The excitement of the day had prevented the Sultaun from feeling the
pain of the severe sprain until late, when it became insupportable: in
vain it was fomented and rubbed; that seemed only to increase the
swelling and stiffness; but when he heard that Kasim had arrived in the
camp badly wounded, he could not withstand the desire of seeing him to
whom he owed the preservation of his life; accordingly he was lifted
into a chair, and, entirely unattended, directed his bearers to carry
him to the Khan’s tent, where he sent orders for his chief physician to
meet him.
Such an honour was entirely unlooked for by the Khan and his household;
nevertheless he was received with respect, carried into the tent where
Kasim was, and set down by the side of the sufferer, who lay almost in a
state of insensibility, showing consciousness only at intervals. The
women servants who had been fomenting the wound, and had arisen at his
entrance, now resumed their occupation; for though Daood and his other
men had offered their services, the Khan had thought truly that there
was more lightness and softness in the hand of woman; and Ameena’s
nurse, Meeran, had set the example to the rest, aided by the
instructions of her brother Zoolficar, who was busy preparing a poultice
of herbs for the wound.
The Sultaun regarded Kasim intently before he spoke to the Khan, and
several times stooping down felt his pulse and head.
‘Inshalla! he will yet live,’ he said; ‘we, the chosen of the Prophet,
are counted to have much skill in the treatment of wounds, and therefore
we say, Inshalla! he will live; his pulse is strong and firm, and he is
not going to die.’
‘Alla forbid,’ echoed all around.
‘Whose advice hast thou got for him, Khan?’ asked the Sultaun.
‘None as yet, Asylum of the World! My Khanum’s women here have been
fomenting the wound, and a slave of mine who has skill in such matters,
for he was a barber once, is preparing a poultice.’
‘We desire to know what is in it,’ said the Sultaun; ‘there is much in
having lucky herbs boiled under the influence of salutary planets; send
for him.’ The replies of Zoolficar were deemed satisfactory by the
Sultaun, who desired him to proceed with the work. The Hukeem too
shortly afterwards attended, and began carefully to examine the patient;
he had evidently but little hope, and shook his head with a melancholy
air when he had made his survey.
‘There is no hope of his life,’ said the old man. ‘I have seen many
shot, but a man never survived such a wound—his liver is pierced, and he
must die.’
‘I tell thee no! Moorad-ali,’ said the Sultaun; ‘we have had dreams
about him of late, his destiny we know is linked with our own, and we
are alive—Inshalla! we shall yet see him on horseback.’
‘Inshalla-ta-Alla,’ said the Hukeem, ‘in him alone is the power, and we
will do what we can to aid any merciful interference he may make.’ But
his directions for an application were little different from the mixture
of the cook, which was shortly afterwards applied. The Sultaun waited a
while in the hope of hearing Kasim speak, but he continued to lie
breathing heavily and slightly groaning, when additional pain caused a
pang.
‘We can do no good,’ he said to the Khan; ‘let us leave him to the care
of Alla, who will restore him to us if it be his destiny. Come then with
me to the morning Durbar; we will summon the leaders, and settle some
plan for the future, which we were too disturbed to arrange yesterday.’
The Khan followed him, charging the women strictly with the care of the
poor sufferer until he returned; he was soon afterwards engaged in
deliberation with the Sultaun and his officers. One of two alternatives
presented themselves to Tippoo; either to abandon the undertaking
suddenly, and while the English should think him engaged there to fall
upon their territory with fire and sword,—or to send for heavy guns from
Seringapatam, and breach the barrier, when an assault, such as could not
be withstood by the besieged, might be made with success. The latter was
in the end adopted; the army serving in Malabar was desired to join the
Sultaun by long forced marches; heavy batteries of guns were ordered
directly from the city; and his officers, from his manner and the
eagerness with which he entered into the matter, saw how intent he was
on providing for the emergency.
The pain Tippoo had suffered the whole night was intense; but the
excitement of the Durbar, the dictation of the letters to his officers,
and the deliberation, had prevented him from betraying it more than by
an impatient gesture or ill-suppressed oath. At last he could bear it no
longer, and sank back upon his musnud, cursing terribly the infidels who
had caused his defeat and suffering; but he rallied again immediately,
and started up to a sitting posture, while he exposed and pointed to his
ankle, which he had hitherto kept concealed under a shawl.
