CONTAINING THE EPILOGUE TO THE TRAGEDY.
(_Part of a letter from Robert Fisherton, Esq., to the Rev. Dr
Fisherton, at the Rectory, Whitcliffe, in the county of Sussex, taken
from the Fisherton papers, by the kind permission of the present head
of the family. From his monument in Whitcliffe Old Church, we learn
that Robert Fisherton was only eighteen years old at this time_.)
_On board the Bombay frigate, off_ Fultah, _July ye_ 5_th._
Ever-honoured and dear Sir,-- ... As I have already related to you the
course of the late melancholy events by which our flourishing factory
was destroyed, and so many of the most considerable among the
Company’s servants there doomed to a frightful death, I will in this
present letter go on to speak of the scarcely less mournful
circumstances that followed upon that crowning point of the Moors’
infamy. Sure, dear sir, when the full horrors attending the capture of
Calcutta shall be commonly known, in every civilised region the tear
of sensibility will bedew the cheek of virtue in pity for our
miserable fate. I believe, sir, that ’twas from your lips your son
once heard that affecting anecdote of the great Tuscan poet, that when
he walked abroad, his fellow-citizens, noting his gaunt air and the
horror dwelling in his eyes, shrank away from him, whispering, “There
goes the man that has been in hell!” Ah, dear sir, your son has also
been in hell, and like the famous Florentine, will surely bear in his
countenance for the remainder of his days the shadow of the awfulness
of that night.
Words would fail me were I to attempt to trace the passing of the
horrid hours, which those only lived through who were prompt to avail
themselves of the deaths of those around them to seize upon the points
of vantage thus left vacant. My own escape I attribute to my having
succeeded, in spite of all attempts to dislodge me, in maintaining a
position at one of the windows, close to Mr Holwell. When this
excellent man finally gave up all hope of life, and resigned his
place, I still held to mine, and had the great happiness, in the
morning, of finding our worthy governor still alive under the heaps of
dead on the platform, and with the assistance of Mr Ensign Walcot, of
conveying him once more to the window, where his deathly appearance
was effectual either in touching the hearts or in alarming the
cupidity of our guards, for they sent word of his plight to the Nabob,
who returned an instant order for our release from that charnel-house
in which we were confined.
Oh, dear sir, how can I paint to you the pitiable situation of the
twenty-three unhappy creatures that crawled forth from the cave of
death? and that by a path that it needed full twenty minutes’ labour
on the part of the guards to clear for us through the thickly piled
bodies of our friends. My reverend father won’t, I am sure, think the
worse of me when I confess that on finding myself restored to the air
and the light of heaven I gave way to a flood of grateful tears, able
only for the moment to realise the blessings of release. But this
tribute to the weakness of nature once paid, I became sensible that
the most affecting scenes were taking place all around me. Sure it
must have raised even the most hardened cynic’s opinion of human
nature, to behold the eagerness with which ghastly wretches,
themselves scarce able to crawl, made their way back into the den from
which they were but just escaped, in search of some friend in whom the
vital spark might not yet be quite extinct. One incident of this kind,
the beholding of which affected me most sensibly, I must relate for
the admiration and approval of the dear circle at the Rectory.
Lying where I had thrown myself on the wet grass below the varanda, I
saw a man staggering feebly forth from the dreadful chamber,
supporting in his arms a female form, which he part dragged, part
carried into the air with him. Laying the woman on the grass, he felt
her heart and wrist with a kind of clumsy respect and tenderness, and
shaking his head, murmured: “Dead, poor young lady, quite dead! Poor
lass! poor lass!” but instead of remaining beside the body, turned
back, to my surprise, in the direction of our dungeon. A horrid
suspicion here seized me, and I dragged myself painfully to the side
of the female. Oh, my father, conceive my feelings! The body was that
of Miss Freyne, the daughter of one of our most respectable public
servants, who himself had escaped the torments of the night only by
expiring from the severity of his wounds shortly before we were forced
into our prison. What! (I hear my sisters cry) is this the Miss Freyne
of whom your every letter has spoke for near a year, the beauty, the
toast, the admired of all Calcutta no less for the high qualities of
her mind than for the charms of her person? Such is, alas! the case,
and no philosopher could ask a more moving example of the fleeting
nature of earthly prosperity. The unfortunate lady lay stretched upon
the ground, her arms extended in front of her, her face fixed in an
expression of horror such as I have never seen equalled, and
approaching nearer, I sought to throw over her a coat that I had
catched up, designing to cover that once exquisite countenance from
the rude assaults of the sun and the insulting gaze of the Moors. What
was my delight and astonishment to remark a slight, a very slight,
movement in the supposed corpse, the merest flutter of a breath,
nothing more. Filled with pleased amazement that a being so delicate
should have contrived to support the hardships of the night, I called
out in much agitation to Mr Secretary Cooke (Mr Holwell having been
dragged away to attend the Nabob)--
“Pray, sir,” I cried, “lend me your aid. There’s a spark of life yet
in our esteemed Miss Freyne, I’m convinced.”
