information.
Before Major Coote reached Daudpur he was overtaken by a horseman bearing
a message from Clive.
"A job for you, Burke," said the major, after reading the note. "Mr.
Clive is annoyed at the Nawab's escape and thinks he may give us trouble
yet if he can join hands with Law and his Frenchmen. I am to send you
ahead to reconnoiter. You've been to Murshidabad, I think?"
"No, only to Cossimbazar, but that is not far off."
"Well, you know the best part of the road, at any rate. The colonel wants
you to go with a small party to Murshidabad and find out whether the
Frenchmen have come within reach. You'll have to go on foot: take care
you don't get into trouble. Pick your own men, of course. You must have a
rest first."
"Two or three hours will be enough for me. If we start soon we shall
reach Murshidabad before dawn, and with little risk. I'm to come back and
report, sir?"
"Of course. No doubt you will meet us on the way."
On reaching Daudpur Desmond selected twenty Sepoys who knew the country
and ordered them to be ready to start with him at midnight. Bulger and
Mr. Toley he had already informed of his mission, and he found them more
than eager to share in it. Just after midnight the little party set out.
A march of some four hours brought them to the outskirts of Murshidabad.
Desmond called a halt, encamped for the remainder of the night in a grove
of palmyras, and at dawn sent forward one of the Sepoys, disguised as a
ryot, to make inquiries as to what was happening in the town.
It was near midday when the man returned. He reported that the Nawab had
gone to his palace, while the chiefs who had accompanied or followed him
from the field of battle had shown their recognition that his cause was
lost by deserting him and going to their own houses. He had heard nothing
of the French. The Nawab, in order to ingratiate himself with the people,
had thrown open his treasury, from which all and sundry were carrying off
what they pleased. The city was in such a disturbed state that it would
be exceedingly unsafe for any stranger to enter.
Desmond decided to remain where he was until nightfall, and then to skirt
the city and move northwards in the hope of learning something definite
of the movements of the French. Meanwhile he sent the man back to learn
if anything happened during the day.
In the evening the man returned again. This time he reported that Mir
Jafar had arrived with a large force and taken possession of the Nawab's
palace of Mansurganj. Immediately after the traitor's arrival
Sirajuddaula had collected all the gold and jewels on which he could lay
hands and fled with his women. Suspecting that the luckless Nawab was
making for Rajmahal in the hope of meeting Law there, Desmond made up his
mind to follow. He struck his camp, marched all night, and soon after
daybreak reached a village near the river some miles south of Rajmahal.
He was surprised to find the village deserted. But passing a small house,
he heard cries of distress, and going in he found the place full of smoke
from some straw that had been kindled, and a man tied by his thumbs to a
staple in the wall. He recognized the man in a moment. It was Coja
Solomon, Mr. Merriman's rascally agent of Cossimbazar. He was half dead
with pain and fright. Desmond cut him loose and hurried him out of the
stifling room into the open, where Bulger revived him with copious douses
of water until he was sufficiently recovered to explain his unhappy
plight.
"God be praised!" exclaimed the Armenian fervently. "You were in time,
sir. I was seeking safety. The Faujdar of Murshidabad villainously
ill-used me. He owes me much, but there is no gratitude in him. I saw
that neither my life nor my goods were safe, so I packed up what
valuables I could and left with my servants, intending to go to Patna,
where I have a house. I had just reached this village when I saw a band
of some fifty horsemen approaching from the other end, and fearing that I
might be set upon and plundered I hastily concealed my goods at the edge
of the tank hard by. Alas! it availed me nothing. My servants were
dispersed, and the risaldar of the horsemen, a European, seized me and
thrust me into this house, abandoned like all the rest, for the people
fled before his approach, fearing he would burn and destroy. Then I was
tied up as you saw, until I confessed where my valuables were hidden; one
of my servants must have betrayed me. The risaldar promised to release me
as soon as I should confess: but instead of that he set fire to the straw
out of pure villainy, for what could I do to him? I have been a good
friend to the English. Sir, pursue that man: he must be a Frenchman. I
will give you a quarter, nay, a third of my goods, if you recover them."
"That is impossible, Khwaja. I've only twenty men on foot: what is the
use of pursuing fifty on horseback? Your friendship for the British has
come, I fear, a little too late."
The Armenian wrung his hands in despair, whining that he was a ruined
man. Then his tone changed; was there not still a chance? He explained
that, a few hours before his capture, he had met a man who had recognized
him as the agent for Mr. Merriman. The man said that he was a servant of
Surendra Nath Chuckerbutti and was on his way to meet Clive Sahib,
carrying a letter to him from his master. But he was worn out, having
come on foot a day and a night without rest. Coja Solomon unblushingly
confessed that, while the man slept at midday, he had taken the letter
from him and read it.
"Why did you do that?"
"I thought it would be safer with me, for every one knows--"
"Yes, that'll do, Khwaja; go on with your story."
"The letter was written at Malda, a village on the other side of the
river, and the writer, Surendra Nath, informed Mr. Clive that the wife
and daughter of Mr. Merriman were in his house there, and asked him to
send a party to bring them away. Naturally, sir, I was pleased to find--"
"Go on with your story," cried Desmond impatiently, all excitement at
coming upon the track of the ladies at last.
