THE SECOND SIEGE OPENS.
The political events sketched in the last chapter occupied upwards of
two years, and bring down the action of this tale and the Queen's life
to the close of 1598, or commencement of 1599. Nihung Khan, foiled
in his ill-considered attack on Berar, in which he had been entirely
unsupported by the allies of Ahmednugger, and out-manoeuvred besides by
the General Khan Khanan, burned all his heavy baggage on the borders
of Berar, at the head of the pass he was unable to descend, and fled
back to Ahmednugger. Here he vainly tried to make terms with the Queen
and regain his old place. But she refused to admit one to her councils
who, though a man of high renown, was fatally rash and untrustworthy;
and having no other place of refuge, he fled the country and was seen
no more. After their bloody defeat in the Godavery, the Beejapoor and
Golconda troops made no further attempt to check the advancing enemy;
and that defeat had, there is no doubt, already decided the fate of the
Ahmednugger kingdom; and as the monsoon of 1598 broke up, the Emperor
Akbar ordered the forces under his son Daniel and Khan Khanan to
advance without delay. With Queen Chand no commander of note remained
in the field. All the troops on which she could have relied to check
the enemy's advance were broken and much separated, and to bring them
together would be a work of labour for which there was no time, and
neither Beejapoor nor Golconda were in the humour to risk further
collisions with the Imperial army by an advance. What troops it was
possible to collect and organise, Abbas Khan, ever steady and faithful,
collected about the city, and the fort was put in as complete order as
possible, and provisioned liberally for six months.
To the command of the garrison Humeed Khan was appointed, originally
a Beejapoor eunuch attached to the Queen's palace for many years. She
had brought him with her on the last occasion; and, as he had been well
educated and displayed soldier-like qualities, he had been employed in
the field, and had on all occasions distinguished himself by valour
and sagacity. In the first siege of the fort he had been selected
both by Nihung Khan and Abbas Khan for command of a large portion of
the garrison; and his valour on the repulse of the attack and in the
general defence was as valuable as it was remarkable. Nor with these
antecedents was it at all strange that he should be selected for the
post he now held, with the approval of all, for he was popular with the
soldiery; and had succeeded in uniting all in a determination to stand
by the young King to the last, and defend their fortress to the utmost.
But it was seen and observed by all that a tone and manner of
despondency possessed the Queen which was new to her character. Her
only solace seemed to be the boy Bahadur, who, now about five years
old, returned her affection with tenderness and a child's, loving
consideration; and as she often strained him passionately to her
breast, would cry, "Weep not, O grandmother; when I am a man I will
make all bad men thy slaves; and we will be so happy, and no tears
shall come again." Yes, the little fellow seemed to be a great solace
and comfort to her. Not that she put Zóra aside, or Maria, for they
were her daily companions as before; but she made no new friends,
and the old ones she felt had their own vocations and cares in life,
which occupied and interested them more than those of, as she said, a
worn-out old woman.
Yet it was not so. Never at any period of their lives had Maria or Zóra
loved her more devotedly or fondly; and the patience and submission
with which she endured all her vexatious troubles, and the heroism and
cheerful trust with which she now prepared to meet new perils, gave
her additional interest in their eyes. To all others she preserved
her old calm demeanour. She held her durbars as usual. Every point of
the administration was reviewed and checked as of old; Zóra had her
appointed private tasks allotted to her, and, with Abbas Khan and his
officers, every question regarding the completeness for defence and
organisation of the defenders was discussed with her usual wisdom. But
in the quiet hours, when business did not occupy her, it was plainly
visible that anxiety very often cast her down, almost beyond the power
of raising herself again. At such times, if they asked her why she
wept, she could not tell them, except that it seemed to her she was
being drawn away from earth and all she most loved, and so the Lord was
preparing her for Paradise; and as the present was her true Paradise,
it grieved her to change it, and so she wept. Before her was a mystery;
here there was no mystery, only the homage of loving hearts. They
are wrong, she used to tell them, who prayed for death as a release
from trouble and suffering. Rather let all live on that life may be
purified, and the spirit exalted, till God sees fit to take it, as He
will when He has purified and chastened it. And thus, she said to all,
she was being prepared, and they were to rejoice when she wept rather
than sorrow.
How thoughtful was she for them all! She was evidently most anxious for
Maria. "Thou art more tender of heart," she would say, "than we tough
Moslems. Thy faith is more tender; and the scenes thou hast endured
with us here are not fit either for thee or thy brother, and ye must
leave me till the peril be past. If it pass, and we have peaceful lives
before us till my boy grows up, thou and thy brother shall roam where
ye will, and preach as ye will; for who does not love and honour ye?"
