PROVING THAT THE DAYS OF MIRACLES ARE PAST.
_From Miss Sylvia Freyne to Miss Amelia Turnor._
Muxadavad, _April ye_ 29_th._
For more than two months, Amelia, I have been free from the oppression
of Sinzaun’s presence, and have not taken up my pen, having nothing to
record. Not that my persecutor’s errand to Mons. Bussy has occupied
the whole of this period, for I am assured that he has visited the
house more than once, and that Misery has spoken with him, but he has
been so gracious as not to force himself upon me. I wish I could
believe that this abstinence sprang from any desire to show me
kindness, but I am convinced it is designed to make me sensible that I
am in disgrace. Indeed, since even the steward has ceased to pay his
weekly visits, and the women of the house refuse to permit me to speak
to them--running away if I come near--I think Sinzaun must desire to
force me into a compliance with his wishes through the mere dulness
and emptyness of my lot. One poor black girl there was--a Hobshee or
Habashy, as the inhabitants of Abyssinia are called here--in whose
grotesque countenance I fancied I could detect the signs of a greater
humanity than her fellows possessed, and endeavoured accordingly to
awaken her compassion, although I got no further than to tell her I
was a captive like herself. I fancied she sympathised with me, but
when I looked for her next, hoping to advance in my purpose, she was
not to be found, and Misery, on my asking what was become of her,
would do nothing but laugh in the most horrid, unfeeling style. Since
that time, also, the other women have avoided me with this
extraordinary care, making off as soon as I approach them, as though
fearing punishment if they listened to a word from me. Were the
disgust I feel towards my gaoler less deeply rooted, I’ll own I think
he would succeed in bringing me to compliance, for what could be more
painful to a rational creature than to remain pent up between four
walls, seeing and conversing with no one but Misery, and deprived of
every semblance of occupation? But however calculated may be his
designs, he shan’t induce Sylvia Freyne to entertain her father’s
murderer as a suitor for her hand.
But perhaps you’ll say I am relinquishing hope too easily, in thus
choosing deliberately to sink into imbecility (as appears but too
likely to be my fate) instead of making some attempt to escape. Why,
Amelia (I can’t help writing to my dear girl as though she were ever
likely to receive this letter), where should I, in my present unhappy
situation, take refuge, even if I were once outside these walls? Do
you remember that there’s not a person in India would be willing to
shelter me; or, if willing, would not be deterred by fear of Sinzaun
and the Nabob? And how should an unhappy creature, that has already
contributed to destroy her country’s settlements here, have the
assurance to involve any other community, as that of the Armenians or
the Prussians, in her misfortunes? But even to do this further
mischief I must find means to leave this house, and how? Misery, the
only creature I speak to, and that will speak to me, is impenetrable,
incorruptible. Do I try to move her on the grounds of mercy or
forbearance? “Beebee,” she cries, “you talk very fine language--too
fine for your slave to understand.” While if I seek to appeal to her
in the name of religion, she will shut her eyes and begin to chaunt,
“There’s no God but _Alla_, and Mahomet is his prophet!” until I am
gone away from her in disgust.
I have but one faint semblance of hope, and that’s very much akin to
despair. Now and again I hear the servants talking of some enemy
that’s invading Bengall, and seems to be driving the Soubah’s forces
before him. This invading army they call by the name of the _loll
addama_,[18.01] which means the red men, and speak of its leaders
only by the titles of Saubut Jing and Dilleir Jing Bahadre, or the
Tryed and the Courageous in Battles. From which side it comes I can’t
say, for the only time I have heard anything certain of its advance
was more than a month ago, when one of the other women called out to
Misery that the red men had captured the city of Farashdanga, and made
Zubdatook Toojah[18.02] and his army prisoners; but I don’t know
where this city may be, and the name of the chief man I never heard
before. Should these red men continue to succeed in their campaign,
and go so far as to seize Muxadavad, I might perhaps find a chance of
safety,--not that there’s any reason to anticipate a change of gaolers
to be an improvement, but that in the confusion of the moment I might
be able to elude the vigilance of Misery and the rest, and slip out of
the house. But this is only foolishness, for so far from the red men’s
taking Muxadavad, they seem to have retired, or at least made no
further advance, since the capture of Farashdanga, and my hopes have
sunk with their fortunes. And to-night, says Misery, Meer Sinzaun will
attend me here.
_April ye_ 30_th._
Well, Amelia, I have received my last warning, and the next interview
with which my gaoler favours me is to bring me my last chance. Oh, how
I wish that all were over now, and that I had not this perpetual
tormenting apprehension besetting me continually! For I don’t even now
know the worst; I can but guess at it.
Yesterday evening Sinzaun presented himself at his usual hour, some
time after sunset. Approaching me with an air of assurance he sought
to kiss my hand, but this I was able to prevent, trusting the repulse
might inform him of my temper towards him without entering upon a
controversy. This hope appeared to be fulfilled, for he opened his
discourse by apologizing for the length of time he had absented
himself from my saloon, remarking that he had undertaken several
journeys to Mons. Bussy and other French officers in the interval. But
having finished his excuses, he changed his topic on a sudden.
