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Errors, when reasonably attributable to the printer, have been
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_TIPPOO SULTAUN._
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._
-------
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[Illustration:
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TIPPOO SULTAUN;
_A TALE OF THE MYSORE WAR._
BY THE LATE
COLONEL MEADOWS TAYLOR.
_SECOND EDITION._
LONDON:
C. KEGAN PAUL & CO., 1 PATERNOSTER SQUARE.
1880.
COLSTON AND SON, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.
[_The Rights of Translation and of Reproduction are reserved._]
TO
WILLIAM NEWNHAM, ESQ.,
MY BEST AND EARLIEST FRIEND IN INDIA,
THIS VOLUME
IS WITH GRATEFUL ESTEEM
DEDICATED.
[Illustration]
_TIPPOO SULTAUN._
[Illustration]
CHAPTER I.
Towards the close of a day of intense heat, about the middle of the
month of June, 1788, a party consisting of many persons might be seen
straggling over the plain which extends southwards from the Fort of
Adoni, and which almost entirely consists of the black alluvial deposit
familiarly known in India under the name of ‘cotton soil.’
The leader was a man perhaps about fifty years of age; he rode a
powerful Dekhan horse of great spirit, but whose usual fiery comportment
was tamed by the severe exertion he had undergone, from the miry roads
through which he had travelled the greater part of the day. Indeed he
began to show evident symptoms of weariness, and extricated himself from
every succeeding muddy hollow—and they were very frequent—with less
power. His handsome housings too were soiled with dirt; and the figure
of his rider, which merits some description, was splashed from head to
foot.
It has been already stated that he was a man of advanced age. His face,
which was wrapped up, as well as his head, in thick folds of muslin, in
order to protect them from the scorching heat of the sun, showed a dark
complexion much pitted with the smallpox; but his eyes were very large,
and of that intense black which is but rarely seen even among the
natives of India, and which appeared to flash with a sudden light when
any stumble of his gallant horse provoked an impatient jerk of the
bridle, and a volley of curses upon the mud and the road, if such it
could be called. His dress was of cloth-of-gold,—a suit which had been
once magnificent, but which, soiled and tarnished as it was, he had
chosen perhaps to wear as a mark of his rank, and thus to ensure respect
from the people of the country, which might have been denied to money
alone. It was open at the breast, and under the shirt of muslin worn
within the alkhaluk, or upper garment, a broad rough chest could be
seen,—a fair earnest of the power of him we describe.
A handsome shawl was girded around his waist, and his somewhat loose
trousers were thrust into a pair of yellow leather boots, which appeared
to be of Persian workmanship. Over his shoulder was a gold belt which
supported a sword; but this in reality was confined to the waist by the
shawl we have mentioned, and appeared more for ornament than use. A
bright steel axe with a steel handle hung at his saddle-bow on the right
hand; and the butt-end of a pistol, much enriched with chased silver,
peeped forth on the left, among the fringe of the velvet covering of the
soft saddle upon which he rode. A richly ornamented shield was bound to
his back by a soft leather strap passing over his chest; and the shield
itself, which hung low, rested between his back and the cantle of the
saddle, and partly served as a support.
In truth, soiled and bespattered as he was, Abdool Rhyman Khan was a
striking figure in those broad plains, and in his own person appeared a
sufficient protection to those who followed him. But he was not the only
armed person of the party. Six or seven horsemen immediately followed
him,—his own retainers; not mounted so well nor dressed so expensively
as the Khan himself, but still men of gallant bearing; and the party,
could they have kept together, would have presented a very martial and
imposing appearance.
At some distance behind the horsemen was a palankeen, apparently heavily
laden; for the bearers, though there were as many as sixteen, changed
very frequently, and could but ill struggle through the muddy road into
which at every step they sunk deeply; nor did the cheering exclamations
of those who were not under the poles of the palankeen appear to have
much effect in quickening the pace of those who carried it; and it was
very evident that they were nearly exhausted, and not fit to travel much
further.
