Chapter XV · WHICH RECOUNTS THE TRIALS OF A DEVOUT LOVER.

Letters from Colvin Fraser, Esq., to Mrs Hurstwood.

H.M.S. Tyger, off Fulta, Dec. ye 20th.

The Kent and Tyger arrived off this place five days ago, but ’twas not until to-day that we were gladdened by the sight of our consorts, with the exception of the Cumberland (which, though she and her sister in misfortune have been got off, can’t continue her voyage, and carries back to Vizagapatnam with her 250 of the Colonel’s white troops) and the Marlborough, which has on board the greater part of our stores and nearly all our field artillery, but parted company with us, being a slow sailer, in a storm off the Negrai’s. Besides the two great ships and the Salisbury, therefore, Admiral Watson has under his command only his two frigates and the fireship, with the two Indiamen used for the transport of the troops, while Colonel Clive’s army amounts to no more than 900 Europeans and something over 1200 Seapoys. Major Kilpatrick’s force of 230 Europeans, which, as you know, madam, was despatched from Madrass to the help of Calcutta as soon as the news was received of the fall of Cossimbuzar, has suffered so grievously since its arrival in August, from the necessity of taking up its quarters in swampy ground, because there was no room on board the ships, that a full four-fifths of the men are dead, and of the rest not more than ten are fit for duty. This heavy loss is partly compensated by the enrolment of seventy volunteers from among the Calcutta refugees, the most active of the gentlemen belonging to the factory; but, better than this, we possess in the justice of our cause and the reputation of our two commanders a guarantee of success and of the favour of Heaven upon our enterprise. Already the Admiral has sent letters, couched in terms of great severity, to Monickchund, the Soubah’s governor of Calcutta, demanding redress for the wrongs done to the Company and its servants, and nothing is heard on every side but conjectures as to the answer that will be received.

Nothing but conjectures is heard in the fleet and army, I should say, for (will it surprise you, madam, knowing the gentlemen?) all the members of the Bengal Council that are escaped have no time to think of anything but their own punctilio, without it be the property they lost in the fall of the place and the means of recovering it. Mrs Hurstwood mayn’t have heard that Mr Drake, finding the sour looks he met with and the remarks passed upon his conduct in deserting the Fort vastly galling to his high spirit, has posted in every public place in Fulta an advertisement desiring that it may be pointed out to him where he failed in his duty, and what more he could have done that he did not do. This was wrote after a laudable prudence had caused him, with his friends, to assume three months ago the style of Governor and Council of Bulrumgurry (that poor mean place being the only spot of ground left to us in Bengal), in the fear of offending the Nabob by aspiring to be still in possession of Calcutta. True, our colours are now hoisted just outside the Dutch bounds at Fulta, but Mrs Hurstwood will already be certain that so resolved a step was not taken until the arrival of the fleet. ’Tis some consolation that Mr President’s fantastic manifesto was replied to by a young gentleman named Dash, whom I have met at Calcutta, and who acquainted the world in writing that while he durst not risk his place in the Service by accusing the Governor without a mandate from the Company, he was prepared to justify all that had been said if he were called upon. There’s one matter, however, in which Mr Dash attacks the Presidency, where I can’t follow him, and this is the advancing Mr Labaume to the rank of captain in the Company’s army. Who should better deserve the elevation than a foreigner who fought on our side with so much spirit and devotion, and was only saved from the dreadful fate of the rest of the defenders by being carried to the ships mortally wounded, as was thought? And yet Mr Dash, who don’t think it necessary to declare the time or manner of his own leaving the Fort, finds fault with Captain Labaume’s advancement because he is a Papist! He believes, questionless, that all Papists should be warned to fight on t’other side.

Mr Dash’s most fervent supporter in this matter is Mrs Freyne, who champions with uncommon zeal the cause of my old adversary, Mr Bentinck. This gentleman’s exploit, in quitting the Fort full twelve hours before even the President and the chief military officers, has not yet been properly recognised by any step in rank, and ’tis whispered that the Council stand too much in awe of Colonel Clive to bestow this merited promotion. In this case, the lady will find it necessary to turn the artillery of her charms on the Colonel, since (so says wicked rumour) though not altogether inconsolable on good Mr Freyne’s account, she en’t minded to bestow herself on a gentleman that han’t got his company. I went some days back to pay my respects to Mrs Freyne, but the mention of my name sent her into so violent a hysterical fit, as recalling to her all the cruel misfortunes she has suffered, that I thought it better to withdraw. I am not intending any disrespect to the lady, but I can’t be sorry that she and my charmer cherished no extraordinary affection one for the other.

Dec. ye 21st.

