The morning of the twenty-seventh of March broke with unclouded splendour; the army of the Sultaun were expecting their enemies with impatience, and the result was looked to with confidence. Tippoo had been urged by Chapuis to take up a position upon the Madoor, in the same pass as that where Kasim Ali had been attacked; but the Frenchmen had lost very considerably the influence they possessed since the news of their defeat in Egypt, and the discomfiture of Raymond at Hyderabad, and he determined to pursue the bent of his own inclination, both as to the ground he should select and the disposition of his troops. Since daylight he had been on horseback, indefatigable in marshalling his army. The ground he had selected was commanding, and covered the road. Malvilly, he knew, was the destination of the English on that day; and as it was one marked by a particularly auspicious conjunction of the planets, he determined on trying the result of a general action. When a few attempted to dissuade him that morning from opposing the English, lest by a defeat he should dispirit his troops and unfit them for the siege which all felt sure must follow, he flew into a violent passion.

‘Are we cowards,’ he said, ‘that we should retire before the kafirs and cowardly English? No! let them come on—the base-born rascals! let them come on and taste of death! if our father—may his name be ever honoured!—could overwhelm the English in the field, should we not follow so exalted an example? No, by the Prophet! we will not retire; the day is fortunate—the planets are in good conjunction. If ye are cowards, and like not the English shot—go! your absence is better than your presence.’

But all swore to fight to the last drop of blood, and the Sultaun’s disposition was made. Soon after sunrise all were at their posts—the heavy guns in the centre, the infantry behind. Two corps, one of them the favourite Kureem Cushoon, were pushed forward upon the flanks, and hundreds of rocket-men were interspersed with the line. It was a gallant and inspiring sight to see that huge force drawn up in steady array, determined upon retrieving their fame that day, and fighting for Islam and for their Sultaun.

They had waited long: the Sultaun had heard from scouts that the English had left their camp long before dawn, and their coming was looked for with eagerness. ‘They will fly,’ he cried, ‘when they see the array; the sons of dogs and swine will not dare to face the true believers.’

‘Yes,’ said Nedeem Khan and Nusrut Ali, favourites who were always near him, ‘it will be as my lord says, we shall have no fighting. Will they dare to advance against these cannon, and the various divisions which are drawn up in such wonderful order that not even a rat could get between?’

‘Infatuation!’ said Meer Ghuffoor to Abdool Wahab; ‘for all the boastings of those young coxcombs, thou wilt see them turn and fly. I have served the English, and know them well. Ere an hour elapses after the first shot, we shall be in full retreat.’

‘I trust not, Meer Sahib,’ said the other; ‘but what is that yonder?’

‘’Tis they! ’tis they!’ cried the Sultaun. ‘Now upon them, my sons! upon them, and let us see ye do brave deeds. Your Sultaun is beholding you!’

It was indeed a beautiful sight to behold. The Sultaun was on a high ground, and could see all. A few English red-coats were first seen—then more; the sun glanced from their bright bayonets and musket-barrels as they proceeded. Gradually column after column came on; though they were still at some distance, there was a halt perceived, and considerable bustle.

‘They retreat! they retreat!’ cried the Sultaun, in an ecstasy of joy, clapping his hands and laughing in his excitement. It was changed in an instant, when, after a short disposition of the troops, the English army advanced; but it appeared such a mere handful of men, when compared with his own force, that his derision grew even louder. ‘Ha! ha!’ he cried, ‘they have left half their army to keep their baggage. They hold me cheap indeed to attempt to attack me with the few that are yonder! But it is well: Inshalla! ye will see, sirs, ye will see! What troops are those on the left?’ he asked after a while, as he examined them with a telescope; ‘what green standard is that? Dare the infidels to use the sacred colour?’

Just then the breeze unfurled the standard to its full width, and, as all descried the white crescent and ball beneath it, a cry of exultation burst from the Sultaun.

‘’Tis the standard of Sikundur Jah! ’Tis they—the effeminate Dekhanees!—men who are no better than eunuchs. Advancing upon my own Cutcherie too—upon the Kureem Cushoon! Inshalla! Inshalla! let them come. The renegades from the faith, advancing against the favoured of the Prophet! Holy Mohamed confound them!’