It was a bitter parting; but the Queen sent Maria and her brother
away. A body of men came from Dowlutabad, sent by Mullek Umber to
escort treasure for the pay of the troops with the Queen; and the Queen
sent the Bishop and his sister with them to her faithful friend. It
was the only opportunity there might be for many weeks; and if peace
ensued, they could at any time return again in a few days. And Maria
had been absent before, and had returned safely; so Zóra was comforted,
but not the Queen.
The evening before the small force marched, Maria and the Queen were
alone together, and the Royal lady, taking Maria's head on her breast,
said gently, "Thou hast been a true and loving daughter to me, child.
All the women of my country are feeble and impetuous; but from the
first even unto the last thou hast been the same. Thou hast borne with
a weak old woman's waywardness; thou hast put sweet loving thoughts
into my heart, and told me truths which well up, and teach me mercy.
And oh, Maria! though I have never mentioned it to thee, how can I
thank thee for thy conduct at Beejapoor; so gentle, yet so firm. Thou
dost not know, thou never canst know, how he pleaded with me for thee,
or what he offered me for thee. And he, too, is loving, and would have
been kind and faithful to thee; and at first I grieved that it could
not be. But thou wast right. The Lord vouchsafed wisdom to thee, and
thou art blessed with that thought, O, my daughter; for when ye meet,
all will have passed away in peace. He is the father of children now,
and is happy; though he hath not forgotten her who was a joy to him.
I would often fain have spoken to thee about that eventful passage in
thy young life; but these are my last words to thee, and thou wilt not
forget them."
"Never, never! my more than mother," she returned, sobbing bitterly.
"And may the Lord grant that we meet again in peace." She would have
said more, for her heart was full of gratitude; but the Queen said
gently,--
"It may not be, daughter. My message is coming nearer to me; nearer,
nearer, day by day, and I am content. Go now, and leave me, with but
one embrace--the last. I shall think of thee in safety, till the angel
summons me. Lo!" and she stretched her hand on high, while a smile of
triumph spread over her features, and her still lustrous eye glowed
brightly, "Lo! he is near me, even now."
* * * * *
We have already said there was no force in the field which could
pretend to check the advance of the powerful army which was now
approaching by safe and easy stages. The siege train was especially
powerful and its equipment complete, and the Emperor had sent a large
body of the famous miners of the northern provinces, who in their
peculiar vocation were unsurpassed in skill and daring. Khan Khanan,
who knew the ground perfectly, had determined to risk as few of his
own troops' lives as possible, and he had already seen proved how
comparatively easy and how certain it would be to destroy the fort with
gunpowder.
Osman Beg was in his place as general leader and director of the
marches, and he had gained the confidence of the commander-in-chief
with singular adroitness and plausibility. All these intervening years
the mad craving of his heart for Zóra had never diminished, nay, it
had fed on its own imaginings. What would she not be now in the full
possession of her matured beauty? How different to the poor Fakeer's
daughter of Juldroog, whom he had so madly loved. No one, he believed,
knew that he belonged to the Moghul forces at all. His name was a
common one among the bodies of Turcomans who served in the Imperial
army, and in the first siege he had kept himself aloof from the camp
and the siege operations. Dom Diego had asked him to command a portion
of the storming party, and even taunted him with cowardice when he
refused; but Osman Beg had laughed at the possibility of taking the
fort as the priest imagined, and he heard of his death without surprise
and without regret. "Mine shall be a sure game," he thought; "one in
which the risk will be small and the reward certain. Then I shall gloat
myself with revenge, and my virtuous cousin shall die at my feet or be
hurled into the air to feed the vultures. Let but our position become
securely taken up before the fort, and I will see what Moghul gold may
not effect within."
The last march was made. The people of the city and its environs,
warned by previous experience, had deserted their homes for some days,
and nothing was left in the streets but starving, homeless dogs, who
howled piteously night and day. There was nothing on the plain but
the grim old fort and its defences, which the Moghul commander could
see were in much more complete order than they had previously been.
The wide esplanade was cleared of every vestige of cover; trees all
around had been cut down; the defences of the parapets had been newly
topped with clay; loopholes had been narrowed, and embrasures protected
by sandbags and gabions. Even the covered way at the crest of the
counterscarp had been cleared out and fitted for musketeers, and larger
guns than before mounted in many places on the broad rampart and the
bastions. The work had been that of months, and Abbas Khan was not one
who would trust to others to see it performed. He and the Queen had
passed their days on the ramparts, and during working hours the red
umbrella of the Queen could be seen by the whole garrison, moving from
point to point; while at night she went the accustomed rounds in her
turn, with other officers, generally accompanied by Humeed Khan. So
far as human means and the science of the time could ensure security,
Ahmednugger was safe.
And the Moghul commander felt that it was so, and that all the skill
of his own engineers would be needed to meet the preparations. After
the first reconnaissance, in which he lost many men from the combined
fire of the fort and the garrison of the covered way, the trenches were
carried on by sap as before. But the defenders of the covered way, led
by brave and enterprising officers, attacked the trenches at night, cut
off the workmen, and vexed the whole operation until it made very slow
progress in comparison with what it had done on the first occasion.
