While the principal division of the army was displaying its choicest
manœuvres in front of the gate of the wall, now and then venturing
within shot, and giving and receiving a distant volley, the noise of the
firing came faintly to those engaged, and, as it was expected, caused no
sensation, except of anxiety for the moment when their victorious
Sultaun should arrive, driving before him the infidel defenders; and
when the gates should be opened, and the mass of cavalry should rush in
to complete their rout and destruction. Many a man there anticipated the
pleasure of slaughtering the flying foe, of hunting them like wild
beasts, of the fierce gratifications of lust and unchecked plunder; but
hours passed and no victorious army appeared; the defenders of the fort
called to them to come on, with insulting gestures and obscene abuse,
and shook their swords and matchlocks at them in defiance. This was
hardly to be borne, and yet they who mocked them were beyond their
reach; at length, as they looked, several horsemen approached them with
desperate speed, their horses panting with fatigue and heat. The Khan
and many others rode to meet them.
‘Ya Alla kureem,’ cried all, ‘what news? where are the army and the
Sultaun? why do you look so wildly?’
‘Alas!’ answered one who was well known to the Khan as a leader of note,
‘the army is defeated, and we much fear the Sultaun is lost; he was in
the van leading on the attack with Syud Sahib, Hussein Ali, Bakir Sahib,
and the young Patél, who was fighting, we heard, like a tiger, when Alla
only knows how the army took a panic and fled.’
‘And you were within the walls?’ cried many voices.
‘We were, and had marched some miles. Alas! it would have been better
had we never entered.’
‘And how did you escape?’
‘The ditch was already filled with our companions,’ said the horseman,
‘and we scrambled over their bodies; I found a horse near, and have
ridden for my life to tell the news.’
They asked no more questions, and each looked at his fellow with silent
shame and vexation that this should have been the end of all their
hopes. One by one the leaders drew off, and in a short time division
after division left the ground, and returned towards the camp; a few
only daring to meet the discomfited host, which soon began to pour by
hundreds into it, exhausted, humbled, full of shame and mortification.
Among the first was the Sultaun; for the elephants had, at a little
distance, kept a parallel line with the wall. One was easily procured
for him, and having been lifted upon it, he was rapidly borne to the
camp; but he was unattended, and arrived at his tents almost unknown and
unobserved.
But the loud nagara soon sounded, and men knew that he was safe; and
though it was the signal that the Durbar was open, and that he expected
their presence, few went to him, or cared to meet him in the temper
which they knew must possess him. The Khan was among the first who
entered; his low salaam was almost disregarded, and he took his seat,
pitying the Sultaun’s shame and mortification, which was fully expressed
on his sullen countenance.
One by one, however, the leaders of the divisions which had remained
behind entered, and took their places in silence; none dared to speak;
and the restless eyes of the monarch, the whites of which were yellow
and bloodshot, wandered from one to another round the assembly, as if
searching for some pretext to break forth into the rage which evidently
possessed him, and which was augmented by the pain of the sprain of his
ankle. There was a dead silence, so unusual in his Durbar; and the words
which were spoken by the attendants to one another were uttered in a
whisper. Now and then the Sultaun rubbed his ankle impatiently, and knit
his brows when a severe paroxysm of pain passed through it: or else he
sat silent, looking round and round;—the bravest of those present used
to say afterwards that they waited to see who would be first sacrificed
to his vengeance. The silence was insupportable; at last Nedeem Khan,
his favourite and chief flatterer, ventured to speak.
‘May Alla and the Prophet ease the pain thou art suffering, O Sultaun!’
he said; ‘can your slave do aught to relieve it?’
‘Oh, rare bravery to speak!’ cried the Sultaun with bitterness; ‘thou
wert not with me, Nedeem Khan, to partake of the abomination we have
eaten this day at the hands of our own friends and those infidel
Hindoos—may their ends be damnation! No, thou didst volunteer to be with
the division without the gate, that thy fine clothes and fine horse
might be seen by the defenders of the wall. Verily thy destiny is great,
that thou wert not among that crowd, nor struggling with that heap of—
Pah! where is Kasim Ali Patél?’ he continued after a pause; ‘why is he
not present? and Lall Khan also?’