“When Clarissa’s humble servant last had the satisfaction of beholding
her, it may be that he approached with too much precipitation the
subject which is nearest to his heart,” said he, “and that the passion
which possesses him rendered him oblivious of the usual proprieties.
But although he may adore Clarissa without asking to know more of her
than that she returns his affection, it en’t reasonable to expect the
same of her. Know then, madam, that the individual who is so happy as
to find himself at your feet is a son of one of the highest families
in France, and in that favoured country enjoys the style of Count of
St Jean, which the pagans here corrupt into Sinzaun. Certain youthful
excesses on my part, coupled, perhaps, with too ardent a love of
political activity, induced my family to set before me the
alternatives of the Indies or the Bastille. As a young person of
spirit I chose the Indies, and at Pondicherry should have reaped, I
don’t doubt, much fame and glory, had not adverse circumstances again
conspired to drive me from my post there. Having had the misfortune to
kill another officer in a duel, I was challenged afresh by his brother
and father-in-law, of whom I killed one and wounded t’other. All three
were persons of consideration in the place, and it appeared desirable
that I should quit it. The cause of the duel it’s unnecessary for me
to explain to a young lady of Clarissa’s penetration. Your charming
sex, madam, are answerable for many miseries that afflict their
adorers--but I don’t desire to cast blame on any one. I left
Pondicherry somewhat hastily, and not finding it desirable to attempt
to take service with any of our allies in the Decan, made my way to
Bengall, where Ally Verdy Cawn was glad enough to engage my help in
his struggle with the Morattoes, and I rose before long to a situation
of confidence in his army. Perceiving, however, that the old Soubah
had not long to live, I made my court to his grandson, and succeeded
in establishing myself in the favour of Saradjot Dollah, to whom I was
so happy as to render considerable service in the measures he took for
assuring the throne to himself on Ally Verdy’s death. ’Twas in this
employment that I fell in with the unlucky Genoese Menotti, who might
still be alive and wealthy had not Clarissa’s virtuous example seduced
him to leave off his evil ways and desire to marry and live honestly.
But I won’t speak hardly of one to whom I owe the felicity of this
moment----”
The wretch paused, and regarded me with his evil smile, as if
expecting me to speak, but I have learned to endure a prodigious
amount without contradicting him, and he went on--
“Of the consequences of this acquaintance I don’t need to speak, for
the unhappy man contrived to oblige me in the most extraordinary
manner while endeavouring only the opposite; but I desire to reassure
my Clarissa, whose apprehensions I have observed with regret, as to
the future. Some persons, madam, having rose to the position I now
occupy in the Soubah’s favour, would bend their minds to the task of
supplanting him and obtaining the Soubahship in his stead--nay, there
are some plotting to do so at this moment. But such en’t Sinzaun’s
ambition. His eyes are fixed on Paris, not on the Indies. To present
this potentate as the ally and vassal of France is my aim, and in
constituting myself at once his protector and his servant I perceive
the means to attain it. By winning his battles for him----”
“Against the _loll addama_, sir?” I asked him, moved by I don’t know
what impulse. To my surprise he gave a huge start.
“Pray, madam, what do you know of the _loll addama_?” he cried, with
an oath.
“Why, sir, I have heard the servants talk of ’em, that’s all.”
“I’m glad it’s no more, madam. Their doings en’t for Clarissa’s ears.
Yes, the _loll addama_ are among the enemies to be defeated,
questionless. Well, then, having made myself a position here, I intend
it shall serve me in Europe. You know something, madam, of the
frequency of revolutions in these countries, and you’ll guess that any
wealth I may possess en’t locked up in houses or lands. No, ’tis all
invested in precious stones, such as neither kings nor great ladies
can resist. When I make my appearance at Versailles as the embassador
of the friendly Saradjot Dollah, bringing with me gifts that may well
seem unsurpassable to those that don’t know the East, is there any
fear that the amiable follies of my youth, whether in Paris or
Pondicherry, will be remembered against me? No, the Court will be at
my feet, grovelling there in the hope of picking up a diamond or two,
and I shall be a greater man than the great Mons. John Laws himself.
But to me the keenest delight will be the introduction of my little
Puritan Clarissa into the great, the polite world.”
“Sir,” I said, my voice trembling, as he glanced at me with an odious
air that was at once gallant and malevolent, “pray be so good as to
leave me out of your designs. I am neither fitted nor eager to take
part in them.”
“Why, that’s my great inducement, madam,” he cried. “So long as I have
had the honour of Clarissa’s acquaintance, it has been my perpetual
entertainment to perceive that she never thought with me on any single
topic. Had she displayed an accommodating temper I might soon have
wearied of her, but how can I tire of observing the pains that so
agreeable a young lady takes to disoblige me? And if I find the
diversion so much to my taste here, what will it be when my charmer
becomes acquainted with the life of Paris? Her frequent blushes and
her ready tears, and the speaking eyes in which I can read every
thought of her innocent heart as in a book, will all be so many
additions to my delight in returning to my ancient home.”
