CHAPTER XXI.

SHOWING HOW CALCUTTA WAS AVENGED.

Cutwah, _June ye_ 23_rd._

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 a _cossid_ just 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 a _lack_ of 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.[21.01]

“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[21.02] 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,[21.03] 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,[21.04] 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 ye_ 24_th._

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:--

“Madam,--I am fully sensible that by this time Mrs Fraser is heartily repenting her heroic conduct of t’other night, and wishing that she had carried her spouse in her train to an ignominious safety at Calcutta, but will she permit the horrid wretch that has led him into danger one word of excuse? Our victory, madam, I don’t hesitate to say, we owe chiefly to the excellent working of our artillery, in which Mr Fraser took a principal part. Without Mr Fraser our fire could not have been so effective; with a less effective fire we could not have won the battle, _ergo_, Mr Fraser’s presence with us was necessary to the victory. If Mrs Fraser declare she would have sacrificed her country’s interest to her spouse’s safety, such a sentiment from her lips will surprise none more than her most obedient, humble servant,

Robt. Clive.”

Do you wonder that this letter will be preserved among my most precious treasures, Amelia? Sure I perceive now how it is that Colonel Clive’s soldiers cherish so great an affection for him, since he can write with such affable condescension to a silly girl who was playing at being heroical without knowing what the part demanded of her. That he should have cheered my dear Mr Fraser’s weakness with kind words of praise for his services is no cause for surprise, but how few persons in his high situation would have cared to dry the tears of an anxious wife!

Cutwah, _July ye_ 5_th._

It is now near a fortnight since the battle of Placis, Amelia, and my dear Mr Fraser, I am thankful to say, continues to make good progress. By the way, in looking over these papers of mine, my spouse insists that I have spelt the name of the battle wrong, since the Indians, who should surely know their own language, call it Palassy. But I tell him that Colonel Clive, in dating his billet wrote to me, spelt it Plassy, while Mr Watts, than whom no man knows more of this country, writes it Plaissy, so who shall decide? You’ll wonder, perhaps, that I should submit my correspondence with my Amelia even to my husband’s eyes, but I think my dear girl won’t grudge him the entertainment he is pleased to find in what I write, for which he has made me to-day the prettiest return in the world. Going to fetch out my papers but now, I found among them a copy of verses addressed to myself, and soon perceived that they were of Mr Fraser’s own composing. You know, my dear, that in the old days at Calcutta there was many such tributes offered me, but none of them, be sure, ever gave me one-tenth of the pleasure of this one. Not even for my Amelia can I bring myself to copy out this charming piece. Perhaps Mr Fraser may favour me in the future with some verses of a less intimate nature, but these must remain sacred to her for whom they were wrote; happy, thrice happy creature that she is! Will it surprise you, Amelia, to learn that your Sylvia’s only fear is lest she be too happy? You must not fancy she can ever forget the horrors of the past year, nor the frightful deaths of the persons she honoured and revered the most; but in her marriage there’s nothing wanting to render her felicity absolute. Indeed (I fear you’ll laugh at this), all this past fortnight my dear Mr Fraser has shown himself so patient, so uncomplaining, that coupling this behaviour of his with the extraordinary consideration he has displayed towards me since our wedding, I have been terrified lest he should be about to be torn from me, and it gave me the greatest pleasure imaginable when he began to grow restless and irritable, and to chafe at the inaction made necessary by his wound. True, the verses he writ were designed as an atonement for this impatience, but I can’t tell you how vastly glad it made me to find my spouse still the Colvin Fraser of old days.

But how I am running on, when I purposed only to tell you of Mr Fisherton’s visit last night. Despatched by Colonel Clive from Muxadavad to this place, in order to arrange certain matters, of which more hereafter, he was so obliging as to sup with Mr Fraser and myself, and describe to us the concluding scenes of that tragedy of retribution which the Colonel has just brought to a close. Meeting Meer Jaffier at Doudpaur on the morning after the battle, our victorious commander accepted with the utmost complaisance the halting excuses of his ally for his equivocal behaviour of the day before, and having saluted him as Soubah of Bengall, despatched him at once to secure Muxadavad, whence the wretched Surajah Dowlah succeeded in escaping on his arrival. Meer Jaffier having established himself in the possession of the city, Colonel Clive followed him thither, and attended with a numerous train took up his quarters at the palace of Moraudbaug.[21.05] The next day he proceeded to the Killa, the whole population of Muxadavad assembling in the streets to gaze upon him with awful respect, and there placed Meer Jaffier upon the _musnet_, complimenting him with a _nuzzer_,[21.06] or friendly tribute, of a hundred gold _mohrs_, an example which was followed by all the nobles that stood round, in token that they acknowledged him to be the Nabob of the province. The grateful barbarian, desiring to acquit himself of his obligations to the English, waited the next day upon Colonel Clive, and entered into engagements for the punctual payment of the sums which he had already promised in relief of the distressed inhabitants of Calcutta, and as a compliment to the gentlemen of the Council and others, and this scene Mr Fisherton described to us very particularly, saying--

“And now, madam, I am come to a point that can’t but be especially grateful to you, since it concerns the punishment of a villain at whose hands you have suffered not a little in time past. On the Colonel’s entering the apartment where he designed to receive the Soubah’s visit, old Omy Chund, with his usual bustle, pushed forward among his attendants, but not finding himself received with any distinction, withdrew in something of a pet to another part of the hall. You may not be sensible, madam, that this white-haired traitor was expecting to pocket the monstrous sum of twenty _lacks_, which he imagined himself to have secured as the price of his not betraying to Surajah Dowlah our confederacy with Meer Jaffier. The Soubah having entered and been received with the usual courtesies, the business on which he was come went forward, the treaty signed between us and him being produced. When various matters had been arranged, Omy Chund, who had again joined with the party in his eagerness to lay hands on his imagined wealth, cried out with an air of stupefaction, ‘But it was a red treaty I saw!’ ‘Yes, Omy Chund, but this is a white treaty,’ says Colonel Clive; then to Mr Scrafton, ‘’Twill be as well to undeceive the fellow.’ Upon this Mr Scrafton, approaching the deluded Gentoo with no particular tenderness, and having in his hand the treaty wrote on red paper, which he supposed secured his claims, said, ‘Omy Chund, you have been deceived. This _loll coggedge_ is a forgery.’ It took some time before Omy Chund could be brought to believe that in the genuine treaty his name did not so much as appear, and that he stood to gain no more by our victory than the other Gentoos of Calcutta; but being at last persuaded of his misfortune (when the resentment and indignation expressed in his countenance bars all description), he appeared suddenly bereft of his intellects, and was assisted out of the room by his attendants, remaining still, as we understand, in the same deplorable situation.”