“Then suffer it to become extinct, sir,” was the dreadful answer I
received. “The unfortunate lady’s cruellest foe could do no worse for
her than recall her to life now.”
I took his meaning. Pray, pray, dear sir, never allow any of my
sisters to come to India, nor suffer yourself to be persuaded to marry
one of them to any gentleman that has his occasions in this accursed
country! Sure you would be of my mind, had you beheld, as I did, the
unhappy case of this charming young lady, who was to find that very
beauty of face, and elegancy of shape and air, which had brought all
Calcutta to her feet, suddenly turned traitors to her, and become her
most dangerous foes.
“I see as how you’re right, sir,” said a voice behind us, and I found
there, on turning, the same man that had brought Miss Freyne out of
the prison, dragging another corpse with him. “When I heard Mr
Fisherton call out as Miss was alive, I was fair dazed with joy for
the Captain’s sake, thinking as how he’d not given his life for
naught, but ’tis better for the poor maid to die than to be carried
off by the Moors. There’s one poor creature they’ve got already.”
He inclined his head in the direction of an unhappy woman, the wife of
a ship’s officer whose dead body we had discovered in the early
morning when searching for Mr Holwell, who was in the act of being
dragged away, more dead than alive, towards the quarters in which were
imprisoned the Indian women that had been captured in the pillage of
the Black houses. “If I had a pistol handy,” went on the worthy
fellow, “it should go hard with me but I would rob those fiends of
their prey.”
Alas! we had not a weapon among us, and the man turned again to the
body he had brought out last, which I now saw to be that of Captain
Colquhoun of the garrison, a most excellent upright person, and the
only one of our senior military officers that had or showed any the
least warlike capacity, and began composing the limbs as decently as
he could, covering the countenance with his own handkerchief. The deep
sighs that broke from him during this operation, and the tears that
rolled down his cheeks, helped me to recognise him, which the changes
wrought by the night’s suffering had prevented me from doing hitherto.
“Sure you’re the sergeant to whom the Captain was so partial?” I said.
“That am I, sir, the unhappy reprobate as has lost the best friend and
the kindest commander ever a man had. Three times I was broke for
drunkenness, and three times the Captain kept me from going to the
devil, and helped me to work my way up again, and now he can’t look
after me no more.”
The poor fellow’s complaint was interrupted by the passing of a sad
procession. Coming from the Governor’s apartments in the Fort, which
the Nabob had appropriated to himself, and taking the way to the gate,
where a common _hackery_ drawn by oxen awaited them, we beheld our
dear and respected Mr Holwell, and with him Mess. Walcot, Court, and
Burdet, all surrounded by a guard drawn from the command of Meer
Mudden,[13.01] the Soubah’s general of the Household Troops, and
before them an Indian that carried a huge Marrato[13.02] battle-axe,
with the edge turned towards the prisoners. Mr Cooke sat watching them
like one stunned.
“Sure we have seen the last of Mr Holwell!” he said, heavily.
“You think he and the other gentlemen will be put to death, sir?” I
asked him.
“Who can doubt it, sir? Han’t you seen the axe?”
This fresh misfortune kept us sad and silent for some time after we
had waved our mournful farewells to our unfortunate companions, but
then our own guards began to call out to us contemptuously to be gone,
for we that were left might betake ourselves wherever we would. But
where were we to go? Our ships were dropped down the river, and in all
Calcutta, where we had reigned like princes a week before, who was now
so poor to do us reverence? Such were the questions that, with blank
countenances, we asked one another, almost ready to confess that our
dead friends, whose bodies were now being carried from that frightful
prison to be flung promiscuously into the ditch of our unfinished
ravelin before the east gate, had found a happier fate than ours. But
our sad speculations were quickly forgotten in an event that revived
our worst fears. The Jemmautdar in charge of our guard (a depraved
wretch like most of his fellows) was examining the dead bodies before
they were carried out, with the view of discovering such poor remains
of personal property as had escaped the plunderers of the evening
before and the struggles of the night, and securing them for his own
use. Unhappily there catched his eye the glitter of a silver buckle on
Miss Freyne’s shoe, which was exposed by her torn gown, and he fetched
out a knife to cut it away from the leather. So clumsily did the
brutal mercenary do his sacrilegious work that the knife cut deep into
the lady’s foot, when, to my horror and that of Mr Cooke, a faint
groan escaped her lips, while a convulsive shudder ran through her
entire frame.
