"I have brought a message from Nussoor."
"Where?" I cried excitedly.
"Nussoor. Who is in command here?"
"Colonel Vincent," I said.
"Thank Heaven!" he cried; and he reeled in his saddle, but recovered
directly. "I'm beaten," he said. "A terrible long round to avoid the
enemy. I had to go out the other side. It was a forlorn hope."
By this time my father and several officers had ridden up, and I
exclaimed excitedly--
"This is a messenger from Nussoor."
"Yes," said my prisoner. "I was obliged to assume this disguise.
Colonel Vincent, don't you know me?"
"Brooke! Ah, my dear fellow, what news?"
"Bad; terrible. We were at the end nearly of our ammunition. Closely
invested for many days past. People fighting like heroes; but they can
hold out no longer. And, to make matters worse, that fiend, Ny Deen, is
advancing on the place with a powerful force. I was nearly taken by his
men."
"How far is Nussoor from here?" said my father hoarsely.
"About fourteen miles, I should say."
"Then that is where he has been making for," muttered my father. "And I
not to know that it was so near."
It was all plain enough now. Knowing from spies that Nussoor was weakly
guarded, and having lost his own city, Ny Deen was hurrying on to seize
and entrench himself in another; one which would form a centre where his
adherents might flee.
Just then I caught my father's eyes, and saw in them a terrible look of
agony, which made me think of the horrors which had been perpetrated at
these places where the mutineers had gained the upper hand.
It had been horrible enough in the past; but now the rajah's men were
smarting from a sharp defeat. And I felt that they would make fierce
reprisals on the hard-pressed garrison, all of whom would certainly be
put to the sword.