be silent.
“Since you was pleased to reveal your lofty notions to your slave, Beebee, she has thought about them very often, and it seems to her that she has devised a plan by which it might be possible for you to escape the Nabob.”
“Why, then, tell it me,” I cried, full of eagerness. “I could hear nothing better.”
“Hush, Beebee. The soldiers or the boatmen might hear. If you’ll permit it, your slave will approach her head close to you, and whisper. Well then, Beebee, we have now left Allynagore (as the Nabob has named Calcutta) four days, and to-morrow the Jemmautdar in charge of the boat looks to arrive at Santipore. Now in that place there lives a rich merchant, a Christian, but a very virtuous and charitable person, though an unbeliever.” (So the Mussllemen call us, Amelia.) “This gentleman is a friend of the English, and made many intercessions to his Highness on their behalf when he marched against their factory, but in vain. If we could get speech of him, sure he would help us to escape the vigilance of the soldiers, and reach the shore, where he would receive us into his house and conceal us.”
“But who is this person, Misery? and what claim have we upon him, that he should expose himself to so much risk and inconvenience?”
“He is called Mr George, Beebee, and he’s of so charitable a disposition that he believes any person in distress to have a claim upon him.”
“Sure he’s the very friend we need,” I said; “but how throw ourselves in this way upon a stranger? Is the gentleman a married man, Misery?”
“Not to my knowledge, Beebee,” she said, somewhat doubtfully, but seeing my countenance fall, cried out suddenly, “Your slave is a fool, Beebee. How could she have forgot that Mr George is but lately married to a young lady of his own nation, whom he adores?”
“I’m glad to hear it,” said I. “Well, Misery, can we get speech of him?”
“Any idle fellow on the _gott_ would carry a message, Beebee, if you paid him for secrecy.”
“Alas!” I cried, “I have nothing to pay him with. The plunderers took everything.”
“Your slave was more cunning than that, Beebee. When the _louchees_[14.02] in plundering the Buzar stripped her of her jewels, she contrived to hide this,” and she brought out from a corner of her cloth, where she had it tied up with great circumspection, a silver _bangul_, as they call a bracelet, set with corals.
“With this, Beebee,” she said, showing me the jewel, “your slave will send a message to Mr George, desiring him to meet her in some retired spot. She cured his aged father of an ague some time since, so that he won’t refuse her. Then she’ll demand an asylum in his house for you, Beebee.”
“But how shall we cheat the vigilance of the soldiers, Misery? They are perpetually on the deck, quarrelling and gaming, and must know that I have never offered to show myself. Are they also to be bribed, or how am I to slip past them?”
“No, Beebee. They would not accept of a bribe, for their business here is well known, and they would pay with their lives to the Nabob for their slackness. We must deceive ’em. They must think you dead.”
I felt myself grow pale. “But how shall we manage that, Misery?”
“Why, Beebee, they have heard so much of your fever and weakness that it won’t surprise ’em, and they can’t be held to blame for it.”
“But would you convey me to land in the night, Misery?”
“No, Beebee, for they would desire to know what was happened to your body. Your slave has a better plan than that. With a drug that she will administer to you, she’ll make you resemble a corpse, so that you’re carried out in broad daylight to be buried.”
“In a coffin, Misery? And what of the physician, and the grave-diggers?” with an increasing horror, for, my dear, your foolish Sylvia’s mind had flown back to the days when she read “Romeo and Juliet” by stealth with her Amelia, and she seemed to anticipate for herself the calamities that attended the personages of our great poet’s tenderest tragedy.
“The Moors don’t use coffins, Beebee. You would have your head wrapped in a cloth, and be carried on a bier. Nor do physicians prescribe remedies for women among the Moors, except very rarely. As for gravediggers, there won’t be no need of ’em. A Christian would not receive here the burial of a believer, and ’twill be due to the piety of your poor attendant that your corpse en’t tossed ashore on some sand-bank, but carried into the _jungul_,” this is what they call a wood, “to be covered with branches. You see how easy it will be to practise for your recovery.”
