he met Mr. Diggle; and our hero continues to wipe off old scores.
Desmond received a warm welcome both from Admiral Watson and Colonel
Clive. His account of the manner in which he had defeated Manik Chand's
scheme for blocking the river was received with shouts of laughter, while
his ingenuity and courage were warmly commended by both officers. Indeed,
the admiral, always more impulsive than Clive, offered him on the spot a
lieutenancy in the fleet, and was not very well pleased when Desmond
politely declined the honor. He caught a gleam of approval in Clive's
eyes, and later in the day, when he saw his hero alone, he felt well
rewarded.
"A naval lieutenant ranks higher than a lieutenant in the army--I suppose
you know that, Burke?" said Clive.
"Yes, sir."
"And you're only a cadet. From today you are a lieutenant, my lad. I am
pleased with you, and whatever his enemies say of Bob Clive, no one ever
said of him that he forgot a friend."
The forces proceeded to Calcutta next day, and retook the town with
surprising ease. Manik Chand was so much alarmed by seeing the effect of
the big guns of the fleet that he abandoned the place almost without
striking a blow, and when the British troops entered they were too late
even to make any prisoners save a few of the ragtag and bobtail in the
rear.
Mr. Merriman returned to Calcutta a few days later. Desmond was grieved
to observe how rapidly he was aging. In spite of Clive's recommendation
to keep silence he could not refrain from telling his friend what he had
discovered about the missing ladies; and he did not regret it, for the
knowledge that they were alive and, when last heard of, out of Peloti's
clutches, acted like a tonic. Merriman was all eagerness to set off and
search for them himself; but Desmond pointed out the danger of such a
course, and he reluctantly agreed to wait a little longer, and see
whether any news could be obtained during the operations which Clive was
planning against the Nawab.
Meanwhile, Desmond learned from Bulger what had happened to him since the
fall of Calcutta. He was one of the hundred and forty-six thrown into the
Black Hole.
"'Tis only by the mercy of the Almighty I'm here today," he said
solemnly. "I saw what 'twould be as soon as the door of that Black Hole
was locked, and me and some others tried to force it. 'Tweren't no good.
Mr. Holwell--he's a brave man, an' no mistake--begged an' prayed of us
all to be quiet; but Lor' bless you, he might ha' saved his breath. 'Twas
a hot night; we soon began to sweat most horrible an' feel a ragin'
thirst. We took off most of our clothes, an' waved our hats to set the
air a-movin'; which 'twas hard enough work, 'cos we was packed so tight.
I en't a-goin' to tell you all the horrors o' that night, sir; I'd like
uncommon to forget 'em, though I don't believe I never shall. 'Twas so
awful that many a poor wretch begged of the Moors outside to fire on 'em.
Worst was when the old jamadar put skins o' water in at the window. My
God! them about me fought like demons, which if I hadn't flattened myself
against the wall I should ha' been crushed or trodden to death, like most
on 'em. For me, I couldn't get near the water; I sucked my shirt sleeves,
an' 'tis my belief 'twas on'y that saved me from goin' mad. A man what
was next me took out his knife an' slit a vein, 'cos he couldn't bear the
agony no longer. Soon arter, I fell in a dead faint, an' knowed no more
till I found myself on my back outside, with a Moor chuckin' water at me.
They let me go, along with some others; and a rotten old hulk I was,
there en't no mistake about that. Why, bless you, my skin come out all
boils as thick as barnacles on a hull arter a six months' voyage, all
'cos o' being in sich bad air without water. And then the fever came
aboard, an' somehow or other I got shipped to the mounseers' hospital at
Chandernagore, which they was very kind to me, sir; there en't no denyin'
that. I may be wrong, but I could take my oath, haffidavy, an' solemn
will an' testament that a mounseer's got a heart inside of his body arter
all, which makes him all the better chap to have a slap at if you come to
think of the why an' wherefore of it."
"But how came you on board the Tyger?"
"Well, when my boils was gone an' the fever slung overboard, I got down
to Fulta an' held on the slack there; an' when the ships come up, they
sent for me, 'cos havin' sailed up an' down the river many a time, they
thought as how I could do a bit o' pilotin', there not bein' enough Dutch
pilots to go round. An' I ha' had some fun, too, which I wonder I can
laugh arter that Black Hole and all. By thunder! 'tis a merry sight to
see the Moors run. The very look of a cutlass a'most turns 'un white, and
they well-nigh drops down dead if they see a sailor man. Why, t'other day
at Budge Budge--they ought to call it Fudge Fudge now, seems to me--the
Jack tars went ashore about nightfall to help the lobsters storm the fort
in the dark. But Colonel Clive he was dog tired, an' went to his bed,
sayin' as how he'd lead a boardin' party in the mornin'. That warn't
exactly beans an' bacon; nary a man but would ha' took a big dose o'
fever if they'd laid out on the fields all night.
