Chapter XXI · SHOWING HOW CALCUTTA WAS AVENGED.

Cutwah, June ye 23rd.

Once more, my dear, I am left solitary, and as of old turn to my Amelia for consolation. My dear Mr Fraser quitted me early yesterday morning, and proceeded to Placis with Colonel Clive and the army, and here in the fort at Cutwah there remains a meagre company, awaiting with an incredible eagerness and anxiety every morsel of intelligence that may reach them. Nor is this apprehension excessive in view of the situation. We Britons, as my Amelia knows, are said to be too prone to undervalue our enemy, and that this is so is questionless Colonel Clive’s opinion, although he himself offers no example of the fault. He has no fear, I heard him say two days ago, for a favourable result of the approaching battle, if every man of his force do his duty and his Indian allies keep their promises, but a single piece of carelessness or treachery may prove the ruin, not only of the army, but of the entire British cause in this region of the world. With another commander this unflattering estimate of the future might be expected to damp the spirits of the soldiers, but so great is their confidence in Mr Clive that they are sensible of no resentment even for his implied doubt of them, and are resolved to support him to the utmost of their power. The Indian allies are less to be trusted, I fear. Immediately after I closed my letter to you on Monday there arrived from Muxadavad the messenger despatched by Mr Watts from Culnah to Meer Jaffier, declaring that he had been received with distinction by that nobleman in private and assured of his fidelity, but that on the entrance of some intimates of the Nabob’s, Meer Jaffier changed his tone immediately, while his son Meerham threatened to have the messenger put to death for a spy, uttering the most extravagant menaces against the English should they venture to advance towards the city. This unaccountable behaviour, coupled with the ambiguous epistles brought by Meer Jaffier’s own messengers, startled Colonel Clive and induced him to waver in his design of advancing, insomuch that on Tuesday he summoned a council of war (the first, so Mr Fisherton tells me, that he has ever held) to determine whether to go forward against the enemy at once, or to strengthen this fortress of Cutwah and maintain ourselves here until the rains are over. To the great scandal of all the officers, the Colonel, instead of taking the opinion of the youngest gentleman first, and so through all the members until his own turn came as president, began by giving his own vote for delay, in which he was followed by the majority, although Major Coote and a few others spoke stoutly on the other side, the Major declaring with great warmth that he would rather abandon Cutwah and retire at once to Calcutta than give the Nabob the triumph of shutting up our army here. However, the council broke up, after doing nothing but invite the Raja of Burraduan to join the army with any reinforcements he could command, and the officers dispersed with the most dissatisfied air imaginable. The Colonel, whose ordinary resolved aspect was changed for a dejected and uncertain look, shunned the company of the other gentlemen, and as I sat at my window in the tower which has been assigned to us for an abode, I saw him wander away into a grove of trees near. He must have spent over half an hour in solitude, when up comes Mr Watts to me and demands to know whether I had perceived which way the Colonel went. After directing him, I ventured to hope that he was the bearer of good news.

“Why, yes, madam,” said he. “Here’s a cossid just come in with a message sent from Meer Jaffier by word of mouth, and containing very satisfactory assurances. It seems he’s honest after all.”

“Pray Heaven you may get the Colonel to believe it, sir.”

“Indeed, madam, you can’t desire it more than I, since my credit hangs on Meer Jaffier’s honesty. I know Mr Clive would have chose to advance had he been acting alone, but our valiant Calcutta gentlemen, and the excellent Quaker in especial, have worked hard to imbue him with their own fears, so that he can’t resolve to risque a second destruction of the factory. Yet he’s excessive uneasy to find himself hanging back for the first time in his life, and I would lay a lack of rupees that he’s seeking some good argument that would justify him in going forward. I hope to supply him with it.”

“And am I to ride, sir?” I asked him; “or will it be possible to proceed by boat?”

Mr Fraser turned his face aside. “Why, my dearest life,” he said, “considering this frightful weather and the danger from the enemy, I fear——”

“Oh, dear sir, you would not leave me behind?” I cried. “Sure the Colonel promised——”

“But my beloved girl won’t press that promise to an extreme when she knows how much it would add to her Fraser’s anxiety? She’ll do him the favour to believe that ’tis only his concern for her makes him entreat her to remain here under good Dr Dacre’s care, and I think she’ll oblige him by consenting to stay behind.”

The tears were in my eyes. “Dear sir, how could I bring myself to refuse a request which you are good enough to express in such a charming style?”

“Nay, dearest madam, your complaisance in gratifying me would make me ashamed to ask a favour if I did not know that it caused you a pleasure to grant it,” said Mr Fraser, but perceiving that what he had said might be taken in two different styles, he came and embraced me kindly, begging me with the utmost earnestness to remain behind at Cutwah, where the sick were to be left under a small guard, and not to insist upon exposing myself in the neighbourhood of the battle. I could not refuse to oblige him, having once consented, and that’s the reason, Amelia, why I am writing to you from my tower in the fortress, instead of accompanying my spouse to the field.

