_MEER JAFFIER'S OATH_
I arrived in Moorshedabad without accident, and at once repaired to
the house of the Company's agent, Mr. Watts.
I found this gentleman in a state of the utmost apprehension. The air
was full of suspicion. Moorshedabad swarmed with the Nabob's spies,
who watched the going in and coming out of every person whom their
master had reason to distrust, and carried their reports to his
infamous minion, Lal Moon. Mr. Watts assured me that he did not
consider his own life to be worth a day's purchase, and the Nabob had
uttered such threats against him on the last occasion of his going to
the palace that he dared not present himself there again.
Fortunately for me Colonel Clive had provided me with an excuse for my
journey in the shape of a letter to Surajah Dowlah, in which the
Colonel renewed his expressions of friendship, but demanded the
withdrawal of the Nabob's army from Plassy. This was a step which the
conspirators considered indispensable to their design, as they had no
expectation that Colonel Clive could overcome this force of forty
thousand men as long as it kept the field.
Armed with the Colonel's letter I went to wait upon the Nabob, leaving
Mr. Watts to exert his utmost diligence in procuring the necessary
signatures to the treaties, which I delivered to him for the purpose.
Nothing could exceed the astonishment of the Nabob's officers when I,
who had fled secretly from the city six months before, presented
myself before them in the character of an ambassador from Sabat Jung
and boldly demanded an audience. They hastened to carry the news to
the Nabob, and after a short time they returned and conducted me into
his presence.
Although scarcely three months had elapsed since I had last seen
Surajah Dowlah, I observed a change for the worse in his appearance.
He sat on the royal musnud with the same state as formerly, clad in
his gold-embroidered robes and turban sparkling with the light of many
gems, surrounded by the same obsequious throng of courtiers and
attended by his ferocious guards ready to take the life of any man
present, at a nod from their despotic lord. Yet I discovered something
in his countenance which I had not seen there before. His head hung
down with an air of weariness, and his gaze, instead of darting
fiercely to and fro, seemed to shift and hesitate as if with a
lurking distrust of those about him. He appeared to be in ill-health,
and shifted fretfully about in his seat as he talked. On my part, I
regarded him with different eyes from the time when I had come before
him as a captive in his hands, when I had viewed him as a powerful
tyrant, invested with all the horror of his recent crimes, and
especially of that never-to-be-forgotten atrocity of the Black Hole of
Calcutta. Now, on the last occasion on which I was ever to confront
him, I did so as the emissary of one whose power was yet greater than
his own, as the agent of an intrigue that menaced his throne and
perhaps his life. And beneath the surface of pomp and power and the
outward show of sovereignty, I looked deeper, and beheld merely a
young man, scarce older than myself--in his nineteenth year--the
victim of an evil education, corrupted by the possession of despotic
power, rent and exhausted by his own evil passions, and surrounded by
traitors secretly scheming for his downfall. Some of the dread and
hatred which I had formerly felt for him was replaced by milder
sentiments, and I could have found it in my heart to pity Surajah
Dowlah.
As if to strengthen these impressions in my mind, the young Nabob was
in a singularly amiable mood, and appeared glad to see me.
"So it is you again!" he was pleased to say when I was introduced. "I
see that you have told me the truth, and that you are a friend of
Sabat Jung's. But why did you flee from me before? I regarded you with
favour, and would not have put you to death."
"Sir," I answered, "I am obliged by your kind expressions, but I am an
Englishman, and in my country there is no man who can put me to death
unless I commit some crime against the laws; nor do I choose to live
in any place where I hold my life by the favour of a prince."
A murmur ran through the throng of courtiers at this reply, some of
the high officers whom I knew to be concerned in the plot pretending
to be especially shocked.
Surajah Dowlah raised his head and looked at me in some surprise.
"I should not care to be king of your country if I could not put a man
to death when I wished to. Allah has created kings, and has put men's
lives into our hands. It is destiny. Those who fall by my hands would
perish instead by pestilence or famine or wild beasts if I forbore to
slay them. They die because it is the will of Allah."
I listened in consternation to this frightful profession of fatalism
by which Surajah Dowlah sought to decline the responsibility of his
wicked acts. In the meantime he read the letter which I had brought
from Colonel Clive.
"Why does Sabat Jung so earnestly desire me to disband my troops?" he
asked presently.