"Anyways, somewhere about eleven, an' pitch dark, a Jack which his name
is Strahan--a Scotchman, by what they say--went off all alone by himself,
to have a sort of private peep at that there fort. He was pretty well
filled up wi' grog, or pr'aps he wouldn't ha' been quite so venturesome.
Well, he waded up to his chin in a ditch o' mud what goes round the fort,
with his pistols above his head. When he gets over, bang goes one pistol,
an' he sets up a shout: 'One and all, my boys! one and all,
hurray!'--a-dreamin' I s'pose as he was captain of a boardin' party an a
crew o' swabs behind him. Up he goes, up the bastion; bang goes t'other
pistol; then he outs with his cutlass, a-roarin' hurray with a voice like
a twelve pounder; down goes three o' them Moors; another breaks Jack's
cutlass with his simitar; bless you, what's he care? don't care a straw,
which his name is Strahan; he've got a fist, he have, an' he dashes it in
the Moor's face, collars his simitar, cuts his throat and sings out, 'Ho,
mateys! this 'ere fort's mine!'
"Up comes three or four of his mates what heard his voice; they swings
round the cannon on the bastion an' turns it on the enemy; bang! bang!
and bless your heart, the Moors cut and run, an' the fort was ourn."
At the moment Desmond thought that Bulger was drawing the long bow. But
meeting Captain Speke of the Kent a little later, he asked how much truth
there was in the story.
"'Tis all true," said the captain, laughing, "but not the whole truth.
The day after Strahan's mad performance the admiral sends for him:
discipline must be maintained, you know. 'What's this I hear about you?'
says Mr. Watson, with a face of thunder. Strahan bobbed, and scratched
his head, and twirled his hat in his hand, and says: 'Why to be sure,
sir, 'twas I took the fort, and I hope there ain't no harm in it!' By
George! 'twas as much as the admiral could do to keep a straight face. He
got the fellow to tell us about it: we had our faces in our handkerchiefs
all the time. Then Mr. Watson gave him a pretty rough wigging, and wound
up by saying that he'd consult me as to the number of lashes to be laid
on.
"You should have seen the fellow's face! As he went out of the cabin I
heard him mutter: 'Well, if I'm to be flogged for this 'ere haction, be
hanged if I ever take another fort alone by myself as long as I live!'"
"Surely he wasn't flogged?" said Desmond, laughing heartily.
"Oh, no! Mr. Watson told us as a matter of form to put in a plea for the
fellow, and then condescended to let him off. Pity he's such a loose
fish!"
For two months Desmond remained with Clive. He was with him at the
capture of Hugli, and in that brisk fight at Calcutta on the fifth of
February, which gave the Nawab his first taste of British quality.
Sirajuddaula was encamped to the northeast of the town with a huge army.
In a heavy fog, about daybreak, Clive came up at the head of a mixed
force of king's troops, sepoys and sailors, some two thousand men in all.
Hordes of Persian cavalry charged him through the mist, but they were
beaten off, and Clive forced his way through the enemy's camp until he
came near the Nawab's own tents, pitched in Omichand's garden.
Sirajuddaula himself was within an ace of being captured. His troops made
but a poor stand against the British, and by midday the battle was over.
Scared by this defeat, the Nawab was ready to conclude with the Company
the treaty which long negotiations had failed to effect. By this treaty
the trading privileges granted to the Company by the emperor of Delhi
were confirmed; the Nawab agreed to pay full compensation for the losses
sustained by the Company and its servants; and the right to fortify
Calcutta was conceded. The longstanding grievances of the Company were
thus, on paper, redressed.
A day or two after the battle a ship arrived with the news that war had
been declared in Europe between England and France. Efforts to maintain
neutrality between the English and French in Bengal having failed, Clive
wished the Nawab to join him in an attack on the French settlements in
Bengal. This the Nawab refused to do, though he wrote, promising that he
would hold as enemies all who were enemies of Clive--a promise that bore
bitter fruit before many months had passed.
The French were keen rivals of the Company in the trade of India, and
constantly took advantage of native troubles to score a point in the
game. Clive had come to Bengal with the full intention of making the
Company, whose servant he was, supreme; and having secured the treaty
with Sirajuddaula he resolved to turn his arms against the French. They
were suspected of helping the Nawab in his expedition against Calcutta:
it was known that the Nawab, treating his engagements with reckless
levity and faithlessness, was trying to persuade Bussy, the French
commander in the Dekkan, to help him to expel the British from Bengal.
