Athelstane Ford

“Marian,” I said, “I am Athelstane Ford, who has come to set you free.”

She trembled all over as she gave a quick look up at me, and then rose tottering on to her feet. And when I saw her face, how it was all shrunken from its former roundness, and the colour had gone from her cheeks, and the brightness from her eyes, as she stood there before me, with her dress all dishevelled, and her beautiful long hair ragged and wild, the tears started to my eyes, and I swore a deep oath that if my cousin Rupert ever met me face to face again he should not depart alive.

“Athelstane,” she said presently, when we had stood gazing at each other like that for above a minute, “that detestable villain who is your kinsman has cruelly used me and betrayed me; but I believe you are a true man. Take me to my father, and I will bless the day that I ever saw you first.” And before I knew what she would be at, she had knelt down and kissed my hand, with a passion of weeping, that proud, beautiful creature whom I had last seen in all the glory of her youth and loveliness, the jewel of her native town.

I raised her up tenderly, and drew her forth out of that vile place. A week later the Admiral carried his fleet back to Bombay; but I had got my discharge, and was with Marian on board the sloop Thetis, of twenty-six guns, bound for the river Hooghley with despatches.

CHAPTER VIII

IN THE COMPANY’S SERVICE

And now I must pass quickly over that time of my life on which I should most love to linger, those halcyon hours when, with Marian by my side and the prospect bright before us, we voyaged through those Indian seas, down the long coast of Malabar and up the long coast of Coromandel, past the Isle of Serendib, and the reefs and foaming seas, to where the tangled banyan roots overgrow the muddy mouth of the Hooghley.

Being, as we were, the only two idle persons on board that ship, we were thrown upon each other’s company day after day, and in the long talks we had together she gave me her account of the injuries which she had suffered at the hands of my cousin Gurney. And what pleased me most in these conversations was not to hear her kind and loving professions towards myself, so much as that bitterness which she now manifested against Rupert, for whom, she told me, she cherished a hatred as strong as her former liking and attachment.

“You are not to think,” she said, “that I ever held your cousin in that regard which he was vain enough to believe and boast of. It is true we were good friends, and had been such before I had yet made your acquaintance. But he was a man for whom I had a strong distrust, and that in spite of his swaggering airs and gallant speeches, fit to turn the head of some silly, vain girl who knew nothing of the world.”

“How came you to put yourself in that villain’s hands,” I asked, with some reproachfulness, “by venturing on board the Fair Maid?”

“I own that was a wrong, foolish act,” she answered, “of which the wrongs I have suffered in consequence are sufficient proof. But when I first yielded to Rupert Gurney’s solicitations to take my passage in that ship, I looked to the fact that Captain Sims was her commander, and it was him I relied on to afford me protection. Can you not understand how tired I was of my life in Yarmouth, in that old, dreary inn; and how I wished to be abroad and see the great world, and also to embrace my own parents, from whom I have been separated these twelve years?”

Thus she made her defence. Nor was I like to gainsay it, loving her as I did, with the same folly and blindness as of old, and ready to see and to hear just as she bade me, so that I might only be let hug myself in the belief that I had her affection in return.

“For the first part of our voyage,” she told me further, “all went well enough, until your cousin recovered of those wounds you had given him. Then he began to take a tone with me which I could ill brook; and you may imagine my uneasiness when I perceived that he had greater interest with the men than Mr. Sims, and that I was fairly in his power. As soon as we had got out in these seas he threw off all pretence of taking me to Fort William; and when I implored him at least to set me ashore in Bombay, where I might find another ship, he flatly refused, and told me plainly that I was nothing more than his prisoner. I applied to Mr. Sims for protection, but he answered that it was none of his business, and since I had come aboard freely there was nothing penal in detaining me. This man, I could see, was afraid of Gurney, who shortly after raised a mutiny against him, put him in irons, and carried him into Gheriah.”

