The Sultaun was not humbled by the issue of the campaign, though for a
time his resources were straitened. On the contrary, he burned with
revenge for the indignity which he had suffered, superadded to the
fierce hate for the English which he had ever retained, and which rose
now to a degree of ferocity he could hardly restrain. The demand of
three millions and a half sterling made for the expenses of the war—for
which, and the relinquishment of the territory he had agreed to resign,
his children were held as hostages—he met partly by a payment from his
own treasury, partly by a demand upon his army and his civil officers,
and the residue was directed to be raised in the provinces, where means
were employed for the purpose at which humanity shudders. Mild as had
been his civil administration previously, and flourishing as was the
cultivation of his whole country under the admirable administration of
Purneah, his finance minister—often in marked contrast to the desolation
of the English provinces, where the rule of Englishmen was not
understood, nor their information as yet equal to the complexity of
revenue affairs—there now ensued a remarkable contrast. As the
oppression and forced contribution proceeded with horrible rigour,
thousands fled into the English possessions, where they were received
and protected; and this, while it did not check the infatuated
persecution of many of his people, in whose welfare lay his own safety,
added fresh cause for his hatred of those from whose protecting sway he
could not withdraw them.
Meanwhile his restless mind embraced every subject which came, or which
he fancied could come, within his grasp; astrology and magic, with all
their absurd and debasing rites, were studied with greater avidity and
attention than ever under the guidance of some who had pretensions to
those sciences, both Brahmins and Mahomedans. From them he drew the most
magnificent auguries of his future brilliant destiny; the past, he said,
was but a cloud which, as he had ascertained from the stars, had hung
over him from his birth; it was now dissipated, melted into thin air
before the bright beams of the rising sun of his destiny. Physic, too,
absorbed his attention; to perfection in which he made vast pretensions
by aid of a thermometer, the true use of which he declared he had
discovered by a revelation from the angel Gabriel, with whom he seemed
to have established in his dreams a perfect confidence. It is only
necessary, he would say, for a sick man to hold the bulb in his hand,
and then, as the mercury rose or fell, so was the disease hot or cold;
and according to its scale of progression, so should the remedies,
differing in potency, be applied. Often he would, in his caprice, remark
upon the altered look of any one present in his court; and in spite of
their protestations of perfect health, apply the test, and administer a
remedy upon the spot, which it would have been death almost to refuse.
The news of the revolutionary movement of 1789-90 in France, also, for
which he had been gradually prepared by the adventurers in his service,
infected him with a restless desire of imitation, which ran into the
most ludicrous and often mischievous channels. As the French names of
years and months were altered, so were his. A new era was instituted;
and this being in direct opposition to the precepts of the Koran, which
direct an implicit observance of them, he had recourse to his dreams and
visions once more, by which it was for the while established.
In all departments of finance, of the army, of agriculture, of justice,
there were perpetual alterations, sometimes undoubtedly with good
effect, at others the most puerile and absurd. Words of command,
invented from the Persian language, were given to his army, and new
orders for their regulation and discipline constantly promulgated. He
contemplated a fleet to exterminate the English one; which, having
before defeated the French, had prevented them from sending such succour
to his aid as he had expected. One hundred ships of immense force was to
be the complement; of these, forty were directed to be commenced at
Tellicherry, Mangalore, and his other ports on the western coast; and
officers were appointed to them, commanders and admirals, who had never
even seen the sea, had no conception what a ship was, save from the
descriptions of others. Some of these men were sent to superintend their
completion, others retained at court for instruction in the science of
navigation and naval warfare; in which, as in his military pretensions,
his dreams, visions, and assumed revelations, alone assisted him.
He was merchant and money-lender by turns; and huge warehouses, which
still exist in the Fort of Seringapatam, long open rooms in the palace,
capable of containing vast quantities of merchandise, were filled with
every description of goods, which in time he forgot entirely, and so
they remained till his death. By his system of banking, and of
regulating, as he imagined, in his own person the exchanges of his
dominions, he put a stop to the operations of the bankers of his
capital, by whose assistance alone he was able to administer his
affairs; nor would they resume their business until he agreed to abandon
this one of the thousand schemes which were on foot for fame and
aggrandisement.