“Misery,” I said, “I’ll consent to this frightful plan, since your life is at stake as well as mine, except in one particular. I won’t be drugged. I have resolution enough to remain motionless while I am carried on the bier, but I can’t endure to be deprived of my senses.”
“Do you perceive, Beebee, that the slightest movement will bring destruction on your slave and also on Mr George?”
“Yes, I understand, and nothing shall persuade me to move or speak. You can’t think that I would sacrifice my only hope of escape, to say nothing of the persons that are befriending me.”
“Be it so, Beebee. From this moment, then, don’t speak above a whisper. You are dying, remember.”
But indeed, Amelia, I had not felt so much alive since my misfortunes had commenced. The finding myself confronted with the possibility of an honourable escape, and freed also from those pangs of remorse that had beset me for Misery’s sake, forbade me to sleep, and I must have passed hours in anticipating to myself every the minutest particular of the morrow’s enterprise. But this excitement also worked well for Misery’s plans, for towards morning it was succeeded with a heavy stupor, in which I lay as one dead. During this period of insensibility the poor woman contrived to effect a prodigious amount, for on my waking I found her seated on the floor beside me, not engaged in lamentations, but watching eagerly for my opening my eyes, in order to tell me of the success she had met with.
“Your slave has settled everything, Beebee,” she said, so eager as not to wait for me to address her first. “There’s but one thing fallen out different from what we planned, and that is, that Mr George is departed with his new-married lady to his house in Dacca, but his brother, Mr Gregory, who received my message instead, recognised in me the healer of his father, and will entertain us when we escape, and provide for our forwarding to Dacca, where you’ll questionless be able to obtain shelter on board a Europe ship, lying hid in Mr George’s house until the chance offer itself. The Jemmautdar and his soldiers believe you dead, for I departed so far from my duty as your attendant as to permit the chief rascal to peep in at the door, and see you lying stretched and stiff upon your bed, and he fancies that I landed when we reached Santipore merely in order to hire some _hallicores_”[14.03] (these are persons of low _cast_), “to carry away your body. In that he was right, Beebee, but those persons will be servants of Mr Gregory in disguise, and they will carry you to the Armenians’ garden on the outskirts of the place, where they bury such Christians as die here. There a palanqueen will be in waiting, with relays of bearers, which will set off at once with you and your slave, to carry us to another branch of the river, where a boat will be ordered to be ready on which we may drift down the stream to Dacca. This will mean an increase of the length of our voyage, but my Beebee won’t care for that, since ’tis to end in freedom.”
“You’re right, indeed. How shall I ever repay you, Misery, for your faithfulness to an unhappy alien, who can’t even reward you with money?”
“Sure the applause of your slave’s conscience will be her reward, Beebee. And now let your slave entreat you to speak no more, and to remain lying stiffly, as you was just now, lest any of the soldiers should be so profane as to peep in. The bearers won’t arrive till sunset, and there’s more than an hour to that yet. We must travel all night to reach the Dacca river.”
“Tell me only one thing, Misery. How did the Jemmautdar take the news of my death?”
“Indeed, Beebee, he swore in an extraordinary manner at first, and cursed the day he was born; but on your slave’s reminding him that the event was ordered by the decrees of fate, he became calmer, and is now engaged with his _hooker_.”