“But, sir,” I cried, “you confound me! Is it possible that an assemblage of Britons, of Christians, should have conspired to delude this wretched pagan with a forged instrument? Sure the Colonel--sure Mr Watson--would never----”

“Indeed, madam, the notion was the Colonel’s own, and all the other gentlemen attached their names to the red treaty without a spark of hesitation, save only the Admiral; and understanding that, though he demurred to take an active part, he experienced no repugnance to the affair, I took the liberty of adding his signature.”

“Pray, sir,” cried Mr Fraser with great warmth, “don’t try to drag Mr Watson into your plot. If I were not persuaded that he’ll disavow with indignation the infamous use you have chose to make of his name, I would throw up my commission sooner than serve under him again.”

“Why, sir, he may disavow it and welcome, if he’ll support his disavowal by withdrawing also from the benefits secured to him by means of the treaty as the officer in command of the squadron, but he won’t.”

“Pray, sir, don’t judge of a seaman’s honour by that of your most high-minded Colonel.”

“Sir, I have suffered your injurious language to myself, but when you see fit to attack my generous patron in my presence I must resent it with my----”

“Pray, young gentlemen,” said Dr Dacre, “remember there’s a lady present, and leave Colonel Clive and the Admiral to settle their own shares of the matter. But come, Mr Fisherton, have you no compunction for your own part in this deception?”

“Not the slightest, sir. Even were I not persuaded that I had obliged the Admiral by relieving his conscience from the odium of signing the false treaty, while he retains the benefits it secured him, I have no pity for Omy Chund. You was not in the Black Hole, sir. Omy Chund contrived to bring about the miserable destruction of Calcutta in revenge for his own fancied wrongs, and ’tis no thanks to him that the happy issue of Mr Watts’ negotiations han’t been frustrated again and again. He practised for the death of Mr Holwell, and he was the instrument to betray Mrs Fraser into the hands of the vile Sinzaun. Sure the lady’s spouse should be the last person in the world to find fault with me for the joy I experience in having assisted to punish the double-dyed traitor.”

“Sir,” said Mr Fraser gruffly, “I don’t dispute the justice of the punishment, but only its means. Believe me, ’twill be a lasting blot on Colonel Clive’s fame that he and those with him consented to enrich themselves while depriving their confederate of his share of the spoils.”

“Are you pointing at me there, sir?” cried Mr Fisherton.

“Nay, sir, I don’t doubt but the 50,000 rupees allotted you were worthily earned otherwise than by your dealings with the treaty.”

“However they were earned,” says the young gentleman, with something of a sigh, “they’ll be well spent. Every _anna_ but what I need for the most pressing necessaries shall go home to my family. ’Twill furnish marriage portions for my sisters, place my brothers out in life, and relieve my honoured father of his cruellest anxieties. I’ll assure you, gentlemen, that at least the money shall be better employed than if Omy Chund had received it.”

And turning resolutely from the topic, he described to us the miserable end of Surajah Dowlah, who, escaping in disguise with one of his favourite women and a single servant, was recognised by a _facquier_ whose nose and ears he had ordered to be cut off a year ago, when on his march against the Purranea Nabob, and being seized and brought back to Muxadavad was murdered secretly by emissaries of Meer Jaffier’s son Meerham. So surely have the crimes of this wretched prince brought their own punishment! Of Sinzaun nothing certain can be learned. There’s a rumour of his being still alive, but if so, he’s a fugitive in the Berbohm[21.07] country, with the rest of the Frenchmen that escaped from Placis, and have failed to join with Mons. Law, who is refuging at Patna, whither Major Coote was to start to-day with a sufficient force to bring him and his soldiers in as prisoners. The first instalment of the treasure due to the inhabitants of Calcutta as a compensation for their losses of last year is to be paid over to-morrow by Raja Doolubram, who has been set over the Muxadavad treasury, and it is to be sent down the river at once, when Colonel Clive is so good as to suggest that Mr Fraser and I should take advantage of the chance to travel by one of the boats carrying it, which will ensure both our comfort and safety.

_At Mr Hurstwood’s House_, Calcutta, _July ye_ 12_th._

Once more, Amelia, I date my letter from Calcutta, after a voyage which has been one long triumph, owing to the precious freight of our fleet of boats. No less than a hundred of these were required to convey the Muxadavad treasure, which was packed in seven hundred chests, and guarded by a strong force of troops as far as the town of Nudiah.[21.08] Here the vessels were met by the boats of the squadron, and thus attended, with flags flying and bands of music playing, we sailed on to Calcutta, where the entire population, overwhelmed with delight at this extraordinary accession of wealth, gave way to the most extravagant rejoicing, and testified the utmost esteem and affection both for one another and for those in authority. Of these affecting demonstrations Mr Fraser and I were not witnesses, for an urgent letter from my dear Mrs Hurstwood had entreated us to land at Chitpore, and take breakfast with her at a _bungulo_ or country-seat that Mr Hurstwood has lately bought. I found myself welcomed with tears of joy by my Charlotte, who appeared unable to make enough of me, and piqued me not a little by telling Mr Fraser roundly that much as she valued him, ’twas solely for my sake, and if he had any business in Calcutta, the day was his in which to do it, for she promised herself the pleasure of hearing my history from my own lips, and his interruptions were not desired. My dear spouse, knowing that I can’t endure to hear his punctilio slighted, even in jest, laughed at me for my vexation, and declared he had suffered far worse things from Mrs Hurstwood, offering to prove it by one of her letters, which had been effectual, he said, in making him less ready to take offence than he had once been, since ’twas impossible to speak of him in less flattering terms, which he had yet endured meekly at her hands. Having seen him depart in a palanqueen, for his wound is now so far recovered that he is able to sit up, though not to walk, my Charlotte and I set to work to exchange a year’s confidences. Figure to yourself, my dear girl, the prodigious task! If I had more to tell, Charlotte’s kind expressions of sympathy and her eager questions gave her full as large a part in the conversation, although she insisted that I should recount all my tale before she would consent to impart any news of her own. When at last all was told, I demanded of her with indignation how she could find it in her heart to put a slight upon a person that had behaved with the courage and generosity Mr Fraser had shown, at which she laughed.