"It was while I was reading the letter that the horsemen came up. The
risaldar took it from me, read it, and questioned me. His face changed.
He smiled evilly, and from the questions he asked me, and from what I
heard him say to his followers, he has gone to Malda, with a design to
take these ladies."
"Stay, Khwaja, what was he like?"
"He was a tall man, with scars on his face, and on his right hand he wore
a black glove."
"The scoundrel!" exclaimed Desmond.
His look of trouble and anxiety did not escape the Armenian.
"It is but a little since he left me," he said. "If you make your way to
the village--it is three coss on the other side of the river--you may
capture him, sir, as well as regain my property, a third of which is
yours."
"But how--how, man?" cried Desmond impatiently. "How can we overtake him
on foot?"
"He will have to ride near to Rajmahal to find a ford, sir. He will cross
there, and ride back down the river some five coss before he comes to
Malda."
"But could he not swim the river?"
"He could, sir, but it is a feat he is not likely to attempt, seeing that
there is no need for haste. I implore you, sir, start at once. Otherwise
I am a ruined man; my old age will be spent in poverty and distress."
"If he can not cross, how can I?" said Desmond.
"There is sure to be a boat on the bank, sir, unless they have all been
seized by the Nawab, who, rumor says, is coming from Bhagwangola by river
to Rajmahal."
Desmond felt uneasy and perplexed. He doubted whether his duty to Clive
did not forbid him to go in search of the ladies, and there was no
possibility of communicating in time with either Clive or Coote. Then it
suddenly occurred to him that pursuit of Diggle might well come within
his duty. Diggle was in the service of the Nawab; it was possible that he
was even leading an advance guard of Law's Frenchmen.
"Were there any other Europeans besides the risaldar among the horsemen?"
he asked.
"Two, sahib, and they were French. I suspect they were from the force of
Law, sahib; he was, I know, at Patna a few days ago."
Desmond hesitated no longer. His affection for Mr. Merriman prompted an
attempt to save the ladies: his mission from Clive was to discover the
movements of the French. If he set off on Diggle's track he might succeed
in both. It was a risky adventure--to pursue fifty men under such a
leader as Diggle, with only a score. But twice before he had tried
conclusions with Diggle and come off best: why should fortune fail him
again?
Hurriedly explaining the situation to Mr. Toley and Bulger, he hastened
with his men down to the river. There was no boat at the village ghat. He
looked anxiously up and down. On the opposite side he saw a long
riverboat moored in a narrow backwater. He could only get it by swimming,
and here the current ran so swiftly that to swim would be dangerous. Yet
on the spur of the moment he was preparing to take to the water himself
when one of his men, a slim and active Sepoy, volunteered to go.
"Good! I will give you ten rupees if you bring the boat across. You are a
good swimmer?"
"The sahib will see," replied the man, with a salaam and a smile.
He took a kedgeree pot, an earthen vessel used for cooking, and firmly
tied to it a stout bamboo some six feet long, so that the thicker end of
the pole was even with the mouth of the vessel. The boat was slightly
down the stream. The man ran a little way upstream to a point where a
spit of land jutted out into the river, his companions following quickly
with the pot. This they placed mouth downwards in the water. Then the
Sepoy mounted on top, launched himself on this novel buoy, and, holding
on to the pole, floated breast high in the water down with the current,
dexterously steering himself with his legs to the point where the boat
was moored. Soon he reached the spot. He clambered into the boat and with
rapid movements of the stern oar brought it to the other side, viewing
with beaming face the promised reward.
While this was going on the sky had been darkening. A northwester was
coming up, and after his experience on the eve of Plassey, Desmond knew
what that meant. He hastily embarked his men, and the boat started: but
it had scarcely covered a third of the distance across the river when the
wind struck it. Fortunately the sail was not up: as it was, the
flat-bottomed boat was nearly swamped. Drenching rain began to fall. The
river was lashed to fury: for three crowded minutes it seemed to Desmond
a miracle that the boat was still afloat. The waves dashed over its
sides; the men, blinded by the rain, were too much cowed to attempt to
bail out.
Desmond was at the helm; Bulger and Toley had an oar each; although only
a few yards distant, Desmond could scarcely see them through the pelting
rain. Then the wind moderated somewhat: he peremptorily ordered the men
to use their brass lotis {drinking vessel} to bale out the boat, and
determined to turn the storm to account.
With great difficulty he got the sail hoisted; and then the vessel ran
down the river at racing speed. The distance to Malda, as the Armenian
had told him, was six miles--four by river, two by land. By Diggle's
route it was ten miles. The horsemen had had such a start of him that he
feared he could not overtake them in time. Still, the storm that now
helped him would hinder them. If he survived the perils of the river
passage he might even yet succeed.
He was alive to the risks he ran. More than once, as the wind changed a
point, it seemed that the cranky craft must turn turtle. But she escaped
again and again, plunging on her headlong course. The Sepoys were sturdy
enough fellows, but being unused to the water they cowered in the bottom
of the boat, except when Desmond's stern command set them frantically
bailing.