Oh, Amelia, if you knew how I hated the man as he said this! It makes
me writhe (there’s no other word for it), to be forced to submit to
the degradation of listening to such words from him. You’ll wonder,
perhaps, to hear me say that I could wish he did indeed cherish for me
the affection he pretends. But then, my dear, I might have some hope
of moving him by my entreaties--for true love, they say, will take
part with the beloved object in opposition even to its own desires;
but how can I hope to make any effect upon a wretch that owns he seeks
but to divert himself by tormenting me?
“So, then,” the odious creature proceeded, “when Clarissa consents to
make her Sinzaun happy, she need not fear a life of perpetual
seclusion here. While we remain in Bengall, ’twill, alas! be necessary
for her to conform when abroad to the usages of the country, but
within the walls of her house she shall enjoy the most complete
freedom, and when we reach France, the more liberty she demands the
better shall I be pleased.”
“Oh, sir!” I cried, and, unable to bear more, threw myself at his
feet, choking with sobs, “pray don’t mock me in this cruel manner. I
have done you no harm. If this poor face has catched your fancy, it
en’t by my good will; but if you have any kindness for the unhappy
creature you say you love, let me go--suffer me to return unharmed to
England.”
“Won’t my dear unreasonable one understand,” said the audacious,
catching my hand and seeking to draw me towards him, but this I
resisted, “that if I had designed to let her depart to England, all
the trouble and pains I have been at would have been thrown away?
Don’t she perceive that for all I have done and spent for her I must
have a return? Must I be so harsh as to inform her that if I mayn’t
attain my ambition _for_ her, it must be _through_ her?”
“I don’t take your meaning, sir,” I faltered. Could the man intend to
sell me for a slave? “I have friends in England who en’t wealthy, but
would impoverish themselves without a murmur to reimburse you any
expenses to which you may have been put, if that’s your condition.”
“Oh, no, madam, Sinzaun en’t a trader. Nothing could please him better
than to have the happiness of winning your affections, but he has a
foolish prejudice against using force to compel ’em, and piques
himself upon his genteel treatment of you. But there’s others that
don’t share this prejudice, and he might find himself forced, in his
own interest, to resign his concern in you to them. Pray don’t suspect
him of the vulgarity of employing menaces. He seeks no bride but one
that comes to him of her own free will, for he don’t desire that
either here or in Europe his Clarissa should proclaim herself his only
upon compulsion.”
“At least, sir, let me know what I have to fear,” I groaned.
He smiled. “Why, no, madam; that’s my affair. You don’t choose to give
me a favourable answer to-night, perhaps? No? then we’ll leave the
matter until our next meeting. I can’t advise you to continue to
resist me, for I have so much interest in you as makes me deplore the
notion of putting you to any inconvenience, and i’ faith, I see no
hope for you if you persist in your present frame of mind. You have, I
believe, learned something of my disposition since coming to
Muxadavad, and you won’t suspect me of going beyond my intentions when
I say that in justice to myself I must soon abandon this struggle in
favour of a more certain good. Believe me, I can’t but pity your
obstinacy, and you’ll remember this too late.”
_May ye_ 17_th._
Sinzaun is departed again upon an embassy to Mons. Bussy, carrying
with him, so Misery tells me, a gift of two _lacks_ of rupees from the
Soubah to the French leader. So long as he is absent I may hope for a
respite, but he can’t now be away much longer. For some days I have
had the thought of seeking to discover from Misery the fate that he
designs for me, but this morning it chanced that she approached the
matter herself, by asking me whether I would give her my hussy when I
left this place.
“Why, Misery, you can’t sew,” I said. “What will you do with scissors
and needles?”
“Oh, they’ll be useful in other ways, Beebee. Europe goods are
stronger and more delicate than country-made, and your slave has
served you faithfully for close upon a year.”
“But I’ve no thought of leaving this place,” I said. “Whither should
I go?”
“Why, Beebee, to the Killa. Meer Sinzaun destines you for the Nabob.”
I shivered, for the same thought had come to me several days before.
“How do you know this, Misery? Has Meer Sinzaun told you?”
“How should Meer Sinzaun tell his doings to his slave, Beebee? I have
guessed it a long time, and I’m making ready to go my own way.”
“Then you purpose to forsake me, Misery?”
“Indeed, Beebee, if I saw any signs that you’d accept your lot, and be
content to win the favour of his Highness, I would never be separated
from you, but since you seem to be as obstinate as ever, I won’t risk
my head. I have provided for my escape, and now that Calcutta is built
up again, I shall return to my old trade and seek customers among the
ladies there.”
“But is Calcutta built up again? By whom?”
“Why, by the Moors, of course, Beebee,” very hastily. “Do you think
the Moorish ladies don’t value the services of the Mother of
Cosmetiques as much as the English Beebees?”
“Oho, so you was the Mother of Cosmetiques, Madam Misery?” I cried,
remembering the part the woman had played in my former history.
“Yes, Beebee, your slave is she,” with a sort of proud humility. “If
you would have suffered it, she could make you so beautiful! Even now,
if you’ll invite her to attend you to the palace, she’ll engage that
there shan’t be a lady to compare with you. His Highness----” she saw
my angry gesture of silence, and dropped her fawning tone. “Well, I
have neglected my trade for a year to attend on you, Beebee, and now I
must return and take it up again. I only hope you won’t be sorry that
you’ve so often spurned the counsel of your poor Misery.”