“Why, child,” she said, “your zeal for your spouse charms me, I’ll assure you. I vow I must reward it by letting you see the letters he wrote to me during his search for you. ’Tis no breach of confidence, for he has promised to show you mine. Come, there’s the precious pacquet, which you may study in your palanqueen as we ride home, for I won’t have a moment of our talking-time wasted to-day.”

I leave you to picture, my Amelia, what your Sylvia’s feelings were on reading these charming letters, every page in which breathes the respect and affection with which her spouse is kind enough to regard your unworthy friend. I am determined to obtain Mrs Hurstwood’s leave to copy them out for myself, so that in case I am ever so base as to be in danger of forgetting how infinitely Mr Fraser has obliged me in the past, I may read them and be overwhelmed with shame, and I will contrive to grant my Amelia the privilege of reading them also. Those utterances in them which may appear extravagant, she’ll pardon as the evidence of the too-partial kindness entertained for her Sylvia by the writer, for indeed I could not bring myself to leave ’em out. Something of this sort I said to my Charlotte when we were arrived at Mr Hurstwood’s house, and she received it in her usual contradictory style.

“Indeed, child, I’m glad you’re pleased. As for me, I took no pleasure in your Fraser until he left off writing letters.”

“I am sorry my spouse annoyed Mrs Hurstwood with reports of his search for me.”

“I’m sorry to see Mrs Fraser petted about nothing. Why, child, when I received Dr Dacre’s letter announcing your marriage, and Fraser’s incoherent scrawl saying that he could find no words in which to write, I was satisfied at last that the fellow loved you as he ought. So long as he could talk about his transports, even to his mistress’s near friend, I could not repose in him the confidence I desired.”

“Sure you’re a person of vast authority on matters of love and marriage, madam.”

“Questionless, my dear. Han’t I set the fashion for Calcutta in weddings for many a long day? A surprise-wedding lends a charming touch to an evening party.”

“But sure there have been no weddings here of late?”

“No weddings? Why, there’s been little but weddings. You forget that a whole parcel of widows have required to be furnished with spouses.”

“Sure you can’t mean that the widows of the gentlemen who perished last year----?”

“But I do mean it. I don’t desire to startle my Sylvia, but there’s some things she must know.”

“You’d have me understand that--that--Mrs Freyne----?”

“Precisely. Mrs Freyne is entered upon a second matrimonial experiment.”

“And the happy person favoured with the transfer of her affections?”

“Come, child, I can’t have you sarcastic. It don’t become a young woman of my Sylvia’s charming disposition. The favoured suitor, my dear, is Captain Bentinck, who got his company through the entreaties of the Presidency when he was left to undertake the defence of Calcutta on Colonel Clive’s going to the war.”

“She could scarce have insulted my papa’s memory worse than by such a choice, made in such haste.”

“Indeed, my dear, there was no haste, I’ll assure you. The full year and a day--not a moment less--did Mrs Freyne wear her weeds to the admiration of the whole town, and ’twas in the evening of the 21st of last month she was married. Perhaps you would not say that this proved her a model of inconsolable constancy, but indeed she was thought to be extraordinary strict. Why, Mrs Campbell, who married Mr Hastings just before the hot weather began, only lost her Captain at the taking of Buzbudgia in January. She, I grant you, wasted no time. But I vow there’s no need for you to regret Mrs Freyne’s action, for you’ll have the less to do with her. I thought I had best warn you of the affair, as you’re about to meet her to-night.”

“Sure my Charlotte will never ask me to do anything so repugnant to my sentiments.”

“Your Charlotte does ask it of you. To tell truth, my dear, I have played a little trick on Mrs Bentinck. Shortly after her marriage she came with the solemnest face in the world to ask me whether I had not resigned all hope of seeing you again, since a year was past without any news of you. I had just received the news of your wedding, and made no scruple of assuring the lady that I was persuaded my Sylvia Freyne was no more, when she departed comforted, and is now wearing mourning for you. You perceive my plot?”

“Oh, my dear, don’t attempt anything dreadful. I have no desire to alarm the lady into fits, or perhaps madness.”

“There’s no fear of that, child. ’Tis your papa’s property Mrs Bentinck was concerned for, and that she can’t hope to keep now you’re returned. Sure you can’t desire me to break the news to her gently? Is it to be announced as joyful or melancholy? If she learn it on a sudden, she can decide for herself. And now come to dress.”

In Mrs Hurstwood’s hands I feel myself a child, and when she desired me to wear one of her gowns, which she had had a tailor alter during the day to fit me, I obeyed her with all the meekness imaginable. I can’t tell you how strange it appeared to me to put on a dress of ceremony once more, and I thought I had never seen anything so charming as the white satin petticoat and gown of white gauze sprigged with gold that my Charlotte had chose for me. When I was dressed, she came into the room with her hands full of crimson flowers.

“You look well enough, child,” she said, “but you han’t sufficient colour left to carry off a dress all of white. Besides, you was married more than a month ago, and we can’t have you look too like a bride. So sit down, and let me adorn you.”

I sat down as she bade me, and she fastened her red blossoms in my hair and in the bosom of my gown, then turned me round and told me in her impudent style that she thought I might pass tolerably for a boarding-school Miss just arrived from Europe if I would but keep that Fraser of mine from following me about everywhere. Having succeeded in making me angry, she informed me that I should find my adored spouse in the saloon, as indeed I did, with his wounded limb laid on a couch. It seemed to me that there was a slight gloom on his countenance, but he drove it away when I joined him, and we were talking over the events of the day when Mrs Hurstwood entered the apartment, bringing with her my stepmother and Captain Bentinck.

“This is the dear friend I desired to present to you, madam,” said my Charlotte, with an air of extraordinary sweetness. For the instant I feared Mrs Bentinck’s falling into a fit as she regarded me with consternation, but she recovered her coolness by a prodigious effort.