Almost before it seemed possible they came in sight of a bend in the
river which one of the men, who knew the district, had described to
Desmond as the nearest point to the village he sought. So rapid had the
passage been that Desmond felt that, if they could only land in safety,
they might have gained considerably on Diggle's horsemen. The latter must
have felt the full effect of the gale: it was likely that they had taken
shelter for a time. Desmond and his men were wet to the skin, but,
profiting by the recollection of what had happened at Plassey, they had
kept their ammunition dry.
At the bend the river presented a shelving beach, being at least twice as
wide at this point during the rainy season as at other periods. Without
hesitation Desmond ran the nose of the boat straight at the beach: she
came to with a violent bump; the men tumbled out waist deep into the
water, and with shrill cries of relief scrambled ashore.
No time was lost. Waiting only to inspect their muskets, Desmond at once
began the march, the band being led by the man who knew the country.
Another man, a noted runner, formerly a kasid in the employment of the
Nawab of the Deccan, was sent in advance to find Surendra Nath's house,
give him warning of Desmond's coming, and instruct him to have someone on
the lookout for the approach of the enemy, if Diggle were not, indeed,
already in possession of the village. The rest pushed on with all speed.
The storm had cleared the air: the rain had ceased, and though it was
unpleasant walking over the soppy ground, the march was much cooler than
it would otherwise have been.
Desmond longed for a hill from which to get a view of the country. But,
as almost everywhere in the valley of the Ganges, it was dead flat. The
party was within a quarter of a mile of the village when the kasid came
running back. He had found the Babu's house. From its flat roof a body of
horse had been seen in the distance, nearly a coss away. Desmond at once
ordered his men to double, and as they dashed into the village among the
wondering people, the kasid pointed out Surendra Nath's house at the far
end--a small two-storied building, surrounded by a wall and approached
through a rickety iron gateway. It was the first house to which the
approaching horsemen would come.
A man in native dress was standing at the gate. At first Desmond did not
recognize him, but as he drew nearer he saw that it was Surendra Nath
himself, looking years older--weak, thin, sunken-eyed, little like the
sleek, well-fed Babu Desmond had last seen in Calcutta.
"Are the ladies safe?" asked Desmond, yards ahead of his men.
"Yes, sir, quite safe," replied Surendra Nath, trembling.
"Thank God for that! Go in, Babu: tell them we are here to protect them."
While speaking he had eagerly scanned the surroundings. On each side of
the sodden track that did duty for a road there was a mango grove.
Desmond directed Toley to take four men to one side, and Bulger four men
to the other, and place themselves among the trees. When the first three
files of the horsemen should have passed through, the seamen were to give
the word to fire; then, taking advantage of the inevitable confusion, to
rush with their men to the house. Desmond himself meanwhile, with the
remaining twelve, set to work to strengthen the defenses. These
proceedings were watched with amazement by the villagers, who, men,
women, and children, stood in groups, discussing in shrill tones the
movements of these energetic strangers.
There was a small veranda to the house. This was wrenched away by main
force. The posts and other parts of the woodwork were carried to the
gateway and piled up as rapidly as possible to form a rough barricade.
Scarcely was this task half accomplished when the clanking of weapons was
heard in the distance, soon accompanied by the swashing of horses' hoofs
on the drenched soil.
Desmond coolly ordered his men to proceed with the work. A minute later
there was a sharp discharge of musketry, followed by cries, shouts, and
the sound of galloping horses. The villagers scuttled away shrieking.
Immediately afterward Bulger and Toley with their eight men sprang from
cover and made a dash for the wall.
"Muskets first!" shouted Desmond.
The muskets were pitched over: then the men scrambled up, Desmond and his
Sepoys assisting them to get across. Almost the first to drop down into
the compound was Bulger, whose hook had proved, not for the first time,
of more service than a sound left arm. Once over himself, he used his
hook to haul the Sepoys after him, with many a vigorous "Yo, heave ho!"
"All aboard, sir," he cried, when the last of the men was within the
wall. "I may be wrong, but I lay my button hook 'tis now all hands to
repel boarders; and only two cutlasses among us--mine and Mr. Toley's.
What ho, mateys! who cares--"
Desmond ordered four of his men to post themselves at the barricaded
gateway: the rest he divided into two parties, and stationed behind the
wall at each side. The wall was six feet high--too high to fire over; but
as it was in a somewhat dilapidated condition there was no difficulty in
knocking away several loose bricks at intervals, so as to make a rough
and ready battlement. Desmond instructed the men to fire alternately
through the embrasures thus made. As soon as one had fired he was to fall
back and reload as fast as possible while another man took his place. By
this device, Desmond hoped to deceive the enemy for a time as to the
number of the defenders in the compound.
But it was not to be expected that the enemy could long be kept out, and
in the last resort it would be necessary to retreat to the house. In view
of the presence of the ladies this was a step to be avoided if possible.
It might indeed be the wiser course to surrender, for their sakes. As the
thought struck Desmond he called to the Babu, who was keeping watch on
the roof.
"Babu," he said, "ask the ladies to occupy the least exposed room. Tell
them that if the enemy get over the wall I will try to make an
arrangement with them, rather than provoke an attack on the house."
The Babu disappeared. But a few moments later Phyllis Merriman, wearing
the costume of a native lady, came running out.
"Mother bids me say, Mr. Burke," she said, "on no account let such
considerations weigh with you. She says, fight to the last. We will risk
anything rather than go back to captivity. You will beat them, Mr. Burke,
won't you?"
