Part 10

The two men wrung each other's hands. They had been friends ever since John Petersham, who was twelve years the senior of the two, first came to the house, a young fellow of eighteen, to assist his father, who had held the same post before him.

"God be thanked, squire!" he said huskily.

"God be thanked, indeed, John!" the squire rejoined reverently. "So this was the reason, old friend, why your hand shook as you poured out my wine. How could you keep the secret from me?"

"I did not know how to begin to tell you, but I was pretty nigh letting it out, and only the thought that it was better the little lady should tell you herself, as we had agreed, kept it in. Only to think, squire, after all these years! but I never quite gave her up. I always thought somehow that she would come just like this."

"Did you, John? I gave up hope years ago. How did it come about, John?"

"Mrs. Walsham told me as I came out of church to-day that she wanted to speak to me, so I went down, and she told me all about it, and then I saw him--"

John hesitated at the name, for he knew that perhaps the only man in the world against whom his master cherished a bitter resentment was the father of his son's wife.

"It seems he never saw your advertisements, never knew you wanted to hear anything of the child, so he took her away and kept her. He has been here off and on all these years. I heard of him often and often when I had been down into Sidmouth, but never dreamt it was him. He went about the country with a box on wheels with glasses--a peep-show they call it."

The squire winced.

"He is well spoken of, squire," John said, "and I am bound to say he doesn't seem the sort of man we took him for at all. He did not know that you wanted to have her, but he thought it his duty to give her the chance, and so he put her with Mrs. Walsham, and never told her till yesterday who she was. Mrs. Walsham was quite grieved at parting with her, for she says she is wonderfully quick at her lessons, and has been like a daughter with her for the last two years."

THE CHILD'S RETURN.--III.

The child had sat quietly down in a chair and was looking into the fire while the two men were speaking. She had done what she had been told to do, and was waiting quietly for what was to come next. Her quick ear, however, noticed that John Petersham spoke of her old grandfather as though he needed to be excused for something, and she was moved to instant anger.

"Why do you speak like that of my grampa?" she said, rising to her feet and standing indignantly before him. "He is the best man in the world, and the kindest and the nicest, and if you don't like him I can go away to him again. I don't want to stay here, not one minute.

"You may be my grandpapa," she went on, turning to the squire, "and you may be lonely, but he is lonely too, and you have got a great house and all sorts of nice things, and you can do better without me than he can, for he has got nothing to love but me, poor grampa!" and her eyes filled with sudden tears as she thought of him tramping on his lonely walks over the hills.

"We do not mean to speak unkindly of your grandfather, my dear," the squire said gently. "I have never seen him, you know, and John has never seen him but once. I have thought all these years bitterly of him, but perhaps I have been mistaken. He has ever been kind and good to you, and, above all, he has given you back to me, and that will make me think differently of him in future. We all make mistakes, you know, and I have made terrible mistakes, and have been terribly punished for them. I daresay I have made a mistake here; but whether or no, you shall never hear a word from me against the man who has been so kind to you."

"And you will let me see him sometimes, grandpapa?" the child said, taking his hand pleadingly. "He said if you said no I must do as you told me, because somehow you are nearer to me than he is, though I don't know how that can be; but you won't say that, will you? for, oh! I know he is so lonely without me, and I should never be happy thinking of him all alone, not if you were to be ever so kind to me and to give me all sorts of grand things."

"No, my dear, I certainly shall not say so. You shall see him as often as you like."

"Oh, thank you, grandpapa!" she exclaimed joyfully, and she held up her face to kiss him.

The squire lifted her in his arms and held her closely to him.

"John," he said, "you must tell Mrs. Morcombe to get a room ready for my grand-daughter at once, and you had better bring the tea in here, and then we will think of other things. I feel quite bewildered at present."

*THE BLACK HOLE OF CALCUTTA.*

*FROM "WITH CLIVE IN INDIA."*

[In 1756, when the British footing in India was by no means assured, Calcutta was attacked by a native prince or nabob, Suraja Dowlah, with a force of 50,000 men. The whole British force in Calcutta numbered 140 men, including sepoys, and the governor was a weak and incompetent man. The defences of the town were quite useless owing to the fact that buildings of all sorts had been allowed to be put up outside the fort. It was a simple matter for the enemy to take possession of these and so command both fort and town.

Mr. Drake, the governor, and Captain Michin, commander of the forces, were cowardly enough to desert their charge and seek safety on board a man-of-war in the harbour. Upon this a civilian, Mr. Holwell, was elected by the Europeans to take command of the town, and Charlie Marryat, a young officer, is put in command of the troops.]

With daybreak the attack recommenced, but the garrison all day bravely repulsed every attempt of the enemy to gain a footing. The fire from the houses was, however, so severe, that by nightfall nearly half the garrison were killed or wounded. All day the signals to the fleet were kept flying, but not a ship moved.

All night an anxious watch was kept, in hopes that at the last moment some returning feeling of shame might induce the recreants to send up the boats of the ships. But the night passed without a movement on the river, and in the morning the fleet were seen still lying at anchor.