‘Ye see what pain and grief are devouring us,’ he cried, ‘and we call
upon ye to revenge it.’
‘We are ready—on our head and eyes be it!’ cried all.
‘For every throb of pain,’ continued the Sultaun, speaking in suppressed
rage from between his closed teeth, while he held his ankle, ‘we will
have a kafir’s life; we will hunt them like beasts, we will utterly
despoil their country. Ya, Alla Mousoof! we swear before thee and this
company, that we will resent this affront upon thy people to the
death—that we will not leave this camp, pressing as are our necessities
elsewhere, till we have sent thousands of these kafirs to perdition; and
ye are witness, my friends, of this.’
‘And I swear to aid thee, O Sultaun!’ cried the Khan with enthusiasm,
‘and to revenge that poor boy if he dies.’ ‘And I! and I!’ cried all, as
they started to their feet in the wild spirit of the moment; ‘the kafirs
shall be utterly destroyed.’
‘I am satisfied now,’ cried the Sultaun; ‘what has happened was the will
of Alla, and was pre-ordained; whatever a man’s fate is, that he must
suffer;’ and the assembly assented by a general ‘Ameen!’ ‘However,
Inshalla!’ he continued, ‘we have seen the last reverse; and we are
assured by comforting thoughts that the army of the faith will be
henceforth victorious. Ye have your dismissal now, for we are in much
pain and would consult our physician.’
During the absence of the Khan, the attentions of the women to poor
Kasim had been incessant, and everything was done that kindness could
suggest to procure any alleviation of his pain. His wound was fomented,
his limbs kneaded, his still parched and fevered lips moistened with
cool sherbet. Meeran had striven to comfort her young mistress for some
time, but in vain: she had not been able to repress her emotions when he
was brought in wounded, although she dared not in presence of her lord
give full vent to her feelings; but when she knew that he had left the
tent with the Sultaun, she could no longer restrain herself, and gave
way to a burst of grief, which would have proved to Meeran, had she not
before known of her love for him, how deep and true it was.
‘I must see him, Meeran,’ she said at length; ‘the Khan is gone now, and
canst thou not devise some means? Quick! think and act promptly.’
‘I will send away the women, my rose,—thou shalt see him,’ said the
attendant; ‘when I cough slightly do thou come in; they say he cannot
speak, and lies with his eyes shut.’
‘Ya, Alla kureem!’ cried Ameena; ‘what if he should die ere I see him?
Oh grant him life,—thou wilt not take one so young and so brave. Quick,
good nurse! I am sick at heart with impatience.’
Meeran found but little difficulty in sending away the women upon some
trifling errands, for Kasim slept, or appeared to dose; so taking their
place by his side, she coughed slightly, and Ameena, who had been
waiting anxiously behind the screen which divided the tents, withdrew it
hastily and entered.
She advanced with a throbbing heart; she could hardly support herself,
as well from her despair of his life as of her own feelings of love for
him, which would now brook no control; her mind was a chaos of thoughts,
in which that of his death and her own misery were the most prominent
and most wretched.
Nor was the sight before her, as she drew near Kasim, at all calculated
to allay her fears; he lay to all appearance dead; his eyes were closed,
and his breathing was so slight that it scarcely disturbed the sheet
which was thrown over him; the ruddy brown of his features had changed
to a death-like hue, and his eyes were sunken.
Ameena was more shocked than she had anticipated, and it was with
difficulty that she could prevent herself from falling to the ground
when she first saw his features, so deadly was the sickness which seemed
to strike at her heart; but she rallied after an instant of
irresolution, and advancing sat down by her nurse, who gently fanned the
sleeper.
‘He sleeps,’ she whispered; ‘Zoolficar has bound up the wound, his
remedies are always sure, and there is luck with his hand. Alla kureem!
I have hope.’
‘Alas! I have none, Unna,’ said Ameena; ‘I cannot look on those altered
features and hope. Holy Alla! see how he looks now—what will happen?’
and she gasped in dread, and put her hand before her eyes.