There was excuse enough for an attack on Chandernagore.
But before Clive could open hostilities, he was required, by an old
arrangement with the Mogul, to obtain permission from the Nawab. This
permission was at length got from him by Omichand. The sack of Calcutta
by the Nawab had caused Omichand great loss, and, hoping in part to
retrieve it, he made his peace with Clive and the Council, and was then
selected to accompany Mr. Watts when he went as British representative to
Murshidabad. The wily Sikh, working always for his own ends, contrived to
make the unstable young despot believe that the French were tricking him,
and in a fit of passion he sealed a letter allowing Admiral Watson to
make war upon them. He repented of it immediately, but the letter was
gone.
On the day after it reached the admiral, March twelfth, 1757, Clive sent
a summons to Monsieur Renault, the governor of Chandernagore, to
surrender the fort. No reply was received that day, and Clive resolved,
failing a satisfactory answer within twenty-four hours, to read King
George's declaration of war and attack the French.
Desmond was breakfasting among a number of his fellow officers next
morning when up came Hossain, the serang who had accompanied him on his
eventful journeys up and down the Hugli. Lately he had been employed, on
Desmond's recommendation, in bringing supplies up the river for the
troops. The man salaamed and said that he wished to say a few words
privately to the sahib. Desmond rose, and went apart with him.
At sunrise, said the man, a vessel flying Dutch colors had dropped down
the river past the English fleet. Her name was Dutch, and her destination
Rotterdam; but Hossain was certain that she was really the Good Intent,
which Desmond had pointed out to him as they passed Chandernagore, and
which they had more than once seen since in the course of their journeys.
Her appearance had attracted some attention on the fleet; and the Tyger
had sent a shot after her, ordering her to heave to; but having a strong
northeast wind behind her, she took no notice of the signal and held on
her course.
Desmond thanked Hossain for the information, and, leaving his breakfast
unfinished, went off at once to see Clive, whom he was to join that
morning on a tour of inspection of the northwest part of the French
settlement.
"Well, I don't see what we can do," said Clive, when Desmond repeated the
news to him. "Mr. Watson no doubt suspected her when it was too late.
Nothing but a regular chase could have captured her after she had passed.
Ships can't be spared for that; they've much more important work on
hand."
"Still, 'tis a pity, sir," said Desmond. "'Tis not only that Captain
Barker is an interloper; he has been in league with pirates, and his
being at Chandernagore all these months means no good."
"It means, at any rate, that he hasn't been able to get a cargo. Trade's
at a standstill. Well, I'd give something to lay Mr. Barker and his crew
by the heels--on behalf of the Company, Burke, for don't forget, as some
of our friends of the Calcutta Council do, that I am here to save the
Company, not their private property. 'Tis too late to stop the vessel
now."
"I'd like to try, sir."
"I dare say you would. You're as ready to take risks as I am," he added,
with his characteristic pursing of the lips; "and 'pon my word, you're
just as lucky! For I'm lucky, Burke; there's no doubt of it. That affair
at Calcutta might have done for us but for the morning mist. I'd like to
try myself. It would punish a set of rogues, and discourage interloping,
to the benefit of the Company. But I can't spare men for the job. Barker
has no doubt a large crew; they'll be on the lookout for attack; no, I
can't touch it."
Desmond hesitated for a moment. He did not wish to lose the fighting at
Chandernagore, but he had the strongest personal reasons for desiring the
arrest of the Good Intent.
"Do you think, sir, we shall capture this place tomorrow?" he asked
suddenly.
"Scarcely, my boy," said Clive, smiling; "nor by tomorrow week, unless
the French have forgotten how to fight. Why do you ask?"
"Because if you'd give me leave I'd like to have a shot at the Good
Intent--provided I got back in time to be with you in the fighting line,
sir."
"Well, I can't keep things waiting for you. And it seems a wild-goose
chase--rather a hazardous one."
"I'd risk that, sir. I could get together some men in Calcutta, and I'd
hope to be back here in a couple of days."
"Well, well, Burke, you'd wheedle the Mogul himself. Anyone could tell
you're an Irishman. Get along, then; do your best, and if you don't come
back I'll try to take Chandernagore without you."
He smiled as he slapped Desmond on the shoulder. Well pleased with his
ready consent, Desmond hurried away, got a horse, and riding hard reached
Calcutta by eight o'clock and went straight to Mr. Merriman. Explaining
what was afoot, he asked for the loan of the men of the Hormuzzeer.
Merriman at once agreed; Captain Barker was a friend of Peloti's; and he
needed no stronger inducement.
