surprising revolutions which, amid the troubled currents of political
events, have been so frequently seen to spring from the reaction
of despotism. The Mogul empire, under the able though absolute
direction of Aurungzebe, extended over nearly the whole of India.
The most fertile and populous provinces of Hindostan were subjected
to the dominion of a tyrant, who, nevertheless, governed wisely,
though he ruled despotically. The extensive plains of the Deccan and
of Hindostan proper, which are protected by that elevated chain of
mountains called the Ghauts, forming a natural and almost impregnable
barrier against irregular and undisciplined troops, were inhabited by
a hardy and active race. They felt the galling yoke of a conqueror;
they were encouraged to resistance by their distance from the capital
of their despot, and by the natural barriers which, under judicious
management and an enterprising leader, were considered an almost
certain protection against the inroads of an invading army. Besides
this, the Mahomedan nations had been involved in such constant wars,
and the successions of that mighty state were so continually disputed,
and so bloodily contested, that ample opportunities were afforded to
a leader of daring and comprehensive mind to assemble the disunited
members of a vast and dislocated empire, at a distance from the seat of
government, and establish them into an independent community, upon the
wreck of that power by which they had been subdued. Such a leader was
Sevajee, the founder of the Mahratta dynasty, which finally became the
most flourishing in Hindostan. This hero was born in 1627, at Poonah,
then a village, but afterwards the capital of the Mahratta state.
He was of noble descent, and great pains seem to have been taken in
training him early to deeds of arms. He despised letters, but devoting
himself to military exercises, soon commenced that career of enterprise
which distinguished him above all the heroes of his day. Before he was
eighteen, he had collected together a band of the inhabitants of his
native glens, and commenced the daring but inglorious profession of
a robber. By degrees he became a terror to the neighbouring princes,
in whose territories his depredations were committed. From heading a
few profligate adventurers, he rose to be the leader of a small but
formidable army. Fortresses and cities submitted to his arms, and he
found himself at length master of a considerable extent of territory,
with an army of fifty thousand foot and seven thousand horse.
Such prodigious and rapid accession of power alarmed the jealousy of
Aurungzebe, who was by this time securely seated upon the throne of the
Moguls, and seemed resolved to extend his conquests to the farthest
possible limits. He therefore sent a large body of troops under an
experienced leader to crush the rising influence of the Mahrattas; but
the wary conduct of Sevajee, who was prolific in dacoit[43] stratagems,
baffled the military skill and defeated the enterprises of the Mogul.
It was to reduce the growing power of this extraordinary man, that the
Emperor had marched in person, and was encamped in the neighbourhood
of Madura, in order to subdue some refractory Polygars who had
disturbed the peace of that district, when his daughter was made
captive by Sevajee on her way from the Deccan. So difficult were the
various passes of the Ghauts for a regular army to traverse, and so
impenetrable the jungles, that the bold Mahratta defied the hostile
preparations of Aurungzebe, whose detachments he continually defeated,
pouring down upon them like a deluge from the hills, committing
prodigious ravages and retreating beyond the reach of pursuit to his
mountain-holds.
The fortress to which the Princess Rochinara had been conveyed was
situated in one of the most impracticable recesses of the Ghauts. The
only approach to it was by a path so narrow that two persons could
not proceed abreast, and in many places hollowed out of the living
rock. It was reached by a gradual ascent of three miles, the road at
various places overhung by vast ledges projecting from the precipice by
which it was skirted. There a few resolute men might defend themselves
against a host. Besides, this part of the country was so thinly
populated, and so seldom visited on account of the asperities which it
presented to the traveller, that it remained a sort of terra incognita.
Sevajee’s retreats, and among the rest the fortress already mentioned,
were known to few or none save his own followers; so that he felt in
perfect security against the irruptions of invaders.
The captivity of the princess became daily less and less irksome; all
her wishes were complied with, and she finally entertained no further
desire to quit a prison where in fact she enjoyed more liberty than in
her father’s harem. She had been much struck with the frank countenance
of the Mahratta, who used daily to visit her, until at length his
visits were looked forward to not only with pleasure, but anxiety.
The princess was young, Sevajee was handsome, and, what is always
attractive in the eyes of an Eastern beauty, brave. She quickly
felt her heart subdued; the merits of the Mahratta could not escape
her woman’s scrutiny, quickened as this soon was by certain tender
predilections.
She now frequently challenged the opinions of her women upon Sevajee’s
merits, to which they appeared as keenly alive as their mistress, and
it was finally no secret throughout the garrison that their chief had
obtained a conquest over the affections of the Princess Rochinara.
The royal captive had attracted the admiration of one of Sevajee’s
officers, in whose bravery and conduct his chief had great confidence.
One day when Sevajee was abroad, this officer ventured to declare
himself to the interesting captive. He was rejected with indignation.
His passions were roused, and he treated the princess with unmanly
violence. She was saved from his brutality by the interference of one
of the garrison, who, upon Sevajee’s return, informed him of what had
happened. The Mahratta made no reply, but repairing to the princess’s
apartment, learnt from her the precise particulars. Summoning the
garrison before him, he thus addressed the offender:--
“You have violated the sanctity of a warrior’s home. Arms are placed in
our hands to protect, not insult the weak. You must expiate the wrong
you have committed. I stand forward as the champion of an insulted
woman. You are brave, and know how to defend yourself. There is space
within these ramparts to try your prowess against mine. Arm yourself,
and let this matter be instantly decided.”
Sevajee took his sword, and the combatants repaired to the summit of
the rock. His adversary was much taller and bigger than himself, but
far less active and firmly set. He was, however, a hardy, desperate
fellow, who had proved his valour in many a rough encounter. He smiled
as he stood before his chief, as if the contest were to him a pastime.
Both were armed with a short sabre, a shield, and a broad-bladed dagger
stuck in their girdles. The shield was small, reaching from the wrist
to the elbow of the left hand, rising to a cone, and terminated by a
sharp brass boss. It was covered with an untanned hide.
Sevajee commenced the strife by darting upon the offender with the
quickness of an eagle’s spring, dashing his shield against that of
his opponent, and wounding him with considerable severity on the hip.
The man, however, coolly forced backward his indignant chief, and
recovering his own guard, advanced upon him with a calm, sullen smile,
and struck at his head with a force that would have reached through the
skull to the chine, had not the interposing shield caught the blow, and
frustrated the intended mischief: it however struck the boss from the
buckler, and shattered the frame so completely that Sevajee was obliged
to cast it from him, and expose himself unprotected to the attack of
his formidable foe. Trusting, however, to his activity, he parried the
blows of his adversary, and baffled his advances by springing on one
side; the other, exhausted from fatigue and loss of blood, dropped his
sword; Sevajee instantly raised his and struck him to the earth. His
arm was nearly severed, just below the shoulder, and in this sad state,
reeking with gore, he was lowered from the fortress, either to die or
make his escape.
This feat of gallantry, in vindication of an insult offered to the
daughter of Aurungzebe, completely decided her affections. She accepted
the Mahratta’s proposals, and from this time felt a greater pride in
being the wife of a petty sovereign than the daughter of a mighty
emperor.
Sevajee now daily increased in power and influence among the sovereigns
of the principalities by which he was surrounded. He was enabled to
muster an army of fifteen thousand men, and had become the terror of
the neighbouring potentates. He was, to all intents and purposes,
sovereign of the Mahrattas, and had made the daughter of Aurungzebe
his queen, with her own consent, before she had been in his power two
months. His followers were a hardy race, selected from all tribes for
their daring exploits, or feats of personal strength.