“I hope, miss,” she said to me, with an air of grave rebuke, “your conscience tells you that you’re a suitable object for Mrs Hurstwood’s kindness?”

“Indeed, madam, my dear Mrs Hurstwood has always been too partial to my faults.”

“Perhaps you han’t considered, miss, that what we have heard of your adventures” (yes, Amelia, she went so far as to use that term) “will scarce entitle you to be received again in Calcutta. I had thought better of you than to expect to find you imposing on Mrs Hurstwood’s good nature. Sure a humble retirement would befit you better.”

Mr Fraser had raised himself angrily to speak when Mrs Bentinck made use of the horrid word _adventures_, but Charlotte gave him a signal to keep silent. Now she spoke with the greatest coolness in the world.

“Sure, madam, you must mistake my friend for some other person. This is Mrs Fraser, the wife of the gentleman yonder, with whom your spouse has, I believe, some acquaintance.”

“Questionless he has married her in hopes of her papa’s money,” says Mrs Bentinck, as though she spoke to herself, but so loud that we could all hear.

“Madam!” I cried, very hotly, “Mr Fraser married me at a moment when all that he could hope for was to share the perils that menaced me.”

“I fear, sir,” she continued, as though I had not spoken, “you’ll be disappointed to hear that Mr Freyne’s wealth was by no means so great as was commonly supposed.”

“Why, then I’m rightly punished, madam,” says Mr Fraser, with infinite cheerfulness.

“And of what there is,” she cried, vexed by his coolness, “not an _anna_ that I can keep my hands on shall go to the creature you’ve married.”

“Any remarks you may be pleased to pass upon my own conduct, madam, I’ll be charmed to listen to, but I permit no one to insult Mrs Fraser in my hearing.”

“Come, come, my dear,” says Captain Bentinck, “there’s been enough said. Mr Fraser and his lady will questionless pardon your natural agitation after such a start as you’ve had, and I need not say I shall be glad to meet the gentleman or any person he may please to appoint for the discussion of business.”

“Oh, forgive me, sir!” cried his lady, making him a curtsey. “I had forgot you would scarce choose to meet Mr Fraser a second time at the sword’s point.”

“Madam,” said the poor gentleman (I did truly compassionate him at the moment, Amelia), “I’m sorry to disoblige you, but if you’ll be so kind as leave this matter to Mr Fraser and me, there’ll be all the more hope of a peaceful settlement.”

“And that signifies that you’ll see your wife despoiled for the sake of the saucy creature there. Would that I had married a person with a spark of courage or manly sentiment in him! Well, sir,” turning to Mr Fraser, “I perceive you’ll have reason to bless the Captain’s easy temper, but I wish you joy of what you may get. You’ve found your lady obliging enough when you was all she had to depend upon for entertainment, and she owed her precious life to you from day to day, but wait and see how she’ll use you in Calcutta, when she has plenty of money and trains of admirers, and her dear Mrs Hurstwood to support her in all her whims. I fancy the spouse of the lovely Sylvia will find himself less important with his lady than he’d desire.”

Sure some malignant spirit must have prompted Mrs Bentinck thus to foster the misgiving that I had discerned in Mr Fraser’s mind already that day, but he answered her coolly enough--

“Since any kindness Mrs Fraser may please to show me is beyond my deserts, madam, I’ll trust to be always grateful for it.”

Disappointed of the effect she had hoped to produce, the lady left us with a disdainful air to join with the rest of the company, in order to receive whom Charlotte had been compelled to depart, hugely to her annoyance, and Captain Bentinck following her after a few civil words, I found myself for a moment alone, so to speak, with Mr Fraser. I could not resolve to lose this chance.

“Oh, dear sir,” I said, very earnestly, “have I deserved this lack of confidence at your hands? Can you think so meanly of the creature you have so infinitely obliged as to imagine that the possession of any advantages would alter her carriage towards you? At least do me the favour to test my abiding gratitude, and if you find it wanting, recall me to a sense of my duty. I’ll assure you it shan’t be necessary to upbraid me twice.”

“Why, what a bear I must be,” cried Mr Fraser, “to have drawn this affecting appeal from my beloved girl! Indeed, my dearest life, if I looked sour on parting from you this morning, ’twas but the thought of a whole day spent without you, or if I answered that saucy lady less warmly than I felt, ’twas because I feared to give her cause to cry out on me as extravagant. That’s my wretched pride again, you’ll say. Well, so it is, and I’m more ashamed of it than ever in my life before. Won’t my charmer extend me her pardon?”

“So long as I know I have your confidence, dear sir----”

“So long as my Sylvia pleases herself, let her know that she can’t disoblige her Fraser. His confidence she must always possess.”

I was made happy by hearing this, but none the less was I thankful not to have delayed making my appeal, for, knowing as I do my dear Mr Fraser’s cast of disposition, I tremble at the prospect of the least interruption of the happy understanding between us. You’ll own, Amelia, that I have some experience of the gloomy pride that possesses him when he imagines himself wronged, and to give him cause to display it would break my heart.

“Come, come,” cried Mrs Hurstwood, coming up to us just as Mr Fraser had kissed my hand, “I can’t suffer these public endearments now that you’re returned to polite life. You must learn to carry yourselves towards each other with the indifference of persons of fashion. Besides, I want my Sylvia here, to present an old acquaintance to her. I’ll find a consoler for Mr Fraser in a moment.”

She carried me into the next room in a prodigious hurry, and bade me seat myself upon an ebony couch, then brought in no less a person than Admiral Watson, who walks now always with the aid of a stick, and bears traces in his countenance of the distemper from which he has suffered since almost his first arrival in Bengall.

“Now here, dear sir,” says Charlotte, “is the beloved friend of whom I spoke to you. Pray did I exaggerate her charms in describing ’em?”

“Even Mrs Hurstwood can’t perform the impossible,” said the Admiral, bowing. “Her portrait I must pronounce to have fallen far short of the reality.”

If I was puzzled by this introduction, and by the look my Charlotte cast at me as she departed, as though recommending me to do my best to gain Mr Watson’s favour, I was worse perplexed by the good gentleman’s conversation, for I soon learned that he imagined me to be a stranger to India, only newly landed from Britain.

“I fear Admiral Watson’s memory en’t so strong as his kindness,” I said at last, after acknowledging several genteel compliments, “for I had the honour to meet him at Madrass near two years ago.”