‘Kasim Ali Jemadar Huzrut!’ cried Lall Khan advancing, ‘has not been
seen since—’
‘Not been seen!’ thundered the Sultaun, attempting to rise, and sinking
back in pain,—‘not been seen! and thou to tell me this! Oh kumbukht! By
Alla, Lall Khan, hadst thou not too aided me, thou shouldest have been
scourged till the skin was cut from thy back. Begone! thou and thy
companions—seek him, dead or alive, and bring him hither to me.’
‘Asylum of the world! he lies, if he be killed, among the dead upon the
edge of the ditch, and the enemy is in possession of the walls, and—’
‘Begone!’ roared the Sultaun; ‘if he was in hell thou shouldest bring
him. Begone! thou art a coward, Lall Khan.’
‘Huzrut!’ said the old Khan, rising and joining his hands, hardly able
to speak, for his grief was choking him; ‘if your slave has his
dismissal, he will accompany Lall Khan in search of—’ He could not
finish the speech, and the big tears rolled down his rough visage upon
his beard.
‘Go, Rhyman Khan,’ said the Sultaun, evidently touched by his emotion;
‘may you be successful.’ And again he relapsed into silence, as the two
officers departed on their almost hopeless errand.
‘The tiger will have blood ere he is pacified,’ whispered Bakir Sahib,
who had arrived, and now sat near Nedeem. ‘I pray Alla it may be none of
this assembly!’
‘Will they find Kasim Ali?’ asked the other.
‘Willa Alum,’ responded his friend, ‘I think not; but he will be no loss
to us.’
‘None—but what is this?’
As he spoke there was a noise without, and suddenly a man, evidently a
Hindoo, rushed bare-headed into the assembly, crying out, ‘Daad! Daad!
Daad!’[43] and advancing threw himself on the ground, and lay at full
length motionless before the Sultaun.
-----
Footnote 43:
Complaint.
-----
‘What ho, Furashes! Chobdars!’ roared the Sultaun, his face quivering
with rage; ‘what is this hog—this defiled father of abomination? were ye
asleep to allow our Durbar to be polluted by his presence? who and what
art thou?’ he cried to the trembling wretch, who had been roughly raised
by the Furashes; ‘speak! art thou drunk?’
‘You are my father and mother—you are my Sultaun—you are my god!’ cried
the man; ‘I am a poor Brahmin; I am not drunk—I have been plundered—I
have been beaten by a devil they call Jaffar Sahib; he seeks my life,
and I have fled to your throne for mercy.’
‘Thou shalt have it,’ said the Sultaun quietly, with his low chuckling
laugh, which not even his officers could listen to without feeling their
blood curdle; ‘thou shalt have it. Away with him, Furashes!’ he cried,
raising his shrill voice, ‘away with him! I see an elephant yonder;
chain him to its foot, and let him be dragged to and fro before the
place he has defiled.’
The wretched man listened wildly to his sentence—he could not understand
it; he looked on the Sultaun with a trembling smile, and then with a
feigned laugh round the assembly; nought met his eye but stern and
inexorable faces; there were many who felt the horrible injustice of the
act, but none pitied the fate of the Brahmin after the event of the
morning.
‘Do ye not hear?’ cried the Sultaun again; and, ere he could say a word,
the Brahmin was borne shrieking out of the tent. All listened fearfully,
and soon they heard the shrill scream of the elephant, as, after the
wretched man had been bound to his foot, the noble and tender-hearted
animal—it was old Hyder—was unwillingly goaded into a desperate run,
and, dashing forward, soon put an end to his sufferings. They looked,
and saw something apparently without form jerked along at the end of a
chain by the foot of the elephant at every step he took in the rapid
pace into which he had been urged.
‘The Durbar is closed,’ said the Sultaun after a time, during which he
had not spoken, but continued moodily to watch the door of the tent for
the elephant, as it passed to and fro. ‘Ye have your dismissal, sirs, we
would be alone.’
They were glad to escape from his presence.
‘I said how it would be, Khan,’ said Bakir Sahib, as they passed out;
‘Alla knows what would have happened if that Brahmin had not rushed in.’
‘Alla knows!’ said the other; ‘I trembled for myself, for he was savage
to me. After all it was the Brahmin’s fate—it was written—who could have
averted it?’