“Bravo!” cried the wretch, “the woman’s alive, then! She shall go to
Muxadabad. Sure his Highness will pay handsomely for a European female
to add to his seraglio.”
“Jemmautdar Saeb,” says Mr Cooke, giving the fellow a polite title of
respect, “let the poor creature die in peace. You see there’s scarce
breath in her.”
“Nay,” says the Jemmautdar, with a horrid leer, “she shan’t die in
peace, nor shall you carry her off to the ships under pretence of
caring for her body. She shall live and come to Muxadabad, and bring
me a fine reward from the Nabob.” And turning to some of his company,
he bade them fetch a palanqueen, while Mr Secretary and I looked on
with anguish depicted in our countenances, and the rest of the
gentlemen that survived added their earnest supplications to ours. But
the wretch in whose hands lay the unhappy lady’s fate proved as
callous as he had before shown himself avaricious, and we were about
turning away with heavy hearts, that we might not look on the carrying
away into a detestable slavery of a young creature for whom we all
entertained such high esteem, when we saw Omychund entering at the
gate, accompanied with a moderate but genteel retinue of servants. I
leave you to imagine, sir, what were our feelings when we saw
ourselves forced to supplicate this treacherous Gentoo, to whose
resentment and chicanery it is now a common belief among us that we
owe all our sufferings, and who had lain in our prison until the day
before, but it appeared to all of us that in him we beheld our only
hope of securing Miss Freyne’s release from the most dreadful of
fates. Omychund advancing towards us with his _sewaury_,[13.03] we
rose at his approach, and this low-_cast_ shroff, who had never before
approached a European without the most abject tokens of respect, nor
ventured into the presence of one without removing his shoes, had the
gratification to see six Britons greet him with the lowest bows they
could bring themselves to offer. He greeted us with an air of
unassuming benevolence, and testified by his countenance and gestures
that he at once compassionated our sufferings and deprecated our
respect.
“Pray, gentlemen,” he said in his own tongue, waving his hands in a
gracious manner, “don’t do me so much honour. ’Tis only by the favour
of his Highness that he who was the dust under your feet yesterday is
now raised over your heads. I know what it is to be a prisoner,
gentlemen, and my intercessions, joined with his Highness’s merciful
disposition, have been happily successful in ameliorating your
situation. You have been already released from custody, but I’m happy
to inform you that ’tis permitted you to remain in the place and
attend to your occasions, and that you’ll do me a favour if you’ll all
draw on me for clothes and provisions, as well as your lodging
charges, for I can’t forget in this day of prosperity how much I owe
to the obliging good nature of your nation in the past.”
If Omychund’s debt to the British nation was to be measured by the
depth of the humiliation he was now inflicting on us, it goes to show
that the impression shared by Mr Holwell and the late Captain
Colquhoun and others of our gentlemen, that for years he was only
waiting his chance to revenge himself for being turned out of his
employment under the Company, was justified, but now his tones
altered, and his countenance assumed an air of the greatest horror.
“What!” he cried, “do I indeed behold Fahrein Saeb’s daughter? Is it
possible that the unhappy young lady contrived to elude my well-meant
search last evening, and has paid for her lack of confidence with her
life? Alas! alas! that an effort so kindly intended should have been
received with such suspicion!”
“Omychund,” says Mr Cooke, approaching him, “now is the time to show
your friendship. Miss en’t dead, but the Jemmautdar yonder swears that
he’ll carry her off to Muxadabad. Pray use your best efforts to change
his mind. Offer him any sum you choose--even up to a _lack_ of rupees.
I’m sure there en’t a lady or gentleman left of the inhabitants of
Calcutta but would gladly join to pay it.”
“Jemmautdar Saeb,” says Omychund, when the fellow, on his beckoning,
came swaggering up, “is it true that you’re taking the woman there to
Muxadabad?”
“Quite true,” says the other, “and I shall give her to his Highness.
The other woman will do for the Buxey.”[13.04]
“But this is a great lady. She’s Fahrein Saeb’s daughter.”
“So much the better,” with another leer.
“I am told to offer you many thousands of rupees to let her go.”
“His Highness will give me more for keeping her.”
“Then will nothing tempt you?”
“Not ten _corores_ of rupees. Not all the treasure that the accursed
Holwell has buried and won’t give up. The woman goes to Muxadabad.”
“I feared it was useless, Saeb,” says Omychund aside to Mr Cooke.
“This is an extraordinary resolved villain. If only the chance of last
night had not been lost!”
“But sure they won’t have the inhumanity to carry the poor lady away
without one of her own sex to attend upon her?”