"Your Highness's own conscience must tell you that," I returned. "So
long as you keep your army in the field, threatening Calcutta, it is
impossible to believe that you are in earnest in your professions of
friendship towards the English. The present state of things keeps the
minds of the merchants unsettled and prevents the resumption of trade,
without which our factories cannot subsist in Bengal."
"No, no," the Nabob broke out, speaking very earnestly, "I design
nothing against you. But I am in fear of the Morattoes, who meditate
another invasion."
"Have no fear of that, sir. Colonel Clive will protect you, if
necessary, against the Morattoes. But you may depend upon it he will
never believe in your friendship till your troops are withdrawn from
Plassy."
The Nabob seemed to meditate upon these words for a few minutes,
during which nobody ventured to speak to him. Then he looked at me
again, seeming as if he would search my heart.
"And suppose I comply with this demand, what security have I that the
Colonel will not advance against this city? How do I know that he is
not deceiving me? There are plots--yes, there are plots in the air!"
I felt a touch of contempt for him as I answered--
"That is a matter which I must take leave not to discuss. It is for
your Highness to consider whether your conduct has been such as to
conciliate the affections of your subjects, or whether it has not
rather been calculated to make every man your secret enemy."
Surajah Dowlah started, and sank back on his seat, terrified by this
unexpected plainness, which caused little less alarm among his suite.
But I soon saw that my words had been rightly judged. Being an
Oriental, the Nabob could not believe that I should have spoken like
that if I had really been privy to any intrigues against him. He
therefore dismissed his fears, and finally promised to issue orders
for his whole army to retire to Moorshedabad.
Satisfied with this success, I took my leave of him, his last words to
me as I withdrew being--
"Tell the Colonel I trust him; I look upon him as my friend."
Moved by these words more than I cared to admit even to myself, I
returned to Mr. Watts, and, all being now in train, we pushed forward
the affair of the signatures as rapidly as we dared.
During these few eventful days I neglected no means of inquiring after
the fate of those whom I had left in the Nabob's hands on my former
flight from Moorshedabad. But though I questioned not merely the great
officers of the Court, but also many of the eunuchs and inferior
servants about the palace, I could learn nothing definite either of
Marian or of Rupert. That they had not succeeded in recovering their
freedom I was pretty well assured, but what had become of them, and
whether they were alive or dead, was more than I could learn. The
shadow and the secrecy of the East had closed like a curtain over
their fates, and I was left to torment myself with miserable guesses
in the darkness.
The business of signing the treaty went on as rapidly as it could be
pushed. But the greed of the Gentoos at every step of the transaction
was most disgusting, and the cowardice and treachery of the Moors
scarcely less so. The Dewan, Roy Dullub, at first objected that all
the Nabob's treasure was not enough to satisfy the gratuities provided
for in the treaty, but no sooner did Mr. Watts offer to make him agent
for the distribution, with a commission of five in the hundred on all
sums passing through his hands, than his scruples instantly vanished.
But at last everything was settled except the swearing of the treaty
by Meer Jaffier, on which the whole affair turned. The Meer was just
now arrived in Moorshedabad from Plassy, where he had been in command
of one division of the Nabob's army, the remainder having before been
taken from him and given to Roy Dullub. It was reported that Surajah
Dowlah had received his uncle very scurvily, and spoken to him with so
much harshness that Meer Jaffier had at once retired to his palace, at
the other end of the city, and surrounded himself with his guards.
This palace resembled a fortress, having regular walls and towers, and
being provided with cannons and other munitions for a siege.
Thither, on the following day, Mr. Watts went to visit him, but
returned in much alarm to say that the Meer had received him in
public, in the hall of audience, surrounded by his officers, and had
given him no chance to refer to the subject of the treaty.
While we were discussing what this could mean an Indian arrived, who
proved to be a private messenger from Meer Jaffier himself.
This man informed us that Meer Jaffier had been obliged to receive Mr.
Watts as he had done to deceive Lal Moon's spies, the Nabob's
suspicions causing him to watch very strictly all intercourse between
his great men and the English agents. What he now proposed was that
Mr. Watts should come to his palace in the evening in a curtained
litter, by which means he might be introduced unsuspected into the
women's apartments, and there have a private conference with the Meer.