The despatch of this pacquet, madam, leaves us still at Fulta, forced to listen to the vapourings of Mr Drake and his fellows, and unable as yet to follow the promptings of our spirits and advance against the Moors, no answer having been received to Mr Watson’s epistles sent to Monickchund. There en’t a man either on board ship or in the ranks but burns to avenge—oh, madam, what have we not to avenge? But why am I running on in this style and delaying to impart the news that has sent me to the writing of this letter as to the hardest task imaginable, since ’tis to quench in Mrs Hurstwood’s bosom the hope which is already extinguished in my own? You guess, madam, questionless, what it is I have to tell, but my coward pen still refuses to set down the frightful truth in such a form that it may reach you. And yet I can’t, I dare not, write on any other topic—how could I, indeed, when my whole heart and soul is filled with this one? Oh, madam, our beloved Miss Freyne is no more! Now I have wrote it, but the sight of the words brings no conviction to my mind. Sure such a blessed creature could not die, knowing that she must leave this world a desolation thenceforth to her adoring friends; the goodness of her heart would alone retain her here, in compassion of their need of her. But no; that bright spirit which was too pure and ethereal for these grosser regions is returned to its native skies, leaving us forlorn. Don’t, madam, account me so churlish as to grudge to you the recollection of the affectionate friendship which was never broken by a quarrel, but figure to yourself the state of mind of the wretch who addresses you, when he remembers that the love which is his boast brought to its dear object nothing but fresh adversities and the increase of her unmerited misfortunes, and that it has now proved itself as powerless to save as it was potent to wound. Indeed, madam, I can’t but admire the extraordinary course of my passion for Miss Freyne, which caused me to injure most deeply the creature I most adored, and which finds her removed from its reach just when there was a hope that I might in some measure redeem my past behaviour. The fault was wholly mine, indeed my bitter fault.

But why do I trouble Mrs Hurstwood with my useless lamentations, instead of presenting her with the melancholy history so far as I am acquainted with it? I was walking, madam, this evening on the esplanade of the Dutch factory here, when there met me Captain Labaume and another gentleman, who both turned aside and saluted me.

“Your servant, gentlemen,” said I.

“Your servant, sir,” says Captain Labaume. “I think you en’t acquainted with my friend? Mr Warren Hastings, late of the Cossimbuzar factory—Lieutenant Fraser of the Tyger. Mr Hastings is possessed of certain news that concerns you, sir, which it is his painful duty to communicate.”

“Perhaps, sir,” says Mr Hastings, as the Frenchman bowed and left us, “you would prefer to turn aside into the gardens here, rather than learn in this public place what I have to tell you?”

I bowed, for when I tried to speak the words were wanting, and we turned into the Dutch Governor’s gardens, where I stopped short and looked at the young gentleman, a person of very pleasing appearance. Sure no more agreeable messenger ever carried such heavy news as that which I read in his eyes before he told it. “You need not speak, sir,” I said. “You’re come to advise me of the death of the loveliest of her sex?”

I had listened to Mr Hastings’s tale without any interruption but that of sighs and unconquerable groans, but now I could contain myself no longer. “And can there be,” I cried, “a God above, when so transcendent a creature is permitted to expire miserably, without a friend at hand to close her eyes?”

“There’s worse things than death, sir,” says Mr Hastings, with a modest hesitation. “Perhaps we should rather give thanks that the amiable lady you adored was suffered to expire peacefully before ever reaching Muxidavad.”

“I accept the just rebuke, sir, but—oh, sir, you never knew Miss Freyne. Had you enjoyed her acquaintance, though but for an hour, you would have thought the world bare without her. What, then, can you imagine to be that man’s state of mind who was honoured with her particular regard?”

“Why, sir,” cried the warm-hearted young gentleman, “I would have him thank Heaven continually for the happiness with which he has been blessed, and live to prove himself not unworthy of his dear mistress’s favour.”

“Your hand, sir!” said I, moved by his honest ardour; but, madam, ’tis cold comfort to pay to the memory of the dead those honours you had hoped to bestow on the living, and how much more when the fault is your own.

Dec. ye 23rd.

I may perhaps seem over-bold, madam, in continuing to trouble you with my unworthy epistles when the beloved link between us is wanting, but I believe my kind Mr and Mrs Hurstwood will excuse my presumption, remembering, in the goodness of their hearts, what state of mind I must be in, deprived as I am of the delicious hopes that have sustained me hitherto. That you, madam, was joined with your humble correspondent in a common admiration for our incomparable Miss Freyne, is reason enough for me to regard you as my sole remaining friend, and I can’t doubt but Mrs Hurstwood’s worthy spouse will allow me in this melancholy pleasure of reckoning with his lady how much we have both lost. There are at present but two thoughts in my distracted mind, the one to kill the Nabob, the other to fulfil the last pious duties to the mortal (alas that I must write it!)—the mortal remains of my charmer. True, the accomplishing the first won’t restore her to me (any more than the finest tomb I might raise to her memory could do more than tempt Indian lovers to drop a tear on the spot where a Briton bewailed his mistress), but at least it would rid the world of the monster who is responsible for such a calamity’s coming upon it. En’t that a laudable object, madam? I entreat your opinion, for I have incurred the displeasure of my revered commander Mr Watson on this very matter.