“Ah, in that I can help you, Saeb. As it chanced, there met me in
coming hither a worthy woman that asked alms of me, whom I had known
in more prosperous days. She had served several European ladies as a
waiting-woman, and saved enough to set up a small shop in the Great
Buzar. This was plundered and burnt last week, and she is reduced to
penury. I will send one of my servants to call her, and she shall wait
on the lady to Muxadabad.”
“But sure she won’t adventure herself into the enemy’s stronghold?”
“Indeed, Saeb, the prospect of gaining a position in his Highness’s
household will transport her with joy.”
“Well, I hope she’s to be trusted. Pray, Omychund, present her with
ten rupees from me, and bid her be good to her mistress.”
“And the same from me,” said I. “And from me,” “And from me,” added
the other gentlemen, and Omychund called his cash-bearer from among
his attendance, and bade him count out the money. By this time the
other servant was returned with the iya, an elderly Moorwoman well
muffled in a blue cloth, and to her Omychund gave the rupees, with
many good counsels, which she promised faithfully to observe, while
all the time she was assisting to lift Miss Freyne, who was still
insensible, though faintly moaning, into the palanqueen, and place her
as easily as she might. When this was done, and the _checks_ drawn,
she followed behind the bearers, and they passed out of our sight.
Dear sir, I am sensible that we seem to have played but a sorry part
in this affair, and yet, what could we do? There wasn’t a man of us
but would have given his life cheerfully to save Miss Freyne, but all
our lives together would not have been accepted in exchange for hers,
although, as you shall see, there was one worthy fellow did actually
sacrifice himself for her.
“See,” cried Mr Cooke, as the Jemmautdar and his men left the Fort
after the palanqueen, “the rascal is taking one of ourselves with him.
Who is it? This is contrary to the Nabob’s message of clemency,
Omychund.”
“Not so, Saeb,” says the Gentoo. “His Highness desires European
gunners, and this person has offered himself as one of ’em. I fear he
has the notion that he will be permitted to attend on the young lady,
but he’ll soon be undeceived in this.”
“Sure ’tis that sergeant of Captain Colquhoun’s!” said I, and on a
sudden impulse, started to run after the poor man and warn him of his
mistake, but so weak and sick was I that I could not even reach the
gate before I fell down helplessly. And thus, sir, was this poor
faithful fellow trapped into entering the Nabob’s service, in the vain
belief that he would be suffered to watch over the safety of the lady
of whom his late beloved commander was enamoured. That very day, as we
learned, was he put on board the same boat as Miss Freyne and her
attendant, which started for Muxadabad under the charge of the
Jemmautdar and a strong guard. Of the other unfortunate lady we have
heard nothing, but we know sufficient to wish that Miss Freyne had,
like her, been consigned to the Buxey, Meer Jaffier. It seems that as
our ships dropped down the river from Surmans, on beholding the fall
of the Fort, they were hotly cannonaded by the Nabob’s fortresses of
Tannah and Buzbudgia, and under this fire the snow Diligence, on board
of which were Mrs Drake and Mrs Mapletoft and two other ladies,
besides Mr Labaume, a French officer of ours, who was badly wounded,
and Mr Holwell’s goods and money, in charge of his clerk, Mr Weston,
run ashore. The four ladies were handed over by their captors to Meer
Jaffier, who treated them with the greatest humanity, and ordering his
secretary, Mirza Omar-beg, to take a swift boat, put the ladies and Mr
Labaume into it, and despatched them, under the secretary’s care, to
the ships, where husbands and wives were happily reunited. It may be
that the Buxey has used Mrs Carey in the like handsome and delicate
fashion, but of this we have no news.[13.05]
And meanwhile, what of ourselves? my good father will ask. Indeed,
dear sir, the sojourn in Allynagore (as the Soubah has renamed
Calcutta, building a mosque or Mussleman temple in the very Fort
itself), which was granted us through Omychund’s intercession, was but
short. For ten days we all lay sick of frightful fevers and the most
painful imposthumes or boils, which broke out all over us owing to the
foul atmosphere we had been in. I’ll assure the dear circle that it
afforded us little consolation as we lay abed to hear the rain
pattering on the roofs and terrasses, rain which began on the night of
our sufferings,[13.06] and which, had it come one day nearer its
usual date, might have availed to save Calcutta. As soon as any of us
were able to be about again, our troubles began anew, for the Nabob
made Monickchund the Phousdar of Houghley governor of Allynagore. This
man affects to rule with an iron hand (the Soubah being returned to
Muxadabad), and on one of the sergeants that survived with us the
horrors of our imprisonment celebrating his recovery by getting drunk
and killing a Moorman, Monickchund turned all of us Europeans out of
the place, under penalty of cutting off the nose and ears of any one
he found there after sunset of that day, so that we were forced to
make our way painfully to Fultah, a settlement of the Dutch on the
Houghley River, where our ships were lying. This place is at all times
very unhealthy, but the great number of persons now crowded together
on board the vessels, and sleeping on deck without any shelter,
exposed to the rains without so much as a change of clothes, has
caused an extraordinary great prevalence of disease. The wisest course
for the unhappy persons in this deplorable situation would
questionless be to make the best of their way by slow stages to
Madrass, in spite of the opposing winds, but Mr Manningham, who has
good reason to dread the true history of his pusillanimous behaviour
becoming known at that place, pointed out so forcibly to the President
and Mr Frankland the inexpediency of such a proceeding, that they,
being themselves in the like case with him, put an end immediately to
the notion. This apart, I know my dear friends will rejoice to hear
that the greatest kindness is shown by all on board the ships to us
unhappy sufferers, and that many who have saved but little of their
property share the scanty remnants with us.
