One of Clive's Heroes Part 44

"You, of course, will accompany me to the Faujdar. He will be incensed, I make no doubt, at your temerity, and not unjustly; but I will intercede for you, and you will be treated with the most delicate attentions."

"You speak fair, Mr. Diggle," said Desmond, still bent upon gaining time; "but that is your way. What a.s.surance have I that you will, this time, keep your word?"

"You persist in misjudging me," said Diggle regretfully. "As Cicero says in the play, you construe things after your fashion, clean from the purpose of the things themselves. My interest in you is undiminished; nay rather, it is increased and mixed with admiration. My offers still hold good: join hands with me, and I promise you that you shall soon be a _persona grata_ at the court of Murshidabad, with wealth and honours in your grasp."

"Your offer is tempting, Mr. Diggle, to a poor adventurer like me, and if only my own interests were involved, I might strike a bargain with you. I have had such excellent reasons to trust you in the past! But the goods are not mine; they are Mr. Merriman's; and the utmost I can do at present is to ask you to draw your men off and wait while I send a messenger to Calcutta. When he returns with Mr. Merriman's consent to the delivery of the goods, then----"

The sentence remained unfinished. Diggle's expression had become blacker and blacker as Desmond spoke, and seeing with fury that he was being played with he suddenly wheeled round, and, cantering back to his men, gave the order to fire. At the same moment Desmond called to his men to lie flat on the ground and aim at the enemy from behind the thick wooden wheels of the hackeris. Being on the flat top of the mound, they were to some extent below the line of fire from the plain, and when the first volley was delivered no harm was done to them save for a few scratches made by flying splinters from the carts. But the crack of the matchlocks struck terror into the pale hearts of some of the hackeriwallahs. Several sprang over the breastwork and scuttled away like scared rabbits. The remainder stood firm, grasping their lathis in a manner that showed the fighting instinct to be strong, even in the Bengali.

Many anxious looks were bent upon Desmond, his men expecting the order to fire. But he bade them remain still, and through the interval between two carts he watched for the rush that was coming. The crew of the _Good Intent_, headed by Sunman the cross-eyed mate and Parmiter, had come up behind the natives. These having emptied their matchlocks were now retiring to reload. Diggle had dismounted, and was talking earnestly with the mate. They walked together to the edge of the nullah, and looked up and down it, doubtless canva.s.sing the chances of an attack in the rear; but the sides were steep; there was no hope of success in this direction; and they rejoined the main body.

Evidently they had decided on making a vigorous direct attack over the carts. Dividing his troop into two portions, Diggle put himself at the head of the one, Sunman at the head of the other. Arranged in a semicircle concentric with the breastwork, at the word of command all the men with firearms discharged their pieces; then, with shrill cries from the natives, and a hoa.r.s.e cheer from the crew of the _Good Intent_, they charged in a close line up the slope. Behind the barricade the men's impatience had only been curbed by the quiet imperturbable manner of their young leader. But their self-restraint was on the point of breaking down when, short, sharp, and clear, the long-awaited command was given. Their matchlocks flashed; the volley told with deadly effect at the short range of thirty paces; four or five men dropped; as many more staggered down the slope; the rest halted indecisively, in doubt whether to push forward or turn tail.

"Blockheads! cowards!" shouted Diggle in a fury. "Push on, you dogs; we are four to one!"

He was now a very different Diggle from the man Desmond had known hitherto. His smile was gone; all languor and indolence was lost; his eyes flashed, his lips met in a hard cruel line; his voice rang out strong and metallic. That he was no coward Desmond already knew. He put himself in the forefront of the line, and, as always happens, a brave leader never lacks followers. The whole of the seamen and many of the Bengalis surged forward after him. Behind the breastwork all the men were now mixed up--musketeers with pikemen and lathiwallahs. Upon these came the swarming enemy, some clambering over the carts, others wriggling between the wheels. There was a babel of cries; the exultant bellow of the born fighter, British or native; a few pistol-shots; the scream of the men mortally hit; the "Wah! wah!" of the Bengalis applauding their own prowess.

As Diggle had said, the odds were four to one. But the defenders had the advantage of position, and for a few moments they held the yelling mob at bay. The half-pikes of the boatmen were terrible weapons at close quarters, more formidable than the cutla.s.ses of the seamen balked by the breastwork, or the loaded bamboo clubs of the lathiwallahs.

Sunman the mate was one of the first victims; he fell to a shot from Bulger. But Parmiter and Diggle, followed by half a dozen of the sailors, and a score of the more determined lathiwallahs and musketeers with clubbed muskets, succeeded in clambering to the top of the carts and prepared to jump down among the defenders, most of whom were busily engaged in jabbing at the men swarming in between the wheels. Desmond saw that if his barricade was once broken through the issue of the fight must be decided by mere weight of numbers.

"Bulger, here!" he cried, "and you, Hossain."

