IN WHICH MISS FREYNE ENTERS CALCUTTA, BUT NOT IN TRIUMPH.
_Hon. Co.’s Ship Orford_, Hoogly River, _Sept. ye_ 2_nd._
My last letter to my Amelia was finished writing in the roadstead of
Madrass, where our vessel was lying, but now I am got so far in my
voyage that I can date this almost within sight of Culpee,[3.01] at
which place all we passengers leave the Orford, and embark in smaller
boats to perform the concluding stage of our journey. But remembering
where I left off, I know that my dearest friend will be in the most
cruel anxiety for her Sylvia’s peace of mind, and I hasten, now that
we have fairly left the ocean behind us, to satisfy her concern,
although I have but little to say that’s agreeable.
Awaking from a troubled sleep on the morning after the shock I have
described to you, Amelia, it seemed to me at first that ’twould be
well to plead indisposition, and remain below, thus avoiding the
performance of the hard task Mr Fraser had laid upon me. But I feared
lest he should believe my illness caused by anything he had said, and
rose determined to preserve my punctilio jealously, and carry the
matter off with a bold face.
“You’re rightly punished, miss,” said I to myself, as I combed my
hair. “You have pleased yourself imagining that the gentleman sought
your company for your own sake, and now you find that he regarded you
but as in some sort a picture of his Araminta. You was a silly
creature to be so taken in, and I hope you’ll be wiser in the future.
Pray, miss,” I said to Miss Hamlin, who was watching me from her
shelf, “what have you done with my book?”
“Why, miss, I didn’t know ’twas yours. I took it up to look at, and
finding it prodigiously dull, carried it back to Mr Fraser. I’m sure I
thought it was his.”
“Oh, that’s quite right,” said I, but I made up my mind to ask the
Lieutenant for the book again. This I did later in the day, but he met
me with so many excuses that I was tired at last. It seemed as though
every gentleman on board of the vessel had been promised to read
‘Amelia’ before I might so much as see it again.
“Indeed, sir,” I said to Mr Fraser, before retiring to the ladies’
cabin that night, “I should be failing in my duty to the lovely
Araminta if I put up with this discourtesy any longer. I don’t care
what you say to the gentlemen, but if you can’t place the book at my
service in the morning you’ll please be good enough to keep out of my
sight,” and I refused to hear a word from him.
“Well, sir, where’s the book?” I asked my disobliging cavalier in the
morning.
He seemed distressed. “Alas, madam----” he began.
“No more, sir,” said I. “If my wishes--say rather those of your
Araminta--have so little weight with you, they shall by all means
cease to be imposed upon you.”
“Indeed, madam, you wrong me. I had recovered the book from the person
to whom I lent it, but while the decks were being washed before the
ladies were risen, I happened to be skylarking, as we call it on board
ship, with Mr Ranger, and the first volume, as it chanced, fell
overboard and sunk. The others are at your service.”
“And all the gentlemen to whom it was promised?”
“Why, madam, I fear they must bear the loss.”
“Sir, you threw that book overboard of set purpose, knowing that I
wished to read it.”
“I am not saying you are wrong, madam.”
“Do you venture to confess that you desired to disoblige me, sir?”
“Well, no, madam, I was seeking to oblige myself.”
“Then you desired I should not see that part of the book? I vow, sir,
your assurance is prodigious! Pray, who bid you direct my reading?”
“Indeed, dear madam, I would not presume so far.”
“You have presumed too far already, sir. No, pray leave me alone. I
don’t desire your company.”
“Ah, madam, if you knew how that majestic air recalls my Araminta to
me!”
I started as if I had been stung. Araminta had been forgotten, but now
I recollected my determination. If I persisted in banishing the
Lieutenant, he would questionless (these men have so horridly high a
conceit of themselves) have imagined that I was moved by pique owing
to the announcement of the night before.
“Have you anything to urge in your defence, sir?”
“Nothing, madam. It was the impulse of a mad moment, and I acted upon
it. I throw myself upon the mercy of the court.”
“Do you desire to offer any promise of amendment, sir?”