The full history of the capture of the Fort was unknown until our
arrival, although some partial reports had been brought in by
blackfellows, and the utmost horror and amazement was excited by what
we had to tell. Mrs Freyne has taken her stepdaughter’s melancholy
fate so much to heart that she has requested Miss Freyne’s name may
never again be mentioned in her hearing, but the young lady’s chief
female friend, Mrs Hurstwood, looks at the matter in an entirely
different light. Repairing, at her request, on board the Dodley, where
she is lying sick, I related the whole mournful affair to Mrs
Hurstwood, when the lady astonished me by crying out to know whether
there was none of us man enough to snatch a scymitar from the guards
and slay her unfortunate friend. To this I could only reply, quite
confounded, that I could not have ventured upon so terrible and
resolved a measure but upon the lady’s own urgent request, upon which
Mrs Hurstwood mocked at me for preferring my punctilio to Miss
Freyne’s honour and happiness, and bade me depart and never enter her
presence again. Happening to meet Mr Hurstwood this morning, he told
me that my news had so grievously affected his lady that she had been
seized with a fresh access of her disorder, in so much that the
physicians despaired of her life, a moving incident that shows the
falseness of those who contend that no true friendship can exist
between persons of the female sex. But as to that which the lady found
fault with me for not doing, I can’t discern, even now, that I ought
to have done it. I do entreat my dear father to unite his
supplications to Heaven with mine, that my hesitation may be
over-ruled by Omnipotence for good, even for that of the unhappy lady
herself, and so assist to calm the troubled mind of, sir, your
obedient son and servant,
Robert Fisherton.
_From Mrs Hurstwood to Colvin Fraser, Esq._
_On board the Hon. Co.’s Ship Doddaly, off_ Fulta, _July ye_ 6_th._
Sir,--I send you these lines by the hand of Mess. Manningham and La
Beaume, to whom is committed the melancholy task of announcing at
Madrass the deplorable ruin that has lately fell upon our Calcutta
factory. I make no excuse for addressing a letter to a gentleman that
I know so slightly, and with whom my relations in the past have not
been so friendly as I should have desired, seeing he had succeeded in
inspiring such a tender interest in the bosom of my dearest friend. Mr
Fraser don’t need me to tell him that I was always of opinion Miss
Freyne might do vastly better than marry him, and that in aspiring
even to the honour of her friendship he was pretending to a favour
much above his deserts. True, sir, and even at this present time I
can’t bring myself to feign otherwise, but I don’t think so ill of Mr
Fraser as to imagine he will let my whimsies prejudice him against the
lovely and innocent creature in whose behalf I now demand his help.