A common cooley or porter of the mountains had been admitted into his
army, and finally raised to a place of trust; the first, in consequence
of a singular act of daring, and the last by an uniform adherence
to the interests of his master. As the act was singular which first
brought this man under the notice of the Mahratta chief, it may be
worth recording.
Sevajee was one day passing through a mountain jungle, when a
leopard appeared making its way stealthily through the bushes, as if
threatening hostility. The cooley was descending the hill at this
moment, and seeing the leopard, volunteered to attack it, with a weapon
as singular as it was formidable. Opening a small leathern wallet, he
took from it an iron instrument, which fitted the hand, covering the
fingers like a gauntlet. Beyond the tips of the fingers, it extended
to the length of at least three inches, curving like claws, tapered
to a point as sharp as the tip of a dagger, being brought to an edge
under the curve, nearly as keen as that of a razor. The man fixed it
on his hand,[44] and entered the jungle. The leopard seemed uneasy
at his approach, waved its tail, rested its head upon the earth, yet
made no attempt to spring. The cooley did not give his enemy time to
commence an attack, but advancing boldly, struck it on the right eye,
and drawing the instrument across its head, blinded it in a moment.
The wounded beast started up, and yelled in agony; when the man
deliberately plunged the weapon under its belly, opened a prodigious
gash, and the animal’s entrails protruded through the wound. It rushed
forward, and came with such stunning contact against a tree, that
it instantly fell, turned upon its back, and not being able to see
its aggressor, another stroke from the instrument despatched it: the
victor returned to Sevajee without a scratch. This won the Mahratta’s
admiration; the cooley was immediately enrolled in Sevajee’s army, and
from henceforth became a distinguished man.
It was of similar daring spirits that the followers of this formidable
chieftain were composed; and when they became numerous, they roused
the apprehension of Aurungzebe, who was determined to crush a rising
power that threatened to shake the Mogul throne. When made acquainted
with his daughter’s captivity, he resolved that her deliverance should
involve the death of his foe.
FOOTNOTES:
[43] Dacoit gangs are organised bands of robbers.
[44] A similar instrument is frequently used by the fakeers when they
are passing through the jungles, and with like success.
CHAPTER III.
The Mahratta, who had been wounded by Sevajee, on being lowered from
the fortress, lay some time upon the ground exhausted from loss of
blood. As evening advanced, he crawled into a thicket, and threw
himself at the root of a tree surrounded with high coarse grass, upon
which he slept until the morning. He tore his turban into strips as
well as he was able, stanched the blood that flowed copiously from his
wounds, and bound them up. By the next morning his limbs were so stiff
that he could scarcely move; he was parched with a painful thirst; his
head was confused, and objects floated before his sight in ten thousand
fantastic configurations. A thin spring welled from a chasm in the
hill; and being acquainted with the locality, thither he dragged his
enfeebled body, and bathed his temple in the limpid waters. He drank
copiously of the pure element, and was somewhat refreshed. Still,
unable to use much exertion, he cast himself again at the root of the
tree and slept.
Thus passed the day. The second night came, and he was still there,
helpless as a babe. He thought that here his death-bed was made, and
resigned himself with sullen courage to his fate. The cries of the
jackal disturbed his slumbers, and continually reminded him that he
was at the mercy of the prowling beast of the forest. The bright
moon looked from her glorious temple of serene and delicate blue,
illuminating the boundless expanse through which she marched to her
zenith with the majesty and beauty of a thing of heaven, and poured
the gentle stream of her light upon the wounded Mahratta, who slept
in spite of bodily prostration and of mental suffering. The morning
broke upon him bright and cloudless. He was relieved, and his limbs
less stiff; for it is astonishing how rapidly the natives of eastern
countries recover from the most desperate wounds, owing to their habits
of excessive temperance. He quitted the jungle, and proceeded leisurely
down the mountain. His progress was slow and difficult; and he was
frequently obliged to seek the cool recesses of the forest in order to
recruit his exhausted frame.
After a toilsome march of two days he reached the bottom of the Ghauts.
He knew that a detachment of Aurungzebe’s army lay encamped in the
plains. It was commanded by a general of reputation, and amounted to
fifteen thousand men, prepared to attack Sevajee in his stronghold;
but the difficulty was how to reach this through the numerous mountain
ravines among which it was concealed and protected.
The wounded man crawled into the camp and desired to be conducted to
the general’s tent. “I can lead you to the abode of Sevajee,” he
cried. This was sufficient to remove all reluctance from the minds
of the soldiers, who at first showed a disinclination to conduct the
stranger to their general. They suspected him to be a spy; but the
possibility of his being a traitor gave him a better claim to their
courtesy, and they brought him to the tent of the Omrah, under whose
command they acted.
“What is your motive, soldier,” inquired the general, “for entering an
enemy’s camp.”
“Behold these wounds!” said the man. “They were inflicted by the tyrant
who now holds sway over the Mahrattas. That is my sufficient answer why
I appear in the Mogul camp.”
“Personal enmities are but a poor recommendation to confidence. He who
would betray a friend would be little likely to serve a foe.”
“Where a person has his revenge to gratify, you have the strongest
guarantee for confidence. Apart from all motives that raise man in the
scale of moral dignity, that wrong which stimulates to vengeance will
render him true to those who promote his deadly purposes; for vengeance
is like the raging thirst of fever, never to be slaked till the cause
is removed. Until mine is appeased, you may trust me; after that I make
no pledges. Do you accept my services?”
“What do you undertake to perform?”
“For a sum of ten thousand rupees, to be paid after the terms of
the contract have been fulfilled, I undertake to conduct you to the
fortress in these mountains where Sevajee usually resides, and to put
you in possession of it. I have a brother among the troops who compose
the garrison. He will, I know, promote any scheme that shall bring
retribution upon him by whom I have been so grievously wronged. Send a
body of fifteen hundred men, when I am sufficiently recovered to march
with them, and my life for the issue.”
This plan was concurred in, the man taken to a tent, and his wounds
dressed. In three weeks he was in a condition to proceed against the
stronghold of the Mahratta chief. Fifteen hundred men were selected for
the enterprise; and these were followed at a short distance by another
strong detachment, unknown to the Mahratta guide in case of treachery.
For two days they threaded the mazes of the hills by paths almost
impracticable, and halted in the evening of the second day in a wood
about three miles from the fortress. The Mahratta, quitting the camp,
proceeded up the hill alone, and making a certain signal, well known
to the garrison was drawn up the rock. The soldiers were surprised at
beholding their old comrade, who had been so recently expelled, and
whom they all considered to have furnished a feast for vultures or
jackals. He desired to be conducted before their chief, to whom he
expressed the deepest contrition for what had passed, and begged to be
again admitted among that community from which he had been expelled.
Sevajee, deceived by the soldier’s apparent contrition, and knowing
him to be a man of great daring and skill in conducting a perilous
enterprise, consented to his re-admission among his hardy band of
mountain warriors.
Before quitting his new allies, the traitor had arranged that, should
he gain admission into the fort, he would, in conjunction with his
brother, admit them during the midnight watch: that if the thing turned
out not to be practicable on that night, they must retire into the
thickets, and there await the desired opportunity.
An hour before midnight a body of four hundred men wound slowly up
the hill by the dim light of the stars, and concealed themselves in a
hollow about two hundred yards from the fort. This hollow was covered
with a thick growth of jungle grass and underwood, which effectually
concealed them from observation. The Mahratta had contrived that his
brother should be upon guard at midnight at that part of the ramparts
where admission was obtained into the fort.