At sunrise yesterday the army began crossing the river, but the transit was not accomplished until four in the afternoon. By this time Colonel Clive had received another reassuring letter from Meer Jaffier, stating that the Nabob was encamped with his army at a village called Muncarra, some little way to the north of Placis, and suggesting that the Colonel should march thither to attack him. The march was at once commenced, the boats carrying the camp equipage being towed against the stream, and the troops making their way along the bank, although, thanks to the inundation caused by the heavy rain, they were forced to plod through water up to their waists. The rain fell continuously almost the whole of the day, driving me from my station at the top of my tower, whence I had hoped to view a great part of the march, since it commands a vast extent of country, and I passed the weary hours in unravelling lint and sewing bandages for the surgeon here, although the damp weather has made my needles and scissors almost useless with rust. The need I felt of occupying my mind made me work so prodigiously hard that when I asked the doctor this morning whether he had anything more for me to do, he laughed, saying that he had already sufficient dressings to bandage the whole army from head to foot, and thus rejected, I fell back naturally into my old habit of making my Amelia the depositary of my anxieties. Indeed, my dear, I don’t know what can be better, in such a situation as mine, than a faithful friend like yourself, unless it be the practice I have always pursued of writing to her constantly.

But my dear girl must not imagine that I have been left to pine, uncheered by any scrap of news, since daybreak yesterday. My dear Mr Fraser was so good as to despatch me a billet this morning, wrote with infinite difficulty in the most unpropitious circumstances. Reassuring my anxious mind by declaring that he has suffered no inconvenience from the discomforts of the march, he says that a halt was called soon after midnight in a grove of mango-trees close to the Nabob’s seat of Placis, and that in this grove the troops encamped in the greatest comfort imaginable. (I fear this is only said to console me, Amelia, for you must remember the rain and the floods.) The sound of drums and other barbaric instruments was clearly to be heard from the enemy’s camp a mile distant (for on hearing of the Colonel’s advance from Cutwah, Surajah Dowlah had at once quitted Muncarra and marched to confront him), but this served rather to soothe than to disturb the grateful slumbers of our wearied army.

There, Amelia! ’Tis now two in the afternoon, and this pencilled chitt, which reached me about an hour back, contains the latest intelligence we possess. All the morning I have spent at the top of the tower, with every man of our sick garrison that was strong enough to climb so high, watching for messengers, and listening to the distant sound of cannon brought to us on the wind. At noon the rain began again, and drove me indoors and to my writing, and so far as we can discern, forced the cannonade almost entirely to cease. I had no notion that a battle took so long to fight, had you, Amelia? I have wrote this letter with all the minuteness possible, for the sake of filling up the time; how, I wonder, shall I spend the weary hours still before me, until this battle, which is to decide the fate of Bengall, if not of India (not to speak of your poor girl and her beloved Fraser) be ended? Happily the rain is almost ceased again, and Dr Dacre, who has established himself as a vigilant guardian over me, gives me hope of being allowed once more on my watch-tower.

Half-past six o’clock.

Cutwah, June ye 24th.

Alas, my Amelia! I began to rejoice, or at least to feel satisfied, too soon. Having finished writing to my dear girl, I descended to the lowest room of the tower, intending to join Dr Dacre at supper, but even as I entered the apartment the good divine stood forward as though to turn me back, and I saw that he was talking with a man in the dress of a common soldier. I could not doubt what was the matter.

“You’re come to tell me Mr Fraser is hurt?” I said to the soldier.

“Why, no, madam,” said he, and it seemed to me that I had heard his voice before at some very frightful moment of my life. “I was bid to bring you his honour’s loving duty, and to tell you as how there wasn’t truly nothing wrong with him.”

I turned to Dr Dacre. “Oh pray, dear sir, don’t torment me. What is happened?”

“Indeed, madam, there’s so little happened that I had hoped to keep it from you until morning. Our good Mr Fraser has received a bullet through the thigh, but the bone en’t injured, and save for the loss of blood he’ll suffer little inconvenience.”

“But I must go to him, sir. You’ll help me to start immediately?”

“What, madam?” It was the surgeon left in charge of the sick here who came in behind me. “Go to your spouse to-night? and I had believed you a woman of sense! Pray what do you think you could do for him? Nothing but vex his mind and tease his doctors, I’ll assure you. He’ll come down in the boats to-morrow, and if I find you are to be trusted I’ll let you have him to nurse.”

“I’ll assure you, sir, whatever you may find, you won’t keep me from Mr Fraser’s side!” I cried, dashing away my tears.

“Pray, madam, look at me,” says the surgeon, gruffly. “Have I the air of being a man of my word, or not? ’Twill hang upon your behaviour whether I suffer you to approach your spouse. Why, you’re shedding tears, madam! Was you purposing to weep over Mr Fraser? He don’t want to be wept over, but to be kept quiet and cheerful, and that signifies that you’ll take a good rest to-night, and eat your meals in a proper style, for if you don’t, I’ll have your good man brought into hospital and you shan’t come near him. Remember, I must have your word for it in the morning that my prescription has been followed.”

The surgeon went out, leaving me speechless by reason of his coarse and unfeeling language, and Dr Dacre, perceiving my agitation, said with great gentleness—

“Come, madam, our friend’s counsel is sound enough, if rough. If you’ll take your supper, this honest fellow here will join us, and tell us something of the manner in which Mr Fraser met his wound.”

