the party three days to reach Murshidabad. Desmond found that Clive had
entered the city two days before and taken up his abode at the Murad
Bagh. Mir Jafar had been accepted as Nawab, and nothing had been heard
of Siraj-uddaula. Desmond first sought out Major Coote.
"By George, Burke!" said that officer, "Colonel Clive is in a towering
rage at your long absence; he expected your return long ago. And you
ought to know that Colonel Clive in a rage is not quite as mild as
milk."
"I'm afraid I must brave his anger," said Desmond. "I've found Mr.
Merriman's ladies."
"You have?"
"Yes, and brought them back with me. And Peloti will trouble us no
more: we had to fight for the ladies, and Bulger killed him. Won't Mr.
Clive forgive me?"
"I can't answer for Mr. Clive; no one can say what he will do. But I
tell you one thing: you'll put Warren Hastings' nose out of joint. You
knew he was sweet on Merriman's daughter?"
"No, I didn't know it. I don't see what that has to do with me."
"Don't you, egad!" said Coote with a laugh. "Sure, my boy, you'll see
it before long. Well, I won't keep you to hear your story. Go to Mr.
Clive at once, and let me know what happens."
Desmond found Clive in company with Mr. Watts and Rai Durlabh, Mr.
Scrafton and Omichand. He had some difficulty in obtaining admittance;
only his representation that he bore important news prevailed with the
darwan. He learnt afterwards that the great bankers, the Seths, had just
left the meeting, after it had been proved that, owing to the depletion
of the treasury, only one half of the immense sums promised to Clive and
the English in Mir Jafar's treaty could be paid at once, the remainder
to follow in three years. Desmond entered the room just in time to hear
Clive say to Scrafton:
"It is now time to undeceive Omichand."
Mr. Scrafton went up to the Sikh, and said quietly in Hindustani:
"Omichand, the red paper is a trick; you are to have nothing."
Omichand stood for a moment dazed: then he fell back in a faint and was
carried by his attendants from the room. The shock had unhinged the poor
man's reason: he lingered insane for eighteen months and died.
At the time Desmond knew nothing of the deceit that had been practised
on him; but in the light of his after knowledge he understood the
strange expression that clouded Clive's face as the old man was carried
away: a look of pity mingled with contempt. Catching sight of Desmond,
the great soldier flashed out:
"What do you mean, sir, by absenting yourself so long? I sent you in
advance because I thought you would be speedy. A snail would have gone
more quickly."
"I am sorry, sir," said Desmond. "I was unexpectedly delayed. I had
got nearly as far as Rajmahal when I learnt the whereabouts of Mrs.
Merriman. She was in hiding with Surendra Nath, one of Mr. Merriman's
men. I heard that Diggle--Peloti, sir--was about to attempt her
recapture, and I felt that you yourself, had you been in my place, would
have tried to save the ladies."
Clive grunted. "Go on, sir," he said.
"We found the place, just in time, sir. Diggle came up with a couple of
Frenchmen and a troop of native horse. We beat them off, and I have
brought the ladies here."
"And forgotten your instructions?"
"No, sir. Monsieur Law was advancing from Patna: Peloti was coming
ahead to inform the Nawab of his approach. But the whole country knows
of your victory; the news reached Monsieur Law, and he at once turned
back. The messenger he sent to inform Peloti of his change of plan came
too late."
"Indeed! What was Peloti about?"
"He was killed in the fight, sir."
"A good riddance!" exclaimed Clive impetuously. Then a far-away look
came into his eyes; his expression softened. "Poor wretch!" he said in
an undertone. "How many did his men muster, Burke?"
"Nearly sixty, sir."
"And yours?"
"A score of sepoys, sir; but I had two seamen with me: Bulger, whom you
know; and Mr. Toley, an American, mate of one of Mr. Merriman's ships.
They were worth a dozen others."
Clive grunted again.
"Well, go and tell Mrs. Merriman I'll be glad to wait on her. And look
here, Burke: you may consider yourself a captain in the Company's
service from this day. Come now, I'm very busy: go and give Mrs.
Merriman my message, and take care that next time you are sent on
special service you are not drawn off on any such mad expedition. Come
to me to-morrow."
Desmond trod on air as he left the house. Clive's impulsiveness had
never before seemed to him such an admirable quality.