“Questionless, madam. The crime won’t be repeated (unless upon the
same provocation), and if there be a copy of the book in India, I’ll
hope to lay it at your feet in due time.”
“When your purpose has been served, sir?”
“Pray, madam, don’t try to drive me into confessing the deed to have
been premeditated. A prisoner can’t be forced to criminate himself.”
And in this foolish posture I was constrained to leave the matter. But
I desire to charge my Amelia to procure the book, and to read it
carefully, as she values her Sylvia’s friendship, and to tell her what
there is in it that could have any bearing upon the present complexion
of affairs. True, this relief can’t reach me for fifteen, perhaps even
eighteen months, but at least I shall know it to be on the way, and
some means may offer to make use of it. This gentleman appears to me
to be what they call a wag; I would have him see for once how it feels
to have a joke played on himself.
I have little more to tell you about the voyage, Amelia. My very fear
lest Mr Fraser should suspect any change in me if I altered my
carriage towards him forced me to continue in the old ways, so that by
times I even forgot what had happened, but only to awake again to the
bitter remembrance. I can’t tell why it should be so disagreeable to
me to do those things in the character, so to speak, of Araminta,
which I had had no thought of doing for any advantage of my own, but
so it was, though I’ll confess that my pupil was an apt one. You must
not imagine that in advancing his conversation (as Sir R. Steele
phrases it in the ‘Guardian’) I was in the habit of pointing out Mr
Fraser’s faults in any vulgar or scolding manner. When I observed any
awkwardness in his address, I would get out the ‘Spectator’ from my
trunk, and request my scholar to be so good as to read a certain
number aloud for the entertainment of the ladies. In this way he
learned to see what was wrong and to correct it, and I never found it
necessary to repeat the lesson. Whether he learned to expect a covert
reproof whenever he saw me bring out the ‘Spectator’ I don’t know, but
at least the plan was successful. Sometimes I fancied that he was a
good deal diverted by my care of him, but between my own discomfort
and my fear of his penetration I had no time to think of that. It
seemed to me, however, that as we neared Madrass his air became
noticeably more serious, and that he appeared to desire to say
something to me, which yet he could not compass. I had it in my head
that he was determined to reveal to me the real name of his Araminta,
and to bespeak my friendship for her, and I must confess I did my best
to avoid the disclosure, for indeed, my dear Miss Turnor, I have no
curiosity to know who the lady is. But as we sat on the poop-steps the
night before reaching Madrass, I felt a sudden impulse to say--
“I hope, sir, that the amiable Araminta won’t despise the result of my
efforts when she beholds you again. Pray contrive some means of
letting me know whether she observe any change in you.”
“Indeed, madam, if I am so happy as to reach Calcutta, you’ll hear all
that I can tell you of myself.”
“Oh, pardon me, sir. That privilege belongs to your Araminta. I desire
but to hear the lady’s opinion, if she’ll be so good as to permit you
to acquaint me of it.”
I could not hear what Mr Fraser said, but I believed that he cursed
Araminta under his breath, and this made me vastly angry. Was it not
enough that the fellow should break my--I mean, should pester me for
so long about his Araminta, that he should suddenly turn traitor to
her name?
“Oh, sir, I fear you’re unworthy of the lady’s regard. Perhaps you’ll
permit me to observe, without swearing at me, that whether she have
remained constant to you or not, she surely merits your highest
respect.”
“Madam, I protest you’re right. Whether she be mine or not, my charmer
will always be as far above me as an angel. But, madam, I----”
“Pray, sir and madam, why this heat?” says Miss Hamlin. “En’t the
weather hot enough for you? Here have Mr Ranger and I felt constrained
to cross the deck to prevent your falling to blows.”
“Sure I saw no danger of that, miss,” said I.
“Who should expect you to, miss? You’re too close to the thunderstorm
to perceive its force. But pray continue your quarrelling. Mr Ranger
and I will see fair, and rescue you if it be needful.”
“Oh, madam,” says Mr Ranger, “Miss Freyne is too nice to quarrel in a
public place.”