In the rear of all was a string of five camels, which required the
constant attention of the drivers to prevent their slipping and falling
under their burdens; and with these were a number of persons, some on
foot carrying loads, and a few mounted on ponies, who were the servants
of the Khan, and were urging on the beasts, and those laden with the
cooking utensils, as rapidly as it was possible to proceed in the now
fast-closing darkness. Behind all were two led horses of much beauty,
whose attendant grooms conducted them through the firmest parts of the
road.
‘Alla! Alla!’ cried one of those mounted on a stout pony,—he was in fact
the cook of the Khan,—‘that I, Zoolficar, should ever have been seduced
to leave the noble city of Hyderabad, and to travel this unsainted road
at such a time of year! Ai Moula Ali,’ he continued, invoking his patron
saint, ‘deliver us speedily from this darkness! grant that no rain may
fall upon this already impassable road! I should never survive a night
in this jungle. What say you, Daood Khan—are we ever to reach the
munzil?[1] are we ever to be released from this jehanum, where we are
enduring torment before our time? Speak, O respectable man! thou saidst
thou knew’st the country.’
-----
Footnote 1:
Stage.
-----
‘So I do, O coward! What is the use of filling our ears with these
fretful complaints? Hath not the munificence of the Khan provided thee
with a stout beast, which, with the blessing of the Prophet, will carry
thee quickly to thy journey’s end? Was it not the Khan’s pleasure to
pass Adoni, where we might have rested comfortably for the night? and
are we who eat his salt to grumble at what he does, when we saw that the
Khanum[2] Sahib (may her name be honoured!) was willing to travel on?
Peace, then! for it is hard to attend to thy prating and pick one’s way
among these cursed thorns.’
-----
Footnote 2:
Feminine of Khan; as Begum, feminine of Beg.
-----
‘Well, I am silent,’ replied the other; ‘but my mind misgives me that we
never reach the munzil, and shall be obliged to put up in one of these
wretched villages, where the kafir inhabitants never kill meat; and we
shall have to eat dry bread or perhaps dry rice, which is worse, after
this fatigue.’
‘Ah, thou art no soldier, Zoolfoo,’ cried another fellow who was walking
beside him, ‘or thou wouldst not talk thus. How wouldst thou like to
have nothing for two days, and then perhaps a stale crust or a handful
of cold rice, and be glad to thank the Provider of good for that,—how
wouldst thou?’
‘No more, I pray thee, good Nasur!’ cried the cook, visions of
starvation apparently overpowering him,—‘no more, I beseech thee!
Methinks thy words have already had a bad effect on the lower part of my
stomach, and that it begins to reproach me for a lack of its usual
sustenance. I tell thee, man, I can put to myself no idea of starvation
at all. I was never able to keep the Rumzan (for which I pray to be
pardoned), and am obliged to pay heavily every year for some one to keep
it for me,—may grace abound to him! I pray Alla and the Prophet, that
the Khan may strike off somewhere in search of a roof for the night.’
The Khan had stopped: the increasing darkness, or rather gloom,—for
there was still somewhat of daylight remaining, and the sun had not long
set,—the muttering of thunder, and the more and more vivid flashes of
lightning proceeding from an intensely black and heavy cloud which
occupied the whole of the horizon before him, were enough to cause
anxiety as to his proceeding further or not.
A hard or tolerably firm road would have relieved this, but the track
upon which they journeyed became almost worse as he proceeded; and the
man he had sent on some little distance in advance, to observe the best
passage for the horses, appeared to be guiding his with increased
difficulty.
‘I was an ass, and the son of an ass, to leave Adoni,’ muttered the
Khan; ‘but it is of no use to regret this now:—what had better be done
is the question. My poor Motee,’ he continued, addressing his horse,
‘thou too art worn out, and none of thy old fire left in thee. How, my
son, wouldst thou carry me yet further?’ and he patted his neck.
The noble beast appeared to understand him, for he replied to the caress
by a low whinny, which he followed up by a loud neigh, and looked, as he
neighed, far and wide over the plain.
‘Ay, thou see’st nothing, Motee; true it is, there is no village in
sight: yet surely one cannot be far off, where if they will admit us, we
may get food and shelter. What thinkest thou, Ibrahim,’ he continued,
addressing one of his retainers, ‘are we near any habitation?’
‘Peer O Moorshid,’ replied the man, ‘I know not; I never travelled this
road before, except once many years ago, and then I was with the army;
we did not think much of the road then.’