The affair happened thus. I was returning this evening from a solitary ramble on the skirts of the town, engrossed with my own melancholy thoughts, when there met me a Dutch artilleryman, who offered to sell me an Indian scymetar he was carrying, which he had got (he said) some time back from a disabled Mogul that had been wounded in the Nabob’s Purhunea campaign, and had no further use for it. The weapon pleased me, and paying the fellow what he asked, I carried it with me. Passing through the town, I met a party of officers from the Kent, among them Billy Speke, who exclaimed on seeing me carry a great sword naked in my hand, and asked me what use I designed to put it to.

“Oh, ’twill serve to kill the Soubah,” I said, my mind still on the same topics.

“’Twill kill no one without it be sharpened,” says one of the gentlemen.

“How do these fellows manage to fight with such a thing?” says another.

“Oh, sir, ’tis a most deadly weapon when bright and keen,” said the first.

“Sure you would not compare it with one of our swords, sir?” asked the other.

“I vow, sir, you might find yourself hard put to it to maintain your ground against a person skilled in its use. Pray, Mr Fraser, if you en’t in no haste to return to the Tyger, come on board with us, and let us have your scymetar sharpened, and convince this unbeliever by a pass or two that it’s no toy.”

I complied the more readily with this request that I remembered a message I had promised to deliver from our surgeon to Dr Ives of the Kent, and went on board with the other gentlemen in a shore-boat, when Billy Speke ran to find one of the armourer’s mates, and brought him to us with his tools. While we stood round watching his work on the sword, the discourse turned, as might be expected, on fighting, and the officers of the Kent, in anticipating the progress of events, began to prophesy the capture of the Nabob’s strongholds and the destruction of all his army.

“Do what you will with the army, gentlemen,” said I, “but leave Surajah Dowlah to me.”

“Sure, there’s no one would dispute your right, sir,” said one.

“Every seaman in the fleet will support you in the vengeance you seek,” says another, “and will see you have a fair field for’t.”

“Will they?” says a voice that made us all turn round, to see the Admiral standing behind us, with a brow as black as thunder. “There’s a seaman here, gentlemen, that will do nothing of the sort. What! do I find myself in command of a set of bloodthirsty adventurers, instead of British officers? Mr Fraser, how dare you import a private quarrel into your dealings with his Majesty’s enemies, sir?”

“If I could forget the cause of that quarrel, sir, I would be the most abandoned wretch on earth.”

“I don’t ask you to forget either the quarrel or its cause, sir. Don’t bandy words with me. Pray what’s to become of your men and the King’s interests when you are hunting for the Nabob all over a battlefield? You’re here to uphold the honour of Britain by punishing the villains that have assailed it, not to seek vengeance for private wrongs—no, though your own mother had been slain by the Moors.”

“But, pray, sir,” Billy Speke ventured to say, knowing himself a favourite, “how is Mr Fraser to remember his quarrel without seeking to avenge it?”

“That’s for him to settle with himself, young gentleman. All I can say is, that if I find him seeking vengeance, back he goes on board the Tyger and into irons, for neglecting his duty in face of the enemy. I would have you know, gentlemen, that you en’t knights-errant, but persons under discipline, and that discipline I’ll maintain. Is that the sword that’s to kill the Nabob, Mr Fraser? Give it to me, sir—a heathenish weapon to do heathenish work, properly enough.”

I handed him the scymetar, and he endeavoured to break it across his knee, but though it bent nearly double it resisted him. Catching up a hatchet that lay by, he smashed the sword on the grindstone with it, and threw the pieces towards me.

“Keep to your Christian sword, sir, and use it in a Christian manner. Fight when you find yourself compelled, but don’t go out man-hunting. No,” seeing me look abashed, “I en’t displeased with you, though I was but a few moments back. I look to see you all do good service in a day or two, gentlemen. What? you han’t heard? Monickchund refuses to forward my letters to the Soubah, saying ’twould be as much as his head’s worth, and Mr Clive and I are agreed to move up the river as soon as we can get our stores aboard. There’ll be no peace until Surajah Dowlah is well thrashed.”