Thus satisfied that the Jemmautdar would not be drove to any rash courses by my evasion, I turned my mind for the next hour to the business of remaining still; and, indeed, my dear girl won’t know how vastly hard it is to lie perfectly quiet until she has done it knowing that the slightest movement may bring ruin not only on herself but on her humble friends. After a time Misery brought out a great parcel of cotton cloths, and wrapped me in them, over my own clothes, fastening my arms to my side, and swathing my head, in particular, so tight that I could neither see nor hear anything, nor scarcely breathe. Knowing that she took these precautions for fear of any rash or undesigned movement on my part I durst not protest, lest she should again urge upon me the drug (to which I was resolved not to submit, since who could tell into whose hands I might fall when in that state?), and resigned myself to enjoying only just so much air as would keep me alive. Presently I was sensible that the bedstead on which I lay was being lifted and carried along, and hearing sounds as though from a great distance, I guessed that the soldiers were passing their ribald remarks upon my funeral. Two angry voices that pierced even my wrappings I determined to be those of the Jemmautdar and Misery--she demanding, at first in an obsequious manner, but later with much warmth, some reward for her services such as might enable her to return to Calcutta; he declaring that she might be thankful to escape with her own life after her carelessness in suffering me to die. But in a break in their wrangling there reached me another voice, which must surely have made me forget my promise to Misery if I had been able to speak or move, for it cried out in English, “What, dead? Poor maid, poor maid! But one can see as how it’s best for her.” This English voice filled me with the strongest excitement, for I had heard no English spoken on board the boat, nor had Misery told me of any English person there, but after my first surprise I remembered my part sufficiently to make no attempt to stir. My bier was carried for some distance, passing, as I judged, through the town, and was then suddenly set upon the ground, when I was raised from it, and placed, as I guessed, in a palanqueen of the French or native style, which was immediately put in motion, even before Misery, who accompanied me, could begin to unwrap the cloths that swathed me.
“Now, Beebee, you’re started on your journey towards freedom!” were the grateful accents that greeted my ear when she uncovered my head.
“Thanks to heaven and to you, my worthy Misery!” I cried. “But tell me, whose was the English voice that came so near to rendering our plan a failure by tempting me to move?”
“There was no Englishman there, Beebee, I’m positive,” she said, shaking her head. “I had heard there was a country-born clerk a prisoner on the boat, who is being carried to Muxadavad because he’s believed to know something of the money that his Highness failed to find in the Calcutta treasury, and it may be he was moved to cry out in English when he heard you was dead. I heard some person bawl certain words in a strange tongue, but knowing no English, I didn’t recognise ’em.”
“Would that we had been able to save him also!” said I, loth to think that any person of British speech should remain in the power of the savage Surajah Dowlah; but Misery pointed out to me that it would not have been possible for us even to release the unfortunate man from his bonds, much less to bring him to the shore. We journeyed all that night, the bearers travelling at a speed most unusual with them, and relieving one another at the proper intervals with an almost incredible promptness. Without this assurance that our progress was extraordinary rapid, my anxiety would have been extreme, and even as it was, my terror magnified every chance sound into a token of pursuit. However, at the break of day we arrived safe on the bank of a river, and there went on board of a boat that was awaiting us, Misery pointing out the superior convenience and elegancy of the lodging provided us to that we had left, notwithstanding its smaller size. The boatmen having with great civility enquired my pleasure through Misery, we put off at once, but during the four days and three nights that followed I don’t think I slept once--indeed, the very fever that had seized me so often of late seemed to have lost its power. Nor must you think, Amelia, that this wakefulness was all due to fear, although I never ventured to show myself outside the cabin, and the approach of another boat, or even of a few persons on the bank, was the signal for an excessive alarm. I was conscious of a singular exaltation of spirit, owing to the marvellous manner in which I had been delivered from the thing that I had greatly feared (as the Scripture saith), and not even the remembrance that I should arrive at Dacca a friendless, penniless pensioner on the bounty of an Armenian household with which I had no acquaintance, could damp my ardour. I was delivered out of the hands of the Nabob, I was safe, and I could not in view of this crowning mercy think of the possible humiliations and difficulties that might await me. My soul was filled with gratitude to Heaven, which had made use of the poor pagan Misery as an instrument to save me, by means not only of the affecting fidelity she had exhibited towards myself, but also of the false accusation which had frightened her away from Muxadavad. And, moreover, had I been inclined to undervalue the mercies I had experienced, Misery herself would not have permitted me to do so, for she related to me perpetually the most appalling histories of the frightful torments inflicted on unhappy wretches who had refused to do the pleasure of the Nabob or the old Begum, so that I might know from what I was escaped, now that I need no longer fear that some such horrors were before myself.