New and perplexing laws were for ever being coined in the fertile mint
of his own brain; new interpretations of the Koran, which he pretended
to receive by inspiration, when in reality he understood not a word of
its language, and very indifferently Persian, in which the commentaries
upon it were written. The penal enactments against the lower classes of
his Hindoo subjects were horrible; the meanest offences, the wearing of
any scrap of green, the sacred colour of Mahomed, about their persons,
or the transgression of any one of his arbitrary rules, was punished
with death, or obscene mutilations, to which death would have been far
preferable. These were often done in his own presence; and with Jaffar
Sahib, Madar (who had once been his servant, but who had risen in rank),
and many others, he was at no loss for instruments to carry them into
execution. He would call himself the Tiger of the Faith—the beloved
friend of Mahomed; and while he arrogated to himself the last title, the
impiety of which shocked the religious among his officers, he acted up
to the first not only in words, but in deeds, such as we have alluded to
cursorily, by dressing his infantry in cotton jackets printed in tiger’s
stripes,—by sitting on the effigy of one for a throne, and by having two
large ones chained in the courtyard of his palace, who were often made
the executioners of his terrible will.
Many are the tales, too, even now very current in the country, of the
ludicrous effects of his inspirations regarding particular people, whom,
for some fancied lucky termination or commencement of their name, or
some meaning he chose to attach to it, a fortunate horoscope, or even
from lucky personal marks, he would select from the meanest ranks, to
fill offices for which they were alike unfitted by education, talents,
or acquirements, and who, when their incapacity was detected, were
mercilessly disgraced. It has been said of him by an eminent
historian,[59] whose account of the period is a vivid romance from first
to last, that ‘his were the pranks of a monkey, with the abominations of
a monster’; and indeed it is impossible to give an idea of his character
in juster terms.
-----
Footnote 59:
Wilks.
-----
Kasim Ali was again with him, and, rewarded, for his exertions on the
day we have mentioned, had risen to a high rank among his officers.
Unable to walk when the army broke up from before Seringapatam, Philip
Dalton had persuaded him to travel by the easy stages at which the army
proceeded, as well for the change which his weakened condition required,
as for the continued attendance of the English surgeon under whose care
he was placed. To this he had agreed, for in truth the representations
of the noble-hearted Englishman had set many matters before him in a new
light, and he now looked upon acts of the Sultaun with abhorrence which
he had before considered as justifiable, nay, meritorious, when
exercised upon infidels, whether Hindoos or English; and having
accompanied Philip to Bangalore, he parted from him there with regret,
and with a strong sense of his kind and generous behaviour, promising
that should he ever discover any clue to the fate of poor Herbert, he
would write; for the nations being now on good terms, the communications
were open, and he could do so with safety.
For a long while, however, he was unfit to move; he made a report of his
escape to the Sultaun, and receiving in return an honorary dress for his
gallant behaviour, he was assured that his rank remained to him—nay, was
increased; and having solicited leave of absence, he returned to his
village to regain, in its quiet seclusion, the strength and peace of
mind he had lost. Of Ameena he never thought but as one dead; for though
he had written to his friend the Moola to endeavour to trace her fate,
and to discover where she had been buried, in order that he might have
the melancholy satisfaction of erecting a tomb over her remains, yet she
could not be traced, nor her attendants, who were supposed to have
escaped to the Nizam’s army in the confusion which ensued after the
siege, and her body to have been buried in some obscure place during the
night on which she had been cut down. The Moola wrote word that the
matter was not known, except perhaps to a few of the Khan’s servants,
who had not divulged it.
Kasim found, too, that he had been declared heir to most of the Khan’s
wealth, which was large; there was a handsome provision made for his two
wives, besides their dower upon marriage, and it was said their families
were satisfied with the will, which, regularly drawn up, had been
deposited long before his death with responsible executors. In it a
large sum was assigned to Ameena; but as she did not appear, it was kept
in trust for her should it ever be claimed. Hoormut, the elder wife, had
gone to her relations, at some distance from the city; and it was said
that Kummoo, whose beauty was much spoken of, had been transferred to
the Sultaun’s zenana, the laxity of the morality of which would, Kasim
thought, exactly suit her.