The Admiral left us, and the other gentlemen, commiserating me for drawing his displeasure upon myself, fell to talking of the projected advance, which (whatever Mr Watson may choose to say) can bring me no satisfaction but the gratifying of my revenge. That this sentiment is an unchristian one I can’t deny; but how, madam, can I acquit the Admiral of encouraging my thirst for vengeance so long as it consorted well with his designs, and discovering its iniquity only when it threatened to oppose ’em? But this remark is in itself an offence against discipline, and I’ll say no more, merely laying the case before Mrs Hurstwood, and entreating her judgment upon it.

Calcutta, January ye 25th, 1757.

The extraordinary success which has greeted our arms seems, madam, to demand some record from me, that Mrs Hurstwood may be informed how signally the righteous enterprise on which we are embarked has been prospered by Heaven. But first, madam, permit me to say (lest you should suspect me of any design to glorify my own part in this campaign) that Colvin Fraser has not succeeded in slaying the Nabob, nor even in performing any notable feat of arms. Were the fame of his dear charmer dependent upon his puny efforts for its preservation, as the knights of the chivalric ages were wont to achieve their exploits in celebration of the beauty and merits of their mistresses, it would, alas! enjoy but a brief immortality; but since every man that beheld Miss Freyne must carry her image imprinted on his heart till death, her memory needs no assistance to maintain itself, although it may serve to glorify the feeble achievements of the man who unhappily survives her.

Our fleet, madam, sailed from Fulta on the 27th of December, and two days later cast anchor off the village of Mayapore, whence it appeared most convenient to undertake the assault to be made on the fortress of Budje Boodje. Here occurred the first of those dissensions between Admiral Watson and Mr Clive which, but for the interposition of Providence, must have jeopardised, if not destroyed, our expedition, Colonel Clive desiring that the troops should land from the ships in the immediate vicinity of the fortress, while the Admiral, foreseeing that Monickchund, who had been very busy strengthening the place, would have a great advantage in opposing their landing, recommended that they should march by land the ten miles from Mayapore. Colonel Clive at length yielding up his opinion, this was done; but the march having been over marshy ground much cut up with water-courses, and the labour of dragging the field-pieces and ammunition incredibly laborious, the troops, half-dead with fatigue, were permitted to rest themselves when they had reached the points from which the Colonel intended the assault to be made on the morrow. When our men were all asleep, Monickchund steals up with a prodigious force, having observed all Colonel Clive’s dispositions, and attacks our bivouack so hotly that our troops, hastily aroused from their slumbers, gave way to a temporary panic. The field-pieces proving useless (owing to their being mounted on the wrong carriages, and having neither tubes nor port-fires), they were abandoned to the enemy, together with the buildings in which we had been encamped, and but for the extraordinary spirit displayed by Colonel Clive, who was himself labouring under a severe illness, the affair must have ended in a disastrous rout. The Colonel, despatching two platoons to attack the village now held by the Moors, drove out the enemy, though not without a heavy loss, and rallying his men, succeeded in chasing Monickchund and his cavalry from the field, thus winning a victory which was even greater in its moral than its material result, aided, as it was, by the Admiral’s sailing up to Budje Boodje and engaging the fortress with the Kent alone, silencing the Moors’ guns and opening a breach in the walls.

The first proof of the enemy’s loss of spirit was seen the same evening, when a detachment of our seamen, being sent on shore in readiness to take part in the attack projected for the morrow, found the Moors so much cowed as to permit them to approach quite close to the walls of the place. Among these men (who had all, I fear, indulged somewhat freely in grog, which is a mixture of arrack and water, by way of celebrating Colonel Clive’s victory) was one Strahan, a common sailor belonging to the Kent, who was more drunk than his fellows. He, scrambling over the parapet of the fort, where it was broken down by the Admiral’s fire, found the place empty, but for a few Moormen seated on the platform of one of the bastions, and forthwith rushed upon them flourishing his cutlass, having first fired off his pistol and given three huzzas, crying out to his friends outside that he had taken the fort all by himself. Hearing the shout, first the rest of the sailors, and then the whole army, without waiting for either their officers or the Colonel’s orders, rushed over the bridge and into the place, the foremost arriving to find Strahan hotly engaged with the Moors that were left (who took to their heels at this accession of force), and with his cutlass broke to within a foot of the hilt. So happy was the exploit of these drunken sailors, that ’tis with regret I must add that, the fort being in our hands and guards posted about it from among our own Seapoys, the seamen, mistaking them for the enemy, fell to fighting with ’em, and discharging their pistols, were so unlucky as to kill Captain Dougald Campbell of the Company’s army, a very worthy person and a countryman of my own, who was come from Bulrumgurry to offer his services to Mr Drake at Fulta, and had accompanied the force.