The matter had been so secretly arranged, that nearly a hundred of
the Moguls were drawn up into the fortress before any alarm was
given. A soldier hurried to Sevajee’s apartment, and roused him with
the unexpected cry of--“We are surprised! the Moguls have obtained
possession of our mountain citadel.” The Mahratta chief grasped his
sword, and hurried to that part of the ramparts where the two brothers
were in the act of drawing up the enemy. As there was but an uncertain
light, his approach was not observed. With the quickness of thought he
severed the cord just as a Mogul soldier had been drawn to the landing
place. He did not stay to hear the crash of the succeeding fall, but
cutting down the traitor who had admitted the foe, made a speedy
retreat to collect the slumbering garrison. He was shortly surrounded
by his faithful followers, who all flew to the ramparts.
The Moguls had already destroyed several of the Mahrattas who were
taken by surprise, and in the suddenness of their alarm had started
unarmed from their beds. Sevajee fought like a lion. The darkness gave
him a great advantage over the enemy, who were perfectly ignorant of
the localities, though their guide, the treacherous Mahratta, had
given them what information the hurry and confusion of the scene
permitted. Sevajee sought him out amid the fierce struggle of attack
and resistance. They perceived each other in the imperfect light; the
rebel would have retired, but the indignant chief arrested his purpose,
and compelled him to turn in self-defence. Knowing Sevajee’s skill at
his weapon, the Mahratta sprang upon and closed with him, hoping to
despatch him with his own dagger; but this purpose was foiled by his
active foe, who drew it suddenly from his cumberbund, and flung it
over the battlements. The struggle was now desperate. They tugged and
strained with the fury of gored bulls. They glared in each other’s
faces, inhaling the hot breath as it came quick and gasping from their
parched throats, and steaming at every pore with the might of their
exertions. At length Sevajee, dashing his head in the face of his
foe, obliged him partially to relax his hold, and at the same moment
springing backward, entirely disengaged himself; and while the other
was half stunned, he suddenly rushed forward, forced his head between
the traitor’s legs, raised him upon his neck, and with irresistible
force flung him over the battlements.
Sevajee again seized his sword; but perceiving that the Moguls were
masters of the fortress, he flew to the princess:--“You are in the
enemy’s power--you will be taken to your friends, and have therefore
nothing to fear--with me, captivity is the harbinger of death.”
“Fly,” said Rochinara eagerly; “if there is yet a chance of escape,
seize it, and leave me to make my peace with the victors.”
There was no time for parley. Sevajee proceeded to a part of the
rampart which abutted upon a face of the hill, where the precipice was
here and there feathered with shrubs, that grew from the interstices
of the rock, and its surface broken into inequalities by projecting
ledges, which would not have afforded footing for a goat. At the bottom
rolled a deep stream, that gurgled through a straitened channel,
and foamed between large masses which had fallen into it from the
superincumbent mountain.
The moment was critical. Sevajee commenced this perilous descent. His
danger was imminent. The small projections to which he was obliged to
trust his footing frequently gave way under the pressure of his step,
and he several times despaired of making his escape. About midway the
shrub which he had grasped proved too weak to support his weight, and
he slipped several yards down the precipice. His course was luckily
arrested by a thick bush, something like a huge tuft of birch, which at
once broke his fall and arrested his progress.
He was now within forty feet of the water. Here, to the edge of the
rivulet, the hill was less precipitous; and having paused a few moments
to rest himself, he determined to slide down the rest of the precipice
into the stream, which would break the force of his fall, though it
would expose him to the chance of being drowned. Tearing up part of
the bush, he placed it under him, in order to prevent himself from
being wounded by the rocky projections of the hill. It was a desperate
hazard; but he at length let himself slip from the ledge. Sustaining
some severe bruises, he was precipitated with considerable violence
into the rivulet, which fortunately happened at this spot to be deep,
and its channel tolerably free from masses of rock. After a short
struggle he gained the opposite bank, and was soon beyond the reach of
pursuit.
Meanwhile the princess was taken from the fortress, and borne by easy
marches to Delhi, whither her father had retired, leaving his generals
to complete the conquest of the Deccan and the subjection of the
Mahrattas.
Aurungzebe was greatly exasperated when he discovered that she was
about to become a mother. She had ever been his favourite child, and
he calculated upon marrying her to some powerful prince, who would
strengthen his political influence. She was confined to the harem, and
he refused to see her. As soon as her babe was born, it was taken from
her, and put under the care of a nurse, no one knew where. It being
a boy, the Emperor was determined that it should be brought up in
ignorance of its birth. The mother was wretched at being separated from
her infant. The Mahratta chief had ever treated her with tenderness
and respect, and she was far less happy amid the splendours of the
imperial palace than in the rude citadel of the mountain warrior. She
implored to be allowed to see her child; but her parent was inexorable,
and the bereaved mother poured out her silent sorrows amid the
monotonous seclusion of the harem, where she found neither sympathy nor
consolation.
CHAPTER IV.
Sevajee soon summoned his warriors into the field, and, at the head
of ten thousand men, invested the fortress of which the Moguls had
possessed themselves. In the course of a few weeks he starved them
into a surrender. From this time he so rapidly extended his conquests
that he was looked upon as a formidable potentate even by the haughty
Aurungzebe. He sacked the neighbouring cities, and so enriched himself
with the plunder, that he was finally enabled to appear in the field at
the head of a very formidable army. His personal prowess and conduct
as a leader were the theme of universal praise. Though he could neither
read nor write, yet so exact and tenacious was his memory, that the
smallest disbursements of his government were never forgotten, and no
one could dare attempt to deceive him, even in the minutest matters of
financial computation, without certainty of detection. He knew the name
of almost every man in his army.
Some time after his escape from the fortress, he was surprised by the
imperial general with only a few hundred followers. In this dilemma the
Mahratta chief intimated to the Mogul general that he should be very
willing to submit to his master’s clemency, but was afraid to trust
his own person to the mercy of a man who felt such deadly hostility
towards him. He consequently proposed a meeting between himself and the
imperial general at a distance from their respective armies, and that
each party should repair to the spot accompanied by only one attendant.
Not doubting that this proposal would be acceded to, the wily Mahratta
put a suit of strong chain armour under his cotton robe, and a steel
cap under his turban. Then arming himself with a dagger, he proceeded
to the place of meeting.
According to his military code of morals, treachery towards an enemy
was, under any circumstances, justifiable: he therefore determined
to employ it upon the present occasion at all hazards. Distributing
his men in ambuscades near the spot, he soon had the satisfaction
of seeing the Mogul draw near with an escort of eight hundred men,
whom he left at some distance, and advanced with a single follower to
the appointed place of meeting. Sevajee appeared apparently unarmed,
expressing great apprehension and affecting alarm at the presence of
his enemy. At length, coming up with hesitating steps, according to
the Oriental custom, he embraced his foe, at the same moment drawing
his dagger and plunging it into his body. The Mogul, feeling himself
wounded, instantly drew his sword and struck Sevajee on the head, which
was protected by the steel cap; the blow therefore fell harmless, and
the wounded general sank under the repeated stabs of his treacherous
assailant. His attendant, rushing to his master’s assistance, was
likewise slain.