“Pray, sir, what do you know of Miss Freyne? En’t you aware that she
writes down all the events of every day to send to her dear friend in
England? You see we are all living in public, so to speak, so that
none of us need be squeamish about quarrelling before others. Look you
there now, how dainty a chronicle must that be which the admirable
Miss Turnor receives from her adored Sylvia--all the scandal of the
ship set down in the finest hand imaginable!”
“I’ll thank you, miss, not to make so free with my name,” said I.
“So your name is Sylvia, madam?” says Mr Fraser.
“And what if it be, sir?” cried Miss Hamlin. “Han’t you just heard
Miss Freyne rebuke me for taking the sacred word on my lips? Pray
understand that it en’t for you and me to take liberties with the
lady’s Christian name.”
She appeared so much offended by my hasty remark that I forbore to ask
her pardon, in the hope that she and her humble servant would leave us
again; but this they refused to do, so that I could never discover
what it was that Mr Fraser had been about to say to me. The next day
we entered the Madrass Road, and found several great ships lying at
anchor, which when Mr Fraser saw, “Here’s the fleet, then!” he cried;
but I thought his voice was not altogether joyful. Yet I could not be
sure of this, for he began at once to be very busy in pointing out to
us which was his own ship, the Tyger, and which was the Kent, on which
Admiral Watson wore his flag, and so on. Then when we came to an
anchor, he went below to change his dress, saying that he must go on
board at once to report himself, and so left our vessel, making a very
fine figure in a blue uniform faced with white. He returned about an
hour later, when we were all in a bustle with making ready to go on
shore, and had but time to tell us that both Captain Latham and the
Admiral had received him very kindly, promising to restore him to his
post on board the Tyger, since the gentleman who had supplied his
place had failed to fulfil its requirements, and he was bid to get to
his ship at once. He parted from us on the deck, promising to come and
pay his respects before the Orford left Madrass, and we had little
leisure to think of anything but transporting ourselves to the shore,
for this was only to be accomplished by means of one of the country
boats, called _mussoulas_, which pass in the most incredible manner
over the surf which breaks on the beach. When we were once landed,
after a passage that I scarce venture to look back upon, we found
ourselves welcomed by a gentleman of Mrs Hamlin’s acquaintance, who
was come by desire of his wife to invite us to lie at their house so
long as the Orford continued in the roadstead. This we did; and such a
time of merry-making it was as I had scarce imagined possible. Every
sort of party of pleasure was devised, either by the officers of his
Majesty’s ships or by the gentlemen of the factory, and every one that
had any pretensions to gentility might be sure of finding himself
elegantly entertained every day. In all this, however, we saw Mr
Fraser very little, for having been so long absent from his ship, it
fell naturally to him to relieve the rest of the officers of a good
part of their duties; while the ladies were again so few in number
compared with the gentlemen, that only the officers of the highest
rank were able to enjoy the honour of handing one of us.
We had spent near a week at Madrass when it was suggested that we
should make a party to St Thomas’s Mount, which lies about three miles
from Fort St George, and at its foot the Company has a very fine
garden. Here is the Company’s garden-house, which we in England should
call a mansion standing in its own grounds, and likewise the
garden-houses of the gentlemen of the greatest figure in the factory,
and the proposition was that we should lie a night at the Mount, and
return to Madrass in the cool of the morning. ’Twas an agreeable jaunt
enough, and the general enjoyment was not marred but by the anxiety of
the navy gentlemen, to whom the Admiral had only granted leave to be
present on the condition that they returned at once should they hear a
cannon fired as a signal of recall. This seemed to most of us only a
pleasant jest on Mr Watson’s part, to tease his officers by reminding
them of the insecure foundation of their present joys; but before it
was light in the morning we were all awaked by the sound of a great
gun, and on jumping out of bed and peering through the _checks_[3.02]
(which are a sort of blind made of slips of wood), we saw the
gentlemen all rushing together from the different summer-houses where
they had been lodged, calling for their servants, and shouting for
their horses or palanqueens. How they managed it I can’t pretend to
say, but all the officers were equipped and gone in a quarter of an
hour, leaving the garden as quiet as it had but just now been full of
noise. Some two hours later, when the young lady who shared my room
was taking with me the slight meal which is served here on rising, we
heard another gun.