Kasim was thus raised to a handsome independence of station, and he
spared no pains to make his mother’s declining years as happy as was
possible. A new and handsome abode was erected for her; his village
walls were rebuilt, and strengthened against perhaps troublous times to
come. A new mosque was built; and a neat serai, near the soldiers’ tomb,
marked the spot in which he had rescued Ameena. This was his favourite
resort, where of an evening, spreading a carpet beneath the trees, he
would remain, in conversation with those he loved and respected, the
elders of his village, both Hindoo and Mahomedan, or else in silent and
sad thought on the past,—on the happiness which had been so rudely
dashed from his lips. His health continued very indifferent, and from
time to time his leave of absence was renewed; however, at length he
could delay no longer, and he once more resumed his attendance at the
court of the Sultaun.
It was not, however, with the same feelings of indifference that he now
regarded the monstrous acts of the Sultaun; his mind had been purged
from the dross of bigotry by his residence in the English camp, where,
besides Philip Dalton’s society, there were many others who, either out
of curiosity or to while away a tedious hour of ennui, would come to the
pallet-side of the Jemadar, and listen to his conversation; relating in
turn tales of their own green land, which to Kasim’s senses appeared a
paradise. Jaffar Sahib was an offence in his sight; and his increased
favour with the Sultaun, his constant attendance on his person and at
the Durbar, his now fearful reputation, and the memory of the past (for
Kasim felt sure he was connected with that fatal night and Ameena’s
death), as well as the fate of the young Englishmen,—all caused a total
revulsion of feeling towards the monarch, and he felt his situation
becoming daily more distasteful to him, in spite of the splendid
prospects which were undoubtedly in the distance. Kasim, too, was a good
Mussulman; he was regular in his prayers, and hated innovations; and the
endless capricious changes, the blasphemous conduct of the Sultaun, and
his pretensions to supernatural power—his devotion to unholy and magical
rites, which were openly mentioned, and, above all, his acts of cruelty
and tyranny—determined him, and some others of his own character, to
abandon a service in which their high notions of justice, decency, and
piety were daily outraged.
By the partition treaty, also, the territory in which were situated the
villages of Kasim Ali had been transferred to the Nizam, and he at last
found it impossible to serve two masters. As long as he remained at
home, the authorities dreaded him, and were quiet; but after a time a
system of annoyance commenced, of which he had such frequent accounts,
that he was soon left no resource between selling his patrimony and
cleaving for ever to the ruler of Mysore, or abandoning his service and
retiring into seclusion. Had the Sultaun’s conduct not shocked him by
its levity and brutality, he might have sold his villages, and withdrawn
his family into Mysore; but he shrank from that, and, having converted
his property into bills on Hyderabad, Adoni, or other towns which were
readily negotiable in the district he belonged to, he prepared himself
for a journey, and formally tendered his resignation to the Sultaun in
open Durbar.
There were many of his friends who had advised him to ask for leave, and
write his intention of not returning from his own home; but he thought
this a cowardly manner of proceeding, and determined that his memory
should not be reproached with cowardice, and that it should remain as it
stood, high among those who were honoured in the army. At an evening
Durbar, therefore, when all were present, and many eyes fixed on him
(for his resolution was known), he arose, stepped forward, and having
made the tusleemat, said to the Sultaun,—
‘Your slave would make a petition, if he is permitted?’
‘Surely,’ said the Sultaun; ‘what did Kasim Ali ever say that was not
welcome?’
‘My lord,’ he began, ‘it is hard for one who hath received benefits at
thy hands, and who in a bright prospect before him—the glorious career
of the lion of the faith—seeth no end but advancement, to shut it out
from his sight, and to deny himself the pleasure of seeing day by day
the Light of Islam—the Lion of the Faith. O Sultaun! be merciful to thy
servant, and forgive the request he makes, that he may retire from thy
service into the obscurity and quiet he has long coveted. It is well
known to all this assembly, that thy slave is one to whom the stirring
events of life have no charm—the intrigues, the factions, the wavering
politics of a court, no attraction. If I have hitherto preserved my
place here, it has been by kindness and forbearance, not by merit.
Another far more fitted than I am will succeed me, and I shall be
content in the administration of my property, which, distant as it is,
requires my constant attention and care.’
Tippoo stared at him, and Kasim felt uncomfortable; he could not
remember that any one had ever made such a request before, and he could
not foresee the result. Yet the Sultaun had been in good humour all the
day and he hoped for the best.