After sunset on the fourth day of this our second voyage, our boat came to an anchor (if that’s the proper phrase) off a large town, and Misery, congratulating me on being arrived at Dacca, besought the continuance of my favour when I should find myself again among Christians and safe from my foes, of which I assured her with the utmost warmth, as well I might, Amelia, might I not? A palanqueen, with a retinue of servants, was awaiting us, and we were borne along for a good distance, which served to impress me with a very lofty notion of the size of Dacca. At last we entered the courtyard of a house, as I could discern from the echo, and having stepped out of our machine, found ourselves standing in a varanda that overlooked a pretty extensive garden, in the midst of which was a pavilion or garden-house. I had hoped to be greeted on my arrival by Mr George’s lady, but though there was a parcel of women about they were all servants, and Moorwomen to boot. I stood waiting in the highest state of expectation while Misery spoke aside with one of these, and returning to me, said that the garden-house had been set apart for my sole residence so long as I remained in the family, and that if I would repair thither, Mr George would do himself the honour of waiting upon me at once. My countenance must have displayed the amazement I felt.
“Sure it’s Mr George’s lady I ought to see?” I said.
“Mr George is a Christian, Beebee,” says Misery, quickly. “He’s acquainted with European gentlemen, and knowing their customs, was anxious to welcome you himself to his house, but if you desire it, your slave will send word that you don’t choose to see him until his lady has received you.”
“Why, no,” said I, grieved to think of wounding this generous Armenian, who had undertaken such an incredible expenditure of money and pains for the sake of an absolute stranger, “since the gentleman piques himself on his acquaintance with our customs, and don’t disapprove of ’em, I shall be happy to see him.”
I walked with Misery to the garden-house, one of the Moorish females carrying a torch before us, and found the principal apartment on the ground-floor airy and agreeable enough, and very delicately ornamented with different-coloured marbles and strange devices wrought on the walls and ceiling. Glancing at these by the light of the torch, I heard a footstep, and turning, saw standing at the door a tall person wrapped in a cloak, who bowed deeply, but made no motion to approach me. Such humility and diffidence, on the part of one who had so vastly obliged me, filled me with shame, and I sprang towards him.
“Dear sir,” I cried, throwing myself at his feet, “accept the heartfelt thanks of a poor creature that can never hope to repay you, but by her gratitude, for your extraordinary great kindness. Sure my generous host won’t require my stammering tongue to testify to all the obligations he has laid me under, but will perceive that they’re impressed for ever on my grateful heart.”
“Fairest Clarissa, welcome to Muxadavad!” said Mr George in French, and throwing back his mantle, disclosed--oh, my dearest Amelia, pity me, imagine the agony of the moment--the features of the hateful Unknown, of the more hateful Sinzaun! I had fled from the Nabob to place myself in the power of this execrable, this odious and abandoned man.
The wretch had the assurance to try to touch me, and I fancy I remember endeavouring to push away his hands as I fell in a fit at his feet. The treacherous Misery succeeded in restoring me, but as soon as my eyes fell on Sinzaun I fainted again, and went from one fit into another as long as he remained near me. He departed at last, leaving a message for me with Misery to the effect that the alarm which seized me at the sight of him had caused him the most poignant anguish, that he desired nothing but my honour and happiness, and that he would make no attempt to force his presence upon me until I should choose to express a wish to see him. “If this be true,” thought I, “I am safe from him for ever,” but I could not bring myself to believe in the wretch’s departure until, accepting with reluctance the support of my perjured attendant, I had tottered into all the rooms and varandas of the garden-house to assure myself that he was not there. Misery expressed the most excessive concern for my disorder, and would fain have piled oath upon oath to induce me to believe in her innocency of the wicked device by which I had been duped, but I cut her short very sharply. I could not suffer the creature to please herself with the notion that she had hoodwinked me a second time, and the assurance of this made the wicked old woman bewail herself most sadly, even while she entreated me to drink a syrup of fruits which she offered me, and lie down to sleep. I am almost certain, Amelia, that the foolish creature had mixed with the syrup some narcotic drug, I hope with no worse design than to make me sleep and perhaps ward off the attack of fever she foresaw, but if this was so, she compounded her dose badly, for instead of sleeping I was never so wide awake in my life. At last I could lie down no longer, and feeling a prodigious desire to walk in the open air, I slipped on my gown again, and stepping over Misery, who lay on the floor wrapped in her cloth, went out into the garden. There was dark clouds gathering, for this was the season of the rains, when excessive wet alternates with burning sunshine, but the moon was shining almost as bright as day, and as I walked about among the untidy beds of flowers, all as variegated and confused as possible, and no symmetry anywhere, I considered of my situation.