“Oh, madam,” and the Admiral laughed, “’tis strong enough to recollect that Mrs Hurstwood has been known to play tricks upon her acquaintances, and I fear her lovely friend en’t ashamed to copy her.”

“Sure her trick was to make you believe I was newly from home, sir.”

“She assured me positively that you was but just arrived in Calcutta, madam. But stay--pray, madam, may I be favoured with your name?”

“My name is Fraser, sir,” and I permitted Mr Watson to catch a glimpse of the wedding-ring upon my finger. Figure to yourself my alarm, Amelia, when he burst into a great shout of laughter.

“What! the lady over whom Mr Fraser and I have been quarrelling all day?” he cried.

“Oh, dear sir, have I brought Mr Fraser into fresh difficulties?”

“Why, madam, I thought he had taken undue advantage of my easy temper when he confessed he had married the lady I permitted him only to rescue. But I protest I’d have done the same myself on the like provocation.”

“But you won’t make him suffer, sir, for his generosity to a poor desolate creature that had no friend but him?”

“He has plenty of consolation, madam, if I did. But figure to yourself how the affair appears to his comrades. Lieutenant Fraser, admitted through the Admiral’s softness to an indulgence he don’t in the least deserve, outstays his leave without permission, and contrives not only to take part in Colonel Clive’s battle at Placis but to marry a handsome wife. It’s clear he must be punished.”

“Oh, pray, dear sir, pray----”

“Now pray, madam, don’t cry. I was about to say that for the sake of others I must leave Mr Fraser in his old station, not allowing him to profit by the accidents that have of late advanced so many of our officers to a higher rank, but if he’ll carry himself in that situation so as to merit my favour (and with such a lady to inspire him I don’t doubt but he will), why, he shall have it!”

Sure I can’t tell, my dear girl, whether at the moment I was more grateful for my Charlotte’s trick to gain the Admiral’s kindness for Mr Fraser, or more ashamed of my jealous misinterpreting of the natural melancholy my spouse had shown on his return from waiting on Mr Watson, seeing his prospects all in danger.

Calcutta, _August ye_ 19_th._

How little I imagined, when I closed my last letter to my Amelia, that the truly great and benevolent man whose affable kindness it recorded was shortly to quit the world in which he had obliged so many and displeased none! Three days ago Admiral Watson, the most condescending of patrons, the most skilful of commanders, breathed his last in the hospital here. The disorder from which he suffered had increased continually upon him; but the mournful termination might have been avoided had it not been for a sudden attack of what is called in Bengall a _pucker_[21.09] fever (which is to say a severe and violent one), of which he expired in four days. There are no words to express the grief and consternation experienced by all in this place, as well Indians as Europeans, on hearing of the shocking event. This excellent person had so endeared himself to all classes by the justness of his sentiments, the politeness of his manners, and the nobility of his disposition, that there’s not a creature but feels the loss of a friend. No such funeral procession has ever been seen in Calcutta as that which on Wednesday attended to the burying-ground the remains of one so universally venerated. Not only the officers and seamen of the ships, but the army, the black and Armenian inhabitants, and even the French prisoners, desired to testify their regret for his decease; while Colonel Clive, the only individual that could at all compete with Mr Watson in the public estimation, was present with the rest, and dropped an unfeigned tear. A fortnight back all the talk of the place was of the claim put in by the Admiral for a share in the Muxadavad treasure proportionate to the post he held, and how Colonel Clive, in proposing to deduct for his benefit a certain portion of each person’s share, and actually paying over his own part of the sum, had disobliged the Presidency and the army officers; but now there can be few but feel that the Colonel alone has nothing to regret in considering his dealings with the amiable and virtuous person whom we have lost.

Must I confess to my dear friend that in my heart there has been, united with that sense of public loss which could not but make itself felt, a particular grief that the only patron to whom Mr Fraser might reasonably look for advancement in his profession could now oblige him no further? That this unworthy strain has mingled with my sorrow I can’t deny; but my Amelia may judge of the shame with which I contemplated the sentiment when I learned that even on his death-bed Mr Watson remained mindful of the interests of those who had served under him. Yesterday Admiral Pococke, who succeeds the lamented gentleman in the command of his Majesty’s naval forces in these waters, having summoned to his presence those officers for whom Mr Watson had been chiefly concerned, promised them his countenance and favour in the future, and made them the most obliging offers of advancement under his own eye. Until that moment, as he confessed to me, Mr Fraser had entertained serious thoughts of quitting the navy and entreating the favour of a commission in the Artillery from Colonel Clive; but finding himself confronted with the same agreeable prospects as before, he is now joyfully resolved to remain in the calling of his choice.

You’ll be surprised to hear that we are still residing with Mr and Mrs Hurstwood; but to tell truth we have found it impossible to quit their dwelling. As soon as Mr Fraser proposed seeking a house for ourselves, our friends assured us that theirs was far too large for their wants, and that they would regard it as a favour if we relieved them of a part of it. Now this liberal offer was so great a convenience, considering the huge rents asked here, that we could scarce consent to accept of it; but when my Charlotte painted a moving picture of the solitude I should experience when Mr Fraser was absent on his voyages, and the consolation she might afford me if she needed only to step across the varanda to pay me a visit, my spouse went over to her side at once. Then she sought to compliment me with visions of the assistance I might furnish to her in her household œconomy when she felt vapourish (for indeed she is not strong), and declared at last that if I removed to another part of Calcutta she would compel Mr Hurstwood to remove also and hire the house next to ours, so that I also was brought to consent to remain. But my dear girl must not suppose that we are so poor as to find it difficult to live according to our station. Under the influence of good Mr Holwell and Mr Hurstwood, Captain Bentinck has behaved like a person of honour and probity respecting my dear papa’s estate, although his good designs were sorely hindered by his lady; and Captain Colquhoun’s gift, of which I can scarce bear to think even now, ensures us a genteel maintenance. With this and Mr Fraser’s pay, I’ll assure you we find no cause to envy even the wealthiest persons here.

