except where a gangway shored up with balks of timber had been left to
give access to the holes that had been drilled and temporarily stopped.
After a few words from the subahdar, Hubbo and his brother followed
Desmond below.
Half an hour later, Hubbo climbed up through the hatchway and approached
the subahdar, who was pacing the deck, giving many an anxious glance
down the river.
"The mistri has bored another hole, huzur. He said the more holes the
better. Perhaps your excellency will deign to see whether you regard it
as sufficient."
"Nay, I should defile my clothes," said the subahdar, not relishing the
thought of descending into the malodorous depths.
"As your excellency pleases," said Hubbo salaaming.
Then the gravity of his charge appeared to overcome the subahdar's
scruples. Gathering his robes close about him, he stepped to the
hatchway and lowered himself into the hold.
"We must hasten," he said. "The ships of the Firangi may appear at any
moment, and I must be on the look-out. Meantime," he added to Hubbo,
"you keep watch."
For a man of his build he was fairly active. Dropping on to the loose
earth, he scrambled over it towards the oil-lamp by whose light the
mistri and his assistant were working.
"This, huzur," said Hossain, pointing to a circular cut in the planking
of the vessel, "is the new hole. It is not yet driven through, but if
your excellency thinks it sufficient----"
The subahdar craned forward to examine it. "Khubbar dar!"[#] said
Desmond in a low voice.
[#] Look out!
Hossain had only waited for this signal. He threw himself on the
stooping subahdar and bore him to the floor, at the same time stuffing a
gag between his teeth. In a couple of minutes he was lying bound and
helpless. His ornate garment was but little sullied. It had been
stripped from him by the mistri, who hastily donned it over his own
scanty raiment, together with the subahdar's turban.
"How will that do, Hossain?" asked Desmond with a smile.
The serang held up the oil-lamp to inspect him. With his other hand he
slightly altered the set of the turban and rearranged the folds of the
robe.
"That is excellent, sahib," he said. "A little more girth would perhaps
have been better, but in the distance no one will notice."
Then calling to Hubbo he said that all was ready. Hossain clambered
through the hatchway, leaving Desmond concealed behind a large timber
upright supporting the deck. As soon as the serang had reached his side
Hubbo called to the men on watch and said--
"Eo! Ali, Chedi, come here!"
"Jo hukm!"[#] replied one of the men. Two of the three hurried aft, and
at Hubbo's bidding swung down into the hold. The serang ordered them to
go towards the lamp. They groped their way in that direction; Desmond
sprang up through the hatchway; it was clapped down and firmly secured,
and the subahdar with two-thirds of his crew was a prisoner in the hold.
The third man at the far end of the boat had not seen or heard anything
of what had happened.
[#] Whatever is ordered (I will obey)
So far the plot had succeeded admirably. Whatever order might reach the
waiting vessels, it would not be given by the subahdar. The question
now was, how to prevent the men in charge of the vessels and the
authorities in Tanna Fort from becoming suspicious. The latter would
not be difficult. Manik Chand would gain nothing by blocking the
fairway unless it were absolutely necessary to do so, and, in common
with other of the Nawab's lieutenants, he had an overweening confidence
in the power of the forts to repel an attack from the English ships.
For this reason it was advisable to make the minds of the other men
easy, and Desmond soon hit on a plan.
"You had better return to your sloop, Hubbo," he said. "Send a message
to the men on the other vessels that I--the subahdar, you know--have
made up my mind to allow one of the enemy's ships to pass me before
giving the signal. I shall thus capture one at least, and it may be the
admiral's."
Hubbo set off, and when he reached his own vessel he sent a boat with a
message to each of the ships in turn. Meanwhile, thinking the appearance
of a petala alongside of the subahdar's sloop might awaken suspicion or
at least curiosity in the fort, Desmond decided to send it down the
river in charge of Hossain. He was thus left alone on deck with the
subahdar's third man.
For a time the man, standing far forward, was unaware of the striking
change in the personality garbed in the subahdar's clothes. But
glancing back at length, he started, looked a second time, and after a
moment's hesitation walked down the deck.
"Go back to your post," said Desmond sternly, "and see that you keep a
good look-out for the Firangi's ships."
The man salaamed and returned to the prow in manifest bewilderment.
More than once he looked back as he heard strange knockings from below.
Desmond only smiled. If the sound was heard from the forts, it would be
regarded merely as a sign that the preparations for sinking the vessel
were not yet completed.