The blast of a horn roused the Mahrattas from their ambuscade, and
falling upon the Moguls thus taken by surprise, they slew a great
number, and the rest, panic-stricken, fell back upon the main body,
carrying the melancholy intelligence of their leader’s death. Meanwhile
the Mahrattas escaped among the intricacies of the mountains, and the
Moguls were forced to retreat. Sevajee next marched with his victorious
troops to Singurh, one of his strongest fortresses, which had been
wrested from him by the Moguls. Like all hill-forts, it was built upon
the summit of a lofty rock that rose to the height of ninety feet
from a deep glen. It was considered inaccessible on all sides. At the
back, where the precipice declined gradually inward from the summit,
the ramparts were not so strong, as any attempt on that side appeared
utterly impracticable. On the ridge just outside the parapet that
beetled over the base of the rock, grew several trees, the roots of
which were partly bared, and projected from the naked face of the hill,
in which they were fixed with a tenacity peculiar to those mountain
trees that vegetate amid the most scanty supplies of earth, and insert
their tough fibres between the fissures of rock composing the face of
the precipice.
The daring Mahratta was determined upon regaining possession of this
stronghold, and having fixed upon the point of attack, prepared his
followers for the desperate enterprise. These consisted of a thousand
Mawabees, mountain marauders, who followed the fortunes of their
leader, seduced by the hope of plunder and the love of adventure.
Choosing a dark night, he resolved to enter the fort on the least
practicable side, where he knew such an attempt would never be
suspected. Having procured a long cord as thick as a man’s thumb, he
caused it to be knotted at intervals of about two feet. When this was
prepared, he placed it upon his shoulder and proceeded alone to the
fortress through an unfrequented part of the mountain, ordering his men
to follow in small parties, and unite in a thicket a few hundred yards
from the base of the rock.
Arriving at the desired spot, Sevajee took a leaden ball, and attaching
it securely to a slight cord, threw the former, with a precision which
only long practice in similar feats could have produced, over the
projecting root of one of the trees that grew beneath the battlements.
This done, he drew the rope with which he had come provided gradually
up, and contrived, by means of the small cord, to pass a hook, fixed
to the end of the knotted rope, over the root. The hook, upon being
pressed by means of a spring, clasped the object upon which it rested
with a perfectly secure hold.
Everything being now ready, the Mahratta summoned his band. There
were no sentinels placed upon that side of the rampart, on account of
the supposed impracticability of an ascent. The night happened to be
extremely dark, which favoured the purpose of the assailants. Sevajee
mounted first. With the agility of a cat he clambered up the rope and
quickly gained the ramparts. The next that followed, being a heavy man,
and not over active, paused about twenty feet from the ground, alarmed
at the motion of the rope, which swayed with such a rapid and violent
oscillation that he was unable to proceed; and after hanging a few
moments by his hands, his feet having slipped from the knot on which
they rested, he quitted his hold and fell to the ground.
He had nearly disconcerted the whole enterprise. There was an awful
pause. None of the Mawabees attempted to mount. Sevajee began to grow
impatient. Shaking the rope, and finding there was no weight upon it,
he slid down to ascertain the cause. This was soon explained, but no
one would venture to ascend. The Mahratta, unappalled by the general
refusal, approached the man who had fallen, and instantly ordered him
to mount. He refused, and Sevajee, without a moment’s hesitation,
plunged his creese into the rebel’s heart. He now gave the same order
to a second. Terrified at the fate of his companion, the Mawabee
grasped the rope, and Sevajee followed close after, to prevent him from
quitting his hold. With much difficulty they reached the top, when the
undaunted Mahratta descended and forced another of his followers to go
before him. This he repeated until more than a dozen men had gained the
parapet. Taking courage from the success of their companions, the rest
attempted the ascent one after another, until the whole were safely
raised to the battlement.
Sevajee was the first to leap over the wall. A sentinel, alarmed at
the noise, hastily approached; the Mahratta chief seized him by the
cumberbund and the trousers, and swinging him over the parapet, cast
him into the empty void beneath. He uttered a shrill shriek as he fell,
which seemed to rise to the very heavens, like a sudden peal from the
grave, so quick and piercing as to vibrate to the brain with a painful
intensity. In a few moments the whole garrison were in arms, and the
struggle commenced. They had, however, the double disadvantage of
contending against superior numbers and the shock of sudden surprise;
nevertheless, they resisted with the fury of madmen. They demanded no
quarter, and none was given.
The whole garrison was cut off to a man, and the morning dawned upon
a scene of carnage never to be forgotten. Not a single Mogul survived
to tell the melancholy story of defeat, and the Mahratta chief took
possession of Singurh amid the shouts of a sanguinary triumph. The
bodies of the slain were flung over the battlements to be devoured by
birds and beasts of prey, their bones to whiten in the mountain wilds,
under the scorching beams of a tropical sun, far from the home of their
fathers, of their wives and little ones, and where the solemn rites of
sepulture were denied to their remains.
By degrees, Sevajee obliged the imperial troops to evacuate the
mountains; and after a while they were recalled to Delhi by Aurungzebe,
who was exceedingly mortified at being thus perpetually baffled by a
mountain chieftain, whose principle of government was a mere system
of predatory warfare, in which he extended his political influence
and his territory by any measure, however inconsonant to the general
practices of military conduct. Sevajee now began to be conscious of his
power, and determined therefore to seek more advantageous conquests.
His career was attempted to be checked by Shaista Chan, an omrah
high in the confidence of Aurungzebe. This general advanced with a
formidable army against the Mahratta, and carried on his operations for
some time with great success. Sevajee was unable to meet the Moguls in
the field, and therefore had recourse to that mode of predatory and
irruptive warfare which had hitherto been attended with such success.
The Mogul, however, somewhat altered his tactics in order to contravene
those of his enemy, and with such advantage that he reduced Sevajee to
considerable embarrassment. Finding that the imperial troops were daily
obtaining a stronger footing in his dominions, having taken several of
his forts, the Mahratta determined to have recourse to one of those
bold and daring exploits for which his whole military career has been
so celebrated, and which had invariably been attended with signal
success.
Shaista Chan, having made himself master of Poonah, the capital of
Sevajee’s dominions, situated upon the banks of a considerable river,
on the level country, about fifty miles from the Ghauts, occupied the
palace of the Mahratta chief. The town was at this time little better
than a village, surrounded by a low mud wall, and easily accessible
from every quarter. Shaista, not imagining that the bold adventurer,
who was only secure among the hills, would venture to attack him in
the open country, was rather remiss in placing guards round the town
to anticipate any sudden assault. Taking advantage of this remissness,
Sevajee selected a small band of resolute soldiers, advanced towards
Poonah, and concealed himself in the neighbourhood. Having heard that a
Mogul chief, jealous of Shaista Chan’s influence with the Emperor, had
secretly expressed strong sentiments of disaffection, he found means to
tamper with him, and seduced him at length to favour his enterprise.
The residence of the imperial general was a large loose building
composed entirely of mud. Having been admitted into the town about
midnight, and the guards previously removed through the management
of the treacherous Omrah, Sevajee and his followers, armed with
pickaxes, attacked the frail wall, and soon forced an entrance into
the cook-room. Raising a shout of exultation they rushed into the
interior of the house, brandishing their naked swords. At the head of
them appeared their chief, encouraging them to the work of slaughter.
Shaista, hearing the clamour, started from his bed; but not having time
to arm himself, was obliged to make his escape through a window. In
effecting this, however, he was severely wounded by the Mahratta chief,
who severed one of the fingers from his right hand, and likewise slew
his son. The Mogul general, overcome by this disaster, and dreading the
further jealousy of his own officers, solicited his recall. He shortly
after quitted the Deccan, and the army being placed under an inactive
commander, all military operations against the Mahrattas were for a
time suspended, and Sevajee soon recovered what he had lately lost.