“Aye, madam,” said the soldier, seeing me look eagerly at him, “I was by his honour’s side all day at his six-pounder, first in the grove and then at the tank, and when he got leave to join the storming party I followed him again. We was climbing over the front of the redoubt before the Frenchies scuttled out at the back, and one on ’em, an ugly, black-looking fellow, stood his ground and called out something in French to his honour, who sprang forward in a fury to shoot him, but as he fired, a musket-ball passed through his leg, and his pistol went off as he fell, without doing any harm to the Mounseer. The fellow laughed, and turned to walk off, as cool as you please, but Mr Fraser catched hold of me (I was run to lift him up, as you may guess, madam) and cried out, ‘Kill him, Jones! kill the villain that dares to slander my wife. ’Tis Sinzaun himself, the renegado!’ There was a man of Adlercron’s fell dead just beside me, and I catched up his piece and charged it, and fired twice at the villain, but missed him both times. His honour, seeing me stamp with rage, guessed how ’twas, and presently, ‘Take this, Jones,’ says he. ‘Questionless the wretch bears a charmed life.’ ’Twas a silver button cut from his coat that he held out to me, and I charged the piece with it instead of a bullet—for you know, madam, as how a silver bullet is good against all sorts of wicked charms. Sure enough it brought him down, and I cried out to his honour that he was done for. ‘Well done!’ says he, and faints away, and I carried him back to the doctors. But when I went to look for the villain’s body, I found as how the other Mounseers had carried it off, so as I can’t be certain he was dead, but I do believe it, madam.”

“I know you now,” I cried. “Sure you’re Captain Colquhoun’s sergeant!”

“Yes, madam, and proud to do a service to the Captain’s cousin and his lady.”

“Can I say better of you than that you’re worthy of your Captain, Sergeant Jones? Though you don’t mention it, I can’t doubt but you saved Mr Fraser’s life by carrying him so promptly to the surgeons.”

“Come, my dear madam,” says Dr Dacre; “instead of exchanging compliments with this worthy man, why not give him some supper and join him in the meal? That will refresh him and sustain you.”

To please the good divine I consented to sit down to the table, but you’ll guess that I could scarce swallow a morsel, although the sergeant made an excellent supper, offering profuse apologies for what he fancied his unfeeling behaviour, which indeed I could well pardon, since after fighting all day he had obtained leave to ride fifteen miles to apprise me of my dear Mr Fraser’s situation. As soon as the meal was over I excused myself, and returning to my own chamber, did my best, after offering for my husband’s recovery the most earnest supplications that gratitude and affection could suggest, to put in practice the second part of the surgeon’s prescription. But a person of my Amelia’s sensibility won’t be surprised to hear that my sleep was perpetually broken with fancied alarms, and that I was haunted with the image of Mr Fraser lying prostrate and bathed in blood, and dying at a distance from me.

The morning brought with it something more of cheerfulness, and having satisfied the surgeon of my earnest endeavours to obey his commands, he was so obliging as to consent to “turn my spouse over to me” (that was his odd phrase) for nursing, and to add that if I would but keep a smiling face he would be better off than in the hospital. The boats arrived about eleven o’clock, and by taking advantage of an interval of fine weather the wounded were brought on shore in comparative comfort. Even to my dearest friend I can’t describe my feelings when I beheld Mr Fraser carried in helpless and frightfully pale. The wound had been of such a nature as to produce an extraordinary effusion of blood before the surgeons could attend to him, and he was in a condition of extreme weakness, although his concern for me enabled him to wear a cheerful countenance and rally me on my too evident alarm and apprehension.

“I have a chitt here for you, madam,” he said, as soon as I had assisted the surgeon to make him as easy as possible, “and I desire you’ll read it in my presence.”

I opened the billet he presented to me, and regarded it incredulously, unable to believe that after such a day of fighting, in the interval between deposing one prince and setting up another, Colonel Clive should have found opportunity to write to me.

“The Colonel gave it to me in the evening, when he came to visit the wounded,” said Mr Fraser, “saying that he knew you would not regret my losing a share in the plunder of Muxadavad provided you had me again.”

“Sure the Colonel’s a discerning person,” said I, and read the billet aloud:—

“Madam,—I am fully sensible that by this time Mrs Fraser is heartily repenting her heroic conduct of t’other night, and wishing that she had carried her spouse in her train to an ignominious safety at Calcutta, but will she permit the horrid wretch that has led him into danger one word of excuse? Our victory, madam, I don’t hesitate to say, we owe chiefly to the excellent working of our artillery, in which Mr Fraser took a principal part. Without Mr Fraser our fire could not have been so effective; with a less effective fire we could not have won the battle, ergo, Mr Fraser’s presence with us was necessary to the victory. If Mrs Fraser declare she would have sacrificed her country’s interest to her spouse’s safety, such a sentiment from her lips will surprise none more than her most obedient, humble servant,

Robt. Clive.”

Do you wonder that this letter will be preserved among my most precious treasures, Amelia? Sure I perceive now how it is that Colonel Clive’s soldiers cherish so great an affection for him, since he can write with such affable condescension to a silly girl who was playing at being heroical without knowing what the part demanded of her. That he should have cheered my dear Mr Fraser’s weakness with kind words of praise for his services is no cause for surprise, but how few persons in his high situation would have cared to dry the tears of an anxious wife!