As he went into the street he became aware from the excited state of the
crowd that something had happened. Meeting a sepoy he inquired, and
learnt that Siraj-uddaula had just been brought into the city. The
luckless Nawab had arrived in his boat close to Rajmahal, and, with the
recklessness that characterized him, he had gone ashore while his
servants prepared a meal. Though disguised in mean clothes he had been
recognized by a fakir who happened to be at the very spot where he
landed. The man had a grudge against him; his ears and nose had been
cut off some time before by the Nawab's orders. Hastening into Rajmahal
he had informed the governor, who sent a guard at once to seize the
unhappy prince and bring him to Murshidabad.
Before the next morning dawned Siraj-uddaula was dead. Mir Jafar handed
him to his son Miran with strict orders to guard him carefully. Acting
on a mocking suggestion of Miran, a courtier named Muhammad Beg took a
band of armed men to the Nawab's room, and hacked him to death. Next
morning his mutilated body was borne on an elephant's back through the
streets, and it was known to his former subjects that the prince who had
ruled them so evilly was no more. Such was the piteous end, in his
twenty-sixth year, of Siraj-uddaula.
Immediately on arriving in Murshidabad, Desmond had sent a kasid to
Calcutta to inform Mr. Merriman that his wife and daughter had been
found and were safe. The merchant set off at once on horseback and
arrived in the midst of preparations for the return of the army to
Calcutta. Desmond was present at his meeting with the ladies; the scene
brought a lump into his throat, and his embarrassment was complete when
one and all overwhelmed him with praise and thanks.
Nor was Surendra Nath forgotten. His readiness and courage at the
critical moment had undoubtedly saved the ladies; Mr. Merriman declared
that he would henceforth have a higher opinion of the Bengali character.
The Babu beamed with joy when his employer announced that he would give
him the _Hormuzzeer_ and a considerable part of his business.
"I change the name to _Merriman_, sir," he said, "and my family will
hold that name in veneration and esteem unto third and fourth
generations."
A few days later a long procession of three hundred boats, laden with
the money, plate and jewels that had been handed over to the British,
set off with colours flying, amid strains of martial music, down the
river to Calcutta. Every man who had taken part in the expedition had a
share of the vast treasure. Desmond found himself richer by L3,000.
Calcutta was _en fete_ when the expedition returned. Desmond was
surprised to see how much had already been done to repair the ruin
wrought by the Nawab. A new city was rising from the ruins.
Congratulations were poured on the victors; and though now, as always,
Clive had to contend with the jealousies of lesser men, there was none
but had to admit that he was a great man who deserved well of his
country.
Mr. Merriman at once completed the winding up of his affairs, begun
months before. His recent troubles had much aged him; India was to him
now a hateful country, and he decided to return to England immediately
with his wife and daughter. He tried to persuade Desmond to accompany
him, but in vain.
"'Tis very good of you, sir," said Desmond warmly; "you have done so
much for me. But Mr. Clive has made me a captain: his work is not yet
done, and I do not feel that I can leave him until I have done something
to justify his confidence in me."
"Well, boys will be boys. I have made a fortune here: I suppose you
want to do the same. 'Tis natural. But don't stay in India as long as
I have. I don't want to lose sight of you. You have done me the best
service man ever did: you have avenged my brother and restored to me all
that I held dearest in the world. I love you as a son, Desmond; I wish
you were my son indeed, my boy."
Desmond looked a little uncomfortable.
"May I venture----" he began hesitatingly; "do you think, in some years
time, if I get on here, I might----"
"Well?"
"Do you think I might--in short, that I might have a chance of becoming
your son, sir?"
"Eh? Is that it? Mr. Warren Hastings asked me the same question the
other day, Desmond. You can't both have her, you know. What does
Phyllis say?"
"I--I haven't asked her, sir."
"Quite right. You're only a boy. Well, Hastings is to remain as
assistant to Mr. Scrafton, our new agent at Murshidabad. You remain as
assistant--or is it rival, eh?--to Mr. Clive. You're both out of the
way. Phyllis may prefer Bulger."
"Bulger!"
"Yes. Didn't you know? Phyllis has taken a fancy to him; that hook of
his appears to be a most fascinating feature; and he will accompany us
home."
Desmond laughed a little awkwardly.
"I hope----" he began.
"He won't hook her? But there, I mustn't make sport of such a serious
matter. Go on as you have begun, my dear lad, and I promise you, when
you come home, that if Phyllis hasn't found some one already to her
liking, you shall have all the influence I can exert with the minx."
"Thank you, sir: I couldn't ask for more. There's another thing: do you
think you could do anything for Mr. Toley? He's a capital fellow."