The enemy recommenced the attack even more vigorously than before. The men fell fast, and, to Charlie's great grief, his friend Mr. Haines was shot by a bullet as he was standing next to him. Charlie anxiously knelt beside him.

"It is all over with me," he murmured. "Poor little Ada. Do all you can for her, Marryat. God knows what fate is in store for her."

"I will protect her with my life, sir," Charlie said earnestly.

Mr. Haines pressed his hand feebly in token of gratitude, and two or three minutes later breathed his last.

By mid-day the loss had been so heavy that the men would no longer stand to their guns. After a consultation with his officers Mr. Holwell agreed that further resistance was hopeless. The flag of truce was therefore hoisted, and one of the officers at once started for the nabob's camp, with instructions to make the best terms he could for the garrison. When the gates were opened the enemy, seizing the opportunity, rushed in in great numbers, and as resistance was impossible the garrison laid down their arms. Charlie at once hurried to the spot where Ada was anxiously awaiting news with the only other European lady who had not escaped. Both were exhausted with weeping.

"Where is papa, Captain Marryat?" Ada asked.

Charlie knew that the poor girl would need all her strength for what she might have to undergo, and at once resolved that, for the present at least, it would be better that she should be in ignorance of the fate of her father. He therefore said that for the present Mr. Haines was unable to come, and had asked him to look after her.

It was not until five o'clock that the nabob entered the fort. He was furious at hearing that only five lacs of rupees had been found in the treasury, as he had expected to become possessed of a much larger sum. The whole of the Eurasians, or half-castes, and natives found in the fort were allowed to return to their homes. Mr. Holwell was then sent for, and after the nabob had expressed his resentment at the small amount found in the treasury, he was dismissed, the nabob assuring him of his protection.

Mr. Holwell returned to his English companions, who, one hundred and forty-six in number, including the two ladies, were drawn up under the verandah in front of the prison. The nabob then returned to his camp.

THE BLACK HOLE.--II.

Some native officers went in search of a building where the prisoners could be confined, but every room in the fort had already been taken possession of by the nabob's soldiers and officers.

At eight o'clock they returned with the news that they could find no place vacant, and the officer in command at once ordered the prisoners into a small room, used as a guard-room, eighteen feet square. In vain the Europeans protested that it was impossible the room could contain them, in vain they implored the officer to allow some of them to be confined in an adjoining cell.

The wretch was deaf to their entreaties. He ordered his soldiers to charge the prisoners, and these, with blows of the butt-ends of the muskets and prods of the bayonets, were driven into the narrow cell.

Charlie's servant, Tim Kelly, kept close to his master. Mr. Haines' native servant, Hossein, who would fain have shared his master's fortunes, was forcibly torn from him when the English prisoners were separated from the natives.

The day had been unusually hot. The night was close and sultry, and the arched verandah outside further hindered the entrance of air, and this, with the heavy fumes of powder, created an intolerable thirst. Scarcely were the prisoners driven into their narrow cell, where even standing wedged together there was barely room for them, than cries for water were raised.

"Tim, my boy," Charlie said, "we may say good-bye to each other now, for I doubt if one will be alive when the door is opened in the morning."

On entering, Charlie, always keeping Ada Haines by his side, had taken his place against the wall farthest from the window, which was closed with iron bars.

"I think, yer honour," Tim said, "that if we could get nearer to the window we might breathe a little more easily."

"Ay, Tim; but there will be a fight for life round that window before long. You and I might hold our own if we could get there, though it would be no easy matter where all are struggling for life, but this poor little girl would be crushed to death. Besides, I believe that what chance there is, faint as it may be, is greater for us here than there.

"The rush towards the window, which is beginning already as you see, will grow greater and greater; and the more men struggle and strive, the more air they require. Let us remain where we are. Strip off your coat and waistcoat, and breathe as quietly and easily as you can. Every hour the crowd will thin, and we may yet hold on till morning."

This conversation had been held in a low voice. Charlie then turned to the girl.

"How are you feeling, Ada?" he asked cheerfully. "It's hot, isn't it?"

"It is dreadful," she panted, "and I seem choking from want of air; and oh, Captain Marryat, I am so thirsty!"

"It is hot, my dear, terribly hot, but we must make the best of it; and I hope in a few days you will join your mamma on board ship. That will be pleasant, won't it?"

"Where is papa?" the girl wailed.

"I don't know where he is now, my child. At any rate we must feel very glad that he's not shut up here with us. Now take your bonnet off and your shawl. We must be as quiet and cheerful as possible. I'm afraid, Ada, we have a bad time before us to-night. But try to keep cheerful and quiet, and above all, dear, pray God to give you strength to carry you through it, and to restore you safe to your mamma in a few days."

THE BLACK HOLE.--III.

As time went on the scene in the dungeon became terrible. Shouts, oaths, cries of all kinds, rose in the air. Round the window men fought like wild beasts, tearing each other down, or clinging to the bars for dear life, for a breath of the air without. Panting, struggling, crying, men sank exhausted upon the floor, and the last remnants of life were trodden out of them by those who surged forward to get near the window.

