One of Clive's Heroes: A Story of the Fight for IndiaStrang, Herbert
History
One of Clive's Heroes: A Story of the Fight for India
Strang, Herbert
Adventure stories; British -- India -- Juvenile fiction; India -- History -- 18th century -- Juvenile fiction
"Words, my young friend, mere words! You will be one of us yet. You
will never have such a chance again. Why, in a few years you will be
able to return to England, if you will, a rich man, a very nawab.[#] My
friend Angria has his faults; ’nemo est sine culpa’: but he is at least
generous. An instance! The man who took the chief part in the capture
of the Dutchman two years ago--what is he now? A naib,[#] a man of
wealth, of high repute at the Nizam’s court. There is no reason why you
should not follow so worthy an example; cut out an Indiaman or two, and
Desmond Burke may, if he will, convey a shipload of precious things to
the shores of Albion, and enjoy his leisured dignity on a landed estate
of his own. He shall drive a coach while his oaf of a brother perspires
behind a plough."
[#] Governor.
[#] Deputy-governor.
Desmond was silent. Diggle watched him keenly, and after a slight pause
continued:
"This is no great thing that is asked of you. You sail on one of
Angria’s grabs; you are set upon the shore; you enter Bombay with a
likely story of escape from the fortress of the Pirate; you are a hero,
the boon fellow of the men, the pet of the ladies--for there are ladies
in Bombay, ’forma praestante puellae.’ In a week you know everything,
all the purposes that Angria’s spies have failed to discover. One day
you disappear; the ladies wail and tear their hair, a tiger has eaten
you! in a week you will be forgotten. But you are back in Angria’s
fortress, no longer a slave, down-trodden and despised; but a free man,
a rich man, a potentate to be. Is it not worth thinking of, my young
friend, especially when you remember the other side of the picture? It
is a dark side; an unpleasant side; even, let me confess, horrible: I
prefer to keep it to the wall."
He waved his gloved hand deprecatingly, watching Desmond with the same
intentness. The boy was dumb; he might also have been deaf. Diggle
drew from his fob an elaborately chased snuff-box and took a pinch of
fine rappee, Desmond mechanically noticing that the box bore
ornamentation of Dutch design.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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