The glaring day waned fast. Kasim had been wounded about mid-day, and
still lay near the same spot, enduring almost insufferable agony. At
first he had been insensible, but when he recovered and was enabled to
look around him, the place was deserted, except by a few of the enemy at
a distance, who were busily employed in stripping the dead and wounded
of their arms and clothes. He found his sword, his shield, and daggers
were gone,—his turban and waistband, and upper garment also: his head
and his body were bare, for they had thought him dead, and the fierce
rays of the burning sun descended in unmitigated fury upon him,
increasing to an agonising degree the torment of thirst.
‘Water! water!’ he cried to those whom he saw afar off; ‘Water, for the
sake of your mothers and your children!—will ye suffer me to die?’
Alas! they heard him not; they were too busy in their work of plunder;
and if they had, it would have been only to return, and with a thrust of
a spear or a sword to have ended his sufferings. To him death would have
been welcome, for his agony was past enduring, and he had no hope of
alleviation till he died. But his voice was too weak for them to hear;
and if he exerted it there came a rush of blood into his mouth which
almost choked him.
He tried to move, to drag himself under the shade of a bush which was at
a short distance; it was impossible,—the pain he suffered became
excruciating; and, after making several desperate but ineffectual
attempts, he fainted. This temporary oblivion, at least, brought absence
from pain, and was welcome,—but it did not last; and as the returning
life-blood poured through his heart, his agony of body was renewed, and
thoughts too rapid and too vague to assume decisive forms—a weak
delirium, in which his mother, Ameena, his friend, the Sultaun, the
dreadful passage of the ditch, and the heaps of struggling forms—were
incoherently mingled in wild confusion. Now his distempered fancy caused
him to imagine that he again bore on the Sultaun,—now his form would
seem to change into Ameena’s, and he would shout his despair, and cry
the war-cry of the faith as he strove for life and mastery among the
thousands who fiercely struggled with him; but his fancied shouts were
only low moans, which from time to time escaped him, as he lay to all
appearance dead.
And again the thirst, the heat, and the pain slowly but surely brought
on frenzy—fierce ravings of battle and hot contest; and words of
encouragement to those around him: defiance of the enemy, with wild
invocations of Alla and the Prophet, broke from his lips in faint
murmurs, though passionately uttered; he thought them shouts, but they
could scarcely have been heard by one standing over him. At times the
sweat poured from him in streams, or stood in big drops on his brow;
again his frame would seem to dry up, till he thought it would crack and
burst.
In a lucid moment he found he had dragged himself, during a paroxysm of
delirium, under the shade of the bush; it was grateful to him, and
soothed his burning head and skin; and with the coolness came visions of
quiet shady groves—of fountains, whose ceaseless plashings, mingling
with the gentle rustling of leafy boughs, were music in his ears—of
bubbling springs, whose waters flowed up to his lips and were dashed
thence by malignant forms which his excited brain created. By turns
despair and hope possessed him, but in his quiet moments he prayed to
Alla for death, for release from suffering, and from the deadly sickness
caused by a burning throat and loss of blood. He could feel that he had
been shot through the body, and he wondered how it was possible to
retain life in such a state.
As often as he looked for a moment over the open space, he saw in
hundreds the horrible birds of prey, ravens and kites, and the filthy
and powerful vultures, tearing the hardly cold bodies, and disputing
with each other over their sickening banquet, while others wheeled and
screamed above them ready to take the place of any who should be driven
by the rest from their meal. Wherever he looked, it was the same; there
were hundreds of the obscene birds, struggling, scrambling, fighting
with each other, while thousands of crows, in clamorous and incessant
flight, hovered over, alighting where chance threw in their way a
coveted morsel; and now and then some prying raven would approach him
with long hops, croaking to his fellows, his keen black eye glistening
brightly in anticipation, and would hardly be scared away by the faint
gestures and cries of the sufferer.
The night fell gently—that night, which many an one would spend in
luxury, in the enjoyment of voluptuous pleasures, surrounded by objects
which enthral the senses, lying upon the softest carpets, while burning
incense filled the air with rich perfume, and the soft sighs of women
and the gentle tinkling of their anklets sounded in their ears—that
night he would pass in terror, surrounded by the ghastly forms of the
dead.