‘What do I hear, Kasim Ali—that thou wouldst leave my service?’
‘Even so, Huzrut! When thou wast in peril of thy life, mine was risked
freely, though others hung back. I, and he that is gone—may his memory
live in honour!—led those into the English camp who might have ended the
war, had Alla so willed it. In adversity I stood by thee, and I have not
quitted thee since, for these six years. Thou art now prosperous: the
French are thy friends; thou art courted by the nations of Hind; thou
art at peace with the English—long may this continue—thou art prosperous
everywhere; and now when all is fair and bright around thee, I would in
the season of joy take my leave, grateful for a thousand benefactions
from the liberal hand of him who has not ceased to uphold me since I was
a youth.’
‘Thou art joking, Kasim Ali,’ said Tippoo; ‘and yet thou hast a serious
face. By your soul, say this is not meant!’
‘It is in very truth, O Prince! I have long meditated it. I waited only
till my lord’s mind was happy and free from care to announce it, for I
would not have my memory linked with painful recollections, but with
pleasant thoughts.’
The Sultaun’s brow darkened. ‘Thou art considerate, young man!’ he said
bitterly. ‘When I was happy and merry in my heart, thou must needs mar
all by this news. By Alla! I would rather thou hadst told it when the
storm within me was at the highest; but no matter; thou hast served us
well and faithfully—we shall long remember it; nor would we detain any
one against his will. We have (blessed be the Prophet!) hundreds in our
valiant army to fill vacant places. Therefore go—thou hast thy leave.
Yet thou shalt not have it to say I was churlish in this; thou art
dismissed with honour. Bring hither two shawls, a turban, and an
ornament for the head—also a noble horse from my stables, and a sword
and shield from the private armoury,’ he cried to an attendant. ‘Ye
shall see, sirs, how Tippoo estimates greatness, and how he rewards it.’
Kasim was much moved: he had expected a stormy scene, an absolute
refusal; he had prepared himself for it, and for flight if necessary;
now he could have cried like a child; all the Sultaun’s caprice,
cruelty, and impiety were forgotten. There sate before him the
benefactor and the steady friend of years. He continued gazing on him,
and often he felt the tears rush to his eyes, as though they would have
had vent. The attendant entered with a tray; upon it were a pair of
magnificent shawls of Cashmere, a superb mundeel, and a jewel of great
value for the forehead. The Sultaun examined them with the air of a
merchant. ‘They are a handsome pair, and worthy of him,’ he said; ‘and
this too is rich, and the diamonds of good water. Approach, Kasim Ali!’
He obeyed: the Sultaun arose, cast over his shoulders the rich shawls,
took the turban and jewel from the tray, and presented him with them.
‘Embrace me,’ he said,—‘I love thee: I shall ever remember thee
gratefully, Kasim Ali; and thou wilt not forget the poor servant of
Alla, Tippoo Sultaun: should his enemies revile him, there will be one
whose tongue will speak his praise. Shouldst thou ever feel disposed to
return, thy place is open to thee; or if as a guest, thou art ever
welcome. Go—may Alla keep thee!’
‘Never will I forget thee, O benefactor!’ cried Kasim, completely
overcome; ‘never will I allow a word to be said against thee; and in my
home—in the wide world—wherever I go, men shall know of the generosity
of the lion of Mysore. I go—my prayers are for thee and thy prosperity
night and day.’
Kasim made low obeisances as he passed out of the audience-hall; he cast
a last look round the well-known place; what scenes he had witnessed
there, of joy and misery, frantic enthusiasm and fierce bigotry,
torture, and even death! Dreams, visions, lewd and vile torrents of
abuse against the English; poems, letters of war, of intrigue, of
policy, of every conceivable kind. Enough! they were gone for ever, and
he was glad that the feverish existence was at an end; henceforth before
him was the peaceful and quiet existence he had so long coveted.
The horse, richly caparisoned, stood at the palace-gate, and men bearing
the sword and shield. Kasim bounded into the saddle, and before the
admiring spectators, many of them his kind friends, caused him to curvet
and bound to show how perfectly the animal was trained; and then
saluting them he rode on. Next morning he was on his way beyond the
Fort.
That night Jaffar was alone with the Sultaun; they had conversed long on
various matters. At last Jaffar exclaimed, ‘May I be your sacrifice! it
was wrong to let Kasim Ali go.’