Now that I was at length undeceived, it seemed to me incredible that I could ever have been taken in by so complicated a plot. I remembered that only the night before I had remarked to Misery that the boatmen appeared still to be rowing against the stream, and not drifting with it, as she had assured me would be the case, and that she had answered this showed we were now close to Dacca, which stood upon a third branch of the river. Not knowing the situation of Dacca, I had accepted her explication easily, and the reward of my credulity was to find that the palanqueen which had carried me from the river at Santipore had brought me back to the same stream higher up, so that I was arrived cheerfully at the spot I most dreaded in all the world. The wicked art of the whole design, and the pains taken to make me imagine myself acting altogether on my own motion, amazed me the more I thought of them, but I perceived quickly that I owed the cruel deception to the necessity of deceiving not only the Jemmautdar (if indeed he was deceived at all), but the Nabob and his people, and also my own nation. Should that poor country-born clerk that had cried out in English on seeing me carried forth have speech with any European on the way to his captivity, he would inform him of my death, and all enquiry concerning the miserable Sylvia Freyne would be at an end.
This consideration awoke in me the resolve to undo the injury I had done myself in consenting to appear dead. If I was ever to be saved, or even if my friends were ever to know my true fate, I must needs discover some means of opening communication with them. But how was this to be? I was a prisoner in Muxadavad, in the power of the wicked Sinzaun so long as I remained where I was, at the mercy of the Nabob or any of his abandoned soldiery if I left the house. Our factory at Cossimbuzar was destroyed and the gentlemen there dispersed, and the foreign factories had shown themselves too friendly to the Nabob to give me any hope that they would help me. The only expedient that I could devise was to throw out into the street pieces of paper containing some account of my situation, confiding in that superstitious reverence of the Moors for handwriting which I have mentioned before, and trusting that Heaven would guide these frail messengers to a suitable destination. I was the more encouraged in this last hope because there was nothing in any way deceitful or untrue about this plan, and I was now ashamed to think that I had anticipated and claimed the Divine assistance in a design so full of falsehood and deceits as that by which Misery had secured my escape from the custody of the Jemmautdar.
But now there faced me this new difficulty; how was I to obtain writing-implements? If I had anticipated my misfortunes I should questionless have had the prudence, like Pamela, to conceal some pens and paper about me, but as it was, I had lost even my tablets and pencil. The only piece of paper I possessed was Mr Fraser’s letter, which I had carried in my bosom ever since receiving it, and I had nothing at all with which to write. But the dreadful necessity of my case proved to be the mother of invention, for remembering some old story I had read of prisoners that wrote to their friends in their own blood, I drew my hussy[14.04] from my pocket, and plunged a blade of the scissors into my arm (I could not do such a thing now, Amelia, but that night I seemed to be raised above myself). Then with a bodkin dipped in this horrid ink I wrote twice over on the back of the letter:--
“I am not dead, but in the power of the wretch Sinzaun, at Muxadavad. Help me, any Christian that may read this, for the love of God, or at least tell those escaped from Calcutta where they may find the unhappy Sylvia Freyne.”