‘True, friend,’ answered the Khan, ‘but now we have need to think. By
the soul of Mohamed, the cloud beyond us threatens much, and I fear for
the Khanum; she is ill used to such travelling as this; but she is a
soldier’s wife now, and I must teach her to bear rough work.’
‘The Palkee will be with us presently, and I doubt not the bearers well
know the country, Khodawund,’ said another of the horsemen.
‘True, I had not thought of them; perhaps when it arrives, it would be
advisable to stop a little to take breath, and then again set forward.’
A few moments brought the bearers and their burden to where the Khan
stood; and a few hurried questions were put to them by him as to the
distance to the next village, the road, and the accommodation they were
likely to find for so large a party.
‘Huzrut!’ said the Naik of the bearers, ‘you have but little choice; we
did not think the road would have been so bad as this, or we would never
have left the town or allowed you to proceed; but here we are, and we
must help to extricate you from the difficulty into which we have
brought you. To return is impossible; there is no village at which you
could rest, as you know. Before us are two; one not far off, over yonder
rising ground—my lord can even see the trees,—and another beyond that,
about a coss and a half; to which, if the lady can bear the journey, we
will take her, as there is a good bazaar and every accommodation. My
lord will reward us with a sheep if we carry her safely?’
‘Surely, surely,’ said the Khan, ‘ye shall have two; and we will travel
a short stage to-morrow, as ye must be tired. So what say you, my soul?’
he cried to the inmate of the palankeen; ‘you have the choice of a
comfortable supper and a dry lodging, or no supper and perhaps no roof
over your head; you see what it is to follow the fortunes of a soldier.’
‘Let no thought of me trouble you,’ replied a low and sweet voice from
the palankeen; ‘let the bearers and yourself decide, I am content
anywhere.’
‘How say you then, Gopal?’
‘Let us smoke a pipe all round, and we will carry you to the large
village,’ replied the Naik.
‘’Tis well,—do not be long about it; I doubt not we shall be all the
better for a short rest.’
Fire was quickly kindled; every one dismounted from his beast, and all
collected into groups. Tobacco was soon found, the hookas lighted, and
the gurgling sound of half-a-dozen of them arose among the party.
A smoke of tobacco in this manner gives almost new life to a native of
India. The trouble of the journey or the work is for awhile forgotten;
and after a fresh girding up of the loins and invocation of the Prophet
or their patron goddess (as the parties may be Hindoo or Mohamedan), the
undertaking is resumed with fresh spirit. After a short pause, the whole
party was again in motion.
No one had, however, observed the extremely threatening appearance of
the sky. The cloud, which had been still, now began to rise gently;—a
few small clouds were seen as it were to break away from the mass and
scurry along the face of the heavens, apparently close to their heads,
and far below the larger ones which hung heavily above them. These were
followed very quickly by others: the lightning increased in vividness at
every flash; and what was at first confined to the cloud which has been
mentioned, now spread itself gradually all over the heavens!
behind—above—around—became one blaze of light, as it were at a signal
given by a rocket thrown up from behind the cloud before them. In spite
of appearances, however, they hurried on.
‘It will be a wild night,’ observed the Khan, replacing and binding
tighter the muslin about his head and face.
As he spoke he pointed to the horizon, where was seen a dull reddish
cloud. To an unpractised eye it looked like one of the dusky evening
clouds; but on closer and more attentive observation, it was clearly
seen to rise, and at the same time to be extending right and left very
rapidly.
‘I beg to represent,’ said Daood Khan, who had come from behind, ‘that
there is a group of trees yonder not far from the road, and, if my
memory serves me well, there should be an old hut in it; will my lord go
thither?’
‘It is well spoken, Daood,’ said his master, ‘lead on.’
There was no wind—not a breath—but all was quite still; not even a
cricket or grasshopper chirped among the grass: it seemed as though
nature could scarcely breathe, so intense was the closeness.
‘Alla! Alla! I shall choke if there is no wind,’ said the fat cook,
fanning himself with the end of a handkerchief.
‘You will have enough presently,’ said Nasur.