Desmond hurried down to the river; the Hormuzzeer was lying off
Cruttenden Ghat; and Mr. Toley for once broke through his settled sadness
of demeanor when he learned of the expedition proposed.
While Toley collected the crew and made his preparations, Desmond
consulted a pilot. The Good Intent had passed Calcutta an hour before;
but the man said that, though favored by the wind, she would scarcely get
past the bar at Mayapur on the evening tide. She might do so if
exceptionally lucky; in that case there would be very little chance of
overtaking her.
Less than two hours after Desmond reached Calcutta two budgeros left
Cruttenden Ghat. Each was provided with a double complement of men, and
although the sails filled with a strong following wind, their oars were
kept constantly in play. The passengers on board were for the most part
unaccustomed to this luxurious mode of traveling. There were a dozen
lascars; Hossain the serang; Karim, the man saved by Desmond at
Chandernagore; Bulger and the second mate of the Hormuzzeer, and Mr.
Toley, who, like Desmond and the serang, was clothed, much to Bulger's
amusement, as a fairly well-to-do ryot.
For some hours the tide was contrary; but when it turned, the budgeros,
under the combined impulses of sail, oar and current, made swift
progress, arousing some curiosity among the crews of riverside craft,
little accustomed to the sight of budgeros moving so rapidly.
Approaching Mayapur, Desmond descried the spars of the Good Intent a long
way ahead. Was there enough water to allow her to pass the bar? he
wondered. Apparently there was, for she kept straight on her course under
full sail. Desmond bit his lips with vexation, and had almost given up
hope, though he did not permit any slackening of speed, when to his joy
he saw the vessel strike her topsails, then the rest of her canvas.
He at once ran his boats to the shore at Mayapur. There were a number of
river craft at the place, so that the movements of his budgeros, if
observed from the Good Intent, were not likely to awaken suspicion. On
landing he went to the house of a native merchant, Babu Aghor Nath Bose,
to whom he had a letter from Mr. Merriman.
"Can you arrange for us," he said, when civilities had been exchanged,
"tonight, the loan of two shabby old country boats?"
The native considered.
"I think I can, sahib," he said at length. "I would do much for Merriman
Sahib. A man I frequently employ is now anchored off my ghat. No doubt,
for fair pay, he and another might be persuaded to lend their craft."
"Very well, be good enough to arrange it. I only require the boats for a
few hours tomorrow morning. Do you think twenty rupees would suffice?"
The native opened his eyes. He himself would not have offered so much.
But he said:
"Doubtless that will suffice, sahib. The matter is settled."
"I shall meet you in an hour. Thank you."
Returning to the budgeros, Desmond instructed Hossain to go into the
bazaar and buy up all the fresh fruit he could find. The sales for the
day were over; but Hossain hunted up the fruit sellers and bargained so
successfully that when he returned he was accompanied by a whole gang of
coolies, bearing what seemed to Desmond an appalling quantity of melons,
all for thirty rupees.
Before this, however, Aghor Nath Bose had reported that the hire of the
two boats was duly arranged. They were open boats, little more than
barges, with a small cabin or shelter aft. Their crews had been dismissed
and had taken their belongings ashore; both were empty of cargo. Desmond
went with Bulger on board and arranged a number of bamboos crosswise on
the boats, covering up the empty spaces which would usually be occupied
by merchandise. Over the bamboos he placed a layer of thin matting, and
on this, when Hossain returned, he ordered the coolies to put the melons.
To a casual observer it would have appeared that the boats were laden
with a particularly heavy cargo of the golden fruit.
An hour before dawn, the lascars and others from the Hormuzzeer slipped
quietly from the budgeros on board the country boats, and bestowed
themselves as best they could under the bamboo deck supporting the
melons. It was cool in the early morning, although the hot season was
approaching; but Desmond did not envy the men their close quarters. They
were so much excited, however, at the adventure before them, and so eager
to earn the liberal reward promised them if it succeeded, that not a man
murmured. The Europeans had cooler quarters in the rude cabins, where
they were hidden from prying eyes under miscellaneous native wraps.
Desmond had learned from the pilot that it would be nearly eight o'clock
before the depth of water over the bar was sufficient to allow a ship
like the Good Intent to proceed with safety. A little before daybreak the
two boats crept out from the ghat. It was well to avoid curiosity before
Mayapur woke up. Desmond steered the first, Hossain the second; and
besides the steersmen there were two men visible on the deck of each.