I could see that Mr. Watts regarded this invitation with very little
confidence, his experiences in the Nabob's Court having rendered him
cautious to an extreme. I therefore undertook to go in his place, an
offer which he gladly accepted.
As there was nothing to detain either of us in Moorshedabad after the
treaty had been confirmed, and every hour that passed rendered our
situation more precarious, it was further arranged that Mr. Watts
should take his departure at once, leaving me to follow during the
night. Accordingly he gave out that he was going on a visit to
Cossimbuzar on business connected with the Company's investment, and
set out the same afternoon.
I waited till it was quite dark before I got into the litter, which
had been prepared for me by two Indian servants on whose fidelity I
depended. They bore me through the streets on their shoulders at a
great pace, and, thanks to the respect which these people have for
their women, I passed undiscovered. Once, indeed, we were stopped for
a moment, and there was a short discussion, in which I heard the
voices of my attendants, though I could not distinguish what was said.
It terminated in a laugh, and they were suffered to proceed without
the curtains having been withdrawn. But it may be imagined how my
heart came into my mouth during the brief halt, and what relief I
experienced when the palanquin was set down within the gates of Meer
Jaffier's palace and I was able to step out.
The Meer received me in the presence of his son Meeram, a youth of
sixteen, who bore a strong resemblance to his cousin the Nabob, a
resemblance, as I was afterwards to learn, not confined to mere looks.
He sat apart, staring at me with a sullen air of dislike, while his
father perused the treaty.
Its terms appeared to give Meer Jaffier perfect satisfaction. As soon
as he had read it, he asked--
"How soon will Colonel Clive be ready to take the field?"
"He is ready now," I answered. "All he is waiting for is information
from you as to the steps which you propose to take to support him."
Meer Jaffier looked a little uneasy.
"You are my friend, I know," he said. "You must speak good words on my
behalf to Sabat Jung. Everything depends on him. Let him strike the
first blow, and he will find every one prepared to join him."
I shook my head.
"I am your friend, it is true," I responded, "but I am still more the
friend of Sabat Jung, and I must know the grounds on which he is to
proceed. What force have you ready to bring to his assistance?"
"Do you mean what is the number of my division?"
"I mean the number on whom you can rely."
"Three thousand horsemen."
He glanced at me in some doubt as he spoke. I heard this number with
dismay.
"Only three thousand! What succour is that?"
"But those are only my own men. There are several commanders who have
been affronted by Surajah Dowlah, and are ready to turn their swords
against him at the first opportunity. On the day of battle these will
come over to us with their troops."
"What assurance have you of that?" I asked.
"I know my countrymen. They judge a man by his deeds, and there is
nothing that commands their respect like daring and success. Already
they fear the Colonel; let them see him boldly attacking the Nabob,
with me by his side, and they will quickly join us. Tell Sabat Jung my
words."
"And when do you intend to join the Colonel?" I inquired, beginning to
fear that Meer Jaffier was likely to prove a broken reed to lean upon.
"I will join him as soon as the English troops come in sight of the
city. Or if the Nabob keeps his army at Plassy, then I will join you
as soon as the signal for battle is given. I will march over to you
with a great part of the army, as many as I can persuade to join me,
and the others will then take to flight. If I see an opportunity I
will seize my nephew in his tent."
With these promises he beguiled me into some confidence in him. Then
placing a copy of the Alcoran upon his head, and resting one hand upon
the head of his son Meeram, he solemnly swore to perform all that he
had undertaken. He also signed the treaty, writing these words upon it
in Persian--"In the name of Allah, and of the Prophet of Allah, I
swear to abide by the terms of this treaty while I have life."
As soon as this business was completed, the Meer said to me--
"And now, before you go, tell me what reward I may give you for your
services in this affair?"
I hesitated. He evidently expected that I should name some large sum
in rupees, such as was promised by the terms of the treaty to Mr.
Watts and others of those privy to it.
"What I ask for is neither money nor jewels," I said, "but the lives
of the two persons who, I believe, are now kept somewhere concealed in
the palace of the Nabob."
Meer Jaffier understood me.
"You mean the Englishwoman who was brought here from Calcutta, and the
Englishman who was formerly a spy in Surajah Dowlah's service?"
I nodded my head.
"It may be that the woman is, as you say, still in the Nabob's harem.