‘Inshalla!’ exclaimed one of the camel drivers, ‘the Toofans[3] of the
Carnatic are celebrated.’
‘Alas!’ sighed the cook, and wished himself anywhere but in the
Carnatic.
At last a low moaning was heard,—a distant sound, as if of rushing
water. The rack above them redoubled its pace, and went fearfully fast:
every instant increased the blackness on each side and behind. They
could no longer see any separate clouds above, but one dense brown black
ropy mass, hurrying onward, impelled by the mighty wind. Soon nothing
was visible but a bright line all round the horizon, except in front,
where the wall of red dust, which proved that the previous rains had not
extended far beyond where they were, every moment grew higher and
higher, and came nearer and nearer.
They increased their speed to gain the trees, which were discernible a
quarter of a mile before them. ‘Once there,’ said the Khan, ‘we can make
some shelter for ourselves with the walls of the tents passed round the
trees.’
-----
Footnote 3:
Storms.
-----
No one replied to him; each was thinking of the storm, and what would
happen when it came. The horses even felt the oppression, and snorted
violently at intervals, as though they wished to throw it off.
At last, a few leaves flew up in the air: and some lapwings, which had
been nestling under the stones by the wayside, rose and made a long
flight to leeward with loud screamings, as though to avoid the wind.
One little whirlwind succeeded to another; small quantities of leaves
and dry grass were everywhere seen flying along near the ground over the
plain. The body of dust approached nearer, and seemed to swallow up
everything in it. They anxiously watched its progress, in the hope that
it would lessen in fury ere it approached them, for they could see the
trees through the gloom against the bright line of the horizon,
apparently at a great distance, disappearing one by one.
Meanwhile the roaring increased; the roar of the wind and that of the
thunder were fearfully mingled together. Amidst this there arose a
shrill scream from the palankeen; the fair inmate had no longer been
able to bear the evident approach of the tempest.
The Khan was at her side in a moment. ‘Cheer thee, my rose!’ he cried;
‘a little further and we shall reach a friendly grove of trees. The road
is harder now, so exert yourselves,’ he continued to the bearers; ‘five
rupees, if you reach the trees ere the wind is upon us!’
The men redoubled their pace, but in vain; they still wanted half the
quarter of the mile when the storm burst. With one fearful flash of
lightning, so as almost to blind them, and to cause the whole to stagger
backward, a blast met them, which if they had withstood they had been
more than men. The palankeen rocked to and fro, tottered under their
failing support, and fell at last heavily to the ground. There was no
mischief done, but it was impossible to proceed further; they must abide
the storm where they stood in the open plain.
And now it came in pitiless earnest. As if the whole power of the winds
of heaven had been collected and poured forth bodily upon one spot, and
that where they stood,—so did it appear to them; while the dust,
increasing in volume every instant, was so choking, that no one dared to
open his mouth to speak a word. The horses and camels instinctively
turned their backs to the wind, and stood motionless; and the men at
last, forcing the camels to sit down, crouched behind them to obtain
some kind of shelter from the raging storm.
Thus they remained for some time; at last a drop of rain fell—another,
and another. They could not see it coming amidst the dust, and it was
upon them ere they were aware of it: they were drenched in an instant.
Now, indeed, began a strife of elements. The thunder roared without
ceasing one moment: there was no thunder for any particular flash—it was
a continued flare, a continued roar. The wind, the rain, and the thunder
made a fearful din, and even the stout heart of the Khan sunk within
him. ‘It cannot last,’ he said;—but it did. The country appeared at last
like a lake shown irregularly by the blue flare of the lightning.
Two hours, or nearly so, did they endure all this: the tempest moderated
at length, and they proceeded. It was now quite dark.
‘Where is Ibrahim?’ asked one suddenly.
‘Ay, where is he?’ said another. Several shouted his name; but there was
no reply.
‘Ibrahim!’ cried the Khan, ‘what of him? He must be gone to the trees;
go, one of ye, and call him if he be there,’
The man diverged from the road, and was soon lost in the darkness; but
in a short time an exclamation of surprise or of terror, they could not
say which, came clearly towards them. The Khan stopped. In another
instant the man had rejoined them.
‘Alla! Alla!’ cried he, gasping for breath, ‘come and see!’