"I know it. I have anticipated you. Toley is appointed captain of the
_Jane_, an Indiaman that arrived the other day; her captain died of
scurvy on the way out. She'll sail for England next week; we go with
her, and so does that villain Barker, who'll get his deserts when he
reaches London. The _Good Intent_ is broken up; her interloping is over
for good and all. But come, my boy, sure 'tis time we dressed: Admiral
Watson likes punctuality, and I promise you he'll give us a capital
dinner. A word in your ear: Phyllis is to sit between you and Hastings.
You can't eat him, at any rate."
A week later Desmond went down to the Company's ghat to see the _Jane_
sail. Mr. Toley, in his brand new uniform, looked more melancholy than
ever, and Phyllis Merriman made a little grimace when she saw for the
first time the captain under whose charge she was to sail for home.
"Don't be alarmed," said Desmond, laughing. "The sadder he looks, I
believe the happier he is. Silas Toley is a fine seaman and a true
gentleman.--I wonder if we shall ever meet again, Miss Merriman?"
"I wonder, Mr. Burke."
"I shall hear about you, I hope."
"Dear me! 'tis very unlikely. Father hates putting pen to paper. 'Tis
far more likely I shall hear of you, Mr. Burke, doing terrible things
among these poor Indians--and tigers: I am sure you must want to shoot a
tiger."
"You shall have my first skin--if I may send it."
"Mamma will be charmed, I am sure; though, indeed, she may have too many
of them, for we have the same promise from--let me see--Mr. Lushington,
Mr. Picard, Mr. Hastings, and----"
"All aboard!" sang out a voice from the deck of the vessel.
Phyllis gave Desmond her hand, and looked at last into his eyes. What
he read in hers filled him with contentment. She ran across the plank
and joined her father and mother, to whom Desmond had already said his
adieus. At the last moment Bulger came up puffing, a miscellaneous
collection of curiosities dangling from his hook.
"Good-bye, sir," he said, giving Desmond a hearty grip. Then he shut one
eye and jerked his head in the direction of the vessel. "Never you
fear, sir: I'll keep my weather eye open. Missy have took an uncommon
fancy to this here little fish-hook o' mine, and 'tis my belief I'll
keep her hangin' on to it, sir, nevertheless and notwithstandin' and all
that, till you comes home covered with gore and glory. I may be wrong."
He tumbled on deck. Then amid cheers, with flags flying and
handkerchiefs waving, the good ship moved from the ghat into the
swelling river.
CHAPTER THE THIRTY-SECOND
*In which the curtain falls, to the sound of bells; and our hero comes
to his own.*
It was a mellow day in October, 1760, a little more than six years since
the day when Market Drayton gave rein to its enthusiasm in honour of
Clive. From a flagstaff newly erected on the roof of the _Four Alls_ on
the Newport Road a square of bunting flapped in the breeze. Inside the
inn the innkeeper was drawing a pint of ale for his one solitary
customer, a shambling countryman with a shock of very red hair, and eyes
of innocent blue.
"There, that makes a quart, Tummas Biles, and 'tis as much as your
turnip head can safely carry."
He passed the can across the bar on a hook that projected from a wooden
socket in his sleeve.
"Why now, Mr. Bulger," said Tummas the tranter, "what fur do you go fur
to miscall me like other fowk? I've been miscalled ever since that day
since I drove a stranger into Market Drayton six year ago. I mind me he
had a red feather in his cap, and not knowing my name was plain Tummas
he called me Jehu, he did, and I never forgot it. Ay, and I tell ya
what, Mr. Bulger: it took me two year to find out why he give me such an
uncommon name. I mind I was sittin' by a hayrick of Mr. Burke's--that
was long afore he was lamed by that terrible horse o' his--and ponderin'
on that heathen name, when all at wunst it comed to me like a flash o'
lightnin'. 'Jehu!' says I to myself. 'I bin and got ya at last.' Ya
see, when that stranger saw me, I were drivin' a horse. Well, I says to
my horse, 'Gee-ho!' says I. Not knowin' my true chrisom name, the
stranger takes up my words an' fits 'em to me. 'Gee-ho!' says I;
'Gee-ho!' says he; only bein' a kind o' furriner he turns it into
'Jehu': an' the name fits me uncommon. Hee! hee!"
"I may be wrong," said Bulger, "but 'tis my belief 'Hee-haw!' would fit
you a big sight better. But hark! en't them the bells a-ringin '?"