Meanwhile, madam, since our betters are all engaged with these weighty matters, time hangs somewhat heavy upon our hands. The Bengal gentlemen, it’s true, can think of nothing but their own hard case, for while the Company’s merchandise was found for the most part untouched in the Fort, all their private property is gone. Their houses are destroyed and their livelihood lost, while there remains a standing memorial of their humiliation in the shape of the mosque built within the very walls of the Fort by the Moors. ’Tis, perhaps, not wonderful that these gentlemen should be anxious for peace to be made, when they can fall to their money-making once more, but their conduct in the past forbids any excess of sympathy with their present situation. As for me, madam, I experience a melancholy pleasure in tracing the scenes associated in my mind with the memory of my lost charmer. The ruins of her father’s abode, the chamber in the Fort where, detained by a more than filial devotion, she risqued, and as we now know, sacrificed her life in her tender care of Mr Freyne, are my daily resort. Captain Labaume and young Mr Fisherton have filled my gratified yet regretful ear with praises of her demeanour during the siege and in the awful events which succeeded it, and will it shock Mrs Hurstwood if I confess that in all my natural grief for my angel’s loss I can’t escape a sentiment of grateful pride that so glorious a creature would condescend to entertain a particular regard for Colvin Fraser?

Calcutta, Feb. ye 14th.

Oh, madam, I can scarce bring myself to sit down quietly and write to you, and yet this time it’s no bad news that forbids me to proceed. What bad news, indeed, could I send to Mrs Hurstwood in any degree comparable with that contained in my letter announcing the death of her friend? And what joy, then, must inspire my pen when the charming task before me is to cheer the heart of the most faithful of women by reversing that announcement? Yes, madam, the news I have to communicate is the best, the very best—or if not the very best that our dear Miss Freyne’s well-wishers could desire, at least so good that the delighted mind foresees immediately the best of all following it. Miss Freyne, madam, is living, and to Colvin Fraser has been vouchsafed the honour of attempting to restore her to her enraptured friends.

But how my pen hastens along now that ’tis dipped in joy! Pardon me, madam, for my disorderly method of procedure. And yet ’tis better to have uttered the charming truth, for to write of all the circumstances without letting slip the all-important fact until the right moment arrived, would be impossible to me. Oh, madam, the amiable Sylvia still lives!

Arrived opposite Omichund’s garden and the Nabob’s quarters, we were startled by the fog lifting suddenly and showing us a prodigious force of Persian cavalry, who had discovered us by the noise we made in marching, about to charge our line. But, as has often been remarked, ’tis in such alarming moments as this that Colonel Clive is at his best, and steadying the troops by his voice and example, they poured a volley into the horsemen at thirty yards’ distance, which caused them quickly to scamper off. There being now no hope of surprising the enemy, we proceeded in a very warlike manner, directing a constant fire both of cannon and musquetry on either hand into the fog, which was descended afresh, but this bravado on our part was like to have led us into a serious disaster. Some distance in front of us was a causeway, where a road crosses the Morattoe-ditch, and this causeway was strongly held by the enemy, whom the Colonel designed to drive off, and having reached the inner side of the Ditch, to retrace our steps to Omichund’s garden, and beat up the Nabob’s headquarters. But our cannon continuing to fire when our leading files turned to the right to cross the causeway, killed several Seapoys, which cast the rest into a panic, and while Colonel Clive was rallying ’em the enemy opened a smart fire from two cannon they had mounted in a redoubt to the right of the causeway, which threw the whole battalion into great confusion, so that the notion of forcing the barricade was given up, and all pressed forward to reach the next bridge, that at the commencement of the avenue called Lol Buzar. The necessity of dragging the field-pieces along the ditches between the rice-fields caused us incredible labour, while we were now and again compelled to raise ’em up the banks and bring ’em into action, in order to keep off the enemy’s horse, who were perpetually at our heels. A strong party held the bridge when we reached it, but giving way before our fire, we drove back also the horsemen pressing upon our rear, and gained our own territory, where the Colonel thought it well to give up the further prosecution of his design, in view of the prodigious fatigue to which the troops had been exposed, and we marched back to Fort William through the Lol Buzar. In fact, madam, we returned safely, though with considerable loss, having gained a victory in spite of our retreat, for the tyrannic and feeble-minded Surajah Dowlah was so deeply impressed by our performances that, hearing falsely that the Colonel had not lost a single man, and finding his own army much more disheartened than ours, he sent Rungeet Roy the next day to propose terms of peace.

But now for the affair which will make this indecisive battle for ever more memorable to Colvin Fraser than the most brilliant victory. I had been looking to the comfort of my men, who were permitted a rest and a mid-day meal at the Fort, and was expecting to receive orders to carry them on board the Tyger again, when there came up to me Lieutenant Carnac of Adlercron’s Regiment of foot, whose acquaintance I had made on the expedition against Houghley.