“Sure that will be to call in the stragglers,” says my companion. “The
fleet must be going out with the morning tide.”
A horrid sinking feeling seized me on hearing this, and I need not
hide from my Amelia that it was caused by the thought that Mr Fraser,
who had not been of the party to visit the Mount, should be departing
without ever being able to tell me what he had desired to make known.
But calling to mind the tales I had heard of the Admiral’s jesting
humour, I reflected that he was, questionless, only trying the
obedience of his officers by this sudden summons, and that we should
find the fleet still at anchor when we reached Madrass. But when we
were in the act of returning, and I looked out of my palanqueen
towards the roadstead, there were no vessels there save the Orford and
a few country ships, while far out at sea was a disappearing sail or
two. Forcing myself not to manifest my discomposure, I waited
impatiently until I could take leave of my companion at the steps of
the house where we were staying, and run indoors to find Miss Hamlin,
who had remained in Madrass by her own request to keep our hostess
company. I found her reclined in the _varanda_, on an odd sort of
Chinese couch made of the bamboo reed, and would you believe it, my
dear, the provoking creature would do nothing but ask questions, such
as whether we had danced all night, and whether the _notch_[3.03]
with which Mr President had entertained us was a fine one.
“Pray, miss,” I cried at last, “do you know the fleet has sailed?”
“Oh, the fleet has sailed, has it? I guessed as much.”
“How, miss? You knew of Mr Watson’s design?”
“Well, two nights back, when he was my partner at Government House, he
let drop a hint, which he did his best immediately to conceal.”
“And you never told me, miss?”
“Pray, miss, would you have me betray a State secret learnt in such a
manner?”
“Then you stayed behind here on purpose when we went to the Mount?”
“I did, miss. I thought it was better I should stay than you.”
“I--I don’t understand you, miss,” I stammered.
“I stayed here,” said Miss Hamlin, looking at the wall, “because I
believed that Mr Fraser would come to pay his respects, and I desired
to see him.”
“And--and did he come?”
“He did come, miss--soon after daybreak. I had expected that, and was
dressed to receive him. He desired his most humble thanks to you for
all your kindness to him.”
“And that was all, miss?”
“That was all, miss. I refused to charge myself with any more.”
“But did he purpose saying more? That message--What have you there,
miss?” I had discerned a slip of paper that had catched in the robings
of her gown, and seized it. It was part of a torn letter, and there
was “To Mrs Sylvia Freyne” wrote upon it.
“Oh, dear! I thought I had got rid of it all,” says Miss Hamlin, with
the calmest air in the world.
“You destroyed Mr Fraser’s letter to me, miss?”
“I tore it up in his presence, miss, and defied him to send you
another. And in that I was your true friend.”
“Sure it could only have been some message that he desired me to
deliver to his Araminta,” I said, half unwillingly.
“And for whose sake would you have kept it, miss--for Araminta’s or
your own?”
“There’s no reason why I shouldn’t receive a letter designed to reach
me, miss.”
“Yes, miss, there is, if it come from Fraser. As I said, I have stood
your friend in this. Perhaps you have forgot the plans which your
parents have for you, and the good nature with which my aunt, before
our voyage began, left it with you to remember ’em. You’re a young
woman of prudence and good sense, though you know nothing of the world
but what a boarding school can teach--which is vastly little, and that
topsy-turvy--and you’ll accept this escape of yours with thankfulness
when you think upon it calmly. Fraser has behaved to you in a
monstrous cavalier fashion--leading all around you to believe that he
had laid his heart at your feet, when he was enamoured the entire time
of another lady. You remember, miss, your tenderness for the fellow’s
feelings when my aunt first presented him to you as your humble
servant for the voyage; pray, will you have people say that you are
fallen into the trap yourself while he’s escaped?”
