Alivirdi wants to keep us down; he has forbidden us to fight the French
even if war does break out between us at home; and though the Mogul has
granted us charters--they call them firmans here--Alivirdi doesn't care a
rap for such things, and must have us under his heel. Only his trading
profits and his fear of the Mogul keep him civil."
"But you said he was dying."
"So he is, and that makes matters worse, for his grandson, Sirajuddaula,
who'll probably succeed him, is no better than a tiger. He lives at
Murshidabad, about one hundred miles up the river. He's a vain, peacocky,
empty-headed youth, and as soon as the breath is out of his granddad's
body he'll want to try his wings and take a peck or two at us. He may do
it slyly, or go so far as to attack us openly."
"But if he did that, sure Calcutta is defended; and, as Mr. Clive said to
me in Gheria, British soldiers behind walls might hold out forever."
"Clive doesn't know Calcutta then! That's the mischief! At the Maratha
invasion the Bengalis on our territory took fright, and at their own
expense began a great ditch round Calcutta--we call it the Maratha ditch;
but the Nawab bought the Marathas off, the work was stopped, the walls of
the fort are now crumbling to ruins, and the cannon lie about unmounted
and useless. Worst of all, our governor, Mr. Drake, is a quiet soul, an
excellent worthy man, who wouldn't hurt a fly. We call him the Quaker.
Quakers are all very well at home, where they can 'thee' and 'thou' and
get rich and pocket affronts without any harm; but they won't do in
India.
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