The sun sank in glory, the hues of the brilliant west faded dimly on his
aching sight, and from the east over the wooded hills the yellow moon
arose, dim at first, and seemingly striving to maintain the waning
daylight. Soon, however, that faded away, and the melancholy and
quivering wail of the brass horn, and the deep sound of the evening
kettle-drums from the wall, showed that the enemy were setting their
night-watch. The gorged birds of prey flapped their broad wings heavily
in their short flights to the nearest trees, to roost there till the
morrow should break, enabling them to recommence their glutting and
bloody feast.
They were succeeded by beasts of prey: one by one jackals issued from
the jungle, and looking carefully around, first one and then another
raised his nose into the air, and as he sniffed the banquet, sent forth
a howl or shriek which ran through the unfortunate Kasim’s veins like
ice. Now he could see many, many, running to and fro in the moon’s
bright light, and their cries and screams increased fearfully. To his
excited and delirious spirit—for his senses fled and returned at
intervals—the place he thought was the hell he had read of, and the
howls like those of the damned. Now stalked abroad the stealthy wolf,
and the gaunt and fierce hyæna mingled his horrible howl with those of
the innumerable jackals which hurried on in packs to the ditch; and
Kasim could hear the distant bayings of others as they answered the
invitation from afar. How he prayed for death! Had he possessed a
weapon, he would have rid himself of life; but he had to endure all, and
he shrank into the bush as far as he could, to screen himself from the
notice of the wild animals, lest he should be torn in pieces by them ere
he was dead. Some even came and sniffed at him, and their bright and
wild eyes glared upon him; but seeing that he yet lived, they passed on
to where in the ditch carcases lay in heaps inviting them to feast.
On a sudden, while he lay in utter despair, he thought he heard the
clashing sound of an elephant’s bells, and the peculiar and monotonous
cry of palankeen-bearers. Could it be? or was it only a mockery of his
senses, such as had raised water to his lips and spread before him
delicious and juicy fruits? He listened in fearful suspense; he did not
hear it for a time, and hope, which had arisen strong within him, was
dying away, when it came again on the soft night breeze that had just
arisen, and he could hear it clearly above the yells and howls of the
beasts around him, who were fighting savagely over the dead.
Alla! how he panted, as the welcome sound came nearer and nearer; and
how his spirit sank within him as he thought it might only be travellers
by some by-road he knew not of. Now his faculties were all sharply
alive; had he possessed the power of motion, how gladly would he have
hurried to meet them; he tried to move, to raise himself, and fell back
helpless. ‘Alas!’ he said aloud, ‘it is but a delusion; they will pass
me, and the light of morning will never shine on Kasim Ali alive.’ His
own voice seemed awful in the solitude, but he could speak now, although
very faintly, and if they passed near him he was determined to exert his
utmost energy in one cry, should it even be his last effort.
A horse’s neigh now rang shrill and clear in the distance, and the clash
of the elephant’s bells became more and more distinct. They were
coming!—they were surely coming—perhaps for him—perhaps it was the
Khan—perhaps the Sultaun had thought of him—how tumultuous were his
thoughts!
Now he even thought he could hear voices, and presently there was
another loud snorting neigh, for the horses had smelt the dead afar off.
He crawled out from his hiding-place, and looked with intense
expectation; there was a twinkling light far away among the jungle. It
blazed up.
‘Ya Alla kureem! it is a torch—they come, they come!’ cried the poor
fellow. He heard a confused sound of voices, for the yells of the beasts
had ceased: he could see many slinking off into the thickets, and there
was perfect silence. Now the red light illumined the trees at a little
distance—they were descending one side of a hollow towards him—he could
track their progress by the light upon the trees—he lost it for a time,
as they ascended the other side—again it gleamed brightly, and on a
sudden burst like a meteor upon his glance, as the body of men, with
several torches, the elephant, the palankeen, and some horsemen appeared
for a moment on an open spot pressing towards him.
He could not be mistaken: but Kasim now dreaded lest the garrison should
make a sally over the ditch; he looked there—all was dark, but in the
distance a few lights on the wall were hurrying to and fro, as though
the alarm was given, and a shrill blast of the collery horn was borne to
his ear. ‘They will not come!’ he thought, and thought truly; they would
not have dared to face the ghastly spectacle in the ditch.
The voices were real, and the lights were but a short distance from him:
the party had stopped to consult, and the poor fellow’s heart beat
wildly with suspense lest they should advance no further; he could not
hear what they said, but on a sudden a cry arose from several, ‘Kasim
Ali! Kasim Ali! ho!’ which resounded far and wide among the still
jungle.