What (you’ll say), I have changed my tune? Indeed, sir, I’ll assure
you that the change springs only from the need of the moment, and
’twill require a very exceptional behaviour on your part to induce it
to become permanent. But I do need your help,--nay, I demand it, and
this because there’s no one else to whom I can confidently apply, and
to whom Miss Freyne’s fate is a matter of such proper concern. My
spouse knows that if there’s any question of attacking Muxadavad when
reinforcements reach us, he must march with the troops to Miss
Freyne’s rescue (if he be forced to do no more than carry a fire-rock
in the ranks), or he shall never again call Charlotte Hamlin his wife,
but the unreasonable creature persists in considering me before my
dearest Sylvia, and won’t consent to take any present step that might
interfere with his protecting me. Our excellent Mr Freyne is no more,
and his lady is too much relieved to find herself suddenly liberated
from the scandal that was beginning to threaten her name, and to
believe herself the heir to all that her spouse has left behind him,
to feign any interest in the recovery of her stepdaughter. Your cousin
Colquhoun, the worthiest person of my acquaintance (you are aware of
my opinion, that if you, sir, had possessed the Captain’s disposition,
or he your youth and prospects, I need have sought no further for a
spouse for my Sylvia), is also dead, and the only person left to watch
over the dear creature’s fate is myself. The fearful news that my
dearest girl had been carried into the most frightful and revolting
slavery imaginable threw me at first into such a sickness that both Dr
Knox and a Dutch physician from the factory here predicted my
immediate dissolution, but, sir, I can’t, I won’t die, while my Sylvia
needs a disinterested friend. If I can do no more than incite you to
attempt her deliverance, I shan’t have lived in vain, but I fear that
I don’t trust Mr Fraser sufficiently to die happy until I have seen
him actually successful. Come, sir, I challenge you to undertake the
task. You have declared that you love my incomparable Miss Freyne--or
at least, at the end of a monstrous fine and flowery epistle of yours
there was a postscriptum that the dear creature would not read to me,
but to which her eyes returned ever and anon with a smile of sweet
satisfaction when she thought I wasn’t looking at her--what, pray, is
your love good for? Hitherto it has been fertile in producing the most
fantastical letter ever wrote out of a romance, and the most unhappy
expedient for sparing your punctilio and testing your mistress’s
affection that ever set a gentleman and lady at cross purposes, but is
it capable of anything more? You have confused and muddled your
affairs in a style worthy only of a poet; is it possible to you to go
to work like a man of sense to set ’em right? If so, let me see you
throwing, for once, your prudence and calculation and worldly wisdom
to the winds, and setting out to rescue Miss Freyne, if living, to
avenge her, if dead. You’ll observe that I don’t condition with you to
marry her if she be rescued. Your sentiments may have altered, and no
man shall marry my Sylvia Freyne that would make a condescension of
doing so. My house and my heart are always open to her; your part is
only to restore her to the arms of, sir, your obedient servant,
Ch. Hurstwood.
_Three letters from Colvin Fraser, Esq., to Mrs Hurstwood._
The Tank-house, Madrass, _Aug. ye_ 17_th._
Madam,--Your obliging favour is to hand, writ in language that I am
sensible my former behaviour has but too well deserved. The just
remarks that you have passed upon my usage of the dear lady whose name
I scarce dare profane with my pen find a ready echo in the heart of
the unhappy wretch that now addresses you. I dare not, madam, protest
my love for Miss Freyne, but I’ll hope to prove it. I have long been
convinced that the happy issue hinted at for my affairs in my cousin
Colquhoun’s letter of April the 29th was not to be confidently looked
forward to, for in that case what punishment would I have received for
the sufferings inflicted on my charmer by my fault? But that my
punishment should arrive through further sufferings on Miss Freyne’s
part--sure, dear madam, this is more than is just, for I had willingly
endured any trials rather than they should come on her. When the news
arrived here in the middle of July of the fall of Cossimbuzar, I was
very urgent with Captain Latham and the Admiral to grant me leave to
accompany Major Kilpatrick’s detachment of 230 Europeans, which was
despatched at once to the assistance of Calcutta, but I was strictly
refused, both because it was intended very shortly to employ all our
force in aiding the Nizam Salabadjing against Mr Bussey, who has
established himself with a French garrison at Charmaul in the vicinity
of Hyderabad, and also because it was the confident expectation
everywhere that Fort William would easily beat off any army the Soubah
could bring against it. In spite, however, of the cheerfulness of all
around me, I remained in a state of the most cruel anxiety, although
not anticipating news of such horror as reached us yesterday by the
hand of Mr Labaume. Mr Manningham, whom you mention as also detailed
to carry the awful tidings, chose to remain at Vizagapatnam, being
apprehensive as to the sort of reception he might expect here when his
cowardly behaviour became known, and indeed, I think the men would
have beat him to death with their scabbards, or the ladies stabbed him
with their bodkins, had he been within reach when they heard of his
action in forsaking the defence, and going on board the ships with the
women and Mr Frankland, after no more than a day’s fighting. On his
arrival, Mr Labaume was summoned to the consultation chamber, where he
delivered his despatches to Mr President Pigot and the Council, and
answered the questions showered upon him as to the reason and manner
of this unparalleled calamity. Then, when the public men were
satisfied, came the turn of those that had relations or private
friends in Calcutta, and among them myself. I knew by the young
gentleman’s air when he saw me that he had ill news to convey, and
like a man condemned to drink poison, that might begin by sipping
delicately at the edge of the cup, I only approached by degrees the
topic of my supreme concern. “What of my friend Jack Bellamy, sir?”
