“Now, Beebee, you’re started on your journey towards freedom!” were the grateful accents that greeted my ear when she uncovered my head.
“Thanks to heaven and to you, my worthy Misery!” I cried. “But tell me, whose was the English voice that came so near to rendering our plan a failure by tempting me to move?”
“There was no Englishman there, Beebee, I’m positive,” she said, shaking her head. “I had heard there was a country-born clerk a prisoner on the boat, who is being carried to Muxadavad because he’s believed to know something of the money that his Highness failed to find in the Calcutta treasury, and it may be he was moved to cry out in English when he heard you was dead. I heard some person bawl certain words in a strange tongue, but knowing no English, I didn’t recognise ’em.”
“Would that we had been able to save him also!” said I, loth to think that any person of British speech should remain in the power of the savage Surajah Dowlah; but Misery pointed out to me that it would not have been possible for us even to release the unfortunate man from his bonds, much less to bring him to the shore. We journeyed all that night, the bearers travelling at a speed most unusual with them, and relieving one another at the proper intervals with an almost incredible promptness. Without this assurance that our progress was extraordinary rapid, my anxiety would have been extreme, and even as it was, my terror magnified every chance sound into a token of pursuit. However, at the break of day we arrived safe on the bank of a river, and there went on board of a boat that was awaiting us, Misery pointing out the superior convenience and elegancy of the lodging provided us to that we had left, notwithstanding its smaller size. The boatmen having with great civility enquired my pleasure through Misery, we put off at once, but during the four days and three nights that followed I don’t think I slept once—indeed, the very fever that had seized me so often of late seemed to have lost its power. Nor must you think, Amelia, that this wakefulness was all due to fear, although I never ventured to show myself outside the cabin, and the approach of another boat, or even of a few persons on the bank, was the signal for an excessive alarm. I was conscious of a singular exaltation of spirit, owing to the marvellous manner in which I had been delivered from the thing that I had greatly feared (as the Scripture saith), and not even the remembrance that I should arrive at Dacca a friendless, penniless pensioner on the bounty of an Armenian household with which I had no acquaintance, could damp my ardour. I was delivered out of the hands of the Nabob, I was safe, and I could not in view of this crowning mercy think of the possible humiliations and difficulties that might await me. My soul was filled with gratitude to Heaven, which had made use of the poor pagan Misery as an instrument to save me, by means not only of the affecting fidelity she had exhibited towards myself, but also of the false accusation which had frightened her away from Muxadavad. And, moreover, had I been inclined to undervalue the mercies I had experienced, Misery herself would not have permitted me to do so, for she related to me perpetually the most appalling histories of the frightful torments inflicted on unhappy wretches who had refused to do the pleasure of the Nabob or the old Begum, so that I might know from what I was escaped, now that I need no longer fear that some such horrors were before myself.
After sunset on the fourth day of this our second voyage, our boat came to an anchor (if that’s the proper phrase) off a large town, and Misery, congratulating me on being arrived at Dacca, besought the continuance of my favour when I should find myself again among Christians and safe from my foes, of which I assured her with the utmost warmth, as well I might, Amelia, might I not? A palanqueen, with a retinue of servants, was awaiting us, and we were borne along for a good distance, which served to impress me with a very lofty notion of the size of Dacca. At last we entered the courtyard of a house, as I could discern from the echo, and having stepped out of our machine, found ourselves standing in a varanda that overlooked a pretty extensive garden, in the midst of which was a pavilion or garden-house. I had hoped to be greeted on my arrival by Mr George’s lady, but though there was a parcel of women about they were all servants, and Moorwomen to boot. I stood waiting in the highest state of expectation while Misery spoke aside with one of these, and returning to me, said that the garden-house had been set apart for my sole residence so long as I remained in the family, and that if I would repair thither, Mr George would do himself the honour of waiting upon me at once. My countenance must have displayed the amazement I felt.
“Sure it’s Mr George’s lady I ought to see?” I said.
“Mr George is a Christian, Beebee,” says Misery, quickly. “He’s acquainted with European gentlemen, and knowing their customs, was anxious to welcome you himself to his house, but if you desire it, your slave will send word that you don’t choose to see him until his lady has received you.”
“Why, no,” said I, grieved to think of wounding this generous Armenian, who had undertaken such an incredible expenditure of money and pains for the sake of an absolute stranger, “since the gentleman piques himself on his acquaintance with our customs, and don’t disapprove of ’em, I shall be happy to see him.”
I walked with Misery to the garden-house, one of the Moorish females carrying a torch before us, and found the principal apartment on the ground-floor airy and agreeable enough, and very delicately ornamented with different-coloured marbles and strange devices wrought on the walls and ceiling. Glancing at these by the light of the torch, I heard a footstep, and turning, saw standing at the door a tall person wrapped in a cloak, who bowed deeply, but made no motion to approach me. Such humility and diffidence, on the part of one who had so vastly obliged me, filled me with shame, and I sprang towards him.
“Dear sir,” I cried, throwing myself at his feet, “accept the heartfelt thanks of a poor creature that can never hope to repay you, but by her gratitude, for your extraordinary great kindness. Sure my generous host won’t require my stammering tongue to testify to all the obligations he has laid me under, but will perceive that they’re impressed for ever on my grateful heart.”