CHAPTER V.
Aurungzebe, exasperated beyond all bounds at being thus perpetually
foiled by a petty chieftain, determined at once to stop the further
progress of his arms. He therefore sent against him Mirza Rajah, a
gallant Rajpoot, accustomed to make war in a mountainous country.
Sevajee at length found himself opposed to a man whom he was unable to
resist. As the Mogul army more than five times outnumbered his own,
he was obliged to retreat to his mountain fastnesses, whither he was
pursued by the victorious Mirza. All his fortresses shortly fell into
the enemy’s hands, and he was driven to extremity. At length, the fort
in which he had placed all his treasure was invested.
It resisted for many weeks; but one morning, when the magazine was open
to supply the garrison with powder, a paper kite, to which a blind
match had been previously attached, was raised over the battlements
and dropped into the combustible repository. A tremendous explosion
succeeded, and the fortress became an easy capture. Finding that he
had no chance of being able to recover it, he resigned himself to his
destiny, and upon receiving a solemn pledge from Mirza Rajah that he
should meet at Delhi with a safe and honourable reception, he disbanded
his army, and delivered himself up to the victorious Rajpoot.
On his arrival at Delhi, the Mahratta chief was ordered into the
Emperor’s presence, and commanded by the usher to make the usual
prostration; but he refused to obey, and casting towards Aurungzebe a
look of indignant scorn, expressed contempt for his person.
“I am now in your power,” he said haughtily; “but your victory over me
has been to you a disgrace, and to me a triumph. You have subdued me
by mere numerical force. For years, with a few hardy followers, I have
baffled your hosts. You have at length taken captive the object of your
dread: but princes should not forget their pledges. When I delivered
myself into the hands of your general, I was assured of honourable
treatment. Am I then to be degraded by being commanded to prostrate
myself before a man, even though he be Emperor of the Moguls? We are
both sovereigns, and be assured that the Mahratta chieftain will never
pay that adoration to man which is due alone to God.”
Aurungzebe did not condescend to reply. He was deeply incensed, and
turning to the usher, ordered that the refractory prisoner should be
taken from his presence. In spite, however, of this rude bearing, the
Emperor was much struck with the unbending boldness of the mountain
warrior. He could not but feel respect for the man who had for years
defeated his armies, and raised himself to sovereignty from being chief
of a mere band of robbers. The exploits of Sevajee had reached as far
as Delhi, and public curiosity was excited to see this remarkable man.
His bearing in the imperial presence astonished all who heard him, nor
were they less surprised at the forbearance of Aurungzebe, who was not
generally backward in administering summary justice where occasion
seemed to demand it.
It happened that, while the Mahratta chief was before the Emperor, the
principal ladies of his harem saw what passed from behind a curtain.
Among these was the Princess Rochinara, to whom the memory of Sevajee
was still dear, though the lapse of years had somewhat weakened her
former impressions. She had never been allowed to see her child, nor
would her father ever give her the least information respecting him.
This was a bitter penalty for having degraded herself in the eyes of
the haughty representative of the house of Timour, by an alliance with
a petty chieftain, whom that proud potentate looked upon in no other
light than that of a mere marauder. The princess had often sighed for
the freedom she had enjoyed during her short abode in the mountains
which overlooked the coast of Malabar.
When Sevajee appeared before the Emperor, all Rochinara’s former
partialities revived. She was struck with his lofty deportment of
fearless independence. The toils and military enterprises of years had
not abated the fire of his eye, or the beauty of his person. He was
still the man to win alike a lady’s love and the warrior’s admiration.
When the princess perceived the silent indignation of her father, as
he ordered the noble Mahratta to be removed from his presence, she
trembled for the safety of a man whom she felt to be still dear to
her. His boldness, and the reputation of his exploits, had won the
admiration of many Omrahs of the Emperor’s court, and they interceded
with their indignant master in behalf of the captive. Aurungzebe, not
withstanding their intercession, expressed his determination to confine
Sevajee for life, recalling to mind with a bitterness which years
had failed to mitigate, the disgrace he had heaped upon the house of
Timour, by espousing, without her parent’s consent, a princess of that
illustrious race.
Hearing that her father was inexorable, Rochinara sought his presence,
and falling at his feet, pleaded for the liberty of his prisoner, and
endeavoured to extenuate his conduct at the late interview.
“Though I despise pomp,” said the Emperor, in a tone of severe
solemnity, “I will ever insist upon receiving those honours which the
refractory presume to refuse. Power depends as much upon the empty
pageantries and ceremonies of state as upon abilities and strength of
mind. The former, in fact, are the most successful instruments of
the latter. When the rebel, whom I have condescended to admit into
my presence, knows how to honour the sovereign of the Moguls, he may
expect his indulgence.”
“Allow him, my father, another interview, but abate somewhat of the
rigour of court form. In his native mountains he has not learned to
be courtly, but nature has taught him to be magnanimous; and let not
Aurungzebe, though mighty, yield to him in this, or in any other
quality which the brave respect.”
“Well, then, to please a daughter whom I love, I will indulge
the haughty mountaineer with a remission of some portion of that
state-ceremony which it is customary to offer in the imperial presence,
and of that external homage which conquered princes owe to the Emperor
of the Moguls.”
A message was sent by Rochinara in the warmth of her zeal to the keeper
of Sevajee’s prison; and the Mahratta, without being consulted upon
the measure, was introduced into the Dewan Aum, or hall of public
audience. The corrugated brow and compressed lip, apparent to all
present, as he entered, proclaimed in terms sufficiently intelligible
his determination not to succumb to a superior.
When he had reached the centre of the hall, the usher advanced and
commanded him to make the customary obeisance at the foot of the throne.
“I was born a prince,” said Sevajee, “and am incapable of acting the
part of a bondsman. Chains cannot enslave the soul of the free.”
“But the vanquished,” replied Aurungzebe, “lose all their rights
with their fortune. The chance of war has made the Mahratta chief my
servant, and I am resolved to relinquish nothing of what the sword has
given.”
“The chance of war has indeed placed me in your power; but not as your
servant. I received the pledge of your general that I should be treated
as a prince, not as a slave. I have yet to learn if the sovereign of a
great empire can descend to the low and pitiable degradation of a lie.”
“The law of the conqueror is his will--of the vanquished, obedience.”
Sevajee turned his back upon the throne: Aurungzebe, losing his usual
equanimity, started from his seat: his lip quivered, his cheek became
blanched, his hand was laid upon his dagger, and he was about to issue
some terrible order against Sevajee, when that prince turning towards
him said, with an undaunted tone--
“Emperor of the Moguls, restore to me your daughter, whom you have torn
from the protection of a husband, and I will honour you as a father:
give me back my child, which you have withheld from the longings of
a parent, and I will venerate you as a benefactor: restore me to
my subjects, and I, as a tributary prince, will acknowledge your
supremacy: but be assured that no reverse of fortune can deprive me of
my dignity of mind, which nothing shall extinguish but death.”
The Emperor’s wrath appeared to subside at this request, which he
affected to treat as absurd. Pretending to look upon Sevajee as a
madman, he ordered him from his presence and gave him in charge to the
director-general of the imperial camp, who had orders to subject him
to a rigorous confinement. He was in consequence imprisoned in that
officer’s house, and guarded with a vigilance that seemed to defy all
chance of escape.