Cutwah, July ye 5th.

It is now near a fortnight since the battle of Placis, Amelia, and my dear Mr Fraser, I am thankful to say, continues to make good progress. By the way, in looking over these papers of mine, my spouse insists that I have spelt the name of the battle wrong, since the Indians, who should surely know their own language, call it Palassy. But I tell him that Colonel Clive, in dating his billet wrote to me, spelt it Plassy, while Mr Watts, than whom no man knows more of this country, writes it Plaissy, so who shall decide? You’ll wonder, perhaps, that I should submit my correspondence with my Amelia even to my husband’s eyes, but I think my dear girl won’t grudge him the entertainment he is pleased to find in what I write, for which he has made me to-day the prettiest return in the world. Going to fetch out my papers but now, I found among them a copy of verses addressed to myself, and soon perceived that they were of Mr Fraser’s own composing. You know, my dear, that in the old days at Calcutta there was many such tributes offered me, but none of them, be sure, ever gave me one-tenth of the pleasure of this one. Not even for my Amelia can I bring myself to copy out this charming piece. Perhaps Mr Fraser may favour me in the future with some verses of a less intimate nature, but these must remain sacred to her for whom they were wrote; happy, thrice happy creature that she is! Will it surprise you, Amelia, to learn that your Sylvia’s only fear is lest she be too happy? You must not fancy she can ever forget the horrors of the past year, nor the frightful deaths of the persons she honoured and revered the most; but in her marriage there’s nothing wanting to render her felicity absolute. Indeed (I fear you’ll laugh at this), all this past fortnight my dear Mr Fraser has shown himself so patient, so uncomplaining, that coupling this behaviour of his with the extraordinary consideration he has displayed towards me since our wedding, I have been terrified lest he should be about to be torn from me, and it gave me the greatest pleasure imaginable when he began to grow restless and irritable, and to chafe at the inaction made necessary by his wound. True, the verses he writ were designed as an atonement for this impatience, but I can’t tell you how vastly glad it made me to find my spouse still the Colvin Fraser of old days.

“And now, madam, I am come to a point that can’t but be especially grateful to you, since it concerns the punishment of a villain at whose hands you have suffered not a little in time past. On the Colonel’s entering the apartment where he designed to receive the Soubah’s visit, old Omy Chund, with his usual bustle, pushed forward among his attendants, but not finding himself received with any distinction, withdrew in something of a pet to another part of the hall. You may not be sensible, madam, that this white-haired traitor was expecting to pocket the monstrous sum of twenty lacks, which he imagined himself to have secured as the price of his not betraying to Surajah Dowlah our confederacy with Meer Jaffier. The Soubah having entered and been received with the usual courtesies, the business on which he was come went forward, the treaty signed between us and him being produced. When various matters had been arranged, Omy Chund, who had again joined with the party in his eagerness to lay hands on his imagined wealth, cried out with an air of stupefaction, ‘But it was a red treaty I saw!’ ‘Yes, Omy Chund, but this is a white treaty,’ says Colonel Clive; then to Mr Scrafton, ‘’Twill be as well to undeceive the fellow.’ Upon this Mr Scrafton, approaching the deluded Gentoo with no particular tenderness, and having in his hand the treaty wrote on red paper, which he supposed secured his claims, said, ‘Omy Chund, you have been deceived. This loll coggedge is a forgery.’ It took some time before Omy Chund could be brought to believe that in the genuine treaty his name did not so much as appear, and that he stood to gain no more by our victory than the other Gentoos of Calcutta; but being at last persuaded of his misfortune (when the resentment and indignation expressed in his countenance bars all description), he appeared suddenly bereft of his intellects, and was assisted out of the room by his attendants, remaining still, as we understand, in the same deplorable situation.”

“But, sir,” I cried, “you confound me! Is it possible that an assemblage of Britons, of Christians, should have conspired to delude this wretched pagan with a forged instrument? Sure the Colonel—sure Mr Watson—would never——”

“Indeed, madam, the notion was the Colonel’s own, and all the other gentlemen attached their names to the red treaty without a spark of hesitation, save only the Admiral; and understanding that, though he demurred to take an active part, he experienced no repugnance to the affair, I took the liberty of adding his signature.”

“Pray, sir,” cried Mr Fraser with great warmth, “don’t try to drag Mr Watson into your plot. If I were not persuaded that he’ll disavow with indignation the infamous use you have chose to make of his name, I would throw up my commission sooner than serve under him again.”

“Why, sir, he may disavow it and welcome, if he’ll support his disavowal by withdrawing also from the benefits secured to him by means of the treaty as the officer in command of the squadron, but he won’t.”

“Pray, sir, don’t judge of a seaman’s honour by that of your most high-minded Colonel.”

“Sir, I have suffered your injurious language to myself, but when you see fit to attack my generous patron in my presence I must resent it with my——”

“Pray, young gentlemen,” said Dr Dacre, “remember there’s a lady present, and leave Colonel Clive and the Admiral to settle their own shares of the matter. But come, Mr Fisherton, have you no compunction for your own part in this deception?”