"I shall do my best, Miss Merriman," replied Desmond. "But pray go back:
they may be here at any moment. I need not say how glad I am to find you
well. Pray tell Mrs. Merriman that we shall all do our best for her and
you."
"I know you will. And my father?"
"He is distressed, of course, but clings to hope. Do, Miss Merriman,
retire at once. I see the enemy coming from the grove."
"Phyllis! Phyllis!" cried Mrs. Merriman from the house; "come in at once!
"Mr. Burke, send her in. Have no mercy on the wretches, I implore you."
The girl walked back reluctantly. Unknown to Desmond, she went no farther
than the doorway, where, just hidden from sight, she watched all that
followed.
The enemy had clearly been nonplussed by their sudden check. There were
no British troops, as far as they knew, for many miles round, and
concerted resistance from the natives was unlikely. But they were now
emerging from the mango grove, a hundred yards away. They came on foot,
leaving their horses out of musket range.
Desmond's heart sank as he counted them. There were even more than he had
supposed. They numbered fifty-four and several had no doubt been left in
charge of the horses. Still, he felt that he had two advantages. The
first was his position behind the wall; the second, the fact that the
enemy, unless they had obtained information from the villagers, could not
know what force they had to deal with. Their ignorance, of course, must
be only temporary: if one of them should succeed in mounting the wall the
weakness of the defense must immediately be seen.
As the enemy, tall men in the costume of native cavalry, assembled by
twos and threes at the edge of the grove, Desmond noticed three Europeans
leave the main body and advance some way into the open. It was with a
flush of indignation and a fierce resolve to bring him at last to book
that Desmond recognized one of them as Diggle. With his companions he
walked at a safe distance completely round the building.
For some time they halted at the back, carefully scanning the position.
Here the wall approached the house much more closely than in the front,
and no one could mount it without being fully exposed to fire from the
upper windows. After his examination, Diggle returned with the two men,
whom from their appearance Desmond judged to be Frenchmen, to the main
body, and sent off half a dozen men toward the other end of the village.
While they were gone one of the Frenchmen seemed to Desmond to be
expostulating with Diggle: but the latter only laughed and waved his
gloved hand in the direction of the house.
The messengers soon returned, dragging with them three of the villagers.
These Diggle took aside separately and questioned: it was clear to
Desmond that he was ascertaining the strength of the garrison. Apparently
satisfied, he divided his force into three parts; the largest, consisting
of some forty men, remained at the edge of the grove; the two smaller
proceeded to the right and left of the back of the house. One was in
command of a Frenchman, but the Frenchman who had expostulated with
Diggle had apparently refused to have anything to do with the affair: he
held himself aloof, and by and by disappeared into the grove.
Diggle's evident intention was to weaken the garrison by forcing Desmond
to divide his already too small force. He had to detach eight of his
men--three to the windows and five to the wall--leaving only fourteen,
including Bulger and Toley, to meet the rush in front.
It was not long in coming. Diggle did not wait to parley. Taking a musket
from one of his men he raised it to his shoulder and fired at a Sepoy,
whose head just showed above the gate. The man raised his hand to his
brow and fell back with a sharp cry--a bullet had plowed a furrow through
his scalp. Desmond checked his men as they were about to fire in reply:
but when, in the rush that followed, the enemy came within thirty yards,
he gave the word, and seven muskets flashed forth across the barricade.
The attacking party were coming forward in close order, and five of the
men fell. But the rest sprang forward with shrill yells, Diggle, who was
untouched, urging them on. Even the fire of Desmond's second rank failed
to check them. Two or three dropped; others were soon swarming up the
wall; and though the defenders with clubbed muskets struck savagely at
their heads and hands as they appeared above the coping, if one drew
back, another took his place: and the wall was so long that at several
points there were gaps between Desmond's Sepoys where the enemy could
mount unmolested.
Desmond, having discharged his two pistols, disposing of one of the
assailants with each shot, was in the act of reloading when Diggle leaped
into the compound, followed by two of his men. Shouting to Bulger,
Desmond threw the pistols and rammer on the ground behind him, and,
drawing his sword, dashed at the three intruders, who were slightly
winded by the charge and their exertions in scaling the wall.
Desmond could never afterward remember the details of the crowded moments
that followed. There were cries all around him: behind, the strident
voice of Mr. Toley was cheering his men to repel the assault at the back
of the house: at his side Bulger was bellowing like a bull of Bashan. But
all this was confused noise to him, for his attention was wholly occupied
with his old enemy. His first lunge at Diggle was neatly parried, and the
two, oblivious of all that was happening around them, looked full into
each other's eyes, read grim determination there, and fought with a cold
fury that meant death to the first that gave an opening to his opponent's
sword.
If motive counted, if the right cause could always win, the issue
admitted of no doubt. Desmond had a heavy score to pay off. From the time
when he had met Diggle in the street at Market Drayton to his last
encounter with him at the Battle of the Carts, he had been the mark of
his enmity, malice, spite, trickery. But Desmond thought less of his own
wrongs than of the sorrow of his friend, Mr. Merriman, and the harrowing
wretchedness which must have been the lot of the ladies while they were
in Diggle's power. The man had brought misery into so many lives that it
would be a good deed if, in the fortune of war, Desmond's sword could rid
the world of him.
