the barracks--you know, between the great gate and the south-east
bastion. Scarce a man of us but was wounded. There we were unmolested,
for the enemy, as soon as they burst into our private rooms, made busy
with their spoil; and, as it appeared, the Nawab had given orders that
we were to be spared. At five o'clock he came into the Fort in a gay
litter and held a durbar in our Council room, Mir Jafar salaaming before
him and making fulsome compliments on his great victory. Then the wretch
sent for Mr. Holwell. We bade him farewell; sure we thought we should
never see him more. But he returned to us presently, and told us the
Nawab was vastly enraged at the smallness of the treasure he had found;
the stories of the French had led him to expect untold wealth. Omichand
and Krishna Das had been took out of prison, and treated with great
affability, and presented by the Nawab with siropas--robes of honour, a
precious token of his favour. But the Nawab, Mr. Holwell told us, had
promised no harm should befall us. A guard of 500 gun-men was set over
us with matches lighted, and the sun being now nigh setting, men came
with torches, though sure they were not needed, a great part of the
factory being in flames, so that indeed we feared we should be
suffocated. But we were shortly afterwards told to go into the
barracks, nigh the veranda where we stood. Then it was that I, by the
mercy of God, was enabled to escape. I was at the end of the veranda,
farthest from the barracks. Just as I was about to move off after the
rest, one of the guards came in front of me, and whispered me to hide
behind the last of the thick pillars till he came for me. I recognized
the man: 'twas an old peon of mine. Thank God for a faithful servant!
More dead than alive I did what he said. For hours I lay there, fearing
I know not what, not daring to stir lest some eye should see me, and
suffering agonies from my untended wounds. At last the man came to me.
'Sahib,' he said, 'you were good to me. I will save you. Come quickly.'
I got up and stumbled after him. He led me by dark ways out of the
Fort, past the new godown, across the burying-ground, down to Chandpal
ghat. There I found Mr. Toley awaiting me with a boat, and 'tis thanks
to my old peon and him I now find myself safe."
"And do you know what became of Bulger?" asked Desmond.
"He is with the rest, sorely battered, poor man."
"What will happen to the prisoners? How many are there?"
"There are nigh a hundred and fifty. The Nawab has promised they shall
suffer no harm, and after a night in barracks I suppose he will let 'em
go. We shall drop down the river till we reach the other vessels at
Surman's, and then, by heaven! I shall see what I can do to bring Mr.
Drake to a sense of his duty, and persuade him to come back and take off
the Europeans. Sure this action of Siraj-uddaula's will not go
unavenged. We have already sent letters to Madras, and within two
months, I hope, succour will reach us from thence, and we shall chastise
this insolent young Nawab."
"Do you think he will keep his word?--I mean, to do the prisoners no
harm."
"I think so. He has done no harm to Mr. Watts, whom he brought with him
from Cossimbazar; and our people will be more valuable to him alive than
dead. Yes; by this time to-morrow I trust Mr. Holwell and the others
will be safe on board the ships, and I do not envy Mr. Drake his bitter
experience when the men he has deserted confront him."
While Mr. Merriman was telling his story, the _Hormuzzeer_ was slowly
drifting down the river. At Surman's garden, about five miles south of
Calcutta, it joined the other vessels belonging to British owners, and
dropped anchor. Several gentlemen came on board, eager to learn what
had been the last scene in the tragic drama. Mr. Merriman told them all
he knew, and every one drew a long breath of relief when they learnt
that, though prisoners, Mr. Holwell and the gallant few who had stuck to
their posts had been assured of good treatment. During the day the
vessel dropped still lower down the river to Budge Budge, running the
gauntlet of a brisk but ineffective fire from Tanna Fort, now in the
hands of the Nawab's troops.
When the _Hormuzzeer_ lay at anchor at Budge Budge, Mr. Merriman
explained to Desmond the plans he had formed for him. The vessel now
had her full cargo, and would sail immediately for Penang. Mr. Merriman
proposed that Desmond should make the voyage. In his weak state the
climate of Fulta, where the Europeans intended to stay until help
reached them from Madras, might prove fatal to him; while the sea air
would complete his cure.
His share of the sale-price of the _Tremukji_, together with the Gheria
prize-money, amounted to more than a thousand pounds, and this had been
invested for him by his friend.
"For myself," added Merriman, "I shall remain. My wounds are not
severe; I am accustomed to the climate; and though India is now odious
to me, I shall not leave Indian soil until I find traces of my dear wife
and daughter. God grant that by the time you return I shall have some
news of them."
Desmond would have liked to remain with the merchant, but he knew that
in his weakness he could have done him no service, and he acquiesced in
the arrangement.