_P.S._--Miss Dorman (who is now Miss Dorman no longer, but Mrs Weeks) is come in, and finding me writing, desires her compliments to you, saying that she regards you as a friend of her own. Her humble servant, who was fighting in the Carnatic, came hither with the Madrass detachment, and married her at Fulta, “just in time,” says she, “for I had near determined on resigning my pretensions to him and youth together, calling myself Mrs before others tired of calling me Miss,[21.10] and settling down to cards and scandal as the only old maid in Calcutta, with a cat, an ape, and a poll-parrot to keep me company.” But I know my Amelia will rejoice with me that this amiable creature en’t compelled to so melancholy a fate.

Calcutta, _Sept. ye_ 18_th._

Has my Amelia ever pleased herself with speculations upon the sentiments of mankind after the Deluge? I hope she won’t accuse me of irreverence, but I have been wondering whether, when the patriarch and his descendants returned to the scenes with which they had been formerly acquainted, they were at any time wont to spare a compassionate thought for those who had once trod with them the turf of the umbrageous grove, or listened to the murmuring of the brook. Sure they could not have succeeded in forgetting them as completely as though they had never been, and yet our people in Calcutta have contrived to attain to an eminence as uncommon, as inhuman almost, as this. And such a malevolent oblivion is the more astonishing, that those who perished in the miseries of last year were not the worst, but the best, of our community. My papa, Captain Colquhoun, good Padra Bellamy and his son, Mr Eyre, Ensign Piccard, and all the rest--the first two commemorated indeed by the elegant tablets which the pious care of Mr Fraser has had erected in the burying-ground in their honour, but the names of the others allowed to perish unless the excellent Mr Holwell (like your Sylvia a sharer and a survivor of the horrors of those days) should carry out his projected design of raising a suitable monument to their common memory.[21.11] Is there no pathetic[21.12] in this strange neglect? ’Tis little wonder, you’ll say, that Mr Drake and the Council should desire to shroud in darkness such recollections as could only blacken their own behaviour, but sure it had been but a delicate action on Colonel Clive’s part to put them to shame by taking the matter in hand. The Colonel don’t think so, however, and Calcutta goes on its way forgetful of the persons in whom it should take most pride. Indeed, my dear, the state of this place now is far worse than when our good Captain Colquhoun used to anticipate a judgment upon it, owing, I fear, to the prodigious sums of money poured into the town as the result of the victory of Placis. True, there was no disputes about the division of the treasure, which was distributed by a committee of the most respectable inhabitants, whose award was received with the greatest complaisance imaginable, but the common men of the army and navy spend their portion of the spoils in the most extravagant folly and wickedness conceivable, and even the gentlemen of the services seem to have lost their senses by reason of this sudden accession of wealth. As I rode through the city this afternoon in my palanqueen, I saw on all sides of me the signs of the most ostentatious luxury, of the most prodigal expenditure of the treasure so unhappily obtained.

Sure I must be vapourish, you’ll say, to give vent to these gloomy reflections. Why, so they are gloomy, my dear, but my situation is a melancholy one. Yesterday there arrived in the river the Revenge sloop, which had made an extraordinary quick voyage from Madrass, bringing news of the arrival of a great French fleet on the Choromandel Coast. The season of the year forbids Mr Pococke to take the sea against ’em, but he has thought it well to carry his ships to Ballisore Road, there to keep watch in case of an attempted attack on Bengall, and the vessels dropped down the river to-day. Many friends and relations of the officers were permitted to share the passage as far as Culpee, and Captain Latham complimented me with an invitation on board the Tyger, so that I was able to enjoy Mr Fraser’s company for a little longer. But this was not wholly charming, for I could not but see that the dear gentleman was so placed that persons much inferior to him in attainments, and even in age, were entitled to give him their orders. I could not help deploring this to him before we parted, and lamenting that his determined search for me had involved him in such a loss of sea-time and of opportunities for distinction as had brought him into so painful a situation, but he checked me immediately.

“Pray, my dearest girl,” he said, “have done once and for all with this talk of obligation between you and me. Sure I had willingly undertook what I did simply to know that my Sylvia was restored to freedom and safety; but when to that is added the honour of possessing her, I am overpaid a thousand times. The favour is all on my side, and if you love me, you’ll permit me to rejoice in that thought.”

To so affecting an appeal ’twas not possible to return a refusal, although it deprives me of that exercise which is the most charming of all to a generous mind--the consideration of the obligations one owes to one’s friends. But my dear Mr Fraser is gone, and what little his Sylvia can do to please him shall be done--although not altogether as my Charlotte desired me just now. Having made me drink a dish of tea on my return from the Gott, and sought in vain to engage me in a cheerful conversation, “Oh, there!” she cried, “go and write to your Fraser. I see you’ll take no pleasure in anything until that’s done.” But I hope I en’t so extravagant as Mrs Hurstwood feigns to believe. I will begin a letter to Mr Fraser to-morrow; at present I’ll finish that to my Amelia. Do you know, my dear, I fancy this will be the last of my huge pacquets? Letters you’ll receive from me in the future, I hope, but scarcely those minute histories which it has so often solaced me to write. These, if I am able to write them at all, must go to my spouse, and my dear girl won’t grudge it, knowing that in heart her friend is, as ever, her

Sylvia Fraser.

APPENDIX.

A.--ON THE SPELLING OF WORDS AND NAMES.

It will be noticed that the orthography of Indian words in the text differs with each writer, and this is the case in all the writings of the period. That phonetic method of spelling, which has passed into literature in the works of Thackeray and Macaulay, and for a return to which a writer in one of the magazines recently entered a plea, reigned supreme, but with this drawback, that each man expressed differently the sounds he heard. To take one instance, the comparatively simple name Baj-baj appears in various writings as Buz-buzia, Buz-budgee, Busbudgia, Budje Boodjee, and Bougee Bougee, besides the more modern Budge-Budge. The first person that rendered Murshidabad as Muxidavad evidently pronounced the _x_ in the Portuguese way, as _sh_, when the name is quite recognisable if the accent be placed on the first syllable, but those who followed him, ignorant of this fact, passed from Muxadavad into Mucksadabad--a terrible example of the dangers of a follow-my-leader policy. Some writers, and notably Holwell, made an effort to obtain uniformity. Aghast at discovering the long _a_ sound (as in Khan) variously rendered by _o_, _u_, _au_, and _aw_, they employed _aa_ for the purpose, and hence we are confronted with such monstrosities as _Rhaajepoot_ for Rajput. Considering the difficulty of rendering Hindustani words by means of English letters, the modern student may be thankful for the Hunterian system, which at least ensures uniformity, even though upon a purely conventional basis. It may be mentioned that the diversity is not confined to Indian words. The name of le Beaume is spelt in four different ways.