Months flew by, and Sevajee became extremely uneasy under his
captivity, which was however relieved by occasional communications from
the princess; she having contrived to convey information to him from
time to time by means of a person who was permitted to enter his prison
with flowers. This man was well known to the director-general, who
had the highest confidence in him; but the gold of Rochinara and the
promises of remuneration made by the Mahratta, corrupted the integrity
of the vendor of flowers, and he finally became instrumental to one
of the most extraordinary escapes which the pen of history records.
For weeks he had been in the habit of visiting the prisoner at stated
periods, under the plea of selling him flowers, of which the latter
affected to be extremely fond. Not the slightest suspicion was awakened.
One morning the usual attendant entered Sevajee’s prison with his
first meal, but to his astonishment found that the captive had
escaped. Upon the floor lay a man apparently in deep slumber. He was
upon his face, quite naked. An alarm was instantly raised, and the
director-general hastened to the prison. The naked man turned out to
be the flower-seller, whose sleep was so profound that he awoke with
the greatest difficulty. Upon opening his eyes he appeared amazed at
seeing himself naked, and no less so at being surrounded by inquisitive
persons who questioned him concerning the prisoner’s flight. He
protested his utter ignorance of the matter, but observed that he had
been evidently robbed of his clothes, though by whom he could not tell,
unless the Mahratta had taken them the better to effect his purpose.
He affected to be astonished at having been found in such a state of
unpremeditated oblivion; but, as if struck by some sudden recollection,
he stated that Sevajee had induced him to drink a glass of sherbet,
shortly after he entered his room, which he could now have no doubt
had been drugged with opium, as he had swallowed it but a short time
when he was overcome by a drowsiness which he could not control, and
had evidently sunk down senseless from the powerful effects of the
opiate. His story was sufficiently plausible; and, fortunately for
him, under the sanction of his supposed integrity, was believed; the
man thus eluded suspicion. An alarm was immediately raised, and a
search made after the fugitive, but he was nowhere to be found. When
the Emperor was informed that Sevajee had quitted his prison he was
greatly exasperated, and ordered several bodies of men to be despatched
in search of him; but his vexation was destined to receive a still
greater aggravation, for shortly after the news had reached him of the
Mahratta’s escape, he discovered that his favourite daughter had become
the partner of his flight.
CHAPTER VI.
Sevajee had found no difficulty in leaving his prison unsuspected,
disguised as the flower vendor, being about the same height, and
loosely clad, according to the fashion of Eastern countries. As had
been preconcerted between him and the princess, he repaired to the
harem with his flowers, and the man whom he personated being known to
the attendants, who were prevented from approaching his representative
too nearly by some natural pretence, which women in the East are seldom
at a loss to find in order to secure the success of any favourite
scheme, Sevajee obtained admittance without incurring suspicion. It
was now arranged that he should instantly hasten to a certain jungle,
where he was to await the arrival of Rochinara, who, under pretence
of devotion, would quit the city immediately, and join him at the
appointed spot.
This plan was successfully executed. The empire being at this period
in a state of general peace, no rigid scrutiny was observed towards
persons passing to and from the city as in more turbulent times.
On leaving the gates, Rochinara gave orders to be carried towards
a particular mosque; but no sooner had she got beyond the reach of
observation, than she stepped out of her palankeen, commanded the
bearers to wait for her at a certain spot, and declared her intention
of proceeding with one favourite attendant to the sacred edifice. The
men retired, and the princess quitting the high road, diverged from the
mosque, and hastened towards the jungle.
Though utterly unaccustomed to such exercise, Rochinara and her woman
made their way through a rough and unfrequented track to the place of
appointment, being directed by the few casual passengers whom they
happened to meet. They wisely confined their questions upon this point
to pariahs, several of whom were passing on their way towards the
same spot: these persons having so little intercourse with any but
individuals of their own tribe, there was the less chance of detection
from their communicating with the citizens, or with those who would, no
doubt, be sent in pursuit of the fugitives.
After a tedious journey of full two hours, the princess and her
attendant joined Sevajee in the jungle. He had now cast off his
disguise and resumed his own attire.
“We must travel alone through this forest,” said he, “and when we reach
its borders towards the south, I will provide a hackery for you and
your companion, and we shall proceed with better chance of security;
but we must avoid the public roads until we reach the coast. What think
you, lady, of this?--’tis an arduous undertaking for tender limbs and
gentle spirits.”
“The daughter of Aurungzebe, Sevajee, will know how to meet
difficulties. The energies of woman are not known until they are tried,
and none of the race of Timour ever shrank from danger.”
“Let us proceed then; our course lies amid perils, but they are already
half overcome in the resolution to brave them.”
They proceeded warily on their way, apprehensive that every sound might
be the forerunner of discovery. The jungle was thick, but broken into
frequent vistas, where they occasionally reposed from the fatigues of
their journey, which were rendered more harassing from the circumstance
of the travellers being frequently obliged to make themselves a path,
by putting aside with their hands the thick growth of underwood that
impeded their progress.
Towards evening they halted in a small glen, which was entered by a
defile formed by the proximity of two small hills. It was a sequestered
spot in the heart of the forest. The jackal was already beginning
to raise his dismal cry, and the occasional crackling of the bushes
announced that they were not the only sojourners in the jungle. The
travellers kindled a fire in order to keep off the beasts of prey, and
Sevajee having fixed a bamboo in the ground, untwisted from his waist
several folds of a close kind of calico, threw it over the pole, and
thus formed a rude tent, under which he strewed some dried grass as a
bed for the princess and her attendant.
The only access to this glen was through the defile already mentioned.
The Mahratta therefore placed himself upon the road which immediately
led to it in order to keep watch, lest any person sent by Aurungzebe in
pursuit of the fugitives should happen to take that track. The dense
growth of the forest rendered it so dark that no object was to be
discerned beyond the distance of a few paces; but Sevajee, having been
much accustomed to thread the jungles by night in his own native hills,
had acquired a quickness of perception peculiar to himself in detecting
the movements of approaching objects. For some time he trod the path of
this forest solitude without any interruption; but at length the sound
of distant footsteps caught his ear. He immediately advanced, and soon
ascertained that a party of the Emperor’s guard were approaching. It
consisted of ten men. One of the soldiers preceded the rest, bearing a
large torch. The Mahratta retreated quickly to the tent, extinguished
the fire which had been kindled to scare the beasts of prey, and having
roused the princess and her attendant, led them into a thicket on one
side of the glen, where he desired they would remain until he should
return.
“I go,” said he, “to baffle our pursuers, who are now close upon our
track. Should I fail, I am determined never to fall into their hands
alive. For you there is mercy, for me none. Should I perish, return to
your father, and he will still succour you.”
“Never! I wear a dagger, Sevajee, and the same hour that concludes your
existence, shall likewise conclude mine. I shall not submit to another
separation.”
“The act I contemplate is desperate. If I succeed we are safe; if I
fail, we are lost.”
Having tenderly embraced Rochinara, he quitted her, and hurried to the
defile. By this time the Moguls were within a hundred yards of the
gorge. The Mahratta grasped a creese in either hand, and placed himself
behind a short but thick shrub which grew on one side of the entrance
to the defile. As soon as the man who carried the torch reached the
place of his concealment, Sevajee stabbed him to the heart, seized
the torch, and pressing his foot upon the flame, extinguished it, at
the same moment plunging his second dagger into the breast of the
officer who led the party. This was the work but of a few moments. The
confusion was indescribable. Sevajee, whose eye had been accustomed to
the darkness, was able to see his foes, though they could not perceive
him. He stabbed four of them in succession, they being unable to
perceive from whence the stroke of death came. His enemies knew not
where to strike. Six already lay upon the earth weltering in their
blood. Two others shortly shared the same fate;--another followed,
and one only remained to be sent to a similar account. Upon him the
Mahratta sprang in his eagerness to complete the work of carnage,
seized the sword with which his foe was armed, and wrested it from him;
but with the exertion his creese fell, and he could not recover it.