“The very man I was seeking!” he cried. “Pray do me the favour to accompany me, Mr Fraser. Your presence is desired.”

“And who may it be that desires it, sir?” said I.

“Why, certain very weighty persons, and for weighty reasons,” says the young gentleman, passing his arm through mine with an agreeable familiarity. “It seems you have been consorting with traitors, sir, and you must justify yourself.”

“Sure you’re in very good spirits, Captain.”

“Believe me, sir, I en’t rallying you. You’re needed to help clear up a strange affair. In seeking to find a way across the rice-fields this morning, I and some twenty of my men became separated from the battalion, and were brought up suddenly by coming upon two of the enemy’s guns, mounted in a rude battery. The men in charge of ’em were as much astonished as we were, and for a moment we stood staring at one another with open mouths. Then one of the Moors recovered his intellects sufficiently to rush to one of the pieces, intending to discharge it by firing his pistol into the touch-hole, but before he could reach it, up jumps one of the men at the gun and fells him with a rammer, then turns upon the rest, and lays about him with such good will that he had ’em all drove out of the battery in an instant. Having chased ’em all away, he returns suddenly, and seeing us with our pieces raised, cries out in a lamentable voice, ‘Don’t fire, gentlemen, for the love of heaven! I’m a Briton like yourselves!’ This confession inflamed the men so deeply, finding a European fighting on the side of the Moors, that they would have cut the poor wretch to pieces if I hadn’t held ’em back almost by force, but he pointing out that he had saved us all from destruction by the enemy, they cooled a little, when he showed us further that he had loaded both guns up to the very muzzle with stones and rubbish and such a quantity of powder that they must sure have burst and destroyed all the Moors in the place had they been fired. This proving him to be well affected, we spiked up the guns and carried him back with us, since he desired to be confronted with Mr Hastings or any of the Calcutta gentlemen that survived the Black Hole, saying they could vouch for his honesty. Since we returned to the Fort, hearing some one mention your name, he demanded vehemently to see you, saying that he had news of infinite gravity to give you.”

“Questionless the poor wretch is my cousin Colquhoun’s sergeant, who was forced to enter the Nabob’s service,” said I, and attended the Captain into Colonel Clive’s presence. No sooner had I entered than the unfortunate prisoner, who was standing loaded with chains while the Colonel interrogated him, sprang forward and cast himself at my feet.

“Thank God, sir, that you’re come!” he cried. “I’ve thought every moment as how the General was going to order me out to be shot, but I don’t care how soon he do it now. There’s one thing been on my mind, and that’s to give you this,” and he pulled a small shred of paper from some hiding-place in his clothes. “Not being no scholar, I can’t read all the words, but ever since I had it I’ve feared as how I’d led you and the other gentlemen into a horrid mistake, and perhaps ruined the poor young lady as I’d wished to give my life for.”

I tore the paper from his hand, but the mist before my eyes forbade me to read it for a moment. Then I saw that on one side ’twas covered with my own handwriting. Madam, ’twas a part of the letter I writ to my dear Miss Freyne near a year ago from Vizagapatnam, that letter on which you have been pleased to rally me more than once. But on the other side—oh, madam, figure to yourself my sensations at the moment—were a few words scratched in a brownish sort of ink with some blunt instrument, scratched, as I could not doubt, by my charmer’s own hand.

“I am not dead, but in the power of the wretch S ...” (this name is illegible, owing to the folding of the paper) “at Muxadavad. Help me, any Christian that may read this, for the l ... God, or at least tell those escaped from Calcutta where they may ... the unhappy Sylvia Freyne.”

Was ever such an affecting billet handed to a lover before, madam? I am not ashamed to say that I found myself incapable of speech as, after pressing the message to my lips, I handed it to Colonel Clive, who demanded it with an impatient gesture, nor did it surprise me that the Colonel’s face was moved when he read it.

“Wrote with the poor woman’s own blood!” he said, as though to account for his emotion, and I started forward to reclaim the paper with a cry, for the notion had not occurred to me. To what alarms, madam, must the dear creature have been exposed before resorting to so dreadful an expedient for revealing her situation! “Wait a moment, sir,” says the Colonel; “what’s this? Something wrote in broken Moors—‘Take this to any hat-wearer, and he will give you ten rupees,’ but in the English character! How did the poor soul expect it to be read? Where and how did you get hold of this, fellow?” he asked of the prisoner, who was risen again to his feet.