‘See what?’ shouted the Khan.
‘Ibrahim!’ was his only reply, and they followed him rapidly.
They could hardly distinguish what it was that the man pointed out; but
what appeared like a heap at first in the darkness, soon resolved itself
into the form of a man and horse. The Khan dismounted and approached; he
called to him by name, but there was no answer. He felt the body—it was
quite dead; horse and man had fallen beneath the stroke of the
lightning.
‘We can do nothing now,’ said the Khan. ‘Alas! that so good a man, and
one who has so often fought beside me, should have thus fallen! Praise
be to Alla, what an escape we have had!’
‘It was his destiny,’ said another,—‘who could have averted it?’
And they rode on, but slowly, for the road was undistinguishable from
the ground on each side, except where a hedge of thorns had been placed
to fence in some field. Here those who were on foot fared very badly,
for the thorns which had fallen, or had been broken off from branches,
had mixed with the mud, and sorely hurt their naked feet. The rain
continued to pour in torrents; and the incessant flare of the lightning,
which revealed the track every now and then, seemed to sweep the ground
before them, nearly blinding both horse and man: it showed at times for
an instant the struggles both were making in the now deeper mire.
They reached the smaller village at last; there were only three or four
miserable houses, and in the state they were, there was but little
inducement to remain in want of food and shelter till the morning; so
taking with them, much against his inclination, one of the villagers as
a guide whom they could understand, as he was a Mohamedan, and some rags
soaked with oil tied on the end of a stick to serve as a torch, they
once more set forward.
They had now scarcely three miles to travel, but these seemed
interminable. The rude torch could not withstand the deluge of rain
which poured upon it, and after a struggle for life it went out. There
remained only the light of the lightning. The guide, however, was of
use; now threatened, now encouraged by the Khan, he showed where the
firmest footing was to be obtained, and piloted the little cavalcade
through the almost sea of mud and water, in a manner which showed them
that they would have fared but ill without his aid.
At last, O welcome sight! a light was seen to glimmer for awhile amidst
the gloom; it disappeared, twinkled again, appeared to flit at a little
distance, and was seen no more.
‘What was that, Rahdaree?’[4] asked the Khan; ‘one would think it was
some wild spirit’s lamp abroad on this unblessed night.’
‘It is the village, noble sir,’ said the man simply; ‘we have no evil
spirits here.’
‘Ul-humd-ul-illa! we are near our home then; it cannot be far now.’
‘Not a cannon-shot; we have a small river to cross, and then we reach
the village.’
‘A river!’
‘Yes, noble Khan, a small one; there is no water to signify.’
But the Khan’s mind misgave him. ‘It must be full,’ he said to himself,
‘after this rain; how can it be otherwise? Every hollow we have passed
has become a roaring stream; but we shall see. Ya, Moula Ali!’ he
exclaimed aloud, ‘I vow a gift to all the priests of thy shrine, if thou
wilt protect me and mine through this night.’
-----
Footnote 4:
Guide.
-----
They had not gone much further before the dull sound of the river was
heard but too plainly, even above the wind and the thunder, which now
roared only at intervals. One and all were fairly terrified; and that
there should be such an end to their really manful struggles through the
tempest disheartened them: but no one spoke till they arrived at the
brink, where through the gloom could be seen a muddy torrent rushing
along with fearful rapidity.
‘It is not deep,’ said the guide; ‘it is fordable.’
‘Dog of a kafir!’ cried the Khan, ‘thou hast deceived us, to get us away
from thy miserable village. By Alla! thou deservest to be put to death
for this inhospitality.’
‘My life is in your hands, O Khan!’ returned the man; ‘behold, to prove
my words, I will venture in if any one will accompany me; alone it is
useless to attempt it. Will no one go with me?’
But one and all hesitated; the gloom, the uncertainty, and the dread of
death alike prevailed.
‘Cowards!’ exclaimed the Khan, ‘dare ye not do for him whose salt you
eat that which this poor fellow is ready to undertake because I only
reproached him with inhospitality? Cowards and faithless! ye are worse
than women.’
‘I am no woman or coward,’ said Daood Khan doggedly. ‘Come,’ he added to
the guide, ‘as thou art ready to go, give me thy hand and step in, in
the name of the Most Merciful!’