The English army halted: its long columns deployed into lines steadily and gracefully; it was a beautiful sight in that bright sun. There was a large opening in the line, and Tippoo rode forward, urging his cavalry to break through and attack the general, who with his staff was beyond. ‘Ah! had I Kasim Ali and my brave old Rhyman Khan now, they would shame ye!’ he cried to those who he fancied were tardy in movement; but they did their duty—they charged.

‘Steady, men!’ cried the officer at the head of the regiment nearest the point of danger—it was Philip Dalton; ‘let them come near.’

The cavalry thundered on—a grand picturesque mass—shouting their cries of ‘Deen! deen!’ and ‘Alla Yar!’ The English were not to be daunted; they were steady as rocks, and awaited the word, ‘Present—fire!’ The effect was deadly. As the smoke cleared away, the flying mass was seen in wild confusion, and before the line a heap of men and horses struggling. A few daring fellows had, however, dashed through the interval, and fell gallantly fighting in the rear.

Meanwhile the Sultaun’s infantry advanced steadily and firmly; he cheered them on, putting himself at their head even within shot, and then he turned to watch his favourite division. It was composed of picked men: their arms, dress, discipline, were all superior to the rest of the army; they were advancing against the Nizam’s troops, and were confident of victory. The Sultaun was in an ecstasy of delight. Little imagined he then to whom he was opposed; that one led the troops, which he expected would fly like dust before the whirlwind, to whom fear was unknown—who bore within him the germ of that renown which has raised him to the proudest, the most glorious pinnacle of heroic fame—Wellesley! Wellington! What heart so callous that does not bound at those illustrious names, recalling with them victories upon victories to his remembrance—not the result of fortuitous circumstances, but of devoted bravery, of admirable foresight, of consummate skill, of patience and fortitude under every privation through a long series of years—the most splendid array of triumph that ever the world beheld, which, already so glorious, will yet increase in after times to a renown more brilliant than we can at present estimate.

‘Now ye will see them run!—now they will fly! Forward, my brave fellows! forward to victory! I vow every man a month’s pay, and a jaghire to their commander. Look! they halt—not a man wavering! it is a gallant sight. They will fire!—then upon them with the steel. Shookr Alla! how many have fallen!’ he exclaimed, as the division fired, and many of those opposed to it fell. ‘Now charge!—charge, for the love of Alla!—why do ye wait? ye lose time. Alla! Alla! the enemy fire in turn! Merciful Prophet! how many have tasted of death! Never heed, however—now is the time!—while they are loading, upon them!—upon them! Ya Kubeer! Ya Hyder!’

It was fearful to look on him: his hands were clasped together, his eyes strained, his features quivering with excitement and anxiety. On the issue of a moment was victory or ruin.

‘Curse them!’ he cried; ‘curse them! they waver. Holy Prophet! why dost thou not turn them? Alla! Alla! why dost thou not blast the infidels? They waver! the Feringhees are upon them!—they fly!—now there is no hope—Prophet of Alla, spare them!’

It was a sight which curdled his blood: his favourite corps turned—they dared not abide the charge of the British and Nizam’s division, led by the gallant Wellesley; and the cavalry, headed by his old enemy Floyd, dashed out upon them. Hundreds went down before that terrible charge: the Cushoon, which had so lately inspired confidence, turned as one man, and in an instant became a confused rabble, flying for their lives; in the midst of whom were the English cavalry, riding down the fugitives, while they cut at them with their long swords.

The Sultaun gazed breathless and stupefied for a few moments: no one dared to speak. At last he turned, his face wore a ghastly expression of horror, at which his attendants shuddered. For an instant he looked back; the cavalry thundered on—other portions of his troops were giving way before them. He could look no more, but dashing his heels into the flanks of his charger, fled from the field.

‘Shabash! Shabash! well done, gallant fellow!’ cried many English officers, surrounding a richly-dressed native, apparently of rank, who, clad in a magnificent suit of chain-armour over a cloth-of-gold vest, with a bright steel cap on his head, and upon a noble chesnut horse, now rode up at full gallop, accompanied by many of his risala, as martial in appearance as himself, and equally well mounted. Their swords were red with blood, and their faces flushed and excited with conquest. ‘Well done! well done! ye have earned the good-will of the General, and ye will be rewarded.’

‘I thank you,’ he said; ‘you are kind, and flatter our poor services; but can you tell me where Colonel Dalton is?’