“For that you must blame the badness of the counsel,” said I, pretty
coolly, for I disliked the woman’s assurance in presuming to advise
me; but she leaned forward as she sat at my feet, and raised her eyes
to mine in the most entreating style imaginable.
“Oh, Beebee, suffer your slave to say a word. If you have indeed been
resolved all these months to repulse Meer Sinzaun in the hope of
finding yourself presented to the Nabob, let your slave share in your
triumph. This is what Meer Sinzaun believes of you, for how else could
you have resisted his constant assiduities? and ’tis this makes him so
angry, and well it may, for he’s dying for love of you.”
“If you can’t speak truth, my good woman, at least try to talk sense,”
said I, and tearing my gown from her hold, left her, for I was
prodigiously vexed to find that she had devised all this scene in
Sinzaun’s interest, and was seeking to bend me to his will lest,
forsooth, he should misconceive my motives! You’ll agree with me,
Amelia, that Sinzaun’s opinion would be the last in the world to weigh
with me in considering any matter of right or wrong.
_June ye_ 5_th._
I have a strange thing to tell my dear girl this evening. Happening to
be in the house for greater coolness during the heat of the day, I
found myself not far from the small barred window of which I have
spoken before, and hearing a great uproar and noise of voices in the
street, went to look out. Below me was a palanqueen attended with
several servants. One of the bearers had chanced to fall, and received
some hurt, and the rest were scolding and consoling him by turns,
while the palanqueen rested on the ground. As I watched, one of the
_checks_ was withdrawn a little way, and a face looked out. It was the
face of a European, Amelia, an Englishman, if I don’t mistake--an
elderly person of respectable appearance. That was all I could see,
for the servant that seemed the chief over the rest--a Moorman, but
with a turbant such as the Tartars wear, having the _puckery_ twisted
round a high pointed cap instead of a small round one--pulled back the
_check_ with an extreme haste and violence, and rebuking the bearers
for their confusion, bade them take up the palanqueen again. Hearing
Misery approaching, I durst not remain at the window, but at least I
had gained something on which to meditate. There’s one Englishman,
then, left in India--a prisoner, questionless, from the secrecy and
severity with which he was secluded, but not used apparently with any
great harshness. Sure he might help me in some way, if only I could
get speech of him. But how to reach him, since I am secluded at least
as rigorously as he? I have passed my time to-day devising a thousand
plans, all suggested by this extraordinary event, for opening
communications with my fellow-captive, but since he don’t know of my
existence, nor I of his place of confinement, and since I can neither
leave this house nor find a trusty messenger, I have been forced to
reject my designs one by one, as each more wild and extravagant than
the last. And to-night, as Misery is just come to tell me, Sinzaun
purposes to do himself the honour of paying me a visit. Oh, Amelia,
this unfinished sheet may prove to contain my last farewell to you.
_June ye_ 7_th._
My sentence is pronounced, Amelia, and your poor friend is now like no
one so much as the criminal in Newgate, who knows that the day is his
last. I was still writing the words with which my letter of yesterday
closed, when I became sensible that there were eyes regarding me, and
looking up, I found Sinzaun standing in the doorway. The start I gave
on seeing him there almost overturned the smoky native lamp by the
light of which I was writing, but I saved it in time to prevent the
destruction of my papers, while he complimented me on the assiduity I
showed in keeping up a correspondence with my friend. I put up my
writing implements hastily, my sole anxiety being to bring the hateful
interview to a close, and for this once Sinzaun appeared inclined to
second my efforts.
“May I take it that Clarissa has done me the honour to turn over in
her mind the proposition I submitted to her at our last meeting?” he
asked.
“I have considered of the matter carefully, sir.”
“And may I hope she’ll condescend to make me the happiest of men?”
“I’m sure, sir, I wish you happiness, but I won’t marry you.”
“No, madam? and yet I offer you such advantages of wealth, situation,
dress, and jewellery, as would tempt the gross of women.”
“None of these, sir, can break down the barrier caused by the measures
you thought fit to take to get me into your power.”
“You take a vastly high tone with me, madam. I could almost fancy I
had been so unfortunate as to lay siege to a heart already occupied by
some happier rival.” He looked curiously into my face, but I summoned
resolution enough to appear unmoved, not knowing to what further trial
he might be about to subject me. “Can it be that the fortress had
surrendered before my arrival to one of those gay young gentlemen that
fluttered about Clarissa at Calcutta?”
“Sir,” I said, “all this is beside the mark. Pray believe that I must
refuse to marry you were you the only man in the world.”
“And that’s final?” he cried, springing up and seeming to tower above
me. “Then on your knees, madam! Unsay those words, and ask my pardon
for ’em, or”--and he swore a horrid oath--“by this time to-morrow
you’ll be in the hands of a man that will take no refusal from you. I
saved you from the Nabob once, but not for this. Unless you’ll
pleasure me, you shall pleasure him.”
“I am a weak woman, sir, and if you deliver me by force to the Nabob I
can’t hope to resist. But yield to you by my own will I won’t.”
“What!” he cried, sneering, “you’d have me employ force, as a salve to
your conscience? But I won’t gratify you, madam. You’ll marry me of
your own free will, or go to the Killa.”