Time passed on, and ever and anon Desmond looked eagerly down the river
for a sign of the oncoming fleet. At last, somewhere about midday, he
observed signs of excitement in Tanna Fort, and almost simultaneously
saw a puff of smoke and heard a report from one of its guns. Shortly
afterwards he observed the spars of a British-built ship slowly
approaching up-stream. In full confidence that the scheme for blocking
the river was now frustrated, he awaited with patience the arrival of
the fleet, wondering whether the forts would make a determined
resistance.
Slowly the vessel drew nearer. Another shot was fired from the fort,
with what result Desmond could not tell. But immediately afterwards he
heard the distant report of a heavy gun, followed by a crash near at
hand, and a babel of yells. A shot from the British ship had plumped
right in the centre of Tanna Fort. At the same moment Desmond
recognized the figure-head.
"'Tis the _Tyger_!" he said to himself with a smile. "Won't Captain
Latham grin when he sees me in this rig!"
Then he laughed aloud, for the valiant defenders of Tanna Fort had not
waited for a second shot. They were swarming helter-skelter out of
harm's way, rushing at the top of their speed up the river and leaving
their fortress to its fate. On the other bank the garrison of Aligarh
Fort had also taken flight, and were streaming along with excited cries
in the direction of Calcutta. The man in the bows of the sloop looked
amazedly at the new subahdar. Why did he laugh? Why did he not wave
the green flag that lay at his hand? When were the men who had gone
below going to knock out the stoppings of the holes and take to the boat
with himself and their commander? But the subahdar still stood
laughing.
All at once Desmond, remembering the real subahdar below, asked himself:
what if he drove out the bungs and scuttled the vessel? But the
question brought a smile to his lips. He could not conceive of the
Bengali playing such a heroic part, and he possessed his soul in peace.
Now the _Tyger_ was full in sight, and behind her Desmond saw the
well-remembered _Kent_, Admiral Watson's flagship. The stampede from
the forts had evidently been observed on board, for firing had ceased,
and boats were already being lowered and filled with men. Desmond
waited. The _Tyger's_ boats, he saw, were making for Tanna Fort: the
_Kent's_ for Aligarh. But one of the latter was heading straight for
the sloop. Desmond could not resist the temptation to a joke. Making
himself look as important as he could, he stood by the gunwale watching
with an air of dignity the oncoming of the boat. It was in command of a
young lieutenant. The men bent to their oars with a will, and Desmond
could soon hear the voice of the officer as he called to his crew.
But his amusement was mingled with amazement and delight when, in the
big form sitting in the bow of the boat, he recognized no other than his
old messmate, his old comrade in the Battle of the Carts--William
Bulger. The joke would be even better than he had expected. The boat
drew closer: it was level with the nose of the sloop; and the lieutenant
sang out the command, "Ship oars!" It came alongside.
"Bulger," cried the lieutenant, "skip aboard and announce us to that old
peacock on deck."
"Ay, ay, sir," replied Bulger, "which his feathers will be plucked, or
my name en't Bulger."
At the side of the sloop lay the dinghy intended to convey the subahdar
and his men ashore when the work of sinking had been started. It was
made fast to the vessel by a rope. Bulger sprang into the dinghy and
then began an ascent so clever, and at the same time so comical, that
Desmond had much ado not to spoil his joke by a premature explosion of
laughter. The burly seaman swarmed up the rope like a monkey, clasping
it with his legs as he took each upward grip. But the comedy of his
actions was provided by his hook. Having only one arm--an arm, it is
true, with the biceps of a giant--he could not clutch the rope in the
ordinary way. But at each successive spring he dug his hook into the
side of the vessel, and mounted with amazing rapidity, talking to
himself all the time.
"Avast, there!" he shouted, as with a final heave upon the hook dug into
the gunwale he hoisted himself on deck. "Haul down your colours, matey,
which they make a pretty pictur', they do."
He came overpoweringly towards Desmond, his arm and stump spread wide as
if to embrace him.
"I may be wrong," said Desmond, "but have I not the pleasure of
addressing Mr. William Bulger?"
Bulger started as if shot. His broad face spelt first blank amazement,
then incredulity, then surprised belief. Spreading his legs wide and
bending his knees, he rested his hand on one and his hook on the other,
shut one eye, and stuck his tongue out at the corner of his mouth.
"By the Dutchman!" he exclaimed, "if it don't beat cock-fighting! Sure,
'tis Mr. Burke himself! Anna Maria! But for why did you go for to make
yourself sich a Guy Faux guy, sir?"