The two hastened to the door, and stood looking down the road towards
Market Drayton. From the distance came the faint sounds of a merry
peal. By and by a four-horsed open carriage with outriders appeared on
the crest of the hill. Amid the dust it raised another could be seen,
and behind this a long line of vehicles. Every coachman's whip was
decorated with a wedding favour. The cavalcade approached rapidly. As
the first carriage drew nearer Bulger became more and more excited, and
when it dashed past the inn he raised his hook and shouted "Hurray!
hurray!" with the full force of his lungs.
"Give 'em a cheer, Tummas," he cried. "Hee-haw will do if you knows no
better. Hurray for Major Desmond Burke and his madam--the purtiest gal
I ever did see, east or west. Hurray for her father and mother: there
they are, with old squire an' the Major's mother. And there's Mr.
Clive, all alone by himself 'cos his leg's stiff wi' the rheumatics; but
he would come to see the deed done, which I may be wrong, but the new
King George'll make him a live lord afore he's much older. Open your
mouth, Tummas, an' if you hee-haw loud enough, I'll draw you another
pint for nothing."
Desmond, now a Major, had returned home in company with Clive. During
the three years that had passed since he witnessed the sailing of the
_Jane_ he had seen much service. He had been with Colonel Forde when
that fine soldier expelled the French from the Northern Sirkars. He was
with the same officer when he thrashed the Dutch at Biderra. He had
been in close touch with Clive when these successful operations were
planned; and the nearer he saw him, the more he admired the great man's
courage in taking risks, promptitude in dealing with sudden emergencies,
sagacity in seeing to the heart of a difficult situation. Thus, during
those years, he gained much knowledge of the science of war, and much
experience in dealing with men. He became rich also, not by
questionable means, but by reaping the legitimate rewards of good and
faithful service.
Before leaving India, Desmond learnt of changes that had happened at
home. His brother had been thrown by a young and mettlesome horse, and
so badly trampled that he must remain a helpless invalid for the rest of
his life. Sir Willoughby Stokes, even before he learnt of the death of
his nephew Peloti, had made Desmond his heir. Mr. Merriman had bought an
estate near his father's old friend, and settled down to the life of a
country gentleman. A year after his return, Job Grinsell, the landlord
of the _Four Alls_, had been sentenced to a long term of imprisonment
for poaching, and Mr. Merriman had no difficulty in persuading Sir
Philip Chetwode to let his inn to Bulger.
After an interview with Mr. Merriman, Desmond found the courage to put
to Phyllis the question which he had not ventured to ask before she left
India. What the answer was may be inferred from the fact that Sir
Willoughby insisted on the wedding taking place at once. It was time
for the return of his old enemy the gout, he said; he was going to
Buxton to end his days, and wished to see the Hall in the hands of his
heir before he left. Mr. Burslem, Desmond's old schoolmaster, performed
the ceremony, and Clive, though suffering from rheumatism, came down for
the occasion. The only familiar form that Desmond missed was that of
old Dickon, who had died a few months after Desmond's departure from
home.
Desmond settled down for a time at the Hall, cheering his mother's
declining years, repaying good for ill to his invalid brother, and
winning golden opinions from all his neighbours high and low. He
eagerly watched the further career of his old hero, now Lord Clive;
learnt to admire him as statesman as well as soldier; sympathized with
him through all the attacks made upon him, and mourned him sincerely
when, in 1774, the great man, preyed upon by an insidious disease, died
by his own hand. Five years later he felt the East calling, bought a
commission, and sailed with General Sir Eyre Coote, to take part in the
"frantic military exploits," as some one called them, of Warren Hastings
against Haidar Ali and Tippu in Mysore. He came home a Colonel, and was
made a baronet for his services in the war. Finally retiring from
public life, he lived for thirty years longer on his estate, happy in
the careers of his two sons, who became soldiers like himself. He died,
an old man, in the year after Waterloo, at which his eldest grandson, a
lieutenant in the Guards, behaved with a gallantry that attracted the
notice of the Iron Duke.
Visitors to Sir Desmond Burke's house were amused and interested to see
a battered wooden stump with an iron hook hanging in a conspicuous place
in the hall, amid tigers' heads, Indian weapons, and other trophies from
the East.