I saw the justice of her contention, but I have been very low-spirited
ever since that morning, so much so that after leaving Madrass I kept
my cabin for two or three days, suffering from a serious enough
indisposition, from which I am now recovered, though still unhappy in
mind. Yet I don’t know what I could have expected had I been able to
bid Mr Fraser farewell. He could have said nothing to bring me any
complacence, since had he even desired to transfer his allegiance from
Araminta to myself, what answer could I have made to such a perjured
lover? No, my Amelia knows enough of her Sylvia’s heart to be sure she
would never entertain a thought in favour of one who could act in so
base a manner. Ah, my dear Miss Turnor, I am rightly punished. I am a
very wicked girl, for though Miss Hamlin thought I had forgot my
parents’ designs for me, they came often to my mind in the first part
of our voyage, until I had contrived to drive them away, resolving to
enjoy while I had it the pleasure of Mr Fraser’s company. And now I
will answer the question which I see trembling on my dearest friend’s
lips. Do I confess, then, you’ll say, that my heart is engaged on this
gentleman’s behalf? and to this I can answer, No. How could either my
heart or my judgment take sides with one who could act, as I can’t
help perceiving, with so much unkindness--I had almost added, so much
duplicity--both towards the amiable Araminta and myself? But this I’ll
acknowledge, that had matters been otherwise, had he been the honest
man I thought him, I could have loved him.
So there, Amelia, you have the worst of it--the dreadful, the
humiliating confession--and I’ll beg you won’t mention the subject
again, as I shall hope to let this be the last page of my writing on
which Mr Fraser’s name appears. Miss Hamlin has used me kindly enough,
yet with the contemptuous kindness that says nothing better could be
expected from a boarding-school miss, and I must do my best to find
happiness in the future in a strict obedience to the commands of my
dear papa. But oh, Amelia, if only Mr Freyne were a Papist, as Mrs
Hamlin once said! Sure you’ll think I am gone mad, but I mean that in
that case he might suffer me to follow my own inclinations, and lead a
single life. Why is it that parents will never allow their daughters
in this mode of life? We hear continually of the difficulty of making
up good marriages, and of the monstrous fortunes demanded with brides,
and yet no young woman of our quality is permitted to remain single,
even if she desire it. Or if she be afflicted with such a want of
looks that no one will take her, even for the sake of her guineas, how
hardly do her parents give up their search! How many proposals of
marriage sent to the friends of reluctant gentlemen, how many treaties
broken off when all but arranged, before she can be allowed to follow
her own inclinations!
_At Mr Freyne’s house in the Cross-road_, Calcutta, _Sept. ye_ 12_th._
At last I am able to address my Amelia from my papa’s house, if only
to describe the disconcerting adventures I met with in reaching it.
Sure, my dear, your Sylvia is the most unlucky girl alive, so
extraordinary are the mortifications that assail her! But to take up
my history from the point where I left off. In twelve days after
sailing from Madrass, for at this time of the year the winds are
favourable to those approaching Bengall, we came to the factory at
Ballisore, where we expected to find Mr Hamlin waiting for us, but
learned that business had kept him at Fort William, and that he would
await us at Culpee. Taking on board a pilot (these persons are
provided by the Hon. Company for the better navigation of their
vessels in these dangerous channels), we entered the Hoogly River,
passing the island called Sawgers.[3.04] Here Mr Marchant, the chief
mate, whom I believe I have mentioned before, chanced to be
entertaining Miss Hamlin and me with tales of his travels, and told us
that this island is much pestered with tygers, as indeed are all in
this neighbourhood; but that it is considered a place of great
sanctity by the pagans, insomuch that in the months of November and
December very many _Gioghis_,[3.05] which is a name given to holy men
among the Gentoos,[3.06] go there on pilgrimage. This they do that
they may wash themselves in the salt water, and Mr Marchant declared
that an incredible number of them perish in the performance of this
fancied duty. More times than he could tell, he said, had he beheld a
great tyger crouching on the shore and licking his lips, while he
watched one of these poor wretches in the water as a cat watches a
mouse. ’Twas in vain that the unfortunate should seek to escape; if he
would not be drowned he must return to the shore, and there the beast
met him. I was expressing my horror on hearing this, and asking Mr
Marchant why he had not made haste to kill the tyger and so save the
poor Indian, when Miss Hamlin nudged me smartly with her elbow, and
when the mate was gone, told me that he was merely rallying me. I was
very angry, as you may conceive, at this piece of presumption on the
part of such a person, and when he next spoke to us, asserting that
the great danger to our ship in sailing up the river arose from the
fact that the shoals and currents, nay, the very banks themselves,
were continually changing their shape and direction, I allowed him to
perceive the disbelief I accorded to his words. But this time, so Miss
Hamlin assures me, he was telling nothing but the truth, so that I had
been credulous and incredulous at the wrong times. Is not that hard,
Amelia?