‘Bismilla! Daood, thou hast a stout heart—I will remember thee for this.
Step on in the name of Alla and the twelve Imaums! Halloo when thou art
on the other side.’
They entered the water carefully, holding tightly each other’s hand, and
each planting his foot firmly ere he ventured to withdraw the other. The
torrent was frightfully rapid, and it required all the power of two very
strong men to bear up against it; but at length the shallow water was
gained, and a joyful shout from the other side told to the Khan and his
expectant party that the passage had been made in safety.
‘Now make haste and get a torch, and bring some people with you,’
shouted the Khan; ‘meanwhile we will make preparations for crossing.’
Not much time elapsed before a few persons were seen approaching the
river’s bank from the village, bearing several torches, which in despite
of the wind and the rain, being all fed with oil, blazed brightly, and
cast their light far and wide.
The Khan had been endeavouring to persuade his wife to trust herself to
his horse, instead of to the palankeen, in crossing the river; and after
some representation of its superior safety, he had succeeded. She was
standing by him, closely veiled, when the torches appeared on the other
side.
What she saw, however, of the stream, as revealed fully by the light,
caused an instant change in her resolution: she was terrified by the
waters; and indeed they were very awful to look on, as the muddy,
boiling mass hurried past, appearing, as was the case, to increase in
volume every moment.
‘There is no time to lose,’ shouted the villagers, observing there was
irresolution among the party; ‘the water is rising fast—it will soon be
impassable.’
‘The horse, the horse, my soul!’ cried the Khan in despair; ‘the bearers
will never carry you through that torrent.’
‘I dare not, I should faint in the midst; even now my heart is sick
within me, and my eyes fail me as I look on the waters,’ replied the
lady.
‘Khodawund!’ said the Naik of the bearers, ‘trust her to us; on our
lives, she reaches the other side safely.’
‘Be it so then, Gopal; I trust thee and thy party; only land her safely,
and thou shalt be well rewarded.’
The lady again entered the palankeen; both doors were opened in case of
danger. The stoutest of the bearers were selected, and the Naik put
himself at the head. ‘Jey, Bhowanee!’ cried one and all, and they
entered the raging waters.
‘Shabash! Shabash! Wah-wah! Wah-wah!’ resounded from the villagers, and
from the Khan’s attendants, as the gallant fellows bore up stoutly
against the torrent. Oil was poured upon the torches, and the river
blazed under the light. The Khan was close behind on his gallant horse,
which, snorting and uneasy, was very difficult to guide. There was not a
heart on either bank that did not beat with almost fearful anxiety, for
the water appeared to reach the palankeen, and it required the exertions
of all the men to keep it and those who carried it steady.
‘Kuburdar! kuburdar![5] a little to the right!—now to the left!—well
done! well done!’ were the cries which animated and cheered them; and
the passage was accomplished all but a few yards, when the water
suddenly deepened—the leading bearers sank almost up to their chests.
Trials were made on either side, but the water was deeper than where
they stood; the eddy had scooped out the hollow since Daood had crossed.
-----
Footnote 5:
Take care! take care!
-----
‘Have a care, my sons!’ cried the Naik, whose clear voice was heard far
above the din. ‘Raise the palankeen on your shoulders. Gently! first you
in front—now those behind! Shabash! now let every man look to his
footing, and Jey Kalee!’
They advanced as they shouted the invocation; but careful as they were,
who could see beneath those muddy waters? There was a stone—a large
one—on which the leading bearer placed his foot. It was steady when he
first tried it; but as he withdrew the other, it rolled over beneath his
weight and what he bore: he tottered, stumbled, made a desperate effort
to recover himself, but in vain: he fell headlong into the current.
The palankeen could not be supported, and but one wild piercing shriek
was heard from the wife of the Khan as it plunged into the water.
‘Ya, Alla! Alla!’ cried the Khan in his agony—for he had seen all—‘she
is lost to me for ever!’ And throwing himself from his horse, encumbered
as he was, he would have been drowned, but for one of the bearers, who
supported him to the brink, and, assisted by the rest who immediately
recovered the palankeen, bore him rapidly to the village.
-------