“I had it of a Moorman, your honour, who said as how he had lighted on it in a street of Muxidavad, but he could not, or maybe would not, tell me the place. He kept it for a charm, but I chanced to have a leaf out of a printed song-book about me, that I had picked up among the spoils, which I gave him in exchange for it, telling him as how ’twas a more powerful charm than his. And when I had it, I did naught but look out for a chance of escape, that I might bring it to Miss’s friends, but they watched me so as I couldn’t nohow get away before to-day.”

“Do you believe the man worthy of credit, Mr Fraser?” says the Colonel aside to me.

“Why, sir, how would I do otherwise?” I asked.

“You’re a prejudiced witness, sir, I see. But since Mr Fisherton has testified to the man’s motives in entering the Soubah’s service, and Mr Hastings speaks of seeing him conducted by force to Muxidavad after the lady’s supposed death, I think we need scarce doubt him. What do you say to returning to the Company’s service, my man?”

“There’s naught could please me better, your honour.”

“Then be it so, and let me hear a good report of you in the future. Hark ye, sir,” to me, “I thought at first of demanding the restoration of the lady from the Nabob as an indispensable condition of peace, but I en’t so sure now that ’twill be the most prudent plan. Think the matter over, and let me know to-morrow what your judgment is. Till then I will say nothing to any one.”

I bowed and withdrew, feeling a prodigious great surprise that Mr Clive should entertain any doubts on what seemed to me to be a matter of such simplicity; and finding Mr Hastings, who is serving as a volunteer in the European ranks, outside the place, I begged leave to attend him to his quarters, and laid the question before him, showing him the precious paper, though I would not trust it out of my own hands.

“How do you fill up the blanks in this message, sir?” said he. “Not the two latter, which are of slight importance, but the first?”

“Why, with the Nabob’s name, sir. How else? ‘In the power of the wretch Surajah’—sure ’tis as clear as daylight.”

“It’s possible,” said he; “but why not the Nabob or the Soubah? Either term would surely come more readily to the pen. There’s others beside Surajah Dowlah whose names begin with an S, sir. For example, there’s Meer Sinzaun.”

“The renegado?” I cried.

“No other. The fellow, as I have heard, piques himself upon his fine taste, and he might well prefer a European lady to the Moorish wenches. ’Tis but a notion of mine, but if you’ll permit, we’ll ask Captain Labaume and Mr Fisherton, who were well acquainted with the lady, if they know of anything that would argue any truth in it.”

He called his Indian servant, who had remained faithful when his fellows deserted their masters, and gave him an order, while I kept silence, regarding the matter in this new and disagreeable light. Presently Mess. Labaume and Fisherton entered the apartment, the former feigning anger at being summoned.

“Indeed, Captain, that’s a lesson I shan’t learn if my friends are so complaisant in pardoning my incivilities. But here’s the reason for my breach of discipline. You’ve heard the joyful news of Miss Freyne’s safety which our friend Mr Fraser has received by means of a billet from herself. Now there’s something in the letter inclines me to think that the lady’s present custodian en’t the Nabob at all, but perhaps the apostate Sinzaun. Is’t possible that he can have heard of her before the siege, and plotted to get her into his power?”

“Possible?” cried Captain Labaume. “Why, sir, to the best of my belief the fellow was so captivated by the report of Miss’s beauty that he adventured his person in Calcutta itself for the sake of seeing her, and forced his company upon her at a masquerade. It’s in my mind that he pursued her for some time with his solicitations, but poor Jack Bellamy could have told you more of that than I.”

“And his knowledge lies buried in the ditch of the ravelin yonder,” says Mr Hastings.

“But I can tell you more than that, sir,” says Mr Fisherton. “When the Fort was taken, and before we poor wretches were drove into the Black Hole, Sinzaun came to scrutinise us, looking for Miss, as she believed. She testified such terror in view of the villain’s efforts to discover her, that Captain Colquhoun assisted her to disguise herself in a man’s hat and cloak, and she escaped notice for the time.”

“This is as I feared,” said Mr Hastings. “We can’t doubt but the apostate has got the unhappy lady into his power by some device to hoodwink the Nabob. Now you perceive, Mr Fraser, why the Colonel thought best not to demand her release openly. Miss is hid in some spot known neither to us nor to the Nabob, but whence she could be quickly removed if enquiry was made touching her. To broach the topic would be to unite the Nabob with Sinzaun against us, and destroy all hope of liberating the captive. Your plan will be to despatch a secret agent to Muxidavad to discover where the lady is confined, and then to frame some means of effecting her escape. There’s a parcel of Armenians and Moorish traitors would do the work for you, if you paid ’em high enough.”

“Sure Omichund’s the man,” says Captain Labaume. “He has rogues enough in his pay to corrupt all India.”