“Then Heaven’s will be done, sir.”
“What--you expect deliverance from this dilemma that I’ve set before
you? What friend have you in the world that can assist you now?”
“None, sir--except God.”
“And you have never appealed to God until this moment? He has not left
any prayer of yours unanswered? You anticipate seriously a miracle of
deliverance after a whole year in which your God has done nothing for
you? Fie, madam! the days of miracles are past--even if you believe
they ever existed.”
“My duty remains the same, sir.”
“Very well, madam. To-morrow night--no, the night after. To-morrow the
Nabob has ordered a great fight of wild beasts for the diversion of
the Court--two nights hence, I’ll offer the Nabob an entertainment at
this house, and Clarissa will assist me in providing it. That is,
unless I should receive a message from her to-morrow. After that,
’twill be too late.”
Oh, how I prayed last night, Amelia, that it would please Heaven to
give the lie to this man’s jeers by permitting me to expire before
morning! But morning is come, and I still live.
_June ye_ 8_th._
I can’t tell how the hot hours of yesterday passed, my dear friend. I
was too wretched to write, even had I found anything to make known to
you. I roamed restless through the apartments here, or sat crouched in
a corner, murmuring that God had cast me off and left me helpless
before the cruelty of my enemies. At night, as I tossed upon my bed
unable to sleep, there came to me a thought, but whether from a good
or evil source I can’t pretend to guess. Does my Amelia remember a
sentence that our good Rector at home once cited in describing the
character of the excellent and devout Athanasius? It pleased us so
much that when we were writing out our recollections of the sermon the
next day we were so bold as to ask the Rector to give it to us
exactly, that we might copy it into our commonplace-books, and he told
us it was wrote by the Judicious Hooker. Comparing the situation of
Athanasius with that of his adversaries, this learned author spoke of
the uncertainty that existed “which of the two in the end would
prevail; the side which had all, or else the part which had no friend
but God and death, the one a defender of his innocency, the other a
finisher of his troubles.”
“Alas!” I cried, as the words returned into my mind, “but what of me,
since God will neither defend my innocency, nor permit death to finish
my troubles?”
“Why,” said a voice in my mind, “seek death, since death won’t come to
you.”
The notion was plausible enough, and I had soon formed a plan. From a
certain spot on the varanda I had often observed that ’twould not be
difficult to climb upon the roof of the garden-house, which is
fantastically ornamented with a cupola and many small towers. There, I
determined, would I conceal myself before the Nabob’s arrival, and
perhaps it might please Heaven to keep my persecutors from looking for
me in that place. If so, well; but if not, there was the tank, washing
the very walls of the pavilion, and to plunge myself into the water
from such a height could scarce fail to bring me the death I sought.
Do you blame me, Amelia? Then I hope you may always continue to do so,
for that will show that my dear girl has never found herself in my
desperate situation.
This frightful resolution taken, I fell asleep, and (such is the
effect of coming to a decision, however shocking) was able in the
morning to contemplate my affairs with something more of coolness and
composure than yesterday. Misery and I were banished early from the
pavilion into the house, for the _mollies_ were busy setting rows of
small earthen lamps everywhere in the gardens, in readiness to
illuminate them at night in the Indian style, while other men were
preparing a feast in the garden-house--all seeming as though they made
ready for my execution. This was the thought in my mind when, passing
up the stairs with Misery, I catched sight through the window of the
man in a Tartar dress whom I saw two days ago in attendance upon the
English prisoner. He had some fruit in his hand that he seemed to have
bought from a street-hawker, and entering into the house facing this
one, he shut the door upon himself. Oh, how this sight rekindled the
hopes that I had persuaded myself were all extinct! How I blamed
myself that I had not kept watch at the window more constantly, and so
discovered that the man frequented, or perhaps inhabited, that house,
or even, it might be, that ’twas there the prisoner was confined, for
then I might have prepared some means to catch their attention. A
written paper might not tell anything of my history to the Tartar, but
finding strange characters upon it he would questionless take it and
inquire of the prisoner what they could signify. Then I remembered
that although the man was gone into the house, ’twas not necessary he
should remain there always. He might come out at any moment. Misery
had left me, and I ran to my writing materials, intending to prepare a
small billet that I might push through the grating. But even as I laid
hands on the pen and ink, I recollected the promise I had made to
Sinzaun not to use in endeavouring to escape the writing implements
with which he had furnished me. Here was a dilemma indeed. “Sinzaun
has proved himself unworthy of credit and of the remorse you
experienced towards him,” said that voice which had spoken to me in
the night. “Nay, but that makes no difference in my duty,” said I.
“But sure you never thought to prevent yourself escaping when you gave
the promise,” said the voice. “If promises were to be kept only when
they were easy, and broke whenever we found them press hardly upon us,
they would be fine things!” said I. “Will you perish on a point of
honour?” says the voice. “Not if I can be saved otherwise,” said I,
taking the handkerchief from my pocket. In my hussy I had a needle
threaded with the purple silk I had used for sewing at my petticoat,
and before Misery returned I had worked roughly on the cambrick, close
to my cypher in the corner, the words “Save. Quick.” If Sinzaun’s
words were true, and my history as well known as he declared, I
thought the prisoner would be at no loss to perceive who it was that
demanded his aid. How he was to help me I did not know, but at least
this one hope of safety should not be lost.