I had forgotten to say that when we took the pirates’ castle, Captain Sims was found among the prisoners, who, producing his papers, and making out a long tale about his being an innocent merchant skipper, fallen into the hands of the Moors, not only got his freedom, but a handsome compensation out of the plunder of the place, with which he took passage home to England.

Marian told me that her complaints and anger at last drove Rupert to put her ashore, where he gave her, like Sims, into Angria’s custody.

“And the horrors of that prison,” she said, “are not to be described, nor even conceived by one who has not had experience of it. I was locked into a small cell, with scarce room to move or breathe, and the insufferable heat was such that I was forced to strip naked and lie on the floor, with scarce a rag to cover me. What would have happened to me if the fort had not been taken I dare not think. I must have gone mad or died.”

“Do not let us speak of it,” I said, soothing her. “All those horrors are passed, and not likely to return. Where we are going, in Calcutta, you will find friends and English customs; and your faithful servant, if you will have him as such, Athelstane Ford, will stand guard over you with his life.”

This was the nearest approach which I made to a declaration of my love, choosing rather to drift by force of circumstances into the position of Marian’s accepted lover than hazard all I had gained by seeking to pluck the fruit before it was ripe. It was sufficient for me in the meantime to elicit from her those expressions of abhorrence towards my cousin (and late rival), which assured me that she was effectually cured of her unhappy tenderness for that villain.

“Thank heaven, you are not likely to be troubled with any further sight of him,” I said, to clinch the matter. “After these events Master Rupert will be no such fool as to endanger his neck by trespassing on the Company’s territories.”

“I wish never to see him, nor so much as to hear of him again,” Marian answered warmly.

With such assurances she satisfied me. Perhaps my hopes played me false, and made me take gratitude for something dearer; or it may be that Marian, who knew well enough what were my feelings towards her, did return me some fondness at this time, and was resigned to accept my suit. Even if I deceived myself, I will not repent it. For I know that this life of ours is but a series of illusions, where we stand like children at a peepshow in a fair, beholding pictures which we mistake for real things. So that I say that he who falsely thinks himself beloved is just as well off for that time as he who really is beloved. Yet so far as I was concerned, if any man had said to me then that Marian did not love me, I should have scorned him.

Of my love for her I must not speak at all, or I shall never have done. Long before we reached the Hooghley she had recovered from the ill effects of her imprisonment, and moved about the ship with that command which her beauty gave to her. Her charm was such as I have never seen in any other woman: compared with them she seemed like a bright child among old, sleeping men, almost like a living body among the withered tenants of the tombs. And before we had been upon our voyage above a fortnight the commander and both lieutenants of the Thetis were at her beck and call, while as for the little midshipmen, down to one youngster of twelve, they swore by her as if she were a goddess, and fought duels about her in the cockpit with their dirks.

Before we arrived in Bengal she talked to me much about her parents, who had been settled at Fort William for nearly twenty years. It was a long time since she had had news of them, she told me, but when she last heard her father was prospering in his business, which was that of a drug factor, not in the civil service of the East Indian Company, but trading under their licence, and shipping his merchandise in their bottoms. So much she knew, but nothing besides, and it was with as much curiosity as myself that she saw the Sunderbunds drawing near, and our sloop anchoring off Falta to wait for a pilot up the river.

The Hooghley, famous as it is, is only one of the mouths of that great river the Ganges, sacred and renowned throughout Indostan. Yet it is upwards of forty miles long, for so great was the distance which separated us from our destination. By means of a fair wind we accomplished this difficult navigation, dangerous on account of the numerous shoals, in a very few hours, passing on our way the fort of Budge-Budge, where the Company kept a small garrison.