"How are you, old fellow?" said Desmond heartily. "I am a bit of a
scarecrow, no doubt, but we've won the trick, man. The real guy is down
below, dead from fright by this time, I expect. Sorry to give you the
trouble of boarding, sir," he added, as the lieutenant came over the
side. "If you'll take me into your boat, I'll be glad to report to the
admiral or to Colonel Clive."
"By jiminy, Mr. Burke!" said the lieutenant, laughing, "you've got a way
of your own of popping up at odd times and in odd places. Come with me
by all means--just as you are, if you please. The admiral wouldn't miss
the look of you for anything. By George! 'tis a rare bit of
play-acting. Did I hear you say you've got some natives under
hatchways?"
"Yes; the owner of this finery is below with two of his men. You can
hear him now." There was a violent and sustained knocking below deck.
"I'll send my man to release him. The fleet are all coming up, sir?"
"Yes; the _Bridgewater_ and _Kingfisher_ are close in our wake. Come
along; we'll catch the admiral before he goes ashore."
CHAPTER THE TWENTY-EIGHTH
*In which Captain Barker has cause to rue the day when he met Mr.
Diggle; and our hero continues to wipe off old scores.*
Desmond received a warm welcome both from Admiral Watson and Colonel
Clive. His account of the manner in which he had defeated Manik Chand's
scheme for blocking the river was received with shouts of laughter,
while his ingenuity and courage were warmly commended by both officers.
Indeed, the admiral, always more impulsive than Clive, offered him on
the spot a lieutenancy in the fleet, and was not very well pleased when
Desmond politely declined the honour. Desmond caught a gleam of
approval in Clive's eyes, and later in the day, when he saw his hero
alone, he felt well rewarded.
"A naval lieutenant ranks higher than a lieutenant in the army--I
suppose you know that, Burke?" said Clive.
"Yes, sir."
"And you're only a cadet. From to-day you are a lieutenant, my lad. I
am pleased with you, and whatever his enemies say of Bob Clive, no one
ever said of him that he forgot a friend."
The forces proceeded to Calcutta next day, and retook the town with
surprising ease. Manik Chand was so much alarmed by seeing the effect
of the big guns of the fleet that he abandoned the place almost without
striking a blow, and when the British troops entered they were too late
even to make any prisoners save a few of the rag-tag and bobtail in the
rear.
Mr. Merriman returned to Calcutta a few days later. Desmond was grieved
to observe how rapidly he was aging. In spite of Clive's recommendation
to keep silence he could not refrain from telling his friend what he had
discovered about the missing ladies; and he did not regret it, for the
knowledge that they were alive and, when last heard of, out of Peloti's
clutches, acted like a tonic. Merriman was all eagerness to set off and
search for them himself; but, Desmond pointing out the danger of such a
course, he reluctantly agreed to wait a little longer, and see whether
any news could be obtained during the operations which Clive was
planning against the Nawab.
Meanwhile, Desmond learnt from Bulger what had happened to him since the
fall of Calcutta. He was one of the hundred and forty-six thrown into
the Black Hole.
"'Tis only by the mercy of the Almighty I'm here to-day," he said
solemnly. "I saw what 'twould be as soon as the door of that Black Hole
was locked, and me and some others tried to force it. 'Twern't no good.
Mr. Holwell--he's a brave man, an' no mistake--begged an' prayed of us
all to be quiet; but lor' bless you, he might ha' saved his breath.
'Twas a hot night; we soon began to sweat most horrible an' feel a
ragin' thirst. We took off most of our clothes, an' waved our hats to
set the air a-movin'; which 'twas hard enough work, 'cos we was packed
so tight. I en't a-going' to tell you all the horrors o' that night,
sir; I'd like uncommon to forget 'em, though I don't believe I never
shall. 'Twas so awful that many a poor wretch begged of the Moors
outside to fire on 'em. Worst was when the old jamadar put skins o'
water in at the window. My God! them about me fought like demons, which
if I hadn't flattened myself against the wall I should ha' been crushed
or trodden to death, like most on 'em. For me, I couldn't get near the
water; I sucked my shirt sleeves, an' 'tis my belief 'twas on'y that
saved me from goin' mad. A man what was next me took out his knife an'
slit a vein, 'cos he couldn't bear the agony no longer. Soon arter, I
fell in a dead faint, an' knowed no more till I found myself on my back
outside, with a Moor chuckin' water at me. They let me go, along with
some others; and a rotten old hulk I was, there en't no mistake about
that. Why, bless you, my skin come out all boils as thick as barnacles
on a hull arter a twelve months' voyage, all 'cos o' being in sich bad
air without water. And then the fever came aboard, an' somehow or other
I got shipped to the mounseers' hospital at Chandernagore, which they
was very kind to me, sir; there en't no denyin' that. I may be wrong,
but I could take my oath, haffidavy, an' solemn will an' testament that
a mounseer's got a heart inside of his body arter all, which makes him
all the better chap to have a slap at if you come to think of the why
an' wherefore of it."