“Not the slightest, sir. Even were I not persuaded that I had obliged the Admiral by relieving his conscience from the odium of signing the false treaty, while he retains the benefits it secured him, I have no pity for Omy Chund. You was not in the Black Hole, sir. Omy Chund contrived to bring about the miserable destruction of Calcutta in revenge for his own fancied wrongs, and ’tis no thanks to him that the happy issue of Mr Watts’ negotiations han’t been frustrated again and again. He practised for the death of Mr Holwell, and he was the instrument to betray Mrs Fraser into the hands of the vile Sinzaun. Sure the lady’s spouse should be the last person in the world to find fault with me for the joy I experience in having assisted to punish the double-dyed traitor.”

“Sir,” said Mr Fraser gruffly, “I don’t dispute the justice of the punishment, but only its means. Believe me, ’twill be a lasting blot on Colonel Clive’s fame that he and those with him consented to enrich themselves while depriving their confederate of his share of the spoils.”

“Are you pointing at me there, sir?” cried Mr Fisherton.

“Nay, sir, I don’t doubt but the 50,000 rupees allotted you were worthily earned otherwise than by your dealings with the treaty.”

“However they were earned,” says the young gentleman, with something of a sigh, “they’ll be well spent. Every anna but what I need for the most pressing necessaries shall go home to my family. ’Twill furnish marriage portions for my sisters, place my brothers out in life, and relieve my honoured father of his cruellest anxieties. I’ll assure you, gentlemen, that at least the money shall be better employed than if Omy Chund had received it.”

At Mr Hurstwood’s House, Calcutta, July ye 12th.

“Why, child,” she said, “your zeal for your spouse charms me, I’ll assure you. I vow I must reward it by letting you see the letters he wrote to me during his search for you. ’Tis no breach of confidence, for he has promised to show you mine. Come, there’s the precious pacquet, which you may study in your palanqueen as we ride home, for I won’t have a moment of our talking-time wasted to-day.”

I leave you to picture, my Amelia, what your Sylvia’s feelings were on reading these charming letters, every page in which breathes the respect and affection with which her spouse is kind enough to regard your unworthy friend. I am determined to obtain Mrs Hurstwood’s leave to copy them out for myself, so that in case I am ever so base as to be in danger of forgetting how infinitely Mr Fraser has obliged me in the past, I may read them and be overwhelmed with shame, and I will contrive to grant my Amelia the privilege of reading them also. Those utterances in them which may appear extravagant, she’ll pardon as the evidence of the too-partial kindness entertained for her Sylvia by the writer, for indeed I could not bring myself to leave ’em out. Something of this sort I said to my Charlotte when we were arrived at Mr Hurstwood’s house, and she received it in her usual contradictory style.

“Indeed, child, I’m glad you’re pleased. As for me, I took no pleasure in your Fraser until he left off writing letters.”

“I am sorry my spouse annoyed Mrs Hurstwood with reports of his search for me.”

“I’m sorry to see Mrs Fraser petted about nothing. Why, child, when I received Dr Dacre’s letter announcing your marriage, and Fraser’s incoherent scrawl saying that he could find no words in which to write, I was satisfied at last that the fellow loved you as he ought. So long as he could talk about his transports, even to his mistress’s near friend, I could not repose in him the confidence I desired.”

“Sure you’re a person of vast authority on matters of love and marriage, madam.”

“Questionless, my dear. Han’t I set the fashion for Calcutta in weddings for many a long day? A surprise-wedding lends a charming touch to an evening party.”

“But sure there have been no weddings here of late?”

“No weddings? Why, there’s been little but weddings. You forget that a whole parcel of widows have required to be furnished with spouses.”

“Sure you can’t mean that the widows of the gentlemen who perished last year——?”

“But I do mean it. I don’t desire to startle my Sylvia, but there’s some things she must know.”

“You’d have me understand that—that—Mrs Freyne——?”

“Precisely. Mrs Freyne is entered upon a second matrimonial experiment.”

“And the happy person favoured with the transfer of her affections?”

“Come, child, I can’t have you sarcastic. It don’t become a young woman of my Sylvia’s charming disposition. The favoured suitor, my dear, is Captain Bentinck, who got his company through the entreaties of the Presidency when he was left to undertake the defence of Calcutta on Colonel Clive’s going to the war.”

“She could scarce have insulted my papa’s memory worse than by such a choice, made in such haste.”

“Indeed, my dear, there was no haste, I’ll assure you. The full year and a day—not a moment less—did Mrs Freyne wear her weeds to the admiration of the whole town, and ’twas in the evening of the 21st of last month she was married. Perhaps you would not say that this proved her a model of inconsolable constancy, but indeed she was thought to be extraordinary strict. Why, Mrs Campbell, who married Mr Hastings just before the hot weather began, only lost her Captain at the taking of Buzbudgia in January. She, I grant you, wasted no time. But I vow there’s no need for you to regret Mrs Freyne’s action, for you’ll have the less to do with her. I thought I had best warn you of the affair, as you’re about to meet her to-night.”

“Sure my Charlotte will never ask me to do anything so repugnant to my sentiments.”