"That?" Sir Desmond would say, in answer to their question. "That
belonged to one of the best friends I ever had, a fine old salt named
William Bulger. I met him when I was sixteen, and buried him when I was
forty: and my wife and I have felt ever since a blank in our lives. If
you can put up with an old man's stories, I'll tell you something of
what Bulger and I went through together, when I was a youngster with
Clive in India."
THE END.
* * * * * * * *
Uniform Edition of the Stories of
HERBERT STRANG
SIZE 7 3/4 in. x 5 in., CLOTH, WITH COLOUR AND HALF-TONE
PLATES, AND FULL COLOUR JACKETS.
Tom Burnaby: A Story of Uganda and the Great Congo Forest. Illustrated
by C. SHELDON.
A particular interest attaches to "Tom Burnaby," for it was the first
romance of adventure written by Mr. Herbert Strang, and it secured for
him the place in the forefront of writers of boys' stories that he has
maintained ever since. The hero is attached to an expedition sent to
punish a band of slave-raiding Arabs in the vicinity of the Victoria
Nyanza. He is captured by the Arabs, but escapes, and, after long
wanderings in the great Congo Forest, is befriended by an African chief,
whom he assists in a prolonged struggle with his old enemies. The story
of Tom's efforts to impart military discipline to the natives, his
strategy and final triumph over the Arabs, is told with great zest and
with many touches of humour.
"The tone of the story is excellent; manly and spirited, it cannot fail
to rouse a response in a boy's heart."--_World_.
A Gentleman-at-Arms: Being Passages in the Life of Sir Christopher Rudd,
Knight, as Related by Himself in the Year 1641.
This book is unique in literature for boys. It relates the adventurous
career of an Elizabethan gentleman, in a style carefully modelled on the
simple prose of the century which produced the Authorised Version of the
Bible. No previous writer for boys has ever attempted a similar
achievement. Apart from its romantic and exciting incidents, this story
has great value by reason of its historical and geographical
information, and its exceptional style.
Sultan Jim: Empire Builder. Illustrated by CYRUS CUNEO.
Mr. Herbert Strang has chosen the African continent as the setting for
some of his most remarkable stories, and of these "Sultan Jim" is not
the least remarkable. It was written prior to the war, when the
colonising activities of rival European powers was raising problems of
the greatest interest and importance. The presence of a young
Englishman in one of the debatable lands at a time of upheaval and
international rivalry enables him to uphold the interests of the Empire
against formidable opposition. The story is brimful of adventure, and
its moral is that of patriotic self-sacrifice.
The Adventures of Harry Rochester: A Story of the Days of Marlborough
and Eugene. Illustrated by W. RAINEY.
Harry Rochester stands unrivalled amongst stories for boys as a living
presentment of a stirring period of English history. It creates anew the
glamour of the eighteenth century, and many of the great personages of
the time cross its pages. Harry's ambition is to carry the Queen's
colours, but his father being a poor country parson, and commissions
selling high, he sees no prospect of attaining it. Nothing daunted,
however, he takes whatever means offer to carve out a career for
himself. As assistant to a Dutch merchant responsible for victualling
certain of the Allied troops, Harry is brought into contact with the
army in Flanders, and with Marlborough himself; and, later, his desire
for a military career finds an outlet with the army of Prince Eugene,
under whom he fights at Blenheim.
"A stirring tale ... told in such a manner as to make it welcome to any
healthy-minded boy, and also, be it said, to not a few whose boyhood,
alas! is many a long year behind them."--_Daily Telegraph_.
Humphrey Bold: His Chances and Mischances by Land and Sea. A Story of
the Time of Benbow. Illustrated by W. H. MARGETSON.
In this book, one of Mr. Herbert Strang's best-known historical
romances, are recounted the adventures of Humphrey Bold from the time
when he was a puny slip of a boy attending Shrewsbury School, the butt
of his companions, who chaffed him for being Bold by name and timid by
nature, until he had grown into a sturdy young giant, and sailed into
Plymouth Sound as First Lieutenant of the Bristol frigate. The
intervening chapters tell of Humphrey's service at sea under Admiral
Benbow, his capture by the French and his escape from prison, and of the
many exciting events that befell him in the West Indies.
"So felicitous is he in imparting local colour to his narrative that
whilst reading it we have found ourselves thinking of Thackeray. This
suggests a standard by which very few writers of boys' books will bear
being judged. The majority of them are content to provide their young
friends with mere reading. Herbert Strang offers them
literature."--_Glasgow Herald_.
Rob the Ranger: A Story of the Fight for Canada. Illustrated by W. H.
MARGETSON.