‘It was nothing—nothing, my life, but a slight spasm, some pain he felt
in his asleep, or perchance a dream; but it is past; look again, he is
smiling!’
His features were indeed pleasant to behold. Even in a few minutes a
change had come over them; he had been dreaming, and the excitement and
pain of one had been followed, as is often the case, by another of an
opposite nature—one of those delirious visions of gardens and fountains
which had mocked him as he lay on the battle-field again arose before
him, and he fancied that Ameena was beside him, and they roamed
together. They saw his lips moving, as though he were speaking, yet no
sound came, except an indistinct muttering; but Ameena, whose whole soul
was wrapt in watching him, fancied that the motion of his lips expressed
her name, and mingled emotions of joy and shame struggled within her for
mastery.
Again the peaceful vision had passed away, and his brow contracted; his
nervous arms were raised above the covering over him, and his hands were
firmly clenched; he ground his teeth till the blood curdled in their
veins, and his lips moved rapidly. ‘Oh that I could wake him, Unna!’
said Ameena; ‘that I could soothe him with words—that I dared to speak
to him. Hush! what does he say?’
‘Water! water!’ whispered Kasim hoarsely. The rest they could not hear,
but it was enough for Ameena; a jar of cool sherbet stood close to her;
with a trembling hand she poured out some into the silver cup and held
it to his lips. She only thought of his pain, and that she might
alleviate it, and Meeran did not prevent the action. The cool metal was
grateful to Kasim’s dry and heated lips; they were partly open, and as
she allowed a little of the delicious beverage to find its way into
them, the frown from his brow passed away, the rigid muscles of his face
relaxed, and as she softly strove to repeat the action, his eyes opened
gently and gazed upon her.
For an instant, to his distempered fancy, her beauty appeared like that
of a houri, and he imagined that he then tasted the cup of heavenly
sherbet with which the faithful are welcomed to Paradise; but as he
looked longer, the features became familiar to him, and the eyes—those
soft and liquid eyes—rested on him with an expression of sympathy and
concern which they could not conceal. For an instant he strove to
speak—‘Ameena!’ The name trembled on his lips, but he could not utter
it; he suddenly raised himself up a little, and coughed; it was followed
by a rush of blood, which seemed almost to choke him.
Ameena could see no more; her sight failed her, and she sank down beside
him unconsciously. Meeran, however, had seen all; she raised her up, and
partly carrying, partly supporting her, led her away, while she called
to her brother, who stood at the tent-door to watch, to come to Kasim’s
assistance.
‘Thou must keep a stouter heart within thee, my pearl!’ she said to
Ameena, after having with much assiduity recovered her ‘Holy Alla!
suppose the Khan had come in then, when thou wert lying fainting beside
him—what would he not have thought? I shall never be able to let thee
see him again if thou canst not be more firm.’
‘Alas!’ sighed Ameena, ‘I shall see him but little again; his breath is
in his nostrils, and there is no hope: this night—to-morrow—a few
hours—and he will cease to live, and then I shall have no friend.’
‘Put thy trust in Alla!’ said the nurse, looking up devoutly; ‘if thy
destiny is linked with his, as I firmly believe it is, there will be
life and many happy days for you both.’ But her words failed to cheer
the lady, who wept unceasingly, and would not be comforted.
Days passed, however, and Kasim Ali lived; his spirit of life within him
would one while appear to be on the verge of extinction, and again it
would revive, and enable him to exchange a few words with those by whom
he was tended. It was in vain that he entreated the Khan to allow him to
be removed to his own tent; his request was unheeded or refused, and he
remained. Gradually he regained some strength; and with this, a power of
conversing, which he was only allowed to exert at intervals by the
physicians, and by the kind old cook, who, with the Khan’s servant Daood
and Ameena’s nurse, were his chief attendants. As he lay, weak and
emaciated, he would love to speak with Meeran of her who he knew had
visited him on the first night of his wound, and to hear of her anxious
inquiries after his progress towards recovery.
