As he retired, bursting with ineffectual indignation, Esdale was the first person whom Hartley chanced to meet with, and to him, stung with impatience, he communicated what he termed the infamous conduct of the Governor's Dubash, connived at, as he had but too much reason to suppose, by the Governor himself; exclaiming against the want of spirit which they betrayed, in abandoning a British subject to the fraud of renegades, and the force of a tyrant.
Esdale listened with that sort of anxiety which prudent men betray when they feel themselves like to be drawn into trouble by the discourse of an imprudent friend.
“If you desire to be personally righted in this matter,” said he at length, “you must apply to Leadenhall Street, where I suspect—betwixt ourselves—complaints are accumulating fast, both against Paupiah and his master.”
“I care for neither of them,” said Hartley; “I need no personal redress—I desire none—I only want succour for Menie Gray.”
“In that case,” said Esdale, “you have only one resource—you must apply to Hyder himself”—
“To Hyder—to the usurper—the tyrant?”
“Yes, to this usurper and tyrant,” answered Esdale, “you must be contented to apply. His pride is, to be thought a strict administrator of justice; and perhaps he may on this, as on other occasions, choose to display himself in the light of an impartial magistrate.”
“Then I go to demand justice at his footstool,” said Hartley.
“Not so fast, my dear Hartley,” answered his friend; “first consider the risk. Hyder is just by reflection, and perhaps from political considerations; but by temperament, his blood is as unruly as ever beat under a black skin, and if you do not find him in the vein of judging, he is likely enough to be in that of killing. Stakes and bowstrings are as frequently in his head as the adjustment of the scales of justice.”
“No matter—I will instantly present myself at his Durbar. The Governor cannot for very shame refuse me letters of credence.”