That same evening the fugitives received news that made their blood run
cold. Two Englishmen, Messrs. Cooke and Lushington, who had remained
staunchly by Mr. Holwell's side, came from the shore in a small boat and
boarded the _Dodalay_. Their appearance struck every one with amazement
and horror. Mr. Cooke was a merchant, aged thirty-one; Mr. Lushington a
writer in the Company's service, his age eighteen; but the events of one
night had altered them almost beyond recognition. They said that when
the order had been given to confine them in the barracks, the prisoners
had all expected to pass the night in comparative comfort. What was
their amazement when they were escorted to the Black Hole, a little
chamber no more than eighteen feet square, which was only used as a rule
for the confinement of one or two unruly prisoners. In vain they
protested; their brutal guards forced them, a hundred and forty-six in
number, into the narrow space, and locked the door upon them. It was one
of the hottest nights of the year; there was but one small opening in
the wall, and before long the want of air and the intense heat drove the
poor people to fury. They trampled each other down in their mad attempts
to get near the opening for air and the water which one of their
jailers, less brutal than the rest, handed in to them. The horror of the
scenes that passed in that small room baffles description. In the
agonies of thirst and suffocation the prisoners fought like tigers.
Many prayed their guards to shoot them and end their sufferings, only to
meet with jeers and laughter. Some of the native officers took pity on
them and would have opened the door; but none durst move without the
Nawab's permission, or brave his fury if they roused him from his sleep.
From seven in the evening till six in the morning the agony continued,
and when at length the order came for their release, only twenty-three
of the hundred and forty-six tottered forth, the ghastliest wrecks of
human beings. Mr. Holwell and three others were then conveyed as
prisoners in a bullock-cart to Omichand's garden, and thence to
Murshidabad; the rest were bidden to go where they pleased.
The news was kept from Desmond. It was not till weeks after that he
heard of the terrible tragedy. Then, with the horror and pity he felt,
there was mingled a fear that Bulger had been among those who perished.
The seaman, he knew, had taken a stout part in the defence of the Fort;
Mr. Merriman had not mentioned him as being among the prisoners; it was
possible that he had escaped; but the thought that the brave fellow had
perhaps died in that awful hole made Desmond sick at heart.
Though the season was now at its hottest, the fresh sea air proved a
wonderful tonic to him, and he rapidly regained his strength. The
voyage was slow. The _Hormuzzeer_ beat down the Bay of Bengal against
the monsoon now beginning, and it was nearly two months before she made
Penang. She unloaded there: her cargo was sold at great profit, she
being the only vessel that had for some time left the Hugli; and Desmond
found his capital increased by nearly a hundred per cent. She then took
on a cargo for Madras, where she arrived in the first week of September.
Desmond took the earliest opportunity of going on shore. The roads were
studded with Admiral Watson's fleet, and he learnt that Clive was in the
town preparing an expedition to avenge the wrong suffered by the English
in Calcutta. He hastened to obtain an interview with the colonel.
"'Tis no conventional speech when I say I am glad to see you alive and
well, Mr. Burke," said Clive. "Have you come direct from Calcutta?"
"No, sir. I left there some ten weeks ago for Penang."
"Then I have later news of my friend Merriman than you. Poor fellow!
He is distraught at the loss of his wife and girl. I have received
several letters from him. He spoke of you; told me of what you had done
at Cossimbazar. Gad, sir, you did right well in defending his goods;
and I promise myself if ever I lay hands on that villain Peloti he shall
smart for that piece of rascaldom and many more. Are you still minded
to take service with me?"
"I should like nothing better, sir, but I doubt whether I can think of
it until I see Mr. Merriman."
"Tut, man, that is unnecessary. 'Twas arranged between Mr. Merriman and
me in Bombay that he would release you as soon as a vacancy occurred in
the Company's military establishment. There are several such vacancies
now, and I shall be glad to have a Shropshire man as a lieutenant. I
trow you are not averse to taking a hand in this expedition?"
"No one who knows what happened in Calcutta can be that, sir."
"That is settled, then. I appoint you a cadet in the Company's
service."
"Thank you indeed, sir," said Desmond, flushing with pleasure. "I have
longed all my life to serve under you."
"You may find me a hard task-master," said Clive, setting his lips in
the grim way that so many had cause to fear.
"When do we start, sir?"
"That I can't say. 'Tis not by my wish we have delayed so long. I will
let you know when I require your services. Meanwhile, make yourself
acquainted with the officers."