Misery departing again before very long, I broke off a loose piece of
stone from the wall, and tied it in the handkerchief, lest it should
flutter in the air as I threw it out, and then flying to the window
tried to thrust the little bundle through the grating, intending to
hold it by one corner until the Tartar appeared again. But the holes
were too small to permit it to pass through, and as I tried in turn to
break the stone smaller and to force the grating aside, I saw the man
come out of the opposite house and begin to lock the door behind him.
The sight drove me to desperation. With my scissors I began to chip
out the mortar that held the grating in its place, and when both the
points broke off I picked at it with my nails. The blood ran down my
fingers as I worked, but just as the Tartar was turning away from his
door the edge of the grating moved. I had not thought I was so strong,
but I twisted it aside far enough to thrust the handkerchief through.
It rolled down the window-ledge, then struck against some inequality
or projection, and stopped. I thought I should have screamed, for the
man was now out of sight, having crossed the street to gain the shade
cast by our wall, but I forced my hand through the gap I had made, and
succeeded in giving the tiresome missive a push that sent it safely
over the edge. I could not tell whether it had reached the proper
person, but I had enough to do to pull the grating back to its place
and hide the traces of my doings before Misery came back. I was bathed
in sweat and trembling with fright, and my wounded hands alone would
have betrayed me had my Abigail’s sharp eyes catched sight of ’em, but
I was able to huddle them up in my gown, pretending that I was tired
after my wakeful night, and desired to rest, and so threw myself upon
my couch and waited.
Misery sat down opposite to me, and smoked her water-pipe very
contentedly for I don’t know how many hours, until one of the other
women came to tell her there was that _boxwaller_ again at the door,
that had visited the house before, and called her to come and see his
wares. None of these Indians can ever resist the delight of chaffering
over a bargain, and away went Misery, her anklets clattering. No
sooner was she out of sight than I, who had been enduring her presence
in a tumult of eagerness and impatience that I can’t attempt to
describe, nor would my Amelia appreciate it if I did, sprang up from
my bed, and catching up a piece of rag, began to bind up my hands,
standing at the window as I did so. Opposite me was a similar window
in the other house, and as I threw a glance across the street it
seemed to me that there was something white behind it. Looking more
intently, I perceived that this was the white wrapper of a Moor-woman,
who was lifting her hand and making vehement signs to me to go up to
the roof. My dear girl will judge that I did not delay, but as I
reached the top of the stairs I saw something thrown, which struck the
stones with a hard sound. Running to it, I picked it up, to find that
’twas only a piece of plaster from a wall, to my great disappointment.
The parapet was too high to permit me a view over it, but I was doing
my utmost to raise myself so as to peer over its edge, when something
soft came over it and struck me in the face. Astonished, I seized it,
believing it at first to be nothing but a common ball of worsted, but
soon perceived an edge of white paper peeping out. In an instant I had
the worsted unwound, and was reading the billet, which runs thus:--
“Be at this same spot as soon as it’s dark this evening, and watch for
a second ball of yarn, which wind up gently until you find a piece of
twine in your hands. Pull that in also, and there will be a rope at
the end of it. Make this fast securely to some solid body, and wait
for your friends. Be secret and speedy, but feel no alarm. You will
yet be saved.”
I had only time to glance at this delightful message when I heard
Misery returning, and thrust it into my bosom with the yarn as the old
woman came up the steps to look for me. Her discourse on the folly of
exposing myself to the sun at such an hour I endured with becoming
meekness, and laid myself down again, with my face turned away from
Misery. A new thought was come to me. The writing of the billet,
though hasty and careless, appeared familiar. Scarce daring to credit
the notion, I compared it, on the first opportunity, with the precious
post-scriptum belonging to Mr Fraser’s letter, which has never left me
night or day, and I could not doubt but the same hand had wrote both.
Picture my feelings, Amelia! So far from finding myself alone in
India, there was close at hand, and at large, the very person I would
have chose to be there! You’ll wonder to find me calm enough to write
this, but indeed, if I had not my writing to occupy me, I believe I
should go mad with joy, or at least arouse Misery’s suspicions by my
transports. My smarting fingers are stiff, but my heart is so light
that the pen fairly flies over the paper. Misery believes I am making
my will, or so she told me just now. My will, Amelia! But oh, my dear,
think--if Heaven had answered my impious and undutiful prayers last
night, I should have lost this happiness. I was repining against the
prospect of the most charming day that has ever opened to me! And
moreover, while I have been murmuring that God wrought no huge and
signal miracle to save me, I have overlooked the constant succession
of miracles that has preserved me thus far--my being brought out alive
from the dungeon at Fort William, the plot of Misery and Sinzaun, my
fever even, and all those exactions of the Nabob that have kept
Sinzaun perpetually occupied in going to and fro with messages for
Mons. Bussy, instead of remaining here to torment me, not to speak of
the extraordinary crowning mercies of to-day!