In vain Mr. Holwell implored them to keep quiet for their own sakes. His voice was lost in the terrible din. Men, a few hours ago rich and respected merchants, fought now like maddened beasts for a breath of fresh air. In vain those at the window screamed to the guards without, imploring them to bring water. Their prayers and entreaties were replied to only with brutal scoffs.

Several times Charlie and Tim, standing together against the wall behind, where there was now room to move, lifted Ada between them, and sat her on their shoulders in order that, raised above the crowd, she might breathe more freely. Each time, after sitting there for a while, the poor girl begged to come down again, the sight of the terrible struggle ever going on at the window being too much for her.

Hour passed after hour. There was more room now, for already half the inmates of the place had succumbed. The noises, too, had lessened, for no longer could the parched lips and throats utter articulate sounds. Charlie and Tim, strong men as they were, leaned utterly exhausted against the wall, bathed in perspiration, gasping for air.

"Half the night must be gone, Tim," Charlie said, "and I think, with God's help, we shall live through it. The numbers are lessening fast, and every one who goes leaves more air for the rest of us. Cheer up, Ada dear, 'twill not be very long till morning."

"I think I shall die soon," the girl gasped. "I shall never see papa or mamma again. You have been very kind, Captain Marryat, but it is no use."

"Oh, but it is of use," Charlie said cheerfully. "I don't mean to let you die at all, but to hand you over to mamma safe and sound. There, lay your head against me, dear, and say your prayers, and try and go off to sleep."

Presently, however, Ada's figure drooped more and more, until her whole weight leaned upon Charlie's arm.

"She has fainted, Tim," he said. "Help me to raise her well in my arms, and lay her head on my shoulder. That's right. Now you'll find her shawl somewhere under my feet; hold it up and make a fan of it. Now try to send some air into her face."

By this time not more than fifty out of the hundred and forty-six who entered the cell were alive. Suddenly a scream of joy from those near the window proclaimed that a native was approaching with some water. The struggle at the window was fiercer than ever. The bowl was too wide to pass through the bars, and the water was being spilt in vain; each man who strove to get his face far enough through to touch the bowl being torn back by his eager comrades behind.

THE BLACK HOLE.--IV.

"Tim," Charlie said, "you are now much stronger than most of them. They are faint from the struggles. Make a charge to the window. Take that little shawl and dip it into the bowl or whatever they have there, and then fight your way back with it."

"I will do it, yer honour," said Tim, and he rushed into the struggling group. Weak as he was from exhaustion and thirst, he was as a giant to most of the poor wretches who had been struggling and crying all night, and, in spite of their cries and curses, he broke through them and forced his way to the window.

The man with the bowl was on the point of turning away, the water being spilt in the vain attempts of those within to obtain it. By the light of the fire which the guard had lit outside, Tim saw his face.

"Hossein," he exclaimed, "more water, for God's sake! The master's alive yet."

Hossein at once withdrew, but soon again approached with the bowl. The officer in charge angrily ordered him to draw back.

"Let the infidel dogs howl," he said. "They shall have no more."

Regardless of the order, Hossein ran to the window, and Tim thrust the shawl into the water at the moment when the officer, rushing forward, struck Hossein to the ground: a cry of anguish rising from the prisoners as they saw the water dashed from their lips. Tim made his way back to the side of his master. Had those who still remained alive been aware of the supply of water which he carried in the shawl they would have torn it from him; but none save those just at the window had noticed the act, and inside it was still entirely dark.

"Thank God, yer honour, here it is," Tim said; "and who should have brought it but Hossein. Shure, yer honour, we both owe our lives to him this time, for I'm sure I should have been choked by thirst before morning."

Ada was now lowered to the ground, and a corner of the folded shawl was placed between her lips, and the water allowed to trickle down. With a gasping sigh she presently recovered.

"That is delicious," she murmured. "That is delicious."

Raising her to her feet, Charlie and Tim both sucked the dripping shawl, until the first agonies of thirst were relieved. Then tearing off a portion in case Ada should again require it, Charlie passed the shawl to Mr. Holwell, who, after sucking it for a moment, again passed it on to several standing round. In this way many of those who would otherwise have succumbed were enabled to hold on until morning.

Presently the first dawn of daylight appeared, giving fresh hopes to the few survivors. There were now only some six or eight standing by the window, and a few standing or leaning against the walls around. The room itself was heaped high with the dead.

It was not until two hours later that the doors were opened and the guard entered, and it was found that of the hundred and forty-six English people inclosed there the night before, only twenty-three still breathed. Of these very few retained strength to stagger out through the door. The rest were carried out and laid in the verandah.

When the nabob came into the fort in the morning, he ordered Mr. Holwell to be brought before him. He was unable to walk, but was carried to his presence. The brutal nabob expressed no regret for what had happened, but loaded him with abuse on account of the paucity of the treasure, and ordered him and his friends to be placed in confinement.