“Your Charlotte does ask it of you. To tell truth, my dear, I have played a little trick on Mrs Bentinck. Shortly after her marriage she came with the solemnest face in the world to ask me whether I had not resigned all hope of seeing you again, since a year was past without any news of you. I had just received the news of your wedding, and made no scruple of assuring the lady that I was persuaded my Sylvia Freyne was no more, when she departed comforted, and is now wearing mourning for you. You perceive my plot?”

“Oh, my dear, don’t attempt anything dreadful. I have no desire to alarm the lady into fits, or perhaps madness.”

“There’s no fear of that, child. ’Tis your papa’s property Mrs Bentinck was concerned for, and that she can’t hope to keep now you’re returned. Sure you can’t desire me to break the news to her gently? Is it to be announced as joyful or melancholy? If she learn it on a sudden, she can decide for herself. And now come to dress.”

In Mrs Hurstwood’s hands I feel myself a child, and when she desired me to wear one of her gowns, which she had had a tailor alter during the day to fit me, I obeyed her with all the meekness imaginable. I can’t tell you how strange it appeared to me to put on a dress of ceremony once more, and I thought I had never seen anything so charming as the white satin petticoat and gown of white gauze sprigged with gold that my Charlotte had chose for me. When I was dressed, she came into the room with her hands full of crimson flowers.

“You look well enough, child,” she said, “but you han’t sufficient colour left to carry off a dress all of white. Besides, you was married more than a month ago, and we can’t have you look too like a bride. So sit down, and let me adorn you.”

I sat down as she bade me, and she fastened her red blossoms in my hair and in the bosom of my gown, then turned me round and told me in her impudent style that she thought I might pass tolerably for a boarding-school Miss just arrived from Europe if I would but keep that Fraser of mine from following me about everywhere. Having succeeded in making me angry, she informed me that I should find my adored spouse in the saloon, as indeed I did, with his wounded limb laid on a couch. It seemed to me that there was a slight gloom on his countenance, but he drove it away when I joined him, and we were talking over the events of the day when Mrs Hurstwood entered the apartment, bringing with her my stepmother and Captain Bentinck.

“This is the dear friend I desired to present to you, madam,” said my Charlotte, with an air of extraordinary sweetness. For the instant I feared Mrs Bentinck’s falling into a fit as she regarded me with consternation, but she recovered her coolness by a prodigious effort.

“I hope, miss,” she said to me, with an air of grave rebuke, “your conscience tells you that you’re a suitable object for Mrs Hurstwood’s kindness?”

“Indeed, madam, my dear Mrs Hurstwood has always been too partial to my faults.”

“Perhaps you han’t considered, miss, that what we have heard of your adventures” (yes, Amelia, she went so far as to use that term) “will scarce entitle you to be received again in Calcutta. I had thought better of you than to expect to find you imposing on Mrs Hurstwood’s good nature. Sure a humble retirement would befit you better.”

Mr Fraser had raised himself angrily to speak when Mrs Bentinck made use of the horrid word adventures, but Charlotte gave him a signal to keep silent. Now she spoke with the greatest coolness in the world.

“Sure, madam, you must mistake my friend for some other person. This is Mrs Fraser, the wife of the gentleman yonder, with whom your spouse has, I believe, some acquaintance.”

“Questionless he has married her in hopes of her papa’s money,” says Mrs Bentinck, as though she spoke to herself, but so loud that we could all hear.

“Madam!” I cried, very hotly, “Mr Fraser married me at a moment when all that he could hope for was to share the perils that menaced me.”

“I fear, sir,” she continued, as though I had not spoken, “you’ll be disappointed to hear that Mr Freyne’s wealth was by no means so great as was commonly supposed.”

“Why, then I’m rightly punished, madam,” says Mr Fraser, with infinite cheerfulness.

“And of what there is,” she cried, vexed by his coolness, “not an anna that I can keep my hands on shall go to the creature you’ve married.”

“Any remarks you may be pleased to pass upon my own conduct, madam, I’ll be charmed to listen to, but I permit no one to insult Mrs Fraser in my hearing.”

“Come, come, my dear,” says Captain Bentinck, “there’s been enough said. Mr Fraser and his lady will questionless pardon your natural agitation after such a start as you’ve had, and I need not say I shall be glad to meet the gentleman or any person he may please to appoint for the discussion of business.”

“Oh, forgive me, sir!” cried his lady, making him a curtsey. “I had forgot you would scarce choose to meet Mr Fraser a second time at the sword’s point.”

“Madam,” said the poor gentleman (I did truly compassionate him at the moment, Amelia), “I’m sorry to disoblige you, but if you’ll be so kind as leave this matter to Mr Fraser and me, there’ll be all the more hope of a peaceful settlement.”

“And that signifies that you’ll see your wife despoiled for the sake of the saucy creature there. Would that I had married a person with a spark of courage or manly sentiment in him! Well, sir,” turning to Mr Fraser, “I perceive you’ll have reason to bless the Captain’s easy temper, but I wish you joy of what you may get. You’ve found your lady obliging enough when you was all she had to depend upon for entertainment, and she owed her precious life to you from day to day, but wait and see how she’ll use you in Calcutta, when she has plenty of money and trains of admirers, and her dear Mrs Hurstwood to support her in all her whims. I fancy the spouse of the lovely Sylvia will find himself less important with his lady than he’d desire.”