And Diggle, on his side, was nerved by the power of hate. Baseless as
were his suspicions of Desmond's friendship with Sir Willoughby Stokes,
he felt that this boy was an obstacle. Ever since their paths had crossed
he had been conscious that he had to do with a finer, nobler nature than
his own: and Desmond's courage and skill had already frustrated him. As
he faced him now, it was with the feeling that, if this boy were killed,
a bar would be removed from his career.
Thus, on either side, it was war to the death. What Desmond lacked in
skill and experience he made up for by youth and strength. The two
combatants were thus equally matched: a grain in the scale might decide
the issue. But the longer the fight lasted the better were Desmond's
chances. He had youth in his favor. He had led a hard life: his muscles
were like iron. The older man by and by began to flag: more than once his
guard was nearly beaten down: nothing but his great skill in
swordsmanship, and the coolness that never deserted him, saved him from
the sharp edge of Desmond's blade.
But when he seemed almost at the end of his strength, fortune suddenly
befriended him. Bulger, with his clubbed musket and terrible iron hook,
had disposed of the two men who leaped with Diggle into the compound; but
there were others behind them; three men dropped to the ground close by,
and, making a simultaneous rush, bore Bulger back against Desmond,
hampering his sword arm.
One of Desmond's Sepoys sprang to the rescue, but he was too late to stem
the tide. A blow from a musket stock disabled Bulger's right arm; he lost
his footing; as he fell, his hook, still active, caught Diggle's leg and
brought him to the ground, just as, taking advantage of the diversion, he
was making exultantly what he intended for a final lunge at Desmond. He
fell headlong, rolling over Bulger, who was already on the ground.
How the end came Desmond did not clearly see. He knew that he was beset
by three of Diggle's men, and, falling back before them, he heard the
voice of Phyllis Merriman close by, and felt his pistols thrust into his
hands. She had slipped out of the doorway, picked up the weapons as they
lay where Desmond had flung them, completed the loading, and advanced
fearlessly into the thick of the fray. At one and the same moment Desmond
fired upon his enemies and implored the brave girl to go back.
Then suddenly there was a lull in the uproar. Bulger was upon his feet.
Diggle's men paused to gaze at their prostrate leader. Then every man of
them was scrambling pell mell over the wall, yelling as the stocks of the
Sepoys' muskets sped them on their flight.
"What is it?" asked Desmond.
Bulger pointed to Diggle, among the fallen.
"He've gone to his account, sir, which I may be wrong, but the Almighty
have got a long black score agen him."
"How did it happen?"
Bulger lifted his hook.
"'Twas that there Diggle as was the why and wherefore o' this little
ornament, sir, and 'twas only right he should be paid for what he done.
We fell down, him and me; I was under. He hoisted himself on his hands to
get free, and I lifted my hook, sir, and caught him a blow under the
chin. If it didn't break his neck, sir, my name en't Bill Bulger, which
I'm sorry for his poor wicked soul all the same."
Phyllis had her hands clasped about Desmond's arm.
"Is he dead?" she asked in a voice of awe.
"Come away," said Desmond quietly, leading her toward the house. "Let us
find your mother."
Chapter 31: In which friends meet, and part: and our hero hints a proposal.
The fight was over. It was Diggle's quarrel; neither the Frenchmen nor
the natives had any concern in it, and when their leader was dead they
had no more interest in continuing the struggle. They drew off; the weary
defenders collected the dead and attended to the wounded; and Desmond
went into the house.
"God bless you, Mr. Burke!" said Mrs. Merriman, tears streaming from her
eyes as she met him and clasped his hands. "You are not hurt?"
"Just a scratch or two, ma'am: nothing to trouble about."
But the ladies insisted on bathing the two slight wounds on head and arm
which in the heat of the fight he had not noticed. And then Mrs. Merriman
told him all that had happened since the day he left them in such merry
spirits at Khulna. How they had been trapped by Diggle, pretending to be
a Monsieur de Bonnefon: how he had conveyed them to the house of his
friend Sinfray: how after many months their whereabouts had been revealed
to Surendra Nath by one of his numerous relatives, a man who had a
distant cousin among Sinfray's servants: how the Babu, displaying
unwonted energy, had come with a number of friends and fallen unawares
upon their captors, afterward taking them to a house of his father's in
this village: how the old man and his son had both been stricken with
jungle fever, and the father died, and when the Babu lay helpless and
unconscious on his sickbed they had found no means of communicating with
their friends.
Mrs. Merriman shuddered as she spoke of the terrors of their captivity.
They had been well treated, indeed; Monsieur de Bonnefon, or Diggle, as
she afterward learned to call him, had visited them several times and
seen that their wants were supplied. But their enforced seclusion and
inactivity, their dread of the unknown, their uncertainty as to what
might have befallen Mr. Merriman, had told heavily upon their health and
spirits. Rumor brought news of the tragedy of the Black Hole: they heard
that the few survivors were prisoners of the Nawab; and they feared the
worst. From Surendra Nath they learned that they need not despair; and
since then they had lived on in the hope that, when the Babu had
recovered from his illness, he would find some means of restoring them to
the husband and father from whom they had so long been parted.