They were now both unarmed, and the struggle was desperate. The Mogul
was a tall, powerful man, but no match for the Mahratta in activity and
prompt vigour. He fell under the assault of his active adversary, yet
still retained him in his grasp. Sevajee seized his prostrate enemy by
the throat, and pressing him firmly upon the windpipe, endeavoured to
strangle him; but the sudden agony imparted an impulsive energy to the
Mogul, who, doubling his legs under Sevajee’s body, suddenly raised
him, and cast him to a distance of several feet upon his back.
It happened that in turning to regain his feet, the Mahratta
accidentally placed his hand upon his enemy’s sword, which had fallen
to the ground during their struggle. He lost not a moment, but buried
it in the Mogul’s body before he could raise himself from his recumbent
position. Thus, aided by the darkness, Sevajee destroyed ten men
without receiving a wound.
Having paused a moment to breathe, after his exertions, he rejoined
the princess, whom he found anxiously awaiting his return. They
passed the whole night in the thicket, exposed to the ravages of
wild beasts, which, however, happily did not molest them, and on the
following morning they pursued their dreary journey, encompassed by
perils, which the princess bore with a heroism worthy the daughter
of Aurungzebe. Having procured a couple of miserable tattoos,[45] at
a village on the borders of the jungle, the travellers proceeded by
easy stages, and without suspicion, to Muttra, thence to Benares and
Jaggernaut. From the latter place they went round by Hydrabad, and at
length found themselves among the native hills of the Mahratta chief,
where his fierce but gallant followers soon rallied round him.
About the time of his daughter’s flight the Emperor was taken ill,
and for many weeks his life was despaired of. This circumstance
considerably abated the eagerness of pursuit after the fugitives, as
the attention of every one was directed to the danger of the sovereign.
A gloom prevailed through the empire; for the wise policy adopted by
Aurungzebe, in spite of his hollowness and hypocrisy, had rendered him
the most popular monarch that ever sat upon the Mogul throne. With all
his moral blemishes, his public character stood very high, and the
general prosperity which his wise administration diffused, added to the
rigid piety which seemed the mainspring of all his acts, rendered him
an object of all but idolatry with a large portion of those who lived
in ease and affluence under his wise supremacy. He at length recovered,
to the universal joy of his subjects, and seemed to have forgotten his
daughter’s flight.
A youth now appeared at court, in whom the Emperor took great interest,
but whose birth and parentage were a mystery. No one could tell to
whom he belonged, or whence he came, and yet the Emperor treated him
with marks of distinguished favour. He was a remarkably handsome young
man, had just entered his seventeenth year, and was eminently expert
in every military exercise. In all hunting excursions, honoured by the
sovereign’s presence, he was the foremost to court peril, and always
successful in pursuing the dangerous adventures of the chase. He soon
excited the attention of the Omrahs by his daring, and the singular
skill which he displayed in feats of arms. Who he could be, was a
frequent inquiry; but on this question the profoundest political sages
appeared just as ignorant as the most unlettered menials.
The young man gradually won the good opinion of all. His courtesy and
amenity of manners were no less conspicuous than the more chivalric
features of his character. Aurungzebe was gratified at the general
approbation awarded to his favourite, and lost no opportunity of
strengthening the flattering impression. In several incursions of the
rebellious Usbecks, this youth had distinguished himself, and the
Emperor looked forward to his becoming one of the most conspicuous
leaders of his time. He was not only remarkable for his superiority
in military exercises, but his talents in the cabinet were likewise
highly promising, and though he was an object of jealousy to some of
the nobles, who were mortified at seeing a stranger and a mere youth so
flattered by their sovereign, yet with the majority he was a great and
deserved favourite.
FOOTNOTES:
[45] Native ponies.
CHAPTER VII.
Sevajee, on his return, finding that there was no enemy to oppose him,
soon regained the territory which he had lost during his captivity. All
the mountain forts again fell into his hands, and he found himself in
a better condition than ever to frustrate the supremacy of the Mogul
Emperor in Southern India. In a few months this enterprising warrior
was at the head of an army of fifty thousand soldiers, all daring
men, accustomed to the privations and fatigues of mountain warfare,
and possessing that activity, hardihood, and bodily energy peculiar
to mountaineers. Calculating his power, Sevajee determined upon some
exploit that should signalize his return from what he considered a
humiliating bondage. Assembling a body of fifteen thousand choice
troops, he marched towards Surat, during the rains, when an assault
from enemies was the least expected.
One morning a Banian entered that city, offering various stuffs for
sale. Being a facetious man--as, indeed, most of those itinerant
traders are--and having a quantity of choice brocades, he readily found
admittance into the houses of the opulent citizens. Surat at this time
was surrounded only by a slight mud wall, a very insufficient defence
against the attacks of a daring enemy; but, secure in their immense
wealth and commercial importance, the citizens never seem to have
thought upon a hostile attack from any quarter, and it being now the
period of the monsoon, they slumbered in perfect security. The Banian
visited all parts of Surat with his pack, meeting everywhere with a
flattering reception, and especially in the houses of the wealthy
merchants. For three days he continued in the city. When he had sold
all his merchandise, he departed with the general goodwill of the
citizens.
In order to mislead the inhabitants of Surat, Sevajee had divided his
forces into two bodies, with which he encamped before two important
places, as if about to besiege them. Suddenly he ordered the troops to
withdraw from those places, leaving only small parties who had received
his instructions to keep up a continued clamour, and have lights
burning during the night, in order to give the appearance of a large
army encamped on the spot. These devices were completely successful
in lulling the suspicions of the citizens of Surat. The streets were
thronged by day with thrifty traders, the bazaars with busy chafferers,
who by night reposed in unapprehensive safety. In the midst of their
slumbers, however, they were roused by the din of arms. Starting from
their beds, they were stunned with the shrieks of women and the cries
of men. The confusion was indescribable. An enemy was within the walls,
but amid the darkness it was impossible to distinguish friends from
foes. The clash of arms was everywhere heard, mingled with the groans
of the dying and the shrieks of the despairing. Terror magnified the
danger. The enemy appeared an overwhelming host, sweeping through the
streets like a torrent, and spreading death around like a blast of the
simoom. There was little or no resistance. A long and indolent security
seemed to have unnerved every arm, and the bad cause triumphed.
Day dawned, and presented a spectacle of general devastation. The
Mahrattas had become masters of Surat. The Banian who had received the
hospitality of its citizens was recognised in the Mahratta chief, who
now reclaimed without an equivalent the merchandise which he had so
lately sold. The mercy of the conqueror was propitiated by submission
to the pillage which he directed to be made. He permitted no bloodshed
after the surrender, but practically showed, however, that he fully
understood the law of appropriation. All the rich merchants and factors
were obliged to exhibit their stores, and redeem them at a valuation.
For three days the work of plunder continued, but no personal violence
was offered to any of the inhabitants. When Sevajee had satisfied his
appetite for pillage, and that of his troops, he retired from the city
of Surat, with booty supposed to have exceeded in value one million
sterling.