B.--THE FAMILY OF ALIVARDI KHAN.

The following table has been compiled from Orme’s History and the _Seïr-ul-Mutaqharin_ to show the relationship of Alivardi Khan’s descendants. The three daughters of Alivardi married the three sons of his brother Hodjee Hamet (Haji Ahmad), while his half-sister Shah-Khanum was married to Mir Jafar, and became the mother of his son Miran.

[image: img_462.jpg (Genealogy Tree)]

C.--AUTHORITIES FOLLOWED IN THE TEXT.

The period treated in this book is singularly rich in contemporary personal records. Holwell, Watts, and Scrafton have left us lengthy narratives of their experiences, and Ives, Admiral Watson’s surgeon and clerk, supplies a detailed account of the campaign of vengeance which terminated at Plassey. Clive’s letters give us the military point of view, and in the _Seïr-ul-Mutaqharin_ we have that of the natives. Orme’s History (1763) appears to have been compiled from other documents still, probably the official letters addressed to the Court of Directors, since his account of Mr Watts’ escape from Madhupur, for instance, is far more detailed than that contained in Watts’ own ‘Memoirs of the Revolution in Bengal.’ Orme’s account is followed in the text, save that other names have been substituted for those of Messrs Collet and Sykes and Dr Forth, whom the historian mentions as Watts’ companions in addition to the Tartar servant. The evidence given before the Parliamentary Committee of 1772 adds many interesting details, and the same may be said of two MSS. in the Hastings Collection, one written by the anonymous junior civilian who is called Mr Dash in the text, the other the _apologia_ of Captain Grant, who had fought under Prince Charles Edward at Culloden, and succeeded, when the Jacobite cause was lost, in escaping to Bengal, where ill-fortune still pursued him. I am indebted to Dr Busteed, whose book, ‘Echoes from Old Bengal,’ is a mine of curious information on eighteenth-century Calcutta, for directing my attention to these writings. The description of Siraj-u-Daula’s Durbar is taken from the _Discours Préliminaire_ of Anquetil du Perron’s translation of the ‘Zend-Avesta,’ the French traveller having visited Murshidabad during the prince’s short reign. For various minor details, the ‘Voyages’ of Grose and of Mrs Kindersley have been laid under contribution, while Broome’s ‘History of the Bengal Army’ has afforded a standard by which to compare the often varying contemporary authorities.

The variations and discrepancies in these narratives form indeed the great difficulty of the historian, and with these must be joined their omissions, particularly in matters of date. Thus there are no means of knowing the exact time at which Mr Watts’ letter of warning as to the Nawab’s intentions arrived, or when the Delawar entered the Hugli with the instructions of the Court of Directors, when Siraj-u-Daula was formally proclaimed in Calcutta and the Governor’s letter of congratulation forwarded, or when “Fuckeer Tongar” and the Nawab’s second messenger arrived, or lastly, when the “first prohibition of provisions” took place, at which time Holwell recommended the seizure of Tanna. I have endeavoured in the text to place these events in their probable order and in a right relation to one another.

D.--THE HISTORICAL PERSONAGES INTRODUCED.

In consequence of the abundant information obtainable, there is little scope for imagination in the treatment of the historical personages brought into the story as secondary characters. Messrs Holwell, Eyre, Bellamy (father and son), Mapletoft, le Beaume, Watts, and Hastings, and Governor Drake and his two friends, stand revealed either in their own writings or those of their contemporaries. The characters of the five captains commanding the Calcutta forces are drawn for us by Holwell, but students of the original narrative will observe that I have substituted the name of Captain Colquhoun for that of Buchanan. So also the brilliant young civilian who survived the Black Hole to become Clive’s instrument in the matter of the false treaty is called in the text by the name of Fisherton. It may be objected that the character of Drake and his fellow deserters is drawn too exclusively from the records of those who suffered by their cowardice in forsaking Fort William, but to that I may reply that neither Grant in his MS. defence, nor Manningham in his evidence before the House of Commons Committee, succeeds in shedding any more agreeable light on the disgraceful exploit, while Drake’s opinion of the affair is shown by his having, in conjunction with the Council, sentenced Captains Grant and Minchin to be dismissed the Service, for following his own example. Grant, it may be remarked, was afterwards reinstated, in view of his unsuccessful efforts to induce the President to return to the help of those left in the Fort, and he took part in the hostilities which culminated at Plassey.

Admiral Watson’s character is described in detail by Ives, and sketched at some length by Watts, while the chance allusions of other writers concur in assuring us of his extreme amiability as a man, and his high qualities as a commander. (His tomb, like that of young William Speke, is still to be seen at the Old Cathedral, Calcutta, and it may be news to some Londoners to learn that there is a monument to him in the north transept of Westminster Abbey.) The remarkable indecision displayed by Clive before the engagement at Plassey is historical, and appears to have been due to one of those fits of depression to which he was subject. The name of Sinzaun will not be found in the records of the period, but we learn from Grant that the Nawab’s artillery at the siege of Fort William was under the command of a French renegade, who called himself the Marquis de St Jacques, while the last stand at Plassey was made by a small company of French under a leader called St Frais, whose name was spelt Sinfray by the English and the natives, and who was not killed, as is erroneously stated in the index to Malleson’s ‘Life of Clive,’ but lived to fight another day.

E.--THE TOPOGRAPHY OF CALCUTTA.