"Surendra Nath has a heart of gold, Mr. Burke," said Mrs. Merriman in
concluding her story. "Poor man! he has been very ill. We must do
something to show our gratitude for his devotion when we get back to
Calcutta."
Desmond then in his turn told them all that had happened since their
disappearance. When they learned of the result of the Battle of Plassey,
and that Clive was marching toward Murshidabad, they were eager to set
off at once.
"Yes, ma'am," said Desmond, "we shall start as soon as possible. I shall
leave you to make your preparations. It may not be possible to start
before night, the country being so disturbed, so that if you can sleep
through the day you will be fitter for the journey."
He left them, and going into the compound, found Bulger and Toley looking
with curiosity at the body of Diggle.
"Hi, sir!" said Bulger as Desmond came up to them: "this here bit o'
velvet is explained at last. Mr. Toley, he slit it with his cutlass, sir,
and never did I see a man so down in the mouth when he knowed what was
under it. 'T'ent nothing at all, sir; just three letters; and what for he
went and burnt them three letters into the back of his hand 'twould beat
a Daniel to explain.
"'F u r,' sir, that's what they spells; but whether 'tis rabbit skin or
fox I can't say, though 'tis most likely fox, knowing the man."
Desmond stooped and looked at the unclad right hand. The letters F U R
were branded livid below the knuckles.
"He was always quoting Latin, Bulger," he said. "'Fur' is a Latin word:
it means 'thief.'"
"Which I might have knowed it, sir, only I think as how the man that did
the stampin' might have done it in plain English. I don't hold with these
foreign lingos, sir; there allers seems something sly and deceivin' about
em. No right man 'ud ever think 'fur' meant 'thief'! Thief an' all, sir,
he's dead. Mr. Toley and me'll put him away decent like: and it won't do
him no harm if we just says 'Our Father' over the grave."
Desmond was turning away when three of his men came into the compound,
two grasping a Frenchman by the arms, the third a black boy. The former
Desmond recognized as the man whom he had seen expostulating with Diggle;
the latter was Scipio Africanus, looking scared and miserable.
The men explained that, pursuing the fugitives, they had captured their
prisoners in the grove. The Frenchman at once addressed Desmond in broken
English. He said that he had tried in vain to dissuade Diggle from his
attempt to capture the ladies. The party had been sent in advance by
Monsieur Law to announce his coming. He was at Patna with a considerable
body of French corps designed for the support of the Nawab. As he was
speaking the Frenchman caught sight of Diggle's exposed hand. He started,
with an exclamation of surprise. Then in answer to Desmond's question he
revealed the secret that had so long perplexed him.
Seven years before, he said, in December, 1750, there was a brilliant
foreigner named Peloti among the officers of Major de la Touche, a young
soldier who had been singled out by Dupleix, the French Governor of
Pondicherry, as a military genius of the first order. Peloti was with the
French army when, less than four thousand in number, it fell upon the
vast hordes of Nadir Jang near Gingi and won the battle that set Muzaffar
Jang on the throne of the Deccan and marked the zenith of Dupleix's
success. The new Nawab, in gratitude to the French for the services
rendered him, sent to Dupleix a present of a million rupees, and a casket
of jewels worth half as much again. This casket was given to Peloti to
deliver: he had abused his trust by abstracting the gem of the
collection, a beautiful diamond; and the theft being accidentally
discovered, Dupleix in his rage ordered the thief to be branded on the
right hand with the word 'fur,' and drummed him out of the French
service.
The identity of Peloti with Diggle was not suspected by the French, and
when Diggle a few months back offered his services to Bussy, their
commander, they were eagerly accepted, for his evident knowledge of
Clive's movements and of affairs in Calcutta promised to be exceedingly
valuable. None of the French then in the Deccan knew him: and though they
remarked his curious habit of wearing a fingerless glove on his right
hand, no one connected it with the half-forgotten story of the stolen
diamond.
Desmond thanked the Frenchman for his information.
"I am sorry to keep you a prisoner, Monsieur," he said; "but I must
trouble you to return with me to Murshidabad. I can promise you good
treatment from Colonel Clive."
The Frenchman smiled, shrugged, and exclaimed: "Eh bien! La guerre est la
guerre!"
Remembering Coja Solomon, Desmond asked Toley to search Diggle's body
before burying it. But nothing was found, except a little money. The
Armenian's property had evidently been left under guard in the grove, and
was doubtless, by this time, far away, in the possession of one or other
of Diggle's runagate followers.
At nightfall the party set off. Closed chairs had been provided for the
ladies, and these were carried in the midst, Bulger on one side, Toley on
the other, and Desmond behind. One person whom Desmond had expected to
take with him was absent: Scipio Africanus, on seeing the dead body of
his master, had uttered one heartrending howl and fled. Desmond never saw
him again. He reflected that, villainous as Diggle had proved to be, he
had at least been able to win the affection of his servant.
On the way they met Coja Solomon, who, on learning of the disappearance
of his valuables, heaped abuse upon Desmond and went away wringing his
hands. Traveling slowly, by easy stages, and only by night, it took the
party three days to reach Murshidabad. Desmond found that Clive had
entered the city two days before and taken up his abode at the Murda
Bagh. Mir Jafar had been accepted as Nawab, and nothing had been heard of
Sirajuddaula.