At Culpee, which overlooks a broad reach of the river, the Orford was
met by a huge number of boats, variously called, as I learned,
_budgeroes_, _wollacks_, and _ponsways_. The budgeroes are like our
state barges, but far exceeding them in neatness and magnificence, the
rowers, who are called _dandies_, and the _mangee_ or helmsman, all
dressed in white, with sashes and ribbons of the colour of their
masters’ liveries. Mrs Hamlin had assured me that my papa’s budgero
would come to meet me here, and my dearest friend won’t be at a loss
to imagine with what turmoil of heart I looked at all the gentlemen on
board the barges, hoping and yet dreading to find that each one of
them was Mr Freyne. But I could perceive no one that I could guess to
be my papa, nor did any of them appear to recognise me, so that at
last I turned back to Mrs Hamlin, with whom was now standing her
spouse, a somewhat stout and red-faced gentleman, but agreeable
enough, in a suit of white clothes.
“Here’s a pretty to-do!” says Mrs Hamlin, as soon as she sees me. “My
dear Miss Freyne, your good papa, hearing we could not be in before
to-morrow, has taken his journey to Dacca on the Company’s occasions,
and won’t return until to-night, and Mrs Freyne han’t thought fit to
send to meet you.”
“Why no, my dear,” says Mr Hamlin, “sure you forget what I just told
you, that Mrs Freyne desired to use the budgero herself to-day, and
asked me to give Miss Freyne a passage in ours as far as the Gott,
where she will find a palanqueen waiting for her. You wasn’t grudging
the young lady a seat in the boat?”
“No, sir,” says Mrs Hamlin, “and Miss Freyne knows me better than to
think so. I am vexed that the lady should treat her daughter’s
punctilio so lightly as to deny her their boat, while she goes off on
some jaunt of her own.”
“Oh fie, my dear! You’re too hard on a little innocent gaiety. Pray,
Miss Freyne, can you tell me why ladies are always so severe when
there’s a handsome woman in the case?”
“I don’t know, sir. Are they so?”
“Oh, come, madam, han’t you found it so?” And the man bowed so that I
might not fail to perceive he had intended a compliment.
“When you are ready, Mr Hamlin,” said his spouse, “we’ll go into the
budgero.”
“Quite so, my dear. Have you bestowed all your _buxies_[3.07] on the
steward and his mates? Does our Miss Freyne know that word yet? If she
don’t, she will soon. Buxies, madam, is a gift of money, made by a man
that don’t desire to give it, to a set of rascals that don’t deserve
it. No Indian will work that can help it, so that he needs buxie money
to enable him to live.”