He strove to repeat it, but the blood gushed into his throat: he fell
back in despair. They came nearer and nearer, shouting his name.
‘It was near this spot,’ said one; ‘I am sure of it, for here is a
corpse, and here another: let us look further.’ And they continued to
track the way of the fugitives by the dead.
‘Kasim Ali! Kasim Ali! ho, hote!’ shouted a voice which thrilled to
Kasim’s very soul, for it was the Khan’s: how well he knew it—an angel’s
would have been less welcome. One torch-bearer was advancing, hardly
fifty paces from him; he waited an instant, then summoning his
resolution, ‘Ho! hote!’ he cried, with all his remaining power. The
sound was very faint, but it was heard.
‘Some one answered!’ shouted the torch-bearer.
‘Where? for the sake of Alla,’ cried the Khan from his horse.
‘Yonder, in front.’
‘Quick, run!’ was the reply, and all hurried on, looking to the right
and left.
Kasim could not speak, but he waved his arm; as they came close to him,
the broad glare of the torch fell on him, and he was seen.
All rushed towards him, and the old Khan, throwing himself recklessly
from his horse, ran eagerly to his side and gazed in his face. Kasim’s
eye was dim, and his face and body were covered with blood; but the
features were well known to him, and the old soldier, unable to repress
his emotion, fell on his knees beside him, and raising his clasped hands
wept aloud.
‘Shookur-khoda! Ul-humd-ul-illa!’ he cried at last when he could speak,
‘he lives! my friends, he lives! I vow a gift to thee, O Moula Ali, and
to thee, O Burhanee Sahib, for this joy; I vow Fatehas at your shrines,
and to feed a hundred Fakeers in your names.’
‘Do not speak, Kasim Ali, my son, my heart’s life. Inshalla! you will
live. Inshalla! we will tend thee as a child. Do not stir hand or foot:’
(Kasim had clasped the Khan’s hand, and was endeavouring to raise it to
his lips:) ‘no thanks, no thanks—not a word! art thou not dear to us?
Ay, by Alla and his apostle! Gently now, my friends, gently; so, raise
him up—now the palankeen here, ’tis the Khanum’s own, Kasim—never heed
his blood,’ he added, as some of the bearers strove to put their
waistbands under him. ‘Aistee, aistee![44]—kubardar![45]—well done! Art
thou easy, Kasim? are the pillows right?—what, too low? thou canst not
breathe?—now, are they better?—nay, speak not, I understand thy smile;’
and truly it was one of exquisite pleasure which overspread his face.
-----
Footnote 44:
Easy, easy!
Footnote 45:
Take care.
-----
‘What, water?’ he continued, as Kasim motioned to his open mouth, ‘Ya,
Alla! he can have had none here all day. Quick, bring the soraee and
cup! There,’ he said, filling a cup with the sparkling and cool fluid,
‘Bismilla, drink!’
The fevered Kasim clutched it as though it had contained the water of
Paradise; cup after cup was given him, and he was refreshed. The flower
of life, which had well nigh withered, was revived once more, and hope
again sprang up in his breast.
‘Go on with easy steps,’ cried the Khan to the bearers, ‘I will give you
a sheep to-morrow if ye carry him well and quickly.’
‘On our head and eyes be it,’ said the chief of the bearers, and they
set forward.
The men on the wall fired a few random shots at the party, but they were
too distant to aim with effect, and it proceeded rapidly. The journey of
some miles was a severe trial to the exhausted Kasim, and they were
several times obliged to rest; but they reached the summit of the last
declivity after some hours, and the welcome sight of the huge camp
below, the white tents gleaming brightly in the moonlight, among which
hundreds of watchfires were sparkling, greeted the longing eyes of
Kasim. In a few minutes more they had arrived at the Khan’s own tent,
and he was lifted from the palankeen into the interior, and laid on a
soft bedding which had been prepared within. The place was cleared of
those who had crowded round, and although Kasim’s eyes were dizzy, and
the tent reeled before him, he was conscious that the gentle voices
which were around him, the shrouded forms which knelt by him, and the
soft hands which washed the hard and clotted blood from him, were those
of Ameena’s women.
-------