Desmond first sought out Major Coote.
"By George, Burke!" said that officer, "Colonel Clive is in a towering
rage at your long absence; he expected your return long ago. And you
ought to know that Colonel Clive in a rage is not quite as mild as milk."
"I'm afraid I must brave his anger," said Desmond. "I've found Mr.
Merriman's ladies."
"You have?"
"Yes, and brought them back with me. And Peloti will trouble us no more:
we had to fight for the ladies, and Bulger killed him. Won't Mr. Clive
forgive me?"
"I can't answer for Mr. Clive; no one can say what he will do. But I tell
you one thing: you'll put Warren Hastings' nose out of joint. You know he
was sweet on Merriman's daughter."
"No, I didn't know it. I don't see what that has to do with me."
"Don't you, egad!" said Coote with a laugh. "Sure, my boy, you'll see it
before long. Well, I won't keep you to hear your story. Go to Mr. Clive
at once; and let me know what happens."
Desmond found Clive in company with Mr. Watts, and Rai Durlabh, Mr.
Scrafton and Omichand. He had some difficulty in obtaining admittance;
only his representation that he bore important news prevailed with the
darwan. He learned afterwards that the great bankers, the Seths, had just
left the meeting, after it had been decided that, owing to the depletion
of the treasury, only one-half of the immense sums promised to Clive and
the English in Mir Jafar's treaty could be paid at once, the remainder to
follow in three years.
Desmond entered the room just in time to hear Clive say to Scrafton:
"It is now time to undeceive Omichand."
Mr. Scrafton went up to the Sikh, and said quietly in Hindustani:
"Omichand, the red paper is a trick: you are to have nothing."
Omichand stood for a moment dazed: then he fell back in a faint and was
carried by his attendants from the room. The shock had unhinged the poor
man's reason: he lingered insane for eighteen months and died.
At the time Desmond knew nothing of the deceit that had been practised on
him; but in the light of his after knowledge he understood the strange
expression that clouded Clive's face as the old man was carried away: a
look of pity mingled with contempt. Catching sight of Desmond, the great
soldier flashed out:
"What do you mean, sir, by absenting yourself so long? I sent you in
advance because I thought you would be speedy. A snail would have gone
more quickly."
"I am sorry, sir," said Desmond; "I was unexpectedly delayed. I had got
nearly as far as Rajmahal when I learned the whereabouts of Mrs.
Merriman. She was in hiding with Surendra Nath, one of Mr. Merriman's
men. I heard that Diggle--Peloti, sir--was about to attempt her
recapture, and I felt that you yourself, had you been in my place, would
have tried to save the ladies."
Clive grunted.
"Go on, sir," he said.
"We found the place just in time, sir. Diggle came up with a couple of
Frenchmen and a troop of native horse. We beat them off, and I have
brought the ladies here."
"And forgotten your instructions?"
"No, sir. Monsieur Law was advancing from Patna: Diggle was coming ahead
to inform the Nawab of his approach. But the whole country knows of your
victory, and I fancy Monsieur Law will come no further."
"And Diggle?"
"He was killed in the fight, sir."
"Indeed! And how many did his men muster?"
"Nearly sixty, sir."
"And yours?"
"A score of Sepoys, sir; but I had two seamen with me: Bulger, whom you
know; and Mr. Toley, an American, mate of one of Mr. Merriman's ships.
They were worth a dozen others."
Clive grunted again.
"Well, go and tell Mrs. Merriman I shall be glad to wait on her. And look
here, Burke: you may consider yourself a captain in the Company's service
from this day. Come now, I'm very busy: go and give Mrs. Merriman my
message, and take care that next time you are sent on special service you
are not drawn off on any such mad expedition. Come to me tomorrow."
Desmond trod on air as he left the house. Clive's impulsiveness had never
before seemed to him such an admirable quality.
As he went into the street he became aware, from the excited state of the
crowd, that something had happened. Meeting a Sepoy he inquired, and
learned that Sirajuddaula had just been brought into the city. The
luckless Nawab had arrived in his boat close to Rajmahal, and with the
recklessness that characterized him, he had gone ashore while his
servants prepared a meal. Though disguised in mean clothes he had been
recognized by a fakir, who happened to be at the very spot where he
landed. The man had a grudge against him; his ears and nose had been cut
off some time before at the Nawab's order. Hastening into Rajmahal he had
informed the governor, who sent a guard at once to seize the unhappy
prince and bring him to Murshidabad.
Before the next morning dawned Sirajuddaula was dead. Mir Jafar handed
him to his son Miran with strict orders to guard him. Acting on a mocking
suggestion of Miran, a courtier named Muhammad Beg took a band of armed
men to the Nawab's room, and hacked him to death. Next morning his
mutilated body was borne on an elephant's back through the streets, and
it was known to his former subjects that the prince who had ruled them so
evilly was no more. Such was the piteous end, in his twenty-sixth year,
of Sirajuddaula.
Immediately on arriving in Murshidabad, Desmond had sent a kasid to
Calcutta to inform Mr. Merriman that his wife and daughter had been found
and were safe. The merchant set off at once on horseback and arrived in
the midst of preparations for the return of the army to Calcutta. Desmond
was present at his meeting with the ladies; the scene brought a lump into
his throat; and his embarrassment was complete when one and all
overwhelmed him with praise and thanks.