But I cannot think that the man is alive. He has most probably been
secretly put to death for his offence in breaking into the garden of
the seraglio."
"I took part in that offence, and yet I am alive still," I answered.
"Well, what is it you ask of me?"
"I ask your promise that the moment Surajah Dowlah is overthrown, and
the power has passed into your hands, you will aid me to ransack the
palace of Moorshedabad in search of that woman and that man."
Meer Jaffier bowed his head.
"You shall do so. Nay, more, to convince you that I am in earnest I
will write you an authority now, before you leave me, which will
become of effect as soon as Colonel Clive has driven my nephew from
the musnud."
A few minutes afterwards I had re-entered the palanquin, and was being
conveyed back to Mr. Watts's house.
The next day, rising early, I pretended some business with Mr. Watts,
and followed after him on horseback to Cossimbuzar. Here I was met by
some of his native servants, who told me that he had gone hunting the
evening before, and had not returned. Desiring them to show me the way
he had gone, I went on till I was out of sight, and then, striking
into a gallop, rode southward for my life towards the English lines.
The sun was low down in the western sky, as, riding slowly on my
exhausted beast, I drew near the village of Cutwah, and espied the
uniforms of the English sentries gleaming through the trees. The first
men who I came up to stood in a little group together, their muskets
resting on the ground, while they talked together in low tones. They
looked up as I approached, and seeing the Company's uniform, saluted
me, while I stopped to show them the pass which I carried. But they
said nothing, and as I passed on further into the camp I was struck by
the silence that prevailed. All round me I saw the men cooking their
suppers, or passing to and fro with water vessels, but their heads
hung down, and I heard none of the cheering and singing which
generally prevailed when Colonel Clive had his troops upon the march
against an enemy.
Pressing forward to the headquarters, I found the same evidences of
dejection increased on all sides, till at last I met Major Coote
walking with two other officers away from the commander's tent. The
Major at once stopped me, and asked me how I did, but in so dull a
fashion that I could see he was as dispirited as the rest.
"I am quite well, I thank you, sir," I answered him, "but a little
surprised at the state of the camp. I am but this moment arrived from
Moorshedabad. Can you tell me if anything untoward has taken place?"
Major Coote turned to the two young officers, and signed to them to
withdraw. As soon as they were out of earshot he stepped up to the
side of my horse, and laying his hand on the saddle addressed me in a
low tone--
"Harkye, Ford, I know you to be a discreet youngster, and so I'll tell
you my mind plainly. I don't know what news you bring from
Moorshedabad, and I don't ask, but we've had such accounts from that
cursed place lately that Colonel Clive has begun to believe that not a
single man of them all is to be trusted, from Meer Jaffier down. He
doesn't think them worth fighting for, and what's more, he doesn't
think they mean to join him as they have promised. The long and short
of it is, he has just called a council of war of all his officers--you
would have been there if you had arrived an hour sooner, and therefore
it's no breach of confidence to tell you--he called the council to
decide whether we should go forward and fight, or give it up and go
back. And he gave his own voice for going back, and the d--d council,
two-thirds of 'em, followed suit; and the upshot of it is we're to put
our tails between our legs and _go_ back--and that's why you see the
whole army ready to throw down their arms like so many children!"
I was aghast at this intelligence, hardly believing it possible that
the courage of Colonel Clive should have failed him, though I was
better able than most to estimate the worries and cares thrust upon
his shoulders by the mingled folly and malice of those who should have
given him their best support.
"Where is the Colonel?" I exclaimed. "I must see him at once! I have
news that may induce him to change his mind. At all events, I'll take
the liberty to persuade him."
"He wandered off by himself," Major Coote answered, brisking up a
little. "He went into that grove of trees across there, as soon as the
council was dismissed, and he has been there ever since."
I turned and looked at the grove. As I did so I saw some bushes
parted, and the figure of my beloved chief emerged, walking with a
swift, firm tread.
Instantly I flung myself from my horse, and rushed towards him. But he
advanced of his own accord to where Major Coote stood watching us.
"I have altered my mind," he said briefly, with the martial ring in
his voice that I had heard first on the morning of Monichund's
attempted surprise before Budge-Budge. "I have come round to your
opinion, Coote. To-morrow morning we march forward, and engage the
enemy wherever we find him."