“Dead, sir, and the Padra too.” “And my cousin Colquhoun?” “Dead, like
them, in the black hole.” “And my good friend Mr Freyne?” “Dead of his
wounds, sir.” “And--and what of his daughter, sir?” “Alas, sir! she
fell into the hands of the enemy, and was carried to Muxidavad.” Such
was the awful gradation of my misery, which made me burst through the
crowd and rush into the open air, whither Mr Labaume followed me and
thrust a pacquet into my hand. ’Twas your letter, madam, but indeed
its incitements were not needed, although they served to impel me to a
greater frenzy than I was in.
Scarce knowing what I did, I returned to the consultation chamber, and
waited at the door until the Admiral had ended his conference with
Governor Pigot and the Council, waylaying him as he came out, and
demanding his leave to repair at once to Fulta in order to take
measures for Miss Freyne’s deliverance. What was my consternation when
Mr Watson not only refused me very curtly, but looking keenly into my
face, ordered me to return on board my ship at once. The habit of
obedience assisted me to turn my steps in the direction of the strand,
but once out of the Admiral’s presence the thought of my dear angel’s
cruel fate overcame me again, and blotted out all recollection of the
order I had received. Instead of seeking a shore-boat to go on board
the Tyger, I turned aside to the ramparts, and there wandered about, I
think, for hours, seeing that it was before sunset I had met with Mr
Labaume. My whole soul was consumed with the thought of the miseries
that the dear creature, whose humble servant I am proud to be, must
have endured. An officer of the city watch coming upon me at last,
recommended me to leave the walls, and finding that I was as though I
heard him not, led me by the arm to the strand and set me in the
direction of the spot where our boats from the ships are wont to land
and embark their crews, with great peril from the surf. Wading along
in the heavy sand, with no design nor intention in my mind for
betaking myself anywhere, it seemed to me that I heard my name called,
but I could not discover from what point the voice came. Presently,
however, I felt myself seized by the sleeve, and found that Billy
Speke, son to the captain of the Kent, and the Admiral’s favourite
midshipman, was come running after me.
“The Admiral bids you attend him at once, sir,” he said.
I followed the lad to the road, where I found Mr Watson standing
beside his hackery,[13.07] which he had halted on catching sight of
me. He was on his way home from the President’s to the Tank-house,
which is his residence while on shore. Looking at me with great
seriousness, “What are you doing here, sir?” he asked me. “Did you
repair on board as I ordered you?”
I could only look at him without a word, but I fancy he must have read
in my countenance something of the torments I had been enduring.
“Come home with me,” he said, with that benevolent air which has made
him the idol of every man that has ever served under him. “You shall
lie at the Tank-house to-night, and I will make your excuses to
Captain Latham.” With gentle force, he compelled me to enter the
hackery. “You are very foolhardy thus to expose your health to these
night airs, child, and I shall bid my surgeon look to you, for I don’t
desire to lose one of my most active officers before we sail to avenge
our people at Calcutta. Pray, Mr Speke, contrive to perch yourself
somewhere on this machine, and bid the driver go on.”
“Oh, pray, sir,” I cried, “is Calcutta to be avenged?”
“I believe so,” said the Admiral. “Some of the Council were very
urgent for sending only a small force, and keeping the rest to attack
Bussey, but I have fought hard, and Mr Pigot is with me, to strip this
place of every ship and every man we can send, and if I don’t mistake,
there will be a greater man than I on the same side after to-morrow.
We have sent swift _cossids_ to fetch Colonel Clive with all speed
from Fort St David.”
“Oh, sir, for Heaven’s sake,” I cried, “be so good as to overlook my
disobedience, and allow me to make one of the force you send.”
“Why,” said our noble commander, “if I judged you by your behaviour
to-day, child, I should put you under arrest for intending to desert,
and punish you by leaving you here when we start for Calcutta. But it
shall be overlooked, if you’ll give me your word of honour not in any
way to anticipate the departure of the force.”
You’ll guess, madam, with what gratitude and alacrity I gave the
required pledge, knowing that with Mr Watson and Mr Clive in charge
there would be no delay in despatching the relief. The Admiral was as
good as his word, and entertained me at his house for the night,
wishing me sounder sleep than I have enjoyed. I can’t sleep, madam,
for the fearful dreams that beset me, and I can’t think calmly, for I
am almost mad, so that I have sought to quiet myself writing to you. I
am sensible now of a sort of drowsiness stealing over me, so I hope
for some relief.
Pray, madam, how did you know that I writ verses? I have never
confided the secret even to my adored Miss Freyne, hoping one day to
surprise her with a poem worthy of her, and I am sure, madam, that you
was never told it by your obedient, humble servant,
C. Fraser.
(_Written below the signature in another hand._)
Rear-Admiral Watson has the honour to inform Mrs Hurstwood that
Lieutenant Fraser has been seized with one of the malignant fevers of
the country, but is receiving every imaginable care and attention at
the Tank-house, and Dr Ives thinks tolerable well of his case.