The tide was running up, but the wind still held from the northeast, and
though moderated in force since the evening it was strong enough to take
them slowly down toward the Good Intent. The sky was lightening, but a
slight mist hung over the river. Desmond kept a close lookout ahead, and
after about half an hour he caught sight of the hull of the Good Intent,
looming before him out of the mist. Allowing the second boat to come
alongside, he turned and spoke to the serang.
"Now, Hossain, there she is. Hail her."
"Hai, hai!" shouted the man. "Do the sahibs want to buy any fresh fruit?"
An oath floated down from the stern. Captain Barker was there, peering
intently through the mist up the river.
"Good melons, sahib, all fresh, and not too ripe. Cheap as ragi, sahib."
The mate had joined the captain; the Dutch pilot stood by, smoking a
pipe. The fruit boats had by this time come under the stern of the
vessel, and Desmond heard the mate say:
"We came away in such a hurry, sir, that we hadn't time to take in a
supply of vegetables. Melons'll keep, sir, if they en't overripe."
Barker growled, then bent over and called to the serang. "How much?"
"Very cheap, sahib, very cheap. I will come aboard."
"Then be quick about it: we're going to trip the anchor, melons or no
melons. D'ye hear?"
Hossain ran down the sail and clambered up the chains; which the other
boatmen made fast to a rope thrown from the deck. Desmond also lowered
his sail, steering so as to approach the port quarter of the Good Intent,
the serang's boat being on the starboard. No rope was thrown to him, but
he found that the tide was now only strong enough to neutralize the wind,
and a stroke every now and again with the paddle at the stern kept his
boat stationary.
Meanwhile there came from the deck the singsong of men heaving up the
anchor. When the serang stepped on board the greater part of the crew of
the Good Intent were forward. Little time was spent in haggling. A melon
was thrown up as a sample, and the price asked was so extraordinarily low
that Captain Barker evidently thought he had got a bargain.
"Heave 'em up," he said, "and if they en't all up to sample--"
He broke off, no doubt believing that his fierce scowl was sufficient to
point his threat.
The serang hailed Desmond to come alongside. A few sweeps of the paddle
brought the boat close underneath the Good Intent's side, and a second
rope enabled him to make fast.
He swarmed up the rope, followed by one of the boatmen. The other, on the
boat, began to fill a basket with melons, as if preparing to send them on
board. At the same time Karim joined Hossain from the other side, so that
there were now four of the party on deck.
At a sign from Desmond, the two natives, carrying out instructions
previously given, strolled toward the companionway. Hossain had started a
conversation with the captain and mate, telling them about the British
fleet he had passed as he came down the river. The Dutch pilot looked on,
stolidly puffing his pipe.
Desmond stepped to the side of the vessel as though to hoist the basket
with the running tackle. Making a sign to the men below, he called in a
loud voice:
"Tano!"
Instantly the men swarmed up the rope. At the signal, misleading to the
crew of the Good Intent, man after man crawled from beneath the matting
on the boat below, and clambered up the ropes, led by Bulger on one side
and Mr. Toley on the other. They made little noise, and that was drowned
by the singsong of the sailors and the grinding of the cables; the pilot
with his back to the bulwarks saw nothing, and before Captain Barker knew
that anything unusual was occurring both Bulger and Toley were tumbling
over the sides.
The captain stood almost petrified with amazement as he saw Bulger's red
face rising like the morning sun. He stepped back apace.
"What the--"
The exclamation was never completed. Desmond stepped up to him and in a
low voice said:
"In the name of his Majesty, King George, I call upon you, Captain
Barker, to surrender this ship."
He had a leveled pistol in his hand. Bulger with a cutlass sprang to one
side, and Toley ranged himself on the other. Hossain had joined the two
boatmen at the companionway; all had brought out pistols from the folds
of their clothing, and the companionway commanded access to the ship's
armory.
Barker, who had grown purple at the sight of Bulger, now turned a sickly
white. The mate dashed forward, calling to the crew, who, seeing that
something was amiss, came along with a rush, arming themselves with
belaying pins and any other weapons that came handy. Toley, however,
leaving the cowed and speechless captain to Desmond, stepped toward the
men. They recognized him at once and paused doubtfully.
"You know me," he said. "I'm a man of few words. You won't go further
this voyage. Captain Barker has surrendered the ship. You'll drop those
desperate things in your hands and go for'ard. Show a leg, now!"
The men looked from one to another, then at the captain, who was at that
moment handing over his sword to Desmond. If Captain Barker was too badly
beaten to swear he was in poor case indeed. The crew's hesitation was but
momentary; under Toley's sad gaze they sullenly flung down their weapons
and went forward.
Only then did the captain find speech. But it was to utter a fearful
curse, ending with the name:
"Diggle."