Sure some malignant spirit must have prompted Mrs Bentinck thus to foster the misgiving that I had discerned in Mr Fraser’s mind already that day, but he answered her coolly enough—

“Since any kindness Mrs Fraser may please to show me is beyond my deserts, madam, I’ll trust to be always grateful for it.”

Disappointed of the effect she had hoped to produce, the lady left us with a disdainful air to join with the rest of the company, in order to receive whom Charlotte had been compelled to depart, hugely to her annoyance, and Captain Bentinck following her after a few civil words, I found myself for a moment alone, so to speak, with Mr Fraser. I could not resolve to lose this chance.

“Oh, dear sir,” I said, very earnestly, “have I deserved this lack of confidence at your hands? Can you think so meanly of the creature you have so infinitely obliged as to imagine that the possession of any advantages would alter her carriage towards you? At least do me the favour to test my abiding gratitude, and if you find it wanting, recall me to a sense of my duty. I’ll assure you it shan’t be necessary to upbraid me twice.”

“Why, what a bear I must be,” cried Mr Fraser, “to have drawn this affecting appeal from my beloved girl! Indeed, my dearest life, if I looked sour on parting from you this morning, ’twas but the thought of a whole day spent without you, or if I answered that saucy lady less warmly than I felt, ’twas because I feared to give her cause to cry out on me as extravagant. That’s my wretched pride again, you’ll say. Well, so it is, and I’m more ashamed of it than ever in my life before. Won’t my charmer extend me her pardon?”

“So long as I know I have your confidence, dear sir——”

“So long as my Sylvia pleases herself, let her know that she can’t disoblige her Fraser. His confidence she must always possess.”

I was made happy by hearing this, but none the less was I thankful not to have delayed making my appeal, for, knowing as I do my dear Mr Fraser’s cast of disposition, I tremble at the prospect of the least interruption of the happy understanding between us. You’ll own, Amelia, that I have some experience of the gloomy pride that possesses him when he imagines himself wronged, and to give him cause to display it would break my heart.

“Come, come,” cried Mrs Hurstwood, coming up to us just as Mr Fraser had kissed my hand, “I can’t suffer these public endearments now that you’re returned to polite life. You must learn to carry yourselves towards each other with the indifference of persons of fashion. Besides, I want my Sylvia here, to present an old acquaintance to her. I’ll find a consoler for Mr Fraser in a moment.”

She carried me into the next room in a prodigious hurry, and bade me seat myself upon an ebony couch, then brought in no less a person than Admiral Watson, who walks now always with the aid of a stick, and bears traces in his countenance of the distemper from which he has suffered since almost his first arrival in Bengall.

“Now here, dear sir,” says Charlotte, “is the beloved friend of whom I spoke to you. Pray did I exaggerate her charms in describing ’em?”

“Even Mrs Hurstwood can’t perform the impossible,” said the Admiral, bowing. “Her portrait I must pronounce to have fallen far short of the reality.”

If I was puzzled by this introduction, and by the look my Charlotte cast at me as she departed, as though recommending me to do my best to gain Mr Watson’s favour, I was worse perplexed by the good gentleman’s conversation, for I soon learned that he imagined me to be a stranger to India, only newly landed from Britain.

“I fear Admiral Watson’s memory en’t so strong as his kindness,” I said at last, after acknowledging several genteel compliments, “for I had the honour to meet him at Madrass near two years ago.”

“Oh, madam,” and the Admiral laughed, “’tis strong enough to recollect that Mrs Hurstwood has been known to play tricks upon her acquaintances, and I fear her lovely friend en’t ashamed to copy her.”

“Sure her trick was to make you believe I was newly from home, sir.”

“She assured me positively that you was but just arrived in Calcutta, madam. But stay—pray, madam, may I be favoured with your name?”

“My name is Fraser, sir,” and I permitted Mr Watson to catch a glimpse of the wedding-ring upon my finger. Figure to yourself my alarm, Amelia, when he burst into a great shout of laughter.

“What! the lady over whom Mr Fraser and I have been quarrelling all day?” he cried.

“Oh, dear sir, have I brought Mr Fraser into fresh difficulties?”

“Why, madam, I thought he had taken undue advantage of my easy temper when he confessed he had married the lady I permitted him only to rescue. But I protest I’d have done the same myself on the like provocation.”

“But you won’t make him suffer, sir, for his generosity to a poor desolate creature that had no friend but him?”

“He has plenty of consolation, madam, if I did. But figure to yourself how the affair appears to his comrades. Lieutenant Fraser, admitted through the Admiral’s softness to an indulgence he don’t in the least deserve, outstays his leave without permission, and contrives not only to take part in Colonel Clive’s battle at Placis but to marry a handsome wife. It’s clear he must be punished.”

“Oh, pray, dear sir, pray——”

“Now pray, madam, don’t cry. I was about to say that for the sake of others I must leave Mr Fraser in his old station, not allowing him to profit by the accidents that have of late advanced so many of our officers to a higher rank, but if he’ll carry himself in that situation so as to merit my favour (and with such a lady to inspire him I don’t doubt but he will), why, he shall have it!”