The Tank-house, Madrass, _Sept. ye_ 18_th._
Madam,--I am but now recovering from an attack of fever, the
consequence, as I suppose, of the disorder of my spirits at the time I
writ last. Alas that I should have so little that’s comforting to
tell! Mr Labaume will have informed you of the divided counsels and
faint-hearted schemes prevailing at this place, and of the incredible
obstacles placed in the path of the Admiral and Colonel Clive in their
patriotic efforts to redeem the disgrace inflicted upon the British
nation by the success of the Soubah’s arms. Will it be credited in
future ages that while a good portion of the Council thought only of
sending to Fulta to fetch away the refugees there, and abandoning
Bengal to the Moors and the French, Mr President Pigot, while ranging
himself on the right side, desired to command the avenging force in
his own person, though neither soldier nor seaman, and that Colonel
Adlercron has over and over again brought matters to a deadlock by
insisting on his right to the command, as being senior in his
Majesty’s service to Colonel Clive? Were it not that Colonel Lawrence,
Mr Clive’s ancient superior in the Carnatic wars, enjoys but poor
health, we would questionless find in him another claimant to the
honour. Lying, as I am, in the Admiral’s own house, where I have
received such continual and obliging kindness as could not have been
exceeded in my own father’s abode, I am in the way of hearing all that
goes on from the gentlemen who visit me, full of indignation and
resentment, as much almost against Colonel Adlercron and his intimates
as against Surajah Dowlah. But to-day I have experienced a special
honour, and been gladdened by the best news I could receive in my
present unhappy situation. The Admiral came in just now to visit me,
bringing with him a person in a military undress whom I knew to be
Colonel Clive.
“And so this is the young gentleman that desires to avenge his
mistress!” said the Colonel, when they had both spoke to me very
condescendingly. “Well, I don’t know but one thing that makes a man
fight better than the desire of vengeance.”
“And what’s that, Colonel?” asked Mr Watson.
“Why, sir, the fanatic fury of a religious war. The man that believes
himself Heaven’s commissioned messenger don’t dare allow himself in
slackness.”
“Sure, sir,” said I, “my commission is also from Heaven, for the lady
I desire to serve could in no way be distinguished from an angel.”
“Well, you’ll have your wish before long, I hope,” says Colonel Clive,
smiling at my warmth, yet not unkindly, “for I believe our
difficulties are composed at last.”
“Indeed,” says the Admiral, “I can’t tell how grateful I am that Mr
Fraser has been laid aside all this while. My troubles would have been
ten times greater had he been continually scolding me for delay.”
“Indeed, sir, I have much for which to ask your pardon,” I said.
“And you also may be thankful, young gentleman,” said the Colonel,
“for your sickness, for I hear the surgeon says that the disorder of
your brain would without it have increased into madness.”
But perhaps my greatest cause of gratitude, madam, is the frightful
delay that has occurred, since the force has not been able to sail
without your obedient, &c.
_His Majesty’s Ship Tyger_, Madrass Road, _Oct. ye_ 9_th._
Madam,--At last I enjoy the felicity of assuring Mrs Hurstwood that
our fleet leaves Madrass to-morrow, carrying with it Colonel Clive and
his army. The continual delays interposed by the arrogant pretensions
of certain unqualified persons have, alas! operated in a manner
extremely opposed to the wishes of all concerned, so that whereas, by
sailing when the news of the Calcutta calamity first reached us, we
might have made the mouth of the Ganges in eight days, we must now
consider ourselves fortunate to do it in as many weeks, which all adds
to the cruel loss of time that has took place. I entreat you to
believe, madam, that I am fully sensible of the deep anxiety you will
lie under as to the progress of our campaign, since Mr Hurstwood has
insisted on carrying you from Fulta to Madrass in hopes of procuring
your recovery, and I leave this billet behind me to greet your
arrival, and to assure you that I’ll do my best to keep you acquainted
of all that passes bearing any reference to the affairs of the lady
who is our common care. You’ll perhaps, madam, think me too cheerful
in my anticipations, but (I don’t know why) I can’t bring myself to
believe that my part in this expedition will be limited to avenging my
adored Miss Freyne. Is it impious to suppose that Heaven would
interfere to protect, even by miracle, a creature of such transcendent
excellence? and in that case, might not mine be the inexpressible joy
and honour of restoring the most adorable of created beings to the
arms of the friend whose merits alone approach hers? But, madam, I
won’t raise your delicate spirits too high with these delightful
visions.--I am, &c.