‘Why?’ said Tippoo.
‘He knows too much,’ was the reply.
‘But he is faithful, Jaffar?’
The fellow laughed. ‘He is a good friend to the English.’
‘To the English?’
‘Ay! remember how often he has spoken in their favour, how often he has
bearded others who reviled them. May I be your sacrifice! he is
unfaithful, or why should he leave thee?’
The Sultaun was struck by the remark. ‘If I thought so,’ he said
quickly.
‘Why should he for months have been collecting his money?’ continued
Jaffar; ‘every rupee he could collect has gone to Hyderabad, bills,
hoondees, gold, all except what he has with him; he has ground the
uttermost couree from those who owed him anything.’
‘Is this true?’
‘Ay, by your head! shall I bring the Sahoukars who gave them?’
‘Ya Alla!’ cried the Sultaun, ‘what a serpent have I been nourishing!
Thou saidst to Hyderabad?’
‘Ay, he will go to Sikundur Jah, and fill his ears with tales of thee
for the English, and give them a plan of this fort. Was he not always
with the engineers?’
‘Enough, good fellow,’ said the Sultaun sternly; ‘he must not reach the
city—dost thou understand?’
‘I will not lose a moment; the men will have to travel fast, but they
can overtake him.’
‘Will they dare attack him? methinks there are few who would attempt
that, even among thy devils.’
‘There are some of them who would attack hell itself and its king
Satan,’ said the man with a grin, ‘when they have had bhang enough;
trust me, it shall be done. He escaped me once,’ said Jaffar, as he went
out; ‘he will be lucky if he does so again; we shall be even at last.’
* * * * *
Kasim Ali rode on gaily; with him were a number of men who had
previously obtained leave of absence, and had stayed for the advantage
of his society and safe conduct, for he was respected by all. They were
proceeding, some on horseback, others on ponies, to various parts of the
north of Mysore; some to his own district, some to Hyderabad. The road
was light under their horses’ feet, and coss after coss passed almost
without their knowledge, as they conversed freely and merrily together.
At the point where the river Madoor crosses the road to Bangalore there
is a good deal of thick jungle, but they heeded not the pass, though it
was noted for robbers; they were too formidable a party to be attacked.
As they proceeded carelessly, a shot whistled from among some bushes to
the left—it went harmless; another, and Kasim felt a sting in his left
arm, and he saw a man fall.
‘Upon them!’ he cried, drawing his sword; ‘upon the sons of defiled
mothers!’ and he dashed into the jungle, followed by the best mounted;
ten or twelve men were flying at their utmost speed—but they had a poor
chance before those determined horsemen. Kasim cut at two as he passed
them; they were not killed but badly wounded; three others were
despatched.
‘I know that rascal’s face,’ said one of his companions, as the
prisoners were brought up; ‘it is one of Jaffar’s devils.’
‘Ay, and this is another,’ said Kasim; ‘he was in the Durbar yesterday
morning.’
‘Tell us why thou hast done this?’ he said; ‘why didst thou attack me?
what have I ever done to harm thee?’
‘Nothing,’ said one sullenly; ‘it was the Sultaun’s order.’
‘Thou liest!’ cried Kasim, striking him.
‘Do not beat me,’ he replied; ‘but behold, here is the order to give us
horses to overtake thee, shouldst thou have gone on. We knew not that
thou hadst tarried in the city last night; we arose and came on to the
last village; they told us there thou hadst not passed, and we waited
for thee. Behold! this is the Sultaun’s seal.’
It was truly so—his private seal: Kasim well knew it; he shuddered as he
looked on it. ‘Why should there have been such black treachery?’
‘Go!’ said he to the man, recollecting himself, ‘thou are but the
instrument of others; go—may Alla give thee a better heart! Tell thy
master I recognise his work; and bid him say to the Sultaun, or say it
thyself—the love that was between us is broken for ever. Go!’
‘Let us press on, my friends,’ said Kasim, ‘not by the road, but by
bye-paths. Though I know not what vengeance I have provoked, ye see I am
not safe.’
They did so, and it was well that they travelled fast, for the baffled
tiger raved at the loss of his prey, and many men pursued Kasim and his
companions, but in vain.
-------