Talking in this way, so fast that I could scarce understand him, Mr
Hamlin accompanied us to wait upon the captain, whom he thanked very
genteelly for his care of us during the voyage, and bade visit him at
his garden-house on the way to Surmans[3.08] as often as he should be
in Calcutta. Having bid farewell to the mates of the ship and our
fellow-passengers, and avoided the importunities of the extraordinary
great number of gentlemen that had come aboard in their budgeroes, and
would have had Mr Hamlin present them to us, he replying that they
should wait till Sunday, we descended into our boat, and so set out
with great magnificence. During this second short voyage, Mr Hamlin
showed himself very obliging in pointing out to us the places we
passed by, as Fultah, where the Dutch have a factory, seated on the
most unhealthy spot in the country, and Buzbudgia,[3.09] which is a
fortress belonging to the Moors,[3.10] as also is the place called
Tanners,[3.11] on the opposite bank. When we were past Tanners, Mr
Hamlin bade us look alive, for we should soon find ourselves on
British soil, and coming to a piece of water called Govindpoor’s
Reach,[3.12] he showed us on the shore a little pyramid in stonework,
which, said he, marked the boundary of the Company’s territory. My
dearest friend will comprehend how fast my heart beat at this
spectacle. Now at last, Sylvia (I said to myself), thou art to find a
parent and a home. But Mr Hamlin, seeing how much I was moved, refused
to give me any leisure for meditation, and went on pointing out all
the objects we passed, now the garden called Surmans, and the
garden-houses of the Company’s servants beyond it, then the Company’s
docks and the garden of the Armenians on t’other side of the river,
and lastly the town itself, with Fort William and the church. On our
exclaiming at the odd aspect of the sacred edifice, which seemed to
have lost its upper parts, Mr Hamlin told us that in a great storm
near twenty years ago[3.13] the whole of the steeple, which was of
the most elegant proportions imaginable, was blown down by a frightful
gust of wind, and driven fifteen feet or so into the earth without
breaking. But this I have since seen reason to doubt, for in such a
case, sure the gentlemen of the factory would have restored the
steeple to its place, or at least have preserved it where it lay, on
account of the strangeness of its fate, but there’s no sign of it,
wherefore I believe that when it reached the ground ’twas in ruins,
and fell speedily into decay. Of the Fort, Mr Hamlin bade us mark the
crumbling state of the walls, and the many fine cannons that lay on
the ground, without their carriages and useless, outside them,
observing that we might now see the trust entertained by the gentlemen
of the Presidency in the innocency of their lives and the justice of
the Soubah (this was all Greek to me, but I’ll tell you the
explanation later).
“We have the felicity, madam and niece Charlotte,” said the good
gentleman, “to live under a President that would not with his goodwill
hurt a fly. Nay, if a wasp should sting him, he would sooner beseech
it to depart than kill it in an angry fit. Sure he should by rights
have been born a Quaker, which is the name by which he is known here,
for all his tastes lie that way.”[3.14]
We were now fast approaching the steps of the Gott, which is to say
the landing-stage, and became aware of a second great crowd of
gentlemen, who flocked out of the Fort and from the streets near, some
to greet friends that were landing from other budgeroes that had
arrived before our own, and others to stare and whisper at us two poor
girls as we were handed ashore. Miss Hamlin looked at me with a
malicious smile, and whispered me to make my choice, for all the young
sparks of Fort William were there paraded before me.
“Nay, miss,” said I, not to be outdone; “you first, if you please.”
“Why, then, I choose the respectable person there at the Fort gate,”
she said, pointing with her fan; and we both laughed, for although the
gentleman she indicated was somewhat advanced in years, his coat of
yellow silk was richly laced, and he seemed to take no small pride in
his appearance. “A man that has such care for his own dress would not
be niggardly over that of his spouse,” says Miss Hamlin; but just then
her uncle, who had pushed on through the press, came posting back to
us, apparently in some disturbance of mind.
“I fear, madam,” says he to me, “you’ll have but a poor opinion of our
Calcutta manners, or at least of our memories, for I can’t perceive
your papa’s servants anywhere, and the gentlemen tell me they han’t
seen his liveries to-day, and how you are to get home I don’t know.”
“What did I tell you, sir?” asked Mrs Hamlin, with an air of triumph.
“Pray, sir,” said I, “don’t trouble yourself about me. If Miss will be
so good as to let me share her palanqueen, sure I can be dropped at Mr
Freyne’s door without incommoding anybody.”
“Why, so you could, madam,” says he, “but for the little trifling fact
that Mr Freyne’s house lies out Chitpore way, which is in the opposite
direction from Surmans.”
“Oh pray, sir,” I said in great uneasiness, “let me hire a coach or a
chair, and so relieve you of the charge of me.”
“There en’t no such things here, miss,” says Mrs Hamlin. “No, you must
please to take my niece’s palanqueen to go home in, and we’ll wait
here in the sun until you’re done with it.”
By this time, Amelia, I was ready to cry, for the good lady’s tone was
sharp enough, and indeed the sun was hot, though I hadn’t perceived it
before; but I had no time to bewail my misfortunes, for Mrs Hamlin
cried out suddenly--
“As I live, there’s Captain Colquhoun! Pray, Mr Hamlin, go and fetch
him hither. He’ll take Miss off your hands.”
As Mr Hamlin hurried to obey her, she whispered to me, “Pray observe,
miss, how careful I am of your punctilio. I wouldn’t for the world
place you under an obligation to any of these young gentlemen here,
that are all on fire to offer their services in any way; but Captain
Colquhoun is your papa’s closest friend, and would take it most unkind
if we didn’t appeal to him.”
“Sure the gentleman bows for all the world like a ramrod breaking in
two!” says Miss Hamlin in my ear, as we watched Mr Hamlin press
through the crowd a second time and accost a person in a military
dress that had paused on the outskirts to watch the landing. I could
not forbear smiling, though the tears had been at my eyes the moment
before, for not only did Captain Colquhoun hold himself like a ramrod,
but he moved as stiffly as if his limbs were worked by springs, like
those of a Dutch baby.[3.15] His face was burnt red with the sun, and
was so rough and hard in its features that it might have been cut out
of a block of wood, and his dress was as plain as his rank would
allow, without any of that foppery about the sword-knot and cockade
that so many military officers affect.
“Why don’t the gentleman ride in his palanqueen, since he has it with
him?” I whispered back to Miss Hamlin, pointing to it as I spoke.
“Why, that’s the Calcutta punctilio, miss. To be without a palanqueen
argues you to be a person of no figure, and therefore, even if a
gentleman don’t ride in his, it must be carried after him.”
“’Tis all the better for me,” I said, just as Mrs Hamlin brought up
the captain, who bowed so low that I could almost fancy I heard the
springs creaking.
“Now, what could be more charming than this?” the good lady was
saying. “Miss Freyne, you took pleasure in the company of our good
Lieutenant Fraser, I know, and you won’t feel strange with Captain
Colquhoun when you learn that he’s his cousin. Questionless, Mr Fraser
has often mentioned him to you?”
That dreadful name again, when I thought I was done with it for ever!
I was ready to sink into the ground, but the Captain relieved me by
saying--
“The young lady need not burden her conscience with fibs for my sake,
madam. My cousin had questionless far more agreeable matters to
discuss, and at best he knows as little of me as I of him. Difference
of politics has separated our families for many years.”
This was little enough to say, when one remembers that Mr Fraser’s
father holds the estates that should by right be Captain Colquhoun’s,
and I was ashamed to recollect how lightly Mr Fraser had spoken of
demanding his cousin’s hospitality should he visit Calcutta. But Mrs
Hamlin was speaking again.
“We won’t talk of these disagreeable matters, Captain. Your friendship
with Miss Freyne’s papa is a stronger claim on your kindness than her
acquaintance with your relation. Our good Captain Colquhoun is so kind
as to offer you the use of his palanqueen to convey you home, miss,
and he will himself be your cavalier. I’ll wish you a happy meeting
with your papa and Mrs Freyne.”
“We shall meet on Sunday, miss!” says Miss Hamlin with her drollest
air, as we curtseyed; and then Captain Colquhoun lent me his hand to
lead me to the palanqueen, which was of a kind common in Calcutta,
though I had not met with it before--like an armchair supported on
poles, with a roof over it, and not like a covered bed, such as those
I had seen at Madrass. I was forced to let down the checks to keep out
the afternoon sun, but I could hear Captain Colquhoun walking stiffly
beside me, and reproving the bearers when they stumbled. Then the
machine was carried in at a gateway and set down, and the Captain
raised the blind for me.
“Permit me, madam, to bid you welcome to your home!” said he.