One of the chief difficulties in tracing the various localities of old Calcutta is the extent to which the river-bank has altered its shape and position, so that where in Orme’s day was water, there are now streets and squares. It is still possible, however, to discover some of the old land-marks, although the Fort William of the text must not be sought for on the site of the present one, for that was built by Clive where the hamlet of Gobindpur had formerly stood. The Post Office marks the spot occupied by the original Fort William, and the site of the Black Hole (the discovery of which in 1883 is recorded by Dr Busteed) is marked by a stone bearing an inscription. The Park or Lal Bagh is the present Tank Square or Dalhousie Square. The site of the church is thought by some to be occupied by St Andrew’s Presbyterian Church, while the Old Cathedral (St John’s) marks the site of the burying-ground mentioned in the text. The present Government House covers, so far as can be determined, the site of the old Company’s House. The gaol, says Broome in 1850, “was about the site of the present Lall Bazar Auction Mart.” The present suburb of Hastings stands on the site of Surmans, and the ground between it and the city proper, now occupied by Chauringhi and the Maidan, was still a marshy jungle even at the end of the last century. The Chitpur Road, an old native pilgrim-way, marked the division between the English and native quarters of the town, and the Marhata Ditch followed the course of the present Circular Road. Further information on this interesting subject may be obtained from Dr Busteed’s book and Sir William Hunter’s ‘Gazetteer of India,’ art. “Calcutta.”

F.--SOME POINTS IN CONNECTION WITH THE FALL OF CALCUTTA.

It is difficult to resist the conclusion that never was a city more thoroughly warned of its impending doom than the Calcutta of 1756, and the fact renders the alternate defiance and cowardice of the Presidency the more unaccountable. That the actual approach of peril took them altogether by surprise appears certain, and Orme blames Mr Watts for not informing them until the danger was close at hand of the anxiety as to their intentions displayed by Alivardi Khan in his death-bed conversation with Dr Forth, which appears to have been considered by Siraj-u-Daula as a justification for his own subsequent proceedings. But without adopting the extreme view of the French, that the siege and its consequences were the outcome of a deliberate plan formed by Drake and his confederates for the destruction of Holwell, there can be little doubt that the President and his two friends were playing a double game, and found themselves defeated only because they met with opponents still less scrupulous than they were. The constitution of the Council was such as to render it extremely easy for them to manipulate public affairs in their own interest. Watts, the accomptant and second in command, was absent at Kasimbazar, and the executive was practically in the hands of the Governor, Manningham the warehouse-keeper, and his “partner” Frankland. The House of Commons Report makes it clear that these three were suspected not only of supporting the claims of Ghasiti Bigam against those of Siraj-u-Daula in the hope of gain, but of accepting a money bribe to allow the admission of Kishen Das into Calcutta. The writer who in the text is called Mr Dash goes further, and asserts roundly that their earlier defiance of the Nawab was intended to alarm the protected merchants and wealthy men of the surrounding districts, and induce them to seek refuge in Calcutta, when the Presidency might levy blackmail on their possessions. After this we are scarcely surprised to learn on the same authority that Drake and his friends were wont to apply to their own use as much as 10,000 rupees a month, which was a part of the sum devoted by the Court of Directors to the payment of the army--an army practically non-existent--nor that the plunder found at Tanna was put on board the Doddalay, the ship which belonged to the three confederates, and transferred to the snow Neptune. Having attained their object in despatching the expedition, the Presidency had no further interest in Tanna, but kept up a show of activity without any real result on the second day, merely in order to cover the passage of the Neptune up to Calcutta. It is some consolation to hear that when Fort William was abandoned, this vessel went ashore near Baj-baj, and the treasure was lost.

Unfortunately for the plans of the Presidency, it can scarcely be doubted that they were overreached from the first. The hollowness of the Nawab’s anger against Kishen Das, evidenced not only by the honours showered upon him on the fall of Calcutta, but by the fact that Rajballab, the father, and presumably the more guilty of the two, remained unmolested at the Court from beginning to end of the matter, seems to show that the affair of Kishen Das was nothing but a ruse, intended to bring about the ruin of the English by arousing their cupidity. That it was devised by Amin Chand and his friend Gobind Ram Mitar, as was suspected at the time, in revenge for what they considered the injustice with which they had been treated, is scarcely more doubtful. The double-dyed traitor Amin Chand appears, indeed, to have played both parties false with the greatest impartiality throughout his career, but the special malevolence displayed towards Holwell and the three others by whom he conceived himself to have been particularly injured seems to prove that the overthrow was plotted by him, and this is corroborated by the correspondence discovered between Amin Chand and Manak Chand. In consequence of this unsuspected treachery, the President and his friends, who had counted confidently upon the defeat of the Nawab, first at the hands of Ghasiti Bigam and then at those of his cousin of Parnia, found their confidence futile, and the airy carelessness with which they had been wont to discuss affairs of state, both with casual acquaintances and with the natives, contributed to their downfall by the information it furnished to the enemy. It is interesting to observe that in his examination before the Commons Committee, Manningham observes with the greatest coolness that in his opinion it was not in the power of any man to give a reason for the disaster, and that he knew of no conduct on the part of the Company’s servants likely to incense the country government. In regard to their intentions, this is probably true, but it is almost impossible not to believe that their plans for their own aggrandisement recoiled upon them in a way they little expected.

The conduct of the Governor and his friends during the siege appears to have been due merely to pusillanimity, for even Mr “Dash” does not venture to hint at treachery on their part. The incapacity of the engineers prepared a position impossible of defence, and the cowardice of those in command precipitated a defeat which a more resolute resistance might have delayed, and thus averted altogether. The flight of Manningham and Frankland was a natural corollary to the abandonment of the north and south batteries, and the order to the captain of the Doddalay to drop down the river followed easily. In the text I have followed Captain Grant’s account of Drake’s flight, his own share in which he endeavours to excuse by asserting that the boat in which he accompanied him was the only one left. If this is true, it seems scarcely necessary to have locked the Fort gate to prevent further desertions, as we learn was done, and that others succeeded in getting away is probable from the narrative of Mr “Dash,” which ends with a suspicious abruptness after describing the President’s escape. Unless the anonymous writer was the Mr Lewis who accompanied Mr Pearkes to the Prince George, and was presumably saved with her crew, he must have found some means of reaching the ships from the Fort, for we know on his own testimony that he was among the refugees at Falta. Le Beaume, who is branded by Broome with the stigma of taking part in the stampede, is shown by Grant’s narrative to have been wounded, and by Holwell’s to have been sent on board the Diligence on the night of the 18th with Mrs Drake and the three other ladies who had been left behind. I have no authority for identifying these ladies (whose vessel was captured by the enemy off Baj-Baj, and all Holwell’s property lost) with those mentioned in the _Seïr-ul-Mutaqharin_ as having fallen into the hands of Mir Jafar, and been by him restored to their husbands, but the identification appears probable.

[The End]

FOOTNOTES.