These skirmishes, too, cost the defenders little in comparison with the
terror they inflicted. The hardy Mahratta Mawalees, from the western
ghauts, who afterwards became so famous under Sivagee, fell on the
enemy with their national shouts of "Hur! Hur! Mahadeo!" sword in hand,
and seemed insensible to danger. Showers of arrows were shot into the
trenches, and if pursued by the Moghuls, the lightly equipped Mahrattas
ran back into their galleries, and crossed into the ditch and fort by
the sally ports which had been opened. As yet no attempt had been made
upon the defences of the fort, and the garrison grew more confident
even than before. The siege did not progress, and the young Prince
Daniel and Khan Khanan grew impatient, for they well knew if there were
the least sign of failure the Beejapoor and Golconda armies would be
again in motion.
One of the chief leaders of these daring night attacks was a young
Mahratta chief, one of the Sirkay family, who, with his cousin
Peelagee, were hereditary officers of the Nizam Shahy kingdom, and
had brought their own retainers to the defence of the fort. Both were
famed for personal valour of no ordinary kind, and the Sirkay Mawalees
had established a reputation for boldness in their peculiar manner of
attack, which had gained them deserved fame. Their post was in the
covered way in the south-east angle of the ditch, which enabled them
to make flank attacks which were most annoying to the enemy; and this
being part of the particular command of Humeed Khan, he had several
times brought them to the Queen's notice, and had them rewarded by
rings and anklets of gold, and other valuable gifts. As if to vex
Abbas Khan, with whom he had had some slight difference, he said to
Sirkay one evening, "Let me come with ye to-night, and witness what ye
let Abbas Khan share in, but not me." So it was arranged, and taking
as few of his followers as possible, Humeed Khan went to the post at
night, and, led by Sirkay, the Mawalees were soon on the crest of
the glacis, crouching like wild animals, to watch their opportunity.
That night, however, the breaches seemed deserted. The men had been
withdrawn, probably expecting an attack; and Sirkay would have
returned, but Humeed said, laughing, "As we are here, we may as well
see for ourselves what is doing, and whether the general is mining, as
I shrewdly suspect he is."
So they proceeded warily and cautiously, leaving the men behind; but,
on turning the angle of a trench, a party of men burst upon them
and secured them. Both gave themselves up for lost, for under such
circumstances life was little worth; but, instead of putting them to
death, they were taken roughly to an officer who sat near a covered
way, which some men by the light of torches were driving on. It had
been Osman Beg's turn of duty that night in the trenches, and he had
taken up as secure a position as possible; and he recognised Humeed
Khan in an instant, who at once saluted him wonderingly.
"Dost thou know that I could behead thee at once as a spy?" said Osman
Beg.
"I know it," returned the other; "and there would be one man in
Ahmednugger the less, that is all. Nor would Abbas Khan, perhaps, be
sorry to lose me."
"Then ye are enemies?"
"Not so, openly; but he hates me. He it is who hath vexed ye with
sallies; and as I would not be sent on one by him, I have come myself
to-night."
"And the Queen?"
"She is much what you remember her, but, methinks, weary of the war.
She would like to get safe to Joonair, and give up the place. She does
not say this openly, but that is in her heart."
"We shall take it from her, brother."
"Never," replied Humeed Khan. "She will perish in the ruins, but she
will never yield."
"And Abbas Khan?"
"You know what he is, Meeah, only prouder and haughtier than he was;
and he will never leave the Queen."
"And his wife, Zóra? Dost thou see her?"
"I see her, Meeah! She is more beautiful than ever she was; and he
dotes on her like a fool."
"I owe him revenge for what happened at Juldroog, and for what happened
in the Palace."
"And thou sayest she is thy wife. What wouldst thou give me for her?"
"I have little to give; but hark! ere we part. Give me the fort by any
means thou wilt, and we may both be rich and free. Canst thou come
again?"
"Not as I have done to-night; but I may be able to send a message. Now
let me escape, and pretend to pursue me;" and Humeed Khan dashed on
at his utmost speed, striking down one of the men who had held Sirkay
apart. Sirkay shook himself free of the other, narrowly escaping a
sword cut, and they soon rejoined the men they had left behind, who
fired a volley of arrows to check the pursuers, and made their way into
the fort.
"That was a narrow chance, my friend," said Humeed Khan, when he had
regained his breath; "but the fellow was too busy asking me questions
to see that his men held me fast. But they seemed half asleep, and I
watched my opportunity to shake myself free."
"I had given up hope, my lord," was Sirkay's reply; "and I have to
thank you for your part in my escape. We must be more cautious in
future."