"But how came you on board the _Tyger_?"
"Well, when my boils was gone an' the fever slung overboard, I got down
to Fulta an' held on the slack there; an' when the ships come up, they
sent for me, 'cos havin' sailed up an' down the river many a time, they
thought as how I could do a bit o' pilotin', there not bein' enough
Dutch pilots to go round. An' I ha' had some fun, too, which I wonder I
can laugh arter that Black Hole and all. By thunder! 'tis a merry sight
to see the Moors run. The very look of a cutlass a'most turns 'em
white, and they well-nigh drops down dead if they see a sailor man.
Why, t'other day at Budge-Budge--they ought to call it Fudge-Fudge now,
seems to me--the Jack-tars went ashore about nightfall to help the
lobsters storm the fort in the dark. But Colonel Clive he was dog-tired
an' went to his bed, sayin' as how he'd lead a boardin' party in the
mornin'. That warn't exactly beans an' bacon; nary a man but would ha'
took a big dose o' fever if they'd laid out on the fields all night.
Anyways, somewhere about eleven, an' pitch dark, a Jack which his name
is Strahan--a Scotchman, by what they say--went off all alone by himself
to have a sort of private peep at that there fort. He was pretty well
filled up wi' grog, or pr'aps he wouldn't ha' been quite so venturesome.
Well, he waded up to his chin in a ditch o' mud what goes round the
fort, with his pistols above his head. When he gets over, bang goes one
pistol, an' he sets up a shout: 'One and all, my boys! one and all,
hurray!' a-dreamin' I s'pose as he was captain of a boardin' party an' a
crew o' swabs behind him. Up he goes, up the bastion; bang goes t'other
pistol; then he outs with his cutlass, a-roarin' hurray with a voice
like a twelve-pounder; down goes three o' them Moors; another breaks
Jack's cutlass with his scimitar; bless you, what's he care? don't care
a straw, which his name is Strahan; he've got a fist, he have, an' he
dashes it in the Moor's face, collars his scimitar, cuts his throat and
sings out 'Ho, mateys! this 'ere fort's mine!' Up comes three or four
of his mates what heard his voice; they swings round the cannon on the
bastion an' turns it on the enemy; bang! bang! and bless your heart, the
Moors cut and run, an' the fort was ourn."
At the moment Desmond thought that Bulger was drawing the long bow. But
meeting Captain Speke of the _Kent_ a little later, he asked how much
truth there was in the story.
"'Tis all true," said the captain, laughing, "but not the whole truth.
The day after Strahan's mad performance the admiral sends for him:
discipline must be maintained, you know. 'What's this I hear about
you?' says Mr. Watson, with a face of thunder. Strahan bobbed, and
scratched his head, and twirled his hat in his hand, and says: 'Why to
be sure, sir, 'twas I took the fort, and I hope there en't no harm in
it!' By George! 'twas as much as the admiral could do to keep a
straight face. He got the fellow to tell us about it: we had our faces
in our handkerchiefs all the time. Then Mr. Watson gave him a pretty
rough wigging, and wound up by saying that he'd consult me as to the
number of lashes to be laid on. You should have seen the fellow's face!
As he went out of the cabin I heard him mutter: 'Well, if I'm to be
flogged for this 'ere action, be hanged if I ever take another fort
alone by myself as long as I live!'"
"Surely he wasn't flogged?" said Desmond, laughing heartily.
"Oh no! Mr. Watson told us as a matter of form to put in a plea for the
fellow, and then condescended to let him off. Pity he's such a loose
fish!"