The men sprang to him, and, following his example, leapt on to the cart next to that occupied by Diggle and Parmiter. Desmond's intention was to take them in flank. Jumping over the bales of silk, he swung over his head a matchlock he had seized from one of his peons, and brought it down with a horizontal sweep. Two of the Bengalis among the crowd of lathiwallahs, who were hanging back out of reach of the boatmen's pikes, were swept off the cart. But the violence of his blow disturbed Desmond's own balance; he fell on one knee; his matchlock was seized and jerked out of his hand; and in a second three men were upon him. Bulger and the serang, although a little late owing to want of agility in scaling the cart, were close behind.

"Belay there!" roared Bulger, as he flung himself upon the combatants.

The bullet head of one st.u.r.dy badmash cracked like an egg-sh.e.l.l under the b.u.t.t of the bold tar's musket; a second received the terrible hook square in the teeth; and a third, no other than Parmiter himself, was caught round the neck at the next lunge of the hook, and flung, with a mighty heave, full into the midst of the defenders. Bulger drew a long breath.

At the same moment Diggle, attacked by the serang, was thrown from his perch on the hackeri and fell among his followers outside the barricade.

There was a moment's lull while both parties recovered their wind.

Firing had ceased; to load a matchlock was a long affair, and though the attackers might have divided and come forward in relays with loaded weapons, they would have run the risk of hitting their own friends. It was to be again a hand-to-hand fight. Diggle was not to be denied.

Desmond, who had jumped down inside the barricade when the pressure was relieved by Bulger, could not but admire the spirit and determination of his old enemy, though it boded ill for his own chance of escape. He was weary; worn out by want of rest and food; almost prostrated by the terrible heat. Looking round his little fort, he felt a tremor as he saw that five out of his twenty-four men were more or less disabled.

True, there were now more than a dozen of the enemy in the same or a worse plight; but they could afford their losses, and Desmond indeed wondered why Diggle did not sacrifice a few men in one fierce overwhelming onslaught.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE BATTLE OF THE CARTS.]

"A hundred rupees to the man who kills the young sahib, two hundred to the man who takes him alive!" cried Diggle to his dusky followers, as though in answer to Desmond's thought. Then, turning to the discomfited crew of the _Good Intent_, he said: "Sure, my men, you will not be beat by a boy and a one-armed man. There's a fortune for all of you in those carts. At them again, my men; I'll show you the way."

He was as good as his word. He s.n.a.t.c.hed a long lathi from one of the Bengalis and rushed up the slope to the hacked nearest the nullah.

Finding a purchase for one end of his club in the woodwork of the wagon, he put forth all his strength in the effort to push it over the edge.

Owing to the length of the lathi he was out of reach of the half-pikes in the hands of the boatmen, who had to lunge either over or under the carts. His unaided strength would have been unequal to the task of moving the hackeri, heavily laden as it was, resting on soft soil, and interlocked with the next. But as soon as his followers saw the aim of his movements, and especially when they found that the defenders could not touch him without exposing themselves, he gained as many eager helpers as could brine their lathis to bear upon the two carts.

Meanwhile the defence at this spot was weak, for the men of the _Good Intent_ had swarmed up to the adjoining carts and were threatening at any moment to force a way over the barricade. They were more formidable enemies than the Bengalis. Slowly the two hackeris began to move, till the wheels of one hung over the edge of the nullah. One more united heave, and it rolled over, dragging the other cart with it and splitting itself into a hundred fragments on the rocky bottom. Through the gap thus formed in the barricade sprang Diggle, with half a dozen men of the _Good Intent_ and a score of Bengalis.

Desmond gathered his little band into a knot in the centre of the enclosure. Then the brazen sun looked down upon a Homeric struggle.

Bulger, brawny warrior of the iron hook, swung his musket like a flail, every now and again shooting forth his more sinister weapon with terrible effect. Desmond, slim and athletic, dashed in upon the enemy with his half-pike as they recoiled before Bulger's whirling musket.

The rest, now a bare dozen, Bengalis though they were, presented still an undaunted front to the swarm that surged into the narrow s.p.a.ce. The hot air grew hotter with the fight.

To avoid being surrounded, the little band instinctively backed towards the edge of the nullah. Diggle exulted as they were pressed remorselessly to the rear. Not a man dreamt of surrender; the temper of the a.s.sailants was indeed so savage that nothing but the annihilation of their victims would now satisfy them. Yet Diggle once again bethought himself that Desmond might be worth to him more alive than dead, and in the midst of the clamour Desmond heard him repeat his offer of reward to the man who should capture him.

Diggle himself resolved to make the attempt. Venturing too near, he received an ugly gash from Desmond's pike, promising a permanent mark from brow to chin. This was too much for him. Beside himself with fury, he yelled a command to his men to sweep the pigs over the brink, and, one side of his face livid with rage, the other streaming with blood, he dashed forward at Bulger, who had come up panting to engage him. He had well timed his rush, for Bulger's musket was at the far end of its pendulum swing; but the old seaman saw his danger in time. With a movement of extraordinary agility in a man of his bulk, he swung on his heel, presenting his side to the rapier that flashed in Diggle's hand.

Parrying the thrust with his hook, he shortened his stump and lunged at Diggle below the belt. His enemy collapsed as if shot; but his followers swept forward over his prostrate body, and it seemed as if, in one brief half-minute, the knot of defenders would be hurled to the bottom of the nullah.