Desmond learnt from his new comrades that there was some disagreement
among the Madras Council about the command of the expedition. Clive had
volunteered to lead it as soon as the news of the fall of Calcutta
arrived; but he was inferior in rank to Colonel Adlercron of the 39th
Regiment, and that officer was a great stickler for military etiquette.
The Council had some reason for anxiety. They might hear, at any moment,
of the outbreak of war between France and England; and as the French
were strong in Southern India, it required much moral courage to weaken
the force disposable for the defence of Madras.
One day, before the matter of the command had been definitely settled,
Desmond received a summons from Clive. He found the great soldier
alone.
"You have heard of the discussions in the Council, Mr. Burke," began
Clive without ceremony. "I tell you this: I and no other will command
this expedition. In that confidence I have sent for you. What I have
heard of you speaks well for your readiness and resource, and I think
you could be more useful to me in the Hugli than waiting here until our
respected Council can make up their minds. The men here are not
acquainted with Bengal. You are: you know the country, from Calcutta to
Murshidabad, at all events, and you speak Hindustani with some fluency.
You can serve me best by picking up any information you can get
regarding the enemy's movements. You are willing, I take it, to run
some risks?"
"I'll do anything you wish, sir."
"As I expected. Well, you will go at once to Fulta. Not to Mr. Drake:
I've no confidence in him and the other old women who are conducting the
Company's affairs in Bengal. Major Killpatrick, an excellent officer,
left here in June with a small reinforcement. He is now at Fulta. You
will join him. I will ask him to give you a free hand in going and
coming and collecting information. You understand that in a sense you
are on secret service. I want you to keep an eye particularly on the
movements of the French. 'Tis reported that they are in league with
Siraj-uddaula: find out whether that's the case: and gad, sir, if it is,
I'll not be satisfied till I've turned 'em neck and crop out of Bengal.
You'll want money: here are 5,000 rupees; if you want more, ask Major
Killpatrick. Now, when can you start?"
"The _Hormuzzeer_ is sailing in ballast to-morrow, sir. She'll go light,
and aboard her I should get to Fulta as quickly as on any other vessel."
"Very well. I trust you: much depends on your work; go on as you have
begun and I promise you Robert Clive won't forget it. Good-bye.--By the
way, your duties will take you through the parts where Mrs. Merriman
disappeared. Your first duty is to me, and through me to your King and
country, remember that. But if you can get any news of the missing
ladies, so much the better. Mrs. Merriman is a cousin of my wife, and I
am deeply concerned about her fate."
Next day the _Hormuzzeer_ sailed, and by the middle of September Desmond
had reached Fulta, and reported himself both to Major Killpatrick and to
Mr. Merriman there.
CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FOURTH
*In which the danger of judging by appearance is notably exemplified.*
"Sure 'tis a most pleasant engaging young man," said Mrs. Merriman, as
her boat dropped down the river towards Chandernagore. "Don't you think
so, Phyllis?"
"Why, mamma, it does seem so. But 'tis too soon to make up my mind in
ten minutes."
"Indeed, miss! Let me tell you I made up my mind about your father in
five. La, how Merriman will laugh when he hears 'twas Mr. Burke gave
him that scar!--What is the matter, Munnoo Khan?"
The boat had stopped with a jerk, and the boatmen were looking at one
another with some anxiety. The serang explained that ill luck had
caused the boat to strike a snag in the river, and she was taking in
water.
"You clumsy man! The Sahib will be angry with you. Make haste, then;
row harder."
"Mamma, 'tis impossible!" cried Phyllis in alarm, "See, the water is
coming in fast; we shall be swamped in a few minutes!"
"Mercy me, 'tis as you say! Munnoo Khan, row to the nearest ghat: you
see it there! Sure 'tis a private ghat, belonging to the house of one
of the French merchants. He will lend us a boat. 'Twill be vastly
annoying if we do not reach home to-night."
The men just succeeded in reaching the ghat, on the left bank of the
river about a mile below Chandernagore, before the boat sank. When the
party had landed, Mrs. Merriman sent her jamadar up to the house to ask
for the loan of a boat, or for shelter while one was being obtained from
Chandernagore.
"Tell the Sahib 'tis the bibi of an English sahib," she said. "He will
not refuse to do English ladies a service."
The jamadar shortly returned, followed by a tall dark-featured European
in white clothes. He bowed and smiled pleasantly when he came down to
the ghat, and addressed Mrs. Merriman in French.
"I am happy to be of service, madam. Alas! I have no boat at hand, but
I will send instantly to Chandernagore for one. Meanwhile, if you will
have the goodness to come to my house, my wife will be proud to offer
you refreshments, and we will do our best to entertain you until the
boat arrives. Permit me, madam."
He offered his left hand to assist the lady up the steps.