Moidapore, _June ye_ 10_th._
Oh, my dearest friend, I have the strangest, the most charming and
perplexing news to tell you. You can’t be more surprised to hear than
I am to write it. I give you my word, I scarce credit it myself. But
how my pen is running away with me! I _will_ be orderly; I won’t,
after my usual fashion, impart to my Amelia the end of the history
first and then proceed to turn back to the beginning.
Well, then, my dear, where was I? Oh, yes; I was writing to my sweet
girl in Sinzaun’s house in Muxadavad, with my hands all swathed up in
rags, and it was only two days ago. Only two days! But I am wandering
again. Back to your proper course, Miss Sylvia Fr--ah, well, I mean my
good Sylvia--and recount your tale in a methodical style from its
earliest original. That day of anticipation came at last to an end,
Amelia, and at sunset Misery went as usual to gossip with the rest of
the servants at supper, and also, questionless, to watch for the
coming of the Nabob and Sinzaun. She had done her best to induce me to
put on the Persian dress she had brought me long before, alleging that
’twould render the Nabob more kindly disposed towards me; but when I
told her roundly that was the very last thing I desired, she gave up
her attempts, and was so good as to leave me alone. My Amelia will
find no difficulty in picturing with what delight I gathered my papers
together, and tying them into a pacquet, with two or three garments
(all the baggage I possessed!), hastened up the stairs to the roof,
and waited there while darkness came on. Never, it seemed to me, had
night been so long in falling--never had the people in the streets
been so late in seeking the decent shelter of their abodes. At last I
heard the Cotwal, who is the head of the city watch, pass with his
constables, and knew that he was clearing the streets of belated
passengers, so rendering them all the safer for my escape!
As soon as the watch were fairly passed out of the vicinity, I heard
something soft fall close beside me, and on picking it up, found it to
be the promised ball of worsted, which I began to wind up very gently
and delicately, in the most horrid fear lest I should break it. But
’twas not long before I felt a knot, and the twine came to my fingers
instead of worsted, and when I had wound that for a little, I found
the hard end of a stout rope in my hands. You won’t be surprised, my
dear, to hear that I found no little difficulty in securing this rope,
having no experience in such matters; but I twisted it round and round
the stone pillar that stood at the head of the stairs, and fastened it
with as many and as tight knots as I could devise. Then, guessing that
my friends on t’other side would look for some signal from me, I
pulled the rope smartly three times, and waited, breathless. Presently
the rope began to creak and strain, as though it felt the weight of
some heavy body, and almost at the same moment I observed that my
knots appeared to be slipping. In a frightful agony of fear I threw
myself on the rope, kneeling upon it and gripping it with all my
strength, scarce able to believe that it was not sliding through my
fingers. I heard more creaking, and then all on a sudden there stood
on the parapet a huge tall figure in the dress of a Moorman, and I’ll
assure you I had screamed if I could have uttered a sound.
“Are you there, madam?” says a voice that I knew, though it was but a
whisper.
“Here, sir!” I answered; “but I fear this rope en’t safe.”
The man let himself down softly from the parapet, and undoing my
knots, fastened the rope again in the twinkling of an eye, with so
much art that the harder he pulled the firmer the knot became. Then,
leaving the rope, he dropped down at my feet, and seizing my two hands
covered them with his kisses, in which, as I can’t help fancying,
there was mingled not a few tears.
“Oh, dearest madam, do I behold you at last?” he said.
“Dear, dear sir,” I murmured, shaking from head to foot, for his
warmth deprived me of all my self-command, “pray--oh, pray--this kind,
this obliging behaviour--indeed I can’t support it--I had given up all
hope--I fear I shall swoon.”
“No, that you must not do,” said Mr Fraser, rising and supporting me
in his arms. “Forgive me, dear madam, for agitating you to such a
degree with my transports of joy. But I know my dear Miss Freyne won’t
endanger the lives of those that are come to save her by yielding to a
feminine weakness at this moment. Compose yourself, madam, and let me
bring you across the gulf.”
Drawing me to the parapet as he spoke, he clambered up it with an
extraordinary agility, and having seated himself at the top, turned
and held out his hands to me. I don’t know whether I climbed or
whether the gentleman pulled me up, but I reached the ledge of the
parapet in some way, only to shrink aghast from the next stage of the
journey. The means of accomplishing this was nothing more nor less
than a basket, Amelia--a shallow sort of car made of wickerwork, hung
on the rope by its handles, and swinging at the side of the house over
the black chasm of the street. Do you wonder that I shuddered?
“Oh, dear sir, I can’t,” I cried; if it be possible to cry out in a
whisper.
“Oh, pardon me, madam, you must,” says Mr Fraser. “Only permit me to
lower you into the basket, and if you remain perfectly still you’ll be
drawn across in absolute safety. I worked myself across with my hands
on the rope.”
Was this said to remind me what danger he was braving for my sake? I
don’t know, but if it was so I had deserved the rebuke. I thought of
Sinzaun and of my desperate resolves of the night before, and took
shame to myself for my cowardice. Mr Fraser was holding the basket
steady with his left hand, and, extending the right to me, I found
myself somehow or other in the machine, but how I don’t know, for I
was not sensible of having moved--indeed I felt powerless to do so.