To Ameena the days passed slowly and painfully; sometimes, when the Khan
spoke of Kasim, it was with hope,—at others, as if no power on earth
could save him; but she believed her nurse more than him, for her hope
never failed, and she was assured by Zoolficar that the crisis had
passed favourably, that all tendency to fever had left him, and, though
his recovery would be slow, yet that it was sure; and on this hope she
lived. Day and night her thoughts were filled with the one subject, and
she conversed upon it freely with the Khan, who loved to speak of Kasim,
without exciting any surprise in his mind.
And often would she steal softly on tiptoe to the place where Kasim lay
asleep, at such times as she knew he was attended only by Meeran; and
looking upon his wasted features, to satisfy herself that he was
advancing towards recovery, she would put up a fervent prayer that it
might be speedy. But Kasim knew not of these visits, for Ameena had
strictly charged her nurse not to mention them, lest they should excite
him or he should look for their continuance. Often would the old nurse
rally her upon her caution, and urge that it would gratify Kasim, and
aid his recovery, to speak with her, but Ameena was resolute.
‘I should fail in my purpose,’ she would say. ‘Meeran, I dare not risk
it; to look on him daily, even for an instant, is happiness to me which
thou knowest not of, and such as I may indulge in without shame; but to
speak to him, knowing his feelings and mine, would be to approach the
brink of a giddy precipice, from whence we might fall to perdition. Am I
not the Khan’s wife? he is old—I cannot love him, Meeran, but I honour
him, and while he lives I will be true to him.’
‘Alla send thee power, my child!’ Meeran would reply; ‘thou art but a
child, it is true, but thou hast the faith and honour of an older woman,
and Alla will reward thee.’
But it was a sore temptation to Ameena, and as she gradually became
habituated to her silent and stealthy visits, the thought rose up in her
heart that it would be pleasant to sit by him for a while, to watch his
gentle and refreshing slumbers, even to tend him as Meeran and the
others did, above all, to listen to his converse; but she put these
thoughts from her by a violent effort, and when once conquered they
returned with less force.
Nor did Kasim occupy a less dangerous position; but his principle of
honour was high, and, experiencing the constant kindness of the Khan,
shown daily in a thousand acts, could he plot against his honour? His
passion had imperceptibly given place during his long and great weakness
to a purer feeling, which his best reflections and gratitude to his
benefactor daily strengthened.
Weeks, nay months, passed. Kasim’s recovery was slow and painful; it was
long ere he could even sit up, and speak without pain and spitting of
blood. But as his strength enabled him to do so, he was allowed to sit
for a while, then to crawl about, a shadow of his former self! He was
pitied by all, and there was hardly a man in that camp who did not feel
an interest in the life and recovery of the Patél. Often, too, would the
Sultaun visit him, and overpower him with thanks for his preservation;
and he showed proofs of his gratitude, in advancing him to higher rank,
and to a place of trust near his own person.
But the life of dull inaction that he led was irksome to Kasim Ali; the
noise of the cannon thundered in his ear, and from the Khan’s tent he
could see the batteries day after day playing upon the wall, that had
hitherto defied them. There was now a huge breach, through which the
whole army might have marched, with little chance of opposition; the
ditch became gradually filled up by the rubbish, and the fire of the
besiegers was but faintly returned by those within; still, however, at
times they showed a bold front, and often sallying forth, would do
mischief to the advanced posts of the army.
Day after day reports of the progress of the siege, the camp gossip, the
arrival of the remains of that splendid embassy which the Sultaun had
sent to Constantinople, and the failure of its purpose, and the immense
sums it had cost, were retailed to Kasim by the Khan and others; but he
was helpless, and, though he longed again to mix in the strife and to
strike a blow for the faith, the power was denied him.
Meanwhile the Sultaun had been a severe sufferer; the sprain of his foot
was acutely painful, and subsided only after a tedious confinement,
during which his temper had been more than usually capricious. The
failure of his noble embassy to Turkey, the immense sum it had cost him,
without any equivalent, except a letter of compliment from the Sultaun
of Constantinople, the true value of which he could justly
appreciate—the continued preparations of the English, the Mahrattas, and
the Nizam, and their united power—pressed on him with force and occupied
his thoughts by day and his dreams by night.