The scene along the banks of the river was most strange to me at this time, and made an impression not easy to be effaced. The trees which overhung the most part of the banks, of a character quite unlike those we have in Norfolk, were gloomy and forbidding in the extreme; but when we came to one of the people of the country’s villages, and saw the men dressed in gay turbans, the women walking about with curious earthen vessels on their heads, and the stark naked black children playing in the water, I was altogether bewildered, and could scarcely credit that I, who saw these things and had come to dwell amongst them, was the same boy who had been bred up so peacefully in that English village among the flat meadows bordered by the shallow broad.

However, we came at last to that place since so celebrated, though then considered only as the third among the Company’s settlements in the East; I mean Fort William. The fort itself was at this date of no great size or consequence; but in the neighbourhood along the river bank were many fine warehouses erected by the English. In the rear of these was built the native town, which the Moors call Calcutta. Here the houses are generally mean and dirty; but some of the rich Indians lived in very noble style, having fine gardens round their houses, ornamented with fountains and groves of tulip trees and mangoes.

Marian and I were put ashore in the ship’s gig, having first bid adieu to the officers, and set about inquiring the way to Mr. Rising’s house. In this at first we were unsuccessful, but at last I found an obliging person on the quay who directed his native servant to guide us to it.

This man, to whom I gave a handful of pice, conducted us through some narrow streets of the town, very ill-paved, and full of a most evil smell, to a lonely neighbourhood on the side of the river further up, where there was a house built in the Moorish fashion, and enclosed in a wild garden much overrun with weeds. All round this garden was a high wall, conformable to the jealous disposition of these people. The entrance was by a narrow gate, and there was a miserable dwelling crouched against the wall inside, the door of which stood open. Some black children were playing in front of this hovel, who cried out when they saw us, and ran indoors. An Indian came out, very gaunt and fierce, who demanded in English what we did there.

“We are come to see Mr. Rising,” I told him, using his own language which Mr. Scrafton had taught me. “Is this his house?”

“It is, my lord,” says the fellow, much surprised, and giving a low bow, which they call a salawm.

With that I dismissed our conductor, and Mr. Rising’s gardener – for such he was – brought us to the house. We now saw that though originally a fine mansion it was sadly decayed. The walls should have been white, but excessive heat had cracked and blistered them, and turned everything to a yellowish hue. The Indian brought us inside, and into a long, low-ceilinged room with a great window opening on to the river. This room had no furniture except two small tables; but all round the walls was a covered settee, very broad, such as the Moors are used to sit on with their legs tucked up beneath them. To a European it is uncomfortable at first, but by degrees I grew accustomed to it. In this room presently Marian’s father came to us.

The first sight of Mr. Rising gave me a shock, and must, I think, have given a worse one to my companion. He was, as I knew, a man of middle age, yet he looked very, very old, being bent down and much wrinkled, with his hair nearly white. Moreover, his eyes wandered as if he were uncertain which way to look, and while he spoke his fingers worked strangely up and down his bosom, as if groping over the strings of some musical instrument.

“Well, sir,” he said in a thin, halting voice, seeming to find each word an effort, “what is your pleasure with me?”

“I have come here, sir,” I said, “with one whom you will rejoice to see. This is Mistress Marian Rising, your daughter, who has come out from England in my company.”

For at Marian’s prayer I had strictly promised to say nothing about the manner of her voyage, which might have done her some discredit with the Calcutta folk.

As I pronounced the above words the girl herself sprang forward and cast her arms about her father’s neck.

“Father!” she said. “Don’t you know me – your little Marian, who has come home!” And she wept on his bosom.

Then it was a pity to see that ancient, stricken man wakening, as it seemed, out of his trance, and gradually making sure who it was that embraced him.

“My child! My child! Why have you come here?” he said presently. And then shed some tears himself, and clasped her to him, and kissed her.

“Where is my mother?” asked Marian, as soon as she had raised her head.

“Poor child! Your mother has been dead these eighteen months,” he answered sadly. “I should have written to tell you of it, but I was preparing for my passage home – indeed, I don’t know why I have not started before this.”