Aurungzebe was exceedingly mortified when he heard of this daring
violation of the laws of honourable warfare; looking upon it as an
act of mere predatory aggression, at once unbecoming a soldier and
a prince. He now took the same resolution which he had already so
frequently acted upon, but with little eventual success, of sending
an army against Sevajee that should extinguish his power for ever.
Accordingly he ordered a hundred thousand men under command of an
experienced and active general to proceed to the Deccan. The young
favourite already mentioned was made second in command, and marched
with the high and proud hope of distinguishing himself in the field
against the most formidable enemy of his sovereign. His birth was a
general mystery, but such were his popular virtues, that although
Aurungzebe had raised him to a post of distinction about his own
person, still this advancement had excited little jealousy among the
nobles, who generally admitted him to be deserving of such honour.
When the Mogul army reached the Deccan, they found Sevajee at the
head of a numerous force. By adopting his usual system of mountain
strategy, harassing his enemy by sudden surprises, cutting off their
supplies, falling upon straggling parties, and keeping up continued
alarms in their camp, the indefatigable Mahratta soon thinned their
ranks, and reduced them to considerable distress. He carefully avoided
meeting his enemies in the open field, conscious not only of his own
numerical inferiority, but of the superior discipline of the Moguls.
By no strategem could they withdraw him from his mountain fastnesses.
The troops at length became dispirited, and clamoured either to be led
at once against the mountaineers, or return to the imperial city, as
they were wasting their energies in difficult marches and skirmishes,
without coming into fair contact with a foe.
In order to still these murmurings, the youthful officer, who had been
appointed second in command, offered to lead a detachment of twenty
thousand troops among the hills, and engage the enemy upon his own
ground. This proposal was acceded to by the general in chief. The young
commander repaired with his detachment to the mountains. Sevajee,
as usual, avoided a conflict until he could avail himself of some
advantage of position.
One morning the Mogul camp was suddenly attacked, but the young general
forming his squadrons behind their tents, soon repulsed the assailants,
and pursuing them into the gorges of the mountains, slew many, and took
several prisoners. In the heat of pursuit he was separated from his
troops. Turning into a narrow valley, he received an arrow discharged
by some hidden archer, through the fleshy part of his left arm. Heated
by the ardour of pursuit, and pained by the wound, he spurred forward,
forgetting that he was alone. Suddenly his horse was shot under him:
he fell--but almost instantly springing upon his feet, looked round
and perceived that he was not followed by a single Mogul. Just as he
was preparing to retrace his steps, he saw an armed Mahratta advancing
towards him. Calmly awaiting his approach, and perceiving that he
was no common enemy, the Mogul cried--“Do I see the leader of the
Mahrattas?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because of all others he is the man I would meet hand to hand.”
“Then you may enjoy your wish, for Sevajee stands before you.”
There was no further parley; the two leaders encountered with mutual
animosity. The struggle was fierce but short. The Mogul, being
embarrassed by the wound in his arm, and somewhat enfeebled by
consequent loss of blood, was unable to bring his best energies to the
encounter. Sevajee was superior both in strength and activity, and
very soon struck his adversary to the earth by a severe sabre-stroke
on the head. The Mogul, being stunned, was quite at the mercy of his
foe; but that foe was as generous as he was brave. Struck with the
youth and beauty of his enemy, Sevajee supported the youth’s head,
and opening his vest to expedite the recall of his senses, saw to his
astonishment the distinct mark of a spear-head upon the right breast.
Raising a clear shrill cry, in a few moments he was surrounded by his
followers, whom he ordered to lift the wounded officer and bear him to
one of his mountain fortresses in the neighbourhood. The blow which he
had received on the head was so severe as to render him insensible: the
sabre, had, nevertheless, inflicted no wound. The numerous folds of his
turban had repelled it.
Upon recovering his consciousness, the young Mogul perceived that he
was in the hands of his enemy. The wound in his arm had been dressed
and carefully bandaged, and in the course of that evening he became an
inmate of one of Sevajee’s strongholds. On the following day he was
brought into the presence of Rochinara, who greeted him with a courtesy
which seemed to throw a gleam of sunshine upon his captivity.
Sevajee approaching him with a bland air besought him to bare his
bosom. He immediately exposed it to the view of the princess, who,
gazing at him for a moment in speechless astonishment, rushed forward,
threw herself upon his neck and covered it with her tears. “My child,”
at length she cried--“my long lost son, you are come here to freedom
and to joy: in your vanquisher behold a parent,--in me behold a mother.
That mark upon your breast, stamped there before the light of heaven
had beamed upon the embryo babe, is too strong and unerring a signature
by God’s hand to be mistaken.”
The youth’s astonishment was extreme, but there were certain passages
in his life with which he alone was familiar, that to his mind
perfectly ratified what he now heard, and elucidated what to his mind
had ever been wrapped in painful secrecy. Sevajee embraced his son,
who told him that a mystery had always hung over his birth, which
he had in vain endeavoured to unravel. He had been brought up at a
solitary village, in a family with whom, though treated with kindness,
he was not happy. He had been instructed by a learned Mussulman in the
literature of his country, and his natural predilection for all manly
exercises naturally led him to become an adept in the use of arms. He
was treated with evident deference by the persons who had the charge
of his infancy, which always induced him to suspect that his birth was
above their condition. At the age of fifteen being summoned to the
court of Aurungzebe, he was immediately distinguished by his sovereign,
and shortly raised to a post of responsibility.
The meeting between the long-lost son and his parents was one of
tender and reciprocal congratulation. Sambajee, by which name he was
henceforward known, was too much rejoiced at having been restored to
his parents to feel any desire of returning to the imperial court.
As soon as his wound was sufficiently healed to enable him to venture
out, he rejoined the Mogul army. As he was extremely beloved by the
troops, among whom was a large body of Rajpoots, he had no difficulty
in persuading those more especially under his own command, to revolt
from the Emperor and join the forces of Sevajee. To the surprise and
consternation of the Mogul general, in one night nearly one half of
his army went over to the Mahrattas, and left him no longer in a
condition to face those formidable enemies of the state. Breaking up
his encampment, therefore, he returned to Delhi with the news of his
ill success, occasioned by the revolt of the troops and their union
with the foe. Aurungzebe could not repress his indignation at these
tidings. He now saw that the strength of his enemy was increased to
such a degree as to render him a dangerous rival!--that the harmony
of his family was disturbed, and his favourite, on whom he had
lavished honours and whom he had intended to advance to still higher
distinctions, had turned traitor.
Sevajee now became the most powerful prince of Southern India. He
could muster an army of fifty thousand foot and a hundred thousand
horse. Dreaded by the neighbouring potentates, and having raised
the reputation of his arms by foiling the legions of Aurungzebe, he
determined to satisfy his pride and dazzle his followers by a formal
coronation, modelled upon that of the Mogul, in which the weighing
against gold and other pompous ceremonies were not omitted. Gifts to an
immense value, bestowed upon Brahmins; gave lustre to this as well as
to other high political festivals.
From this time the prosperity of Sevajee continued without abatement
until his death, which happened in the year 1680, at the age of fifty,
and he was succeeded by his son Sambajee. The Princess Rochinara did
not long survive him.
THE END.
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Transcriber’s Notes
Punctuation errors have been corrected.
Page 63: “connot practise” changed to “cannot practise”
Page 368: The sentence containing “...rtant occurrence, and” is missing
the beginning in the original. The likely missing text, “But the most
impo”, has been supplied by consulting an alternate version.