But, at this critical moment, a.s.sailants and defenders were stricken into quietude by a tumultuous cheer, the cheer of Europeans, from the direction of the gap in the barricade. Weapons remained poised in mid-air; every man stood motionless, wondering whether the interruption came from friend or foe. The question was answered on the instant.

"Now, men, have at them!"

With a thrill Desmond recognized the voice. It was the voice of Silas Toley. There was nothing of melancholy in it, nor in the expression of the New Englander as he sprang, cutla.s.s in hand, through the gap. Slow to take fire, when Toley's anger was kindled it blazed with a devouring flame. The crowd of a.s.sailants dissolved as if by magic. Before the last of the crew of the _Hormuzzeer_, lascars and Europeans, had pa.s.sed into the enclosure, the men of the _Good Intent_ and their Bengali allies were streaming over and under the carts towards the open. Diggle at the first shock had staggered to his feet and stumbled towards the barricade. As he reached it, a black boy, springing as it were out of the earth, hastened to him and helped him to crawl between the wheels of a cart and down the slope. On the boy's arm he limped towards his horse, tethered to a tree. A wounded wretch was clumsily attempting to mount. Him Diggle felled; then he climbed painfully into the saddle and galloped away, Scipio Africa.n.u.s leaping up behind.

By this time his followers were dispersing in all directions--all but eight luckless men who would never more wield cutla.s.s or lathi, and a dozen who lay on one side or other of the barricade, too hard hit to move.

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-THIRD

*In which there are many moving events; and our hero finds himself a cadet of John Company.*

Diggle's escape pa.s.sed unnoticed until it was too late to pursue him.

At the sight of Toley and his messmates of the _Hormuzzeer_, Bulger had let fall his musket and dropped to the ground, where he sat mopping his face and crying "Go it, mateys!" Desmond felt a strange faintness, and leant dizzily against one of the hackeris. But, revived by a draught from Mr. Toley's flask, he thanked the mate warmly, and wanted to hear how he had contrived to come up in time.

When Desmond's messenger arrived in Calcutta, Mr. Merriman was away up the river, engaged in very serious business. The messenger had applied to the Governor, to members of the Council, to Captain Minchin and other officers, and the reply of one and all was the same: they could do nothing; it was more important that every man should be employed in strengthening the defences of Calcutta than in going up-country on what might prove a vain and useless errand. But Toley happened to be in the town, and hearing of the difficulties and perils of his friend Burke, with the captain's consent he had hastily collected the crew of the _Hormuzzeer_, that still lay off the Fort, and led them, under the guidance of the messenger, to support him. Meeting Surendra Nath, and learning from him that a fight was imminent, he had pushed on with all speed, the Babu leading the way.

"It was well done," said Desmond warmly. "We owe our lives to you, and Mr. Merriman his goods. But what was the business that took Mr.

Merriman from Calcutta at this time of trouble?"

"Trouble of his own, Burke," said Mr. Toley. "I guess he'd better have let the Nawab keep his goods and sent you to look after his women-folk."

"What do you mean? I left the ladies at Khulna; what has happened to them?"

"'Tis what Mr. Merriman would fain know. They've disappeared, gone clean out of sight."

"But the peons?"

"Gone too. Nothing heard or seen of them."

This serious news came as a shock to Desmond. If he had only known!

How willingly he would have let Coja Solomon do what he pleased with the goods, and hastened to the help of the wife and daughter Mr. Merriman held so dear! While in Cossimbazar, he had heard from Mr. Watts terrible stories of the Nawab's villainy, which no respect of persons held in check. He feared that if Mrs. Merriman and Phyllis had indeed fallen into Siraj-uddaula's hands, they were lost to their family and friends for ever.

But, eager as he was to get back to Calcutta and join Mr. Merriman in searching for them, he had a strange certainty that it was not to be.

The faintness that he had already felt returned. His head was burning and throbbing; his ears buzzed; his limbs ached; his whole frame was seized at moments with paroxysms of shivering which no effort could control. Unknown to himself the seeds of malarial fever had found a lodgment in his system. While listening to Toley's story, he had reclined on the ground. When he tried to rise, he was overcome by giddiness and nausea.

"I am done up," he continued. "Mr. Toley, you must take charge and get these goods conveyed to Calcutta. Lose no time."

Surendra Nath recognized the symptoms of the disease, and immediately had a litter improvised for Desmond out of the linen covering of one of the carts and a couple of muskets. Mr. Toley at once made preparations for moving on with the convoy. The hackeriwallahs who had driven off the cattle had not gone far; they had waited in the hope of getting the bakshish promised them--if not from the young sahib, at least from the leader of the attacking party, which from its numbers they believed would gain the day. The oxen were soon yoked up. Mr. Toley would not wait to recover the loads of the carts that had toppled into the nullah, nor would he leave men for that purpose, lest another attack should be made on them from Hugli. He set off as soon as the teams were ready.

Half an hour after they started, Bulger, walking beside the litter, saw to his dismay that Desmond had lost consciousness.