‘He is yonder,’ said an officer; ‘come, I will lead you to him.’

The action was now over. Philip had borne an honourable part, and was attending to his wounded men when Kasim rode up to him.

‘Behold!’ he said, showing his sword, ‘I have fulfilled my promise; I am faithful to the salt I eat; thou wilt testify to that?’

‘Noble fellow! I will indeed; thou hast distinguished thyself before the army. Come, I will lead thee to the General,—he will love to look on one so brave and devoted.’

‘They were my old companions,’ said Kasim, ‘but I knew them not; my heart was steeled against them; had I wavered, I was disgraced for ever. Ye suspected me, but now I am free of taint.’

‘Thou art indeed, and thou wilt see how grateful an English commander can be. Come!’

That night Kasim, Philip Dalton, and many others were in the General’s tent; they had been asking him about the road. He seemed to think a while.

‘Will ye take my advice?’ he asked, ‘the advice of one who is not worthy to give it?’

‘Say on,’ replied the General.

‘Abandon this road, then,’ said Kasim; ‘there is a ford at Sosillay, two easy marches from hence; it is deep, but the water is now low and it will be practicable. I will guide you to it, if you will trust me. You will cross the river there—forage is plentiful, the other bank is clear of troops, and ye can hurry on and surprise the city.’

‘Is this true?’ said the General.

‘By your head and eyes—by your salt, it is!’

‘Will any one answer for you? it is a fearful risk.’

Kasim looked round; his eyes met Philip’s. ‘Come,’ he said, ‘if thou art for a ride, come this night and I will show it thee: I and my men will escort thee: Wilt thou trust me?’

‘To the death!’ said Philip.

‘I believe him,’ said the General; ‘and he will see that this great service shall be rewarded. Nevertheless I should like to know more about the ford, and if it can be reconnoitered. Will you make the report, colonel? you can take an escort of cavalry.’

‘With pleasure; you shall know early to-morrow.’

‘And I will accompany you,’ said another officer; ‘it will be a pleasant ride.’

‘Come, gentlemen,’ said Kasim, ‘we lose time, and we have a long ride before us.’

The Sultaun, plunged into despair, had retired westward. The army had collected, but thousands were missing, killed, or had deserted from his standard. Still there was hope: his officers were yet faithful; the forage of the north bank of the Cavery was utterly destroyed; and the active Poornea, at the head of the irregular cavalry, was out burning villages and setting fire to the grass of the wide plains. If the English should advance, they would be drawn on to defeat as before. There was still hope: his plans of defence were being matured: troops poured into the Fort from all sides, and provisions for a year. He had treasure too, and there was no fear. What could the English, with their small amount of artillery, effect against the hundreds of cannon in the Fort and the new fortifications? ‘Let them come on!’ he would say; ‘with that fort before, and a bare country behind them, let us see how long they will stay!’ And his words were echoed by his sycophants; but it was easy to see, for all that, how dread gnawed at his heart.

On the evening of the fourth day after the action, he was in his tent of audience. He was confident, for no news had been heard of the English army, and it had not advanced upon the road as he had expected. He hoped it had retreated, or was stationary for want of forage; and he was even asserting broadly that it had.

Suddenly a messenger entered with dismay upon his face. Tippoo knew not what to think. All his officers were present, and every one trembled, though they knew not what to expect.

‘Speak, Madur-bukhta!’ cried Tippoo fiercely; ‘what hast thou to say?’

‘May I be your sacrifice! May I be pardoned,’ stammered the man; ‘the English—the kafirs—have crossed the river!’

‘Crossed the river?’ echoed all; ‘how? where?’

‘Dog!’ cried the Sultaun, ‘if thou liest, I will have thee torn asunder. Where did they cross?’

‘At Sosillay.’

‘At Sosillay! Who has been the traitor? Is any one missing?’

‘May I be your sacrifice!’ said an officer, ‘it must be Kasim Ali PatÉl. He was seen hewing down the true believers at Malvilly.’

‘Kasim Ali!’ gasped the Sultaun; ‘Alla help me! then all is lost.’ And he sank down on his musnud in stupor.

Long he remained so, only at times repeating ‘Kasim Ali’ and ‘Sosillay!’