"I had the mischance to injure my right hand the other day," he
explained. "It is needful to keep it from the air."
It was thrust into the pocket of his coat.
"The Frenchman is vastly polite," said Mrs. Merriman to her daughter, as
they preceded him up the path to the house. "But there, that is the way
with their nation."
"Hush, mamma!" said Phyllis, "he may understand English. I do not like
his smile," she added in a whisper.
"La, my dear, it means nothing; it comes natural to a Frenchman. He
looks quite genteel, you must confess; I should not be surprised if he
were a somebody in his own land."
As if in response to the implied question, the man moved to her side,
and, in a manner of great deference, said--
"Your jamadar named you to me, madam; I feel that I ought to explain who
I am. My name is Jacques de Bonnefon--a name, I may say it without
boasting, once even better known at the court of His Majesty King Louis
the Fifteenth than in Chandernagore. Alas, madam! fortune is a fickle
jade. Here I am now, in Bengal, slowly retrieving by honest commerce a
patrimony of which my lamented father was not too careful."
"There! What did I say?" whispered Mrs. Merriman to her daughter as
Monsieur de Bonnefon went forward to meet them on the threshold of his
veranda. "A noble in misfortune! I only hope his wife is presentable."
They entered the house and were shown into a room opening on the
veranda.
"You will pardon my leaving you for a few moments, mesdames," said their
obliging host. "I will bring my wife to welcome you, and send to
Chandernagore for a boat."
With a bow he left them, closing the door behind him.
"Madame de Bonnefon was taken by surprise, I suppose," said Mrs.
Merriman, "and is making her toilet. The vanity of these French people,
my dear!"
Minutes passed. Evening was coming on apace; little light filtered
through the jhilmils. The ladies sat, wondering why their hostess did
not appear.
"Madame takes a long time, my dear," said Mrs. Merriman.
"I don't like it, mamma. I wish we hadn't come into the stranger's
house."
"Why, my love, what nonsense! The man is not a savage. The French are
not at war with us, and if they were, they do not war with women.
Something has happened to delay Monsieur de Bonnefon."
"I can't help it, mamma; I don't like his looks; I fear something, I
don't know what. Oh, I wish father were here!"
She got up and walked to and fro restlessly. Then, as by a sudden
impulse, she went quickly to the door and turned the handle. She gave a
low cry under her breath, and sprang round.
"Mamma! mamma!" she cried. "I knew it! The door is locked."
Mrs. Merriman rose immediately.
"Nonsense, my dear! He would not dare do such a thing!"
But the door did not yield to her hand, though she pulled and shook it
violently.
"The insolent villain!" she exclaimed. She had plenty of courage, and
if her voice shook, it was with anger, not fear. She went to the window
opening on the veranda, loosed the bars, and looked out.
"We can get out here," she said. "We will go instantly to
Chandernagore, and demand assistance from the Governor."
But the next moment she shrank back into the room. Two armed peons stood
in the veranda, one on each side of the window. Recovering herself Mrs.
Merriman went to the window again.
"They will not dare to stop us," she said. "Let me pass, you men; I
will not be kept here."
But the natives did not budge from their post. Only, as the angry lady
flung open one of the folding doors, they closed together and barred the
way with their pikes. Accustomed to absolute subservience from her own
peons, Mrs. Merriman saw at once that insistence was useless. If these
men did not obey instantly they would not obey at all.
"I cannot fight them," she said, again turning back. "The wretches! If
only your father were here!"
"Or Mr. Burke," said Phyllis. "Oh, how I wish he had come with us!"
"Wishing is no use, my dear. I vow the Frenchman shall pay dearly for
this insolence. We must make the best of it."
Meanwhile Monsieur de Bonnefon had gone down to the ghat. But he did
not send a messenger to Chandernagore as he had promised. He told the
jamadar, in Urdu, that his mistress and the chota bibi would remain at
his house for the night. They feared another accident if they should
proceed in the darkness. He bade the man bring his party to the house,
where they would all find accommodation until the morning.
In the small hours of that night there was a short sharp scuffle in the
servants' quarters. The Merriman boatmen and peons were set upon by a
score of sturdy men who promptly roped them together and, hauling them
down to the ghat and into a boat, rowed them up to Hugli.
There they were thrown into the common prison. In the morning a charge
of dacoity[#] was laid against them. The story was that they had been
apprehended in the act of breaking into the house of Monsieur Sinfray.
Plenty of witnesses were forthcoming to give evidence against them; such
can be purchased outside any cutcherry[#] in India for a few rupees.