When this was wrote, and dry, I turned to the letter and read it through again, as though I had not long known it by heart, then tore off the post-scriptum, which I could not let go. To tear the dear sheet seemed to be to tear my own heart, but I forced myself to do it, and folding each piece small, wrote on it in the best Moors I could manage: “Take this to any hat-wearer (so they call Europeans), and he will give you ten rupees,” only, as I can’t write the Indian character, I was compelled to do it in ours, and I don’t know whether a Moor would be able to read it. After securing the precious post-scriptum again in my bosom, I hastened through the garden to a set of stairs that I had noticed led to the house-roof on the side by which we had entered, and found to my delight that from this roof I could look into a street. Here I threw my two missives, one from one end of the roof and one from t’other, and returned with failing steps towards the garden-house. Whether the effect of the drug was passing off, or my fever was coming on, I don’t know, but I was sensible of nothing but a supreme melancholy and listlessness and a most devouring thirst. My eyes failed me, so that I could not find my way back to the garden-house, and as I crept along, feeling my path with my two hands, I seemed to be no longer in the garden, but once again in the black hole at Fort William. “Water! water!” I cried in a voice of despair, as I had done there, and as at that time the words appeared to be echoed by voices of agony all around. I felt sure there was water to be had, if I might only reach it, and I was fighting my way, as I believed, through the struggling crowd, when I found my progress suddenly stopped. It was in vain that I struggled, for Misery was holding me fast, having pounced out upon me just as I reached the edge of a great tank or artificial pond of water, and was rating me like a slave that had run away.
“I saw you try to stab yourself, Beebee,” she cried, “and when you was frightened at the sight of the blood, I saw you go to the roof and try to throw yourself over twice. I was close behind you. I knew you would come here next, and I hid and waited. Do you think I don’t know that you want to kill yourself, and bring down Meer Sinzaun’s wrath on your slave, because you hope to punish me? I fear you’ll get your wicked will by dying of fever from this night air, but I’ll see at least that you don’t drown.”
I struggled with her again, but in vain, for I could not recall the word for _drink_ in Moors, and all I could utter was an entreaty to be allowed to reach the water, which she was resolved I should not do. Thus, still struggling, she forced me back to the garden-house, where, seeing me try to reach the water-jar, she perceived at last what I wanted, and pouring me out a draught, induced me to return to the bed which I did not leave again for two months, as near as I can tell. I have quite lost count of days since the beginning of this sickness, but by noting the time when the rains ended, I am come to believe that this is now the month of September, the month in which, a year ago, I landed at the Calcutta Gott. Ah, my dear, what crowds of recollections rise in my mind when I make this calculation! Sure there never was a poor creature that in so short a space of time endured such complete vicissitudes, nor found herself, after them, in so helpless and cruel a situation. And all these misfortunes I have lived through, if I may say so, several times over, since, while my fever lasted, my disordered brain continued to present me now with pictures of my life in Calcutta, and now with visions of the days (ah, blessed time!) when, with my Amelia, I passed my hours contentedly in alternate tasks and simple pleasures, and dreamed as little of my brief exaltation as of my subsequent fall from being Queen of Calcutta to being Sinzaun’s captive. But always when I was enjoying a moment’s pleasure in these charming visions, the sight of Misery, or her voice speaking in Moors, or even a glimpse of the strange devices on the walls of my abode, would carry me in a moment to the trials of the siege, the horrors of the prison, or the dread that seized me when I heard Sinzaun’s greeting, and so I must live over again all my adversities.