Hardly any one spoke except in whispers. After some delay, sherbet was brought to him, and he seemed to revive. He sat up, passed his hand across his forehead, as though his brain was bewildered; then he arose, and looked around him; his face was wan and careworn; those few minutes appeared to have done the work of years. Many burst into tears.

‘Ye weep,’ he said, ‘ye weep; why should ye weep for one abandoned of Alla? I have no hope now. Why stay ye with a man who is doomed? why link your fate to a drowning wretch, who hath not even a straw upon the whirlpool of his fate to clutch at? Go! ye have served me well—ye have fought for me, bled for me. Go—may Alla keep ye! Ye have been my friends, my companions. I have been harsh, often cruel. Will ye pardon me? will ye pardon a poor slave of Alla? Go! I—I—have ever loved ye, and now—’

He was interrupted: an officer, with streaming eyes, rushed from a side of the tent, and throwing himself at the Sultaun’s feet, clasped his knees and sobbed passionately aloud.

Tippoo could endure no more. He who had been by turns bitter in sarcasm, brutal in mirth, cruel, proud, exacting, unfeeling, tyrannical, overbearing among his subjects, was now humbled. He appeared to struggle for a moment; but, unable to quell the wild tumult within him, he burst into tears—the first he had ever been seen to shed.

Then ensued a scene which words cannot paint—a scene of passionate raving, of tears, of oaths, of fidelity to death. Men embraced one another, and swore to die side by side. Those who had cherished animosities for years, cast themselves on each other’s breasts, and forgot enmity in the bond of general affliction. All swore before Alla and the Prophet, by the Sultaun’s head and the salt they ate, that they would die as martyrs; they determined to retreat upon the city, and to fight under its walls to death.

The army retired, and awaited the onset, but they were disappointed; the English army passed three miles to the left, in glittering array, and encamped at the opposite side of the Fort to that on which the former attack had been made, and for the time the Sultaun exulted in his safety.

Days passed: the thunder of cannon ceased not night or day, and the hearts of all were appalled. No mercy was expected from the British. Death would have been welcome at first; but its gradual approach, and the stern progression of the English to victory, could not be shut out from men’s eyes. All the redoubts beyond the Fort had been carried long ago; even the French, upon whom the eye of the Sultaun rested in hope, were beaten back by the native troops of his enemies, though they fought bravely. Then he felt how he had been cajoled, deceived, betrayed into destruction. To all his letters to the English commander there was but one reply—send the money and the hostages, and the cannon shall cease, but not before. At this his proud heart rebelled; there were those around him who still ridiculed the idea of danger, but he well knew its reality. Day by day the mosque resounded with his frantic prayers; the Moolas to this day tell how impious they were—how he raved, prayed, cursed by turns, till those who heard believed that a judgment would follow them.

He held no communication with his family, for his presence in the zenana was ever a signal for an outburst of grief. He lived in his hall of audience, or in a small room off it, where most part of the day and night was passed in vain astrological calculations, or those horrible magical rites we have before alluded to; at other times he was upon the walls, directing cannon, and firing with his own hand.

The breach became practicable; the guns on both sides of it had long been silenced, and men looked on at the work of destruction, and heard the storm of shot, shells, and grape which poured through it, in sullen despair. The brave Meer Ghuffoor, who was devoted to the Sultaun, saw that it could not be defended much longer; when the day dawned he went to the monarch, to try to rouse him to a sense of his danger: it was vain.

‘There is nothing between thee and thine enemies, O my Sultaun!’ said the Syud; ‘nothing to prevent the storm. Their men are ready in the trenches, and have been there since it was light; I have watched them. The walls are gone. If your slave is permitted, he will commence a wall and a ditch across the inside that cannot be breached, and it will stop them.’

‘Go, Syud, we fear not,’ said the Sultaun; ‘we have hope in other things; events will happen which thou knowest not of. The English will be blasted this day—withered from the face of the earth. Already we have ordered Fateehas for to-morrow. Go, old man! we feel for thy zeal, but there is no fear; Mars is yet in the circle of planets.’

‘Thou wilt never see to-morrow,’ said the Syud prophetically, ‘unless what I advise is done. I will do it; I have sought death these many days, but it comes not—I may find it there.’

‘Go then, in the name of the Shitan, go!’ cried the Sultaun hastily; ‘trouble me no more. Do as thou wilt, but trouