d to resist the
slaves of your sublime Highness," was the answer. Rupert had come in
with me, so as to take the credit of my capture, but the conversation
with the Nabob was carried on by one of the Indians, who seemed to be
the lieutenant of the party.

"Is he one of the English?" demanded Surajah, casting an angry glance
at me.

"Your exalted wisdom has said the word. Undoubtedly he belongs to that
vile nation, whom the breath of your anger has even now destroyed."

"Ask him why his people have dared to resist my commands. Who is he?
Is he one of their principal men? Ask him where is their treasure?"

Before the Indian could translate these questions I answered them in
the same language.

"I am an interpreter in the service of the Company, may it please your
Highness. I am but newly arrived in your country, and know nothing of
the other matters you have asked about."

The Nabob gave a sullen frown.

"Take the wretch away out of my sight. He is a worthless capture," he
said.

But one of the three men on the dais, a young, handsome Gentoo, with a
cruel, cunning face--I afterwards heard he was Lal Moon, the Nabob's
chief favourite--bent over his master and whispered something in his
ear. Instantly Surajah Dowlah sat up, furious.

"You have lied to me!" he screamed. "You speak our language, and yet
you say you are but newly arrived. That must be a lie!"

He looked round at his courtiers, and there was a murmur of admiration
at his sagacity.

"Your Highness is mistaken," I said, keeping cool. "I learned the
Indostanee language on my way out to the East Indies, from the
secretary of Colonel Clive."

As I pronounced this name I saw a movement among those present. The
Nabob stared, not understanding to whom I referred; but an older man,
with a proud, discontented, and yet apprehensive air, who also stood
on the dais, and was, I found out, Meer Jaffier, Surajah Dowlah's
uncle, and commander of his armies, this man, I say, spoke in
explanation--

"The youth means that he came on the ship with Sabat Jung."

No sooner did the Nabob hear this than he changed colour.

"Are you a friend of Sabat Jung's? Is he coming to Bengal?" he asked,
with scarcely concealed anxiety.

"Sabat Jung is my protector," I replied, putting on a bolder air. "If
he hears that any wrong has been done to the English in Calcutta, he
will surely come here and avenge them."

The courtiers exchanged looks of amazement at these words of de