It was when I was somewhat recovered, the fever only gaining the mastery of my intellects for a part of the day, that Misery came one evening to say that Meer Sinzaun desired to wait upon me. Words fail to describe the horror that seized me at the sound of that dreadful name. I would have sought to flee and hide myself, but wanted the strength to move, and even with holding up my hands to ward off the sight of the wretch I fell back upon my bed fit to expire. Misery scolded me very heartily for what she called roundly my silly foolishness, but brought word at last that Meer Sinzaun would speak with me through the curtain that hung over the door, and would not attempt to penetrate behind it. It was some time before I could succeed in calming my apprehensions sufficiently to listen to the wretch, but when I began to understand him he was passing from compliments and condolences to tell me that he was about to attend the Nabob on his campaign against the Phousdar of Purranea,[14.05] and that he trusted to find me restored to health on his return.
“But, madam,” he went on, as though he had apprehended the joyful confusion that arose in my mind at the prospect of his absence, “you won’t be left unattended here, I’ll assure you. My steward, a very worthy person, in whom I repose the utmost confidence, will wait upon you twice a week, and receive any orders you may desire to give him through this curtain. He knows you only as a ward of mine called Nezmennessa Beebee,[14.06] a Mogul damsel of quality from the north, and you’ll find him as ready as I am to indulge you in any reasonable matter. But is there nothing that Clarissa will permit me to gratify her in before I depart? Won’t she believe that her Sinzaun’s whole fortune is at her disposal?”
At once, to shame the wretch, I asked for writing-implements.
“Why, madam,” he said, “indeed you shall have ’em. Clarissa desires to divert herself with writing to the charming Miss Howe, I suppose? I can’t undertake to forward your epistles, indeed, and I fear you’ll also want the means, but at the least I shan’t suppress ’em, and since I am unfortunately ignorant of English, I can’t even take pleasure in the reading them.”
I was at my wits’ end to imagine how this cunning man could reconcile it with his plans thus to give me the chance of making my situation known to my friends, but I need not have feared for his schemes.
“There is, however, one restriction that I must lay upon you, madam,” he continued, when I had expressed my gratitude, “and that is, I can’t have this indulgence abused. There must be nothing more of this sort.” He handed a paper round the curtain to Misery, who brought it to me. Oh, my dear! it was one of the billets I had writ with my blood, imploring help. I was speechless, after the first exclamation of horror, and he went on: “That, madam, was picked up in the street by one of my servants, and handed to me. I can’t read the English, but its purport I can guess by the ink employed in writing it, and the words in Moors, which I have made out, though Clarissa will pardon my saying there’s no Moor that could do it. Now, madam, you can’t deny that in bringing you here, however much against your will it may be, I have at least saved you from the Nabob. Suppose this paper was carried to any Moor that could read English, or some European anxious to curry favour with Saradjot Dollah” (so he called the Soubah, in the French fashion), “you would at once ruin me, and destroy yourself. Is that Clarissa’s design? I think she’ll admit she has been honourably treated here, and I’ll assure her that anything she pleases to demand shall be at her service within the hour. Is that a reason for bringing about the destruction of her adorer? You may write what you will, madam, but I must have your word that you won’t use my ink and paper in compassing my ruin.”
“I’ll promise you that, sir,” said I, somewhat ashamed. “You may count the sheets of paper when I’ve done with ’em, if you will. But I can’t promise you that I won’t try to escape if any English come to Muxadavad.”
“Any English!” he said. “I fear, madam, you don’t appreciate the unhappy situation of your countrymen at this time. The few left in Bengall are cooped up in the Dutch bounds at Fulta, and are dying like flies with the unhealthiness of the place. As soon as they can find ships to carry ’em to Madrass, away they’ll go, so I would not have you rely on them for deliverance.”
“Indeed, sir, I have given up relying on any power but that of Heaven.”
“That’s since you found yourself at Muxadavad instead of Dacca, I suppose, madam?” The profane wretch actually said this, Amelia. “Perhaps you’ll be pleased to add to your prayers a petition for the success of his Highness’s arms against the Purranea Nabob, and in especial for the safety of your humble adorer? If I should fall, Saradjot Dollah would be my heir, and should we both perish, then Sucajunk would be master, and in either case Clarissa might find that she had changed her gaolers for the worse.”
Could anything, my dear, exceed the coolness of this hardened reprobate?