“Oh no, sir,” cried Mr Fisherton. “Sure you can’t know that the vile wretch sought to decoy Miss to his house by a promise of safety on the night of the Black Hole, acting, as every one present believed, in Sinzaun’s interest. I fear this new misfortune is also of his hatching, since ’twas he had the woman fetched that was to attend upon the lady to Muxidavad, and though he feigned she was a stranger to him, I doubt she was his tool.”

“’Tis well we know this,” said Mr Hastings, “or we should questionless have applied to Omichund for advice and assistance, as in all other cases. We must find you another messenger, Mr Fraser.”

“I thank you, sir,” said I, “but if there’s any art can smuggle me through the enemy’s lines, I’ll go myself to Muxidavad.”

“There’s none,” said he. “No disguise could ensure your safety, sir, and you might not only fail to help the lady, but even endanger her.”

“If there’s any power on earth can get me into Muxidavad, sir, thither I’ll go.”

And what, Mrs Hurstwood will say, was Colvin Fraser doing all this time? He was waiting for his chance, madam, and he found it three days ago, when Mr Watts was but just started on his way to Muxidavad, taking with him Omichund and the gunners for whom the Nabob had asked, as well as Mr Ranger, whose name won’t be unknown to Mrs Hurstwood, as commandant of the Cossimbuzar garrison. Colonel Clive was engaged in preparations, carried on with the greatest secrecy imaginable, for an advance against Chandernagore, to be undertaken without the Nabob’s knowledge, when there arrived in the camp a venerable divine, newly come from England in one of the Company’s ships, who brought letters of commendation to Mr Watts, as head of the Cossimbuzar factory, having left Europe long before anything was known of the melancholy revolution here. This excellent person, the Rev. Dr Dacre, is interested in observing the manners and studying the antiquities of the Indians, and has undertaken this prodigious journey at an advanced age in the hope of conversing with the learned among that people on their own soil. In place of being deterred by the terrible events that have transpired since his voyage was planned, the venerable man is solely eager to let slip no part of this period of peace, and desired to follow Mr Watts immediately on his way to Muxidavad, where he looks to obtain much enlightenment both from the Moorish Imaums and the Gentoo Pundits. Here, madam, was my chance, for I knew well that I could never have prevailed upon Mr Watts to permit me to be of his company, and therefore did not ask him. Guessing that the Admiral was devising some means by which Dr Dacre might be despatched up the river, I waited upon him in his cabin and asked his leave to visit Muxidavad in attendance upon the worthy divine. You would have smiled, madam, to behold Mr Watson’s astonishment at my request.

“I think you forget, Mr Fraser, that you han’t yet near made up the time you lost at the beginning of this cruise. There’s not an officer in the fleet but could ask leave for such a jaunt as this with a better grace than yourself.”

“Indeed, sir, if it were only a jaunt I desired, I would not venture to ask it.”

“What is it, then? Sure it can’t be true what I heard Billy Speke chattering about t’other night, that you still have a notion of rescuing the lady of whom you told me at Madrass?”

“That’s my hope, sir.”

“I had thought better of your sense, child. If the lady be still alive, sure you can do her little good by approaching her, and you may, by arousing the suspicion of her captors, bring about her destruction.”

“Trust me, sir, I won’t act rashly. If the lady have—have formed other ties, I’ll bow humbly to her discretion, and nothing will induce me so to act as to bring suspicion on her. But I must know if she’s satisfied to remain a prisoner.”

“You’ll embroil us afresh with Surajah Dowlah’s whole horde, to say nothing of risking your own life and losing sea-time, and very likely affronting Colonel Clive. No, Mr Fraser, I can’t have you go.”

I had expected this. “Then permit me to resign my commission into your hands, sir,” I said, laying it on the table before him.

“What, sir?” cried Mr Watson, with mingled grief and indignation, “are you serious? Do you know what you’re doing, with this expedition against Chandernagore close at hand? D’you know what will be said of you throughout the fleet?”

“I have considered that, sir, but the lady has no friend to attempt her rescue but myself. I am all she has to look to for help, and I won’t abandon her for the sake of my own advancement.”

“For the sake of your duty to his Majesty and the service, sir! D’you know you are a very foolish and wayward youth?”

“Since you tell me so, sir, I can’t but believe it.”

“You’re a foolish and wayward youth, sir, but I tell you this. If you had been willing to desert the lady in her extremity, Charles Watson would have took away your commission himself. That man’s no British seaman that would leave a woman a prisoner in the hands of the Moors. Take back your papers, child; I’ll make things right for you with Captain Latham. You shall carry despatches to Muxidavad from me to the Nabob, and you shall remain there as long as I can conveniently spare you, but I rely on you to do your business as speedily as may be. You will leave this on Tuesday by the boat that carries Dr Dacre.”

And that Tuesday, madam, is now to-morrow.