Sure I can’t tell, my dear girl, whether at the moment I was more grateful for my Charlotte’s trick to gain the Admiral’s kindness for Mr Fraser, or more ashamed of my jealous misinterpreting of the natural melancholy my spouse had shown on his return from waiting on Mr Watson, seeing his prospects all in danger.

Calcutta, August ye 19th.

Must I confess to my dear friend that in my heart there has been, united with that sense of public loss which could not but make itself felt, a particular grief that the only patron to whom Mr Fraser might reasonably look for advancement in his profession could now oblige him no further? That this unworthy strain has mingled with my sorrow I can’t deny; but my Amelia may judge of the shame with which I contemplated the sentiment when I learned that even on his death-bed Mr Watson remained mindful of the interests of those who had served under him. Yesterday Admiral Pococke, who succeeds the lamented gentleman in the command of his Majesty’s naval forces in these waters, having summoned to his presence those officers for whom Mr Watson had been chiefly concerned, promised them his countenance and favour in the future, and made them the most obliging offers of advancement under his own eye. Until that moment, as he confessed to me, Mr Fraser had entertained serious thoughts of quitting the navy and entreating the favour of a commission in the Artillery from Colonel Clive; but finding himself confronted with the same agreeable prospects as before, he is now joyfully resolved to remain in the calling of his choice.

You’ll be surprised to hear that we are still residing with Mr and Mrs Hurstwood; but to tell truth we have found it impossible to quit their dwelling. As soon as Mr Fraser proposed seeking a house for ourselves, our friends assured us that theirs was far too large for their wants, and that they would regard it as a favour if we relieved them of a part of it. Now this liberal offer was so great a convenience, considering the huge rents asked here, that we could scarce consent to accept of it; but when my Charlotte painted a moving picture of the solitude I should experience when Mr Fraser was absent on his voyages, and the consolation she might afford me if she needed only to step across the varanda to pay me a visit, my spouse went over to her side at once. Then she sought to compliment me with visions of the assistance I might furnish to her in her household œconomy when she felt vapourish (for indeed she is not strong), and declared at last that if I removed to another part of Calcutta she would compel Mr Hurstwood to remove also and hire the house next to ours, so that I also was brought to consent to remain. But my dear girl must not suppose that we are so poor as to find it difficult to live according to our station. Under the influence of good Mr Holwell and Mr Hurstwood, Captain Bentinck has behaved like a person of honour and probity respecting my dear papa’s estate, although his good designs were sorely hindered by his lady; and Captain Colquhoun’s gift, of which I can scarce bear to think even now, ensures us a genteel maintenance. With this and Mr Fraser’s pay, I’ll assure you we find no cause to envy even the wealthiest persons here.

Calcutta, Sept. ye 18th.

Sure I must be vapourish, you’ll say, to give vent to these gloomy reflections. Why, so they are gloomy, my dear, but my situation is a melancholy one. Yesterday there arrived in the river the Revenge sloop, which had made an extraordinary quick voyage from Madrass, bringing news of the arrival of a great French fleet on the Choromandel Coast. The season of the year forbids Mr Pococke to take the sea against ’em, but he has thought it well to carry his ships to Ballisore Road, there to keep watch in case of an attempted attack on Bengall, and the vessels dropped down the river to-day. Many friends and relations of the officers were permitted to share the passage as far as Culpee, and Captain Latham complimented me with an invitation on board the Tyger, so that I was able to enjoy Mr Fraser’s company for a little longer. But this was not wholly charming, for I could not but see that the dear gentleman was so placed that persons much inferior to him in attainments, and even in age, were entitled to give him their orders. I could not help deploring this to him before we parted, and lamenting that his determined search for me had involved him in such a loss of sea-time and of opportunities for distinction as had brought him into so painful a situation, but he checked me immediately.

“Pray, my dearest girl,” he said, “have done once and for all with this talk of obligation between you and me. Sure I had willingly undertook what I did simply to know that my Sylvia was restored to freedom and safety; but when to that is added the honour of possessing her, I am overpaid a thousand times. The favour is all on my side, and if you love me, you’ll permit me to rejoice in that thought.”

To so affecting an appeal ’twas not possible to return a refusal, although it deprives me of that exercise which is the most charming of all to a generous mind—the consideration of the obligations one owes to one’s friends. But my dear Mr Fraser is gone, and what little his Sylvia can do to please him shall be done—although not altogether as my Charlotte desired me just now. Having made me drink a dish of tea on my return from the Gott, and sought in vain to engage me in a cheerful conversation, “Oh, there!” she cried, “go and write to your Fraser. I see you’ll take no pleasure in anything until that’s done.” But I hope I en’t so extravagant as Mrs Hurstwood feigns to believe. I will begin a letter to Mr Fraser to-morrow; at present I’ll finish that to my Amelia. Do you know, my dear, I fancy this will be the last of my huge pacquets? Letters you’ll receive from me in the future, I hope, but scarcely those minute histories which it has so often solaced me to write. These, if I am able to write them at all, must go to my spouse, and my dear girl won’t grudge it, knowing that in heart her friend is, as ever, her

Sylvia Fraser.