For two months Desmond remained with Clive. He was with him at the
capture of Hugli, and in that brisk fight at Calcutta on February 5
which gave the Nawab his first taste of British quality. Siraj-uddaula
was encamped to the north-east of the town with a huge army. In a heavy
fog, about daybreak, Clive came up at the head of a mixed force of
King's troops, sepoys and sailors, some 2,000 men in all. Hordes of
Persian cavalry charged him through the mist, but they were beaten off,
and Clive forced his way through the enemy's camp until he came near the
Nawab's own tents, pitched in Omichand's garden. Siraj-uddaula himself
was within an ace of being captured. His troops made but a poor stand
against the British, and by midday the battle was over.
Scared by this defeat, the Nawab was ready to conclude with the Company
the treaty which long negotiations had failed to effect. By this treaty
the trading privileges granted to the Company by the Emperor of Delhi
were confirmed; the Nawab agreed to pay full compensation for the losses
sustained by the Company and its servants; and the right to fortify
Calcutta was conceded. The long-standing grievances of the Company were
thus, on paper, redressed.
A day or two after the battle a ship arrived with the news that war had
been declared in Europe between England and France. Efforts to maintain
neutrality between the English and French in Bengal having failed, Clive
wished the Nawab to join him in an attack on the French settlements in
Bengal. This the Nawab refused to do, though he wrote promising that he
would hold as enemies all who were enemies of Clive--a promise that bore
bitter fruit before many months had passed.
The French were keen rivals of the Company in the trade of India, and
constantly took advantage of native troubles to score a point in the
game. Clive had come to Bengal with the full intention of making the
Company, whose servant he was, supreme; and having secured the treaty
with Siraj-uddaula he resolved to turn his arms against the French.
They were suspected of helping the Nawab in his expedition against
Calcutta: it was known that the Nawab, treating his engagements with
reckless levity and faithlessness, was trying to persuade Bussy, the
French commander in the Dekkan, to help him to expel the British from
Bengal. There was excuse enough for an attack on Chandernagore.
But before Clive could open hostilities, he was required, by an old
arrangement with the Mogul, to obtain permission from the Nawab. This
permission was at length got from him by Omichand. The sack of Calcutta
by the Nawab had caused Omichand great loss, and, hoping in part to
retrieve it, he made his peace with Clive and the Council, and was then
selected to accompany Mr. Watts when he went as British representative
to Murshidabad. The wily Sikh, working always for his own ends,
contrived to make the unstable young despot believe that the French were
tricking him, and in a fit of passion he sealed a letter allowing
Admiral Watson to make war upon them. He repented of it immediately,
but the letter was gone. On the day after it reached the Admiral, March
12, 1757, Clive sent a summons to Monsieur Renault, the governor of
Chandernagore, to surrender the fort. No reply was received that day,
and Clive resolved, failing a satisfactory answer within twenty-four
hours, to read King George's declaration of war and attack the French.
Desmond was breakfasting among a number of his fellow-officers next
morning when up came Hossain, the serang who had accompanied him in his
eventful journeys up and down the Hugli. Lately he had been employed,
on Desmond's recommendation, in bringing supplies up the river for the
troops. The man salaamed and said that he wished to say a few words
privately to the sahib. Desmond rose, and went apart with him. At
sunrise, said the man, a vessel flying Dutch colours had dropped down
the river past the English fleet. Her name was Dutch, and her
destination Rotterdam; but Hossain was certain that she was really the
_Good Intent_, which Desmond had pointed out to him as they passed
Chandernagore, and which they had more than once seen since in the
course of their journeys. Her appearance had attracted some attention
on the fleet; and the _Tyger_ had sent a shot after her, ordering her to
heave to; but having a strong north-east wind behind her, she took no
notice of the signal and held on her course. Desmond thanked Hossain
for the information, and, leaving his breakfast unfinished, went off at
once to see Clive, whom he was to join that morning on a tour of
inspection of the north-west part of the French settlement.
"Well, I don't see what we can do," said Clive, when Desmond repeated
the news to him. "Mr. Watson no doubt suspected her when it was too
late. Nothing but a regular chase could have captured her after she had
passed. Ships can't be spared for that; they've much more important
work on hand."
"Still, 'tis a pity, sir," said Desmond. "'Tis not only that Captain
Barker is an interloper; he has been in league with pirates, and his
being at Chandernagore all these months means no good."
"It means at any rate that he hasn't been able to get a cargo. Trade's
at a standstill. Well, I'd give something to lay Mr. Barker and his
crew by the heels--on behalf of the Company, Burke, for don't forget, as
some of our friends of the Calcutta Council do, that I am here to save
the Company, not their private property. 'Tis too late to stop the
vessel now."
"I'd like to try, sir."