He had summoned the heaviest of his artillery from Seringapatam, and in
time he had completed a breach, some hundred yards in extent, which
invited attack; at length it was made. Opposition there was none, and
the army, thirsting for revenge and plunder, poured upon the now
defenceless territory of Travancore. Impelled by a smarting sense of the
degradation they had suffered in the attack on the wall, and in the
subsequent delay which had occurred before the storming of the breach,
the army now gave itself up to frightful excesses. The inhabitants were
hunted like wild beasts, shot and speared by the merciless
soldiery—their women and children destroyed, or sent into a captivity,
to which death would have been preferable. Thousands were forcibly made
to profess the faith, and amidst the jeers of the rabble were publicly
fed with beef and forced to destroy cows, which they had hitherto
venerated.
But the necessities of his position began at length to press hard upon
the mind of the Sultaun; he was far from his capital; in his present
condition he was unable to strike a blow against his enemies; and,
though he had endeavoured to mislead the English by plausible letters,
and protestations of undiminished friendship, yet he could not disguise
from himself that there was a stern array of preparation against him,
which required to be met by decisive and vigorous operations.
‘They shall see—the kafir English!’—he exclaimed in his Durbar, after
the receipt of a letter from his capital, which warned him of danger;
‘they shall see whether the Lion of the Faith is to be braved or not.
Mashalla! we have hitherto been victorious, and the stars show our
position yet to be firm; our dreams continue good, our army is faithful
and brave, and those who remember the triumphs of Perambaukum and of
Bednore will yet strike a blow for the Sultaun.’
These addresses were frequent, and the army was in daily expectation of
being ordered to return, but as yet it did not move; the most sagacious
of his officers, however, urged it at last with such force upon the
Sultaun’s notice, that he could no longer delay. ‘We must utterly
destroy the wall,’ he replied to them; ‘then we will return.’
And this was done. It was a magnificent sight to see that whole army,
headed by the Sultaun himself, advance to the various positions upon the
wall, which had been previously assigned, for the purpose of razing it
to the ground. As the morning broke, the various divisions, without
arms, moved to their posts, where pickaxes and shovels had been already
prepared for them. All the camp-followers, the merchants, grain-sellers,
money-changers, men of all grades, of all castes, were required to join
in the work, and in the enthusiasm of the moment rushed to it eagerly.
The Sultaun himself, dressed in gorgeous apparel, and surrounded by his
courtiers, his chiefs and slaves, quitted his tent amidst a discharge of
cannon which rent the air, the sound of kettle-drums and cymbals, and
the shouts of assembled thousands, ‘Alla Yar! Alla Yar! Deen! Deen!’
Tippoo rode on Hyder, his favourite elephant: the umbaree he sat on was
of silver gilt, the cushions of crimson velvet, and the curtains of the
finest cloth with gold fringes. The housings of the noble beast, of
crimson velvet trimmed with green, swept the ground. Around him were all
his officers, on a crowd of elephants and horses, decked with their
richest trappings, and wearing cloth-of-gold or muslin dresses, with
turbans of the gayest colours, red and pink, white, lilac, or green,
sometimes twisted into each other.
The Sultaun dismounted from his elephant, for which a road had been made
across the ditch, and seizing a pickaxe ascended the wall. For a while
he stood alone, high upon a pinnacle of a tower, in the sight of his
whole army, whose shouts rose to the skies, with pride in his heart and
exultation flashing from his eye: his favourite astrologer was beneath
him, busied with calculations.
‘Is it the time, Sheikh?’ he asked: ‘surely it is near?’
‘My art tells me it will be in a few minutes,’ was the reply.
There was a breathless silence; at length the Sultaun’s arm was uplifted
to strike—the fortunate moment had arrived!
‘Bismilla-ir-ruhman-ir-raheem, in the name of the most clement and
merciful! Strike, O Sultaun!’ cried the Sheikh.
The blow descended, and a shout arose, which mingling with the cannon
and the drums, almost deafened the hearers; while each man of that great
host applied himself to the task and tore down portions of the wall.
Gradually, but rapidly, the long extent within sight disappeared, and in
six days the whole for nearly twenty miles had been so destroyed as to
make it useless for any purpose of defence. This completed, the army
began to retrace its steps toward the capital, soon to enter upon new
and fiercer scenes.
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