The men were convicted. Some were given a choice between execution and
service in the Nawab's army; others were sentenced off-hand to a term of
imprisonment, and these considered themselves lucky in escaping with
their lives. In vain they protested their innocence and pleaded that a
messenger might be sent to Calcutta; the Nawab was known to be so much
incensed against the English that the fact of their being Company's
servants availed them nothing.
[#] Gang robbery.
[#] Court-house.
About the same time that the men were being condemned, a two-ox hackeri,
such as was used for the conveyance of pardahnishin[#] women, left the
house of Monsieur de Bonnefon and drove inland for some five miles. The
curtains were closely drawn, and the people who met it on the road
wondered from what zenana the ladies thus screened from the public gaze
had come. The team halted at a lonely house surrounded by a high wall,
once the residence of a zamindar, now owned by Coja Solomon of
Cossimbazar, and leased to a fellow Armenian of Chandernagore. It had
been hired more than once by Monsieur Sinfray, the Secretary to the
Council at Chandernagore and a _persona grata_ with the Nawab, for _al
fresco_ entertainments got up in imitation of the fetes at Versailles.
But of late Monsieur Sinfray had had too much important business on hand
to spare time for such delights. He was believed to be with
Siraj-uddaula at Murshidabad, and the house had remained untenanted.
[#] Literally, sitting behind screens.
The hackeri pulled up at the gate in the wall. The curtains were drawn
aside; a group of peons surrounded the cart to fend off prying eyes; and
the passengers descended--two ladies clad in long white saris[#] and
closely veiled. A sleek Bengali had already got out from a palanquin
which had accompanied the hackeri; in a second palanquin sat Monsieur de
Bonnefon, who did not take the trouble to alight. With many salaams the
Bengali led the ladies through the gate and across the compound towards
the house. They both walked proudly erect, with a gait very different
from that of the native ladies who time and again had followed the same
path. They entered the house; the heavy door was shut; and from behind
the screens of the room to which they were led they heard the hackeri
rumbling away.
[#] Garment in one piece, covering the body from head to foot.
Monsieur de Bonnefon, as his palanquin was borne off, soliloquized,
ticking off imaginary accounts on the fingers of his left hand; the
right hand was partly hidden by a black velvet mitten. His reckoning
ran somewhat as follows--
"In account with Edward Merriman--
"Credit--to the hounding out of the Company by his friend Clive:
nominal: I made more outside; to scurrilous abuse in public and private:
mere words--say fifty rupees; to threat to hang me: mere words
again--say fifty rupees. Total credit, say a hundred rupees.
"Debit--to ransom for wife and daughter: two lakhs.
"Balance in my favour, say a hundred and ninety-nine thousand nine
hundred rupees.
"In a few weeks, Mr. Edward Merriman, I shall trouble you for a
settlement."
CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIFTH
*In which our hero embarks on a hazardous mission; and Monsieur
Sinfray's khansaman makes a confession.*
On arriving at Fulta Desmond found that the European fugitives from
Calcutta were living for the most part on board the country ships in the
river, while the military were cantoned in huts ashore, on a plain
eastward of the town. The avenues leading to their camp were occupied
by sepoys. Desmond lost no time in making his way to Major
Killpatrick's hut and presenting his credentials.
"Very glad to make your acquaintance," said the major heartily. "Oh
yes, I know all about you. Mr. Merriman has told me of the way you
brought his cargo through from Cossimbazar, and the plucky stand you
made against odds. By Jove, sir, 'twas an amazing good piece of work.
You deserved a commission if any youngster ever did, and I'm glad Mr.
Clive has done the right thing. Let me tell you, Mr. Clive don't make
mistakes--in military matters, that is to say. And Gheria, now: egad,
sir, you must have a head on your shoulders; and that en't flattery; we
soldiers en't in the habit of laying on the butter. You did well; and
sure you'll be of the greatest use to us here. We need a few men as are
able to keep their heads in a warm place: and, begad, if they'd had such
men in Bengal these last months we wouldn't be rotting here in this
fever-haunted place. Why, I've lost thirty-two officers and men in less
than a couple of months, and I'll be lucky if I've fifty fit for service
by the time Mr. Clive arrives. When may we expect him, sir?"
"He couldn't tell me, sir. The Madras Council can't make up their minds
who is to command the expedition, and they're waiting for ships from
home."
Major Killpatrick laughed.
"Why, I know how that will end. With Mr. Stringer Lawrence laid up
there is only one man fit to do this job, and that's Mr. Clive, and the
sooner the gentlemen on their office stools at Madras see that, the
better in the end for everybody. Now you're strong again, eh? Got rid
of that touch of fever?"
"Yes, sir; I'm as well as ever."