“Keep quite still,” says Mr Fraser with a cheerful air, perceiving,
perhaps, that my trembling imparted a rocking motion to the basket;
and making a low hissing sound, I found myself drawn along the rope by
a cord attached to one of the sides, while Mr Fraser moderated the
speed by means of one that he held. I suppose I was not left swinging
in this way between heaven and earth for more than a minute, but it
might have been a life-time, and when I reached the parapet of the
house opposite, the Tartar who stood there was forced to lift me out
of the basket as though I had been an infant, before he sent it
spinning along the rope back to Mr Fraser.
“Why don’t the young Saeb come?” I heard him murmur to himself in
Moors, when he had placed me safely on the roof itself, and stood
waiting, as I guessed, for the signal to pull the basket across again.
Still he waited, and still no signal came, and in a prodigious
agitation I clutched at the man’s foot.
“Why does he delay? Have they killed him?” I gasped out.
“They won’t kill the young Saeb so easy as that,” he growled, without
looking at me, his eyes still fixed on the house I had just left.
“Oh, if they have taken him, let me go back and give myself up
instead!” I cried; but the man shook me off, and bade me roughly be
silent.
“Here he is!” he muttered at last, and almost as he spoke Mr Fraser
appeared on the parapet, having crossed as before, without giving the
signal.
“I fear I alarmed you, madam,” he said, breathlessly; “but at the
moment when I was about to leave the roof, I heard a slight jingle of
ornaments, and, glancing towards the stair, saw a woman creeping away.
To allow her to give the alarm would have been fatal to our hopes, and
I sprang upon her like a wild cat. She was old, but she fought
fiercely enough, and ’twas more than a minute before I could get her
gagged and bound with strips of her own cloth. She was more frightened
than hurt, I fancy; but I trust I han’t inconvenienced any friend of
yours?”
“Oh, sir, ’twas my woman Misery, the second worst of my enemies,” I
said, almost sobbing, as Mr Fraser paused in unfastening the basket
from the rope, and looked at me.
“Why, then, save that she’s a woman, I could wish I had used her
worse,” said he, cutting the rope, and so leaving it to hang down from
the side of Sinzaun’s house. “Is she likely to be soon discovered, do
you fancy, madam?”
“When Sinzaun brings the Nabob to the feast he has prepared, which may
be at any moment. Oh, dear sir, take me away,--save me; don’t let me
be dragged back to slavery after enjoying this one taste of liberty!”
“Why, no, madam; we’ll carry you to the Agency at once, and there
you’re on British ground. Put this on over your clothes,” and he
handed me just such a white wrapper as the woman had worn who had
directed me through the window at noon, and who I now perceived must
have been himself in disguise, “and we’ll set out.”
While speaking, he and the Tartar had been excessively busy in hacking
to pieces the basket and other traces of their occupation that lay
about; then Mr Fraser took up my pacquet of papers, and the Tartar led
the way down the stairs and so through a passage and two doors into
the street. Do you realise, Amelia, that I had not stood in a street
for near a year? ’Twas that time, also, since I had walked any
distance, and the Moorish slippers I wore were not the easiest of
foot-gear to walk in. Seeing my difficulty, Mr Fraser offered me his
hand, and though the Tartar grumbled at the civility, as being
inconsistent with our disguise, we held each the other’s hand for the
whole distance, to my great comfort, under the cover of my veil.
Stealing along thus in the darkness, with the Tartar going first to
watch for any danger, and choosing out the narrowest and darkest
by-ways for us to pass through, we saw at a distance a glare of
lights, and heard the sound of music and shouting.
“Sure his Highness is on his nightly rounds,” says the Tartar.
“The Nabob? Then he’s going to Sinzaun’s house--for me!” I murmured,
and would have fallen, had not Mr Fraser supported me.
“Courage, madam! We’ll reach the Agency before he can discover your
evasion. Which way, Mirza Shaw?”
“This way,” said the Tartar, and led us down a lane and into an open
doorway, where we stood and trembled, for although our party might
have hoped to pass the Cotwal, with the help of a suitable present, as
two respectable Moormen guarding some relative to her abode, we knew
that the Nabob and his loose companions were accustomed to maltreat
any unoffending person they met, and only to release such an one,
after loading him with shocking insults and the most degrading
injuries, with the loss of all the property he might have about him.
But the riotous rabble passed the end of our lane without discovering
us, though they turned their lights into most corners in the hope of
catching sight of some crouching wretch, and when they were gone we
left our concealment and hastened on, Mr Fraser cheering me with the
assurance that we had not now far to go. The words had scarce left his
mouth, when the music, which had been dying away, became on a sudden
louder again in our ears.
“Some one from the house has met ’em and given the alarm,” says Mr
Fraser.
“Pray leave me, sir, and save yourselves,” said I. “You have done your
utmost.”
“Pray, madam, what do you take me for?” he asked.
“Here’s the door,” said the Tartar, who had been groping with his
hands along a wall, and Mr Fraser whistled softly. The door opened,
and I was hurried inside, and into a sort of closed shed filled with
packages.
“Pray, madam, be so good as to rest here for a moment, while we
acquaint Mr Watts of your arrival,” says Mr Fraser, and I was left
alone in the dark.
(_Miss Freyne’s next letter appears unfortunately to have been lost._)