A few days later a long procession of three hundred boats, laden with the
money, plate and jewels that had been handed over to the British, set off
with colors flying, amid strains of martial music, down the river to
Calcutta. Every man who had taken part in the expedition had a share of
the vast treasure. Desmond found himself richer by three thousand pounds.
Calcutta was en fete when the expedition returned. Desmond was surprised
to see how much had already been done to repair the ruin wrought by the
Nawab. A new city was rising from the ruins. Congratulations were poured
on the victors; and though now, as always, Clive had to contend with the
jealousies of lesser men, there was none but had to admit that he was a
great man who deserved well of his country.
Mr. Merriman at once completed the winding up of his business, begun
months before. His recent troubles had much aged him; India was to him
now a hateful country, and he decided to return to England immediately
with his wife and daughter. He tried to persuade Desmond to accompany
him, but in vain.
"'Tis very good of you, sir," said Desmond warmly; "you have done so much
for me. But Mr. Clive has made me a captain: his work is not yet done;
and I do not feel that I can leave him until I have done something to
justify his confidence in me."
"Well, boys will be boys. I have made a fortune here: I suppose you want
to do the same. 'Tis natural. But don't stay in India as long as I have.
I don't want to lose sight of you. You have done me the best service man
ever did: you have avenged my brother and restored to me all that I held
dearest in the world. I love you as a son, Desmond; I wish you were my
son, indeed, my boy."
Desmond looked a little uncomfortable.
"May I venture--" he began hesitatingly; "do you think, in some years'
time, if I get on here, I might--"
"Well?"
"Do you think I might--in short, that I might have a chance of becoming
your son, sir?"
"Eh? Is that it? Mr. Warren Hastings asked me the same question the other
day, Desmond. You can't both have her, you know. What does Phyllis say?"
"I--I haven't asked her, sir."
"Quite right. You're only a boy. Well, Hastings is to remain as assistant
to Mr. Scrafton, our new agent at Murshidabad. You remain as
assistant--or is it rival, eh--to Mr. Clive. You're both out of the way.
Phyllis may prefer Bulger."
"Bulger?"
"Yes. Didn't you know? Phyllis has taken a fancy to him; that hook of his
appears to be a most fascinating feature; and he will accompany us home."
Desmond laughed a little awkwardly.
"I hope--" he began.
"He won't hook her? But there, I mustn't make sport of such a serious
matter. Go on as you have begun, my dear lad, and I promise you, when you
come home, that if Phyllis hasn't found someone already to her liking,
you shall have all the influence I can exert with the minx."
"Thank you, sir: I couldn't ask for more. There's another thing: do you
think you could do anything for Mr. Toley? He's a capital fellow."
"I know it. I have anticipated you. Toley is appointed captain of the
Jane, an Indiaman that arrived the other day; her captain died of scurvy
on the way out. She'll sail for England next week; we go with her; and so
does that villain Barker, who'll get his deserts when he reaches London.
The Good Intent is broken up; her interloping is over for good and all.
"But come, my boy, sure 'tis time we dressed: Admiral Watson likes
punctuality, and I promise you he'll give us a capital dinner. A word in
your ear: Phyllis is to sit between you and Hastings. You can't eat him,
at any rate."
A week later Desmond went down to the Company's ghat to see the Jane
sail. Mr. Toley in his brand new uniform looked more melancholy than
ever, and Phyllis Merriman made a little grimace when she saw for the
first time the captain under whose charge she was to sail for home.
"Don't be alarmed," said Desmond, laughing. "The sadder he looks, I
believe the happier he is. Silas Toley is a fine seaman and a true
gentleman.--
"I wonder if we shall ever meet again, Miss Merriman?"
"I wonder, Mr. Burke."
"I shall hear about you, I hope."
"Dear me; it is very unlikely. Father hates putting pen to paper. 'Tis
far more likely I shall hear of you, Mr. Burke, doing terrible things
among these poor Indians--and tigers: I am sure you must want to shoot a
tiger."
"You shall have my first skin--if I may send it."
"Mamma will be charmed, I am sure; though indeed she may have too many of
them, for we have the same promise from--let me see--Mr. Lushington, and
Mr. Picard, and Mr. Hastings, and--"
"All aboard!" sang out a voice from the deck of the vessel.
Phyllis gave Desmond her hand, and looked at last into his eyes. What he
read in hers filled him with contentment. She ran across the plank and
joined her father and mother, to whom Desmond had already said his
adieux. At the last moment Bulger came up puffing, a miscellaneous
collection of curiosities dangling from his hook.
"Goodby, sir," he said, giving Desmond a hearty grip. Then he shut one
eye and jerked his head in the direction of the vessel. "Never you fear,
sir: I'll keep my weather eye open. Missy have taken an uncommon fancy to
this here little fishhook o' mine, and 'tis my belief I'll keep her
hanging on to it, sir, nevertheless and notwithstandin' and all that,
till you comes home covered with gore and glory. I may be wrong."
He tumbled on deck. Then amid cheers, with flags flying and handkerchiefs
waving, the good ship moved from the ghat into the swelling river.