He gazed round him as he spoke, so as to convince me that indeed he did not know, and had lost the power – poor man! – to understand his circumstances or to take any resolution whatsoever.

I came away from that strange scene terrified, not so much by what I saw, as by an instinct I had that this man’s dreadful wreck was only a sign of that great and abiding horror which lay like a shadow all over the land; just as in the fable the glimpse of one monstrous foot was sufficient to warn the spectator that a giant came along. Which feeling in my mind was rather confirmed than dispelled when I came to learn, as I soon did, that Mr. Rising’s sad condition was brought about by the drug called opium, a staple of this country, the magical properties of which herb seemed to me then of a piece with the frightful sorceries and dark secret practices of the people, as I afterwards came to know them, and which, with their abominable idolatrous superstitions, used often to make me wonder that the Almighty did not destroy them with His plagues of fire and brimstone, like those wicked Cities of the Plain. Yet one good result of my observance of these people’s horrid customs was to inspire me with a becoming and devout gratitude that I had been born a citizen of Christian England, a blessing which we should the more prize since Providence has seen fit to deny it to so many millions of His creatures, and to bestow it upon a few. Sad it is that even among those few there should be found multitudes unmindful of their opportunities, who give themselves up to dissolute lives, or who turn away from the blessed truths of Scripture to hanker after liturgies and Romish inventions.

And now, having arrived safe in Calcutta, I looked forward to a period of rest and security not only for Marian, but myself, after the rough taste we had both had of fortune in her cantankerous mood. As soon as I had seen Marian lodged in her father’s house, I sought out Mr. Holwell, one of the principal Company’s servants in Calcutta, and commissioner over the police of the town. To this gentleman I brought a letter from Mr. Scrafton, to recommend me to his good offices, and having read it he at once received me very civilly and promised me his friendship.

He asked me many questions about the taking of Gheriah, and also about Mr Robert Clive, whose character stood high in the estimation of every one in Bengal, even the Moors having bestowed on him the name of Sabat Jung, signifying the daring in war.

“We had heard of this affair before you came,” Mr. Holwell told me. “The man Angria was famous in these parts, and supposed to be invincible, so that his sudden destruction by our armament has given the natives here an altogether new idea of the English power. It will be well if this doesn’t do us more harm than good, for the Moors are a jealous, suspicious race. Our agent in the neighbourhood of Moorshedabad, the Nabob’s capital, has warned us that the English have many enemies at the Court, who seek to poison the Nabob’s mind against us. I believe there are some spies come down here to examine our defences and the strength of our garrison.”

“What!” I said. “Do you think the Nabob intends anything against us?”

“No, I don’t say that,” Mr. Holwell answered. “The present Nabob, Allaverdy Khan, has always been our good friend. But he is old and sick, and his nephew, who is likely to succeed him, is a dangerous young man, puffed up with pride and conceit. If he should come to the throne he is only too likely to find some pretext for harassing the Company.”

To these forebodings I paid but little attention at the time, though I was soon to learn that they were not idle fears. Mr. Holwell, after having ascertained that I was acquainted with the Gentoo language, offered to procure me employment under the Company in one of their counting-houses, as interpreter, which offer I gladly accepted for the time. I was to receive a salary of 200 rupees by the month, in addition to which Mr. Holwell undertook to procure me a dustuck from the Governor, enabling any merchandise I chose to trade in to pass through the province of Bengal free of taxes or duties to the Nabob’s government.

I soon found out that this privilege of trading on their own account proved, together with the presents they received from native merchants who did business with the Company, the most valuable part of the livelihood of the Company’s servants. Their salaries were so wretchedly small as to be insufficient for the necessities of life in this climate, where the poorest European is obliged to keep half a dozen black servants in his pay. For my part, I did not embark in trade myself, having no capital, but I accepted the offer of a Gentoo merchant to lend him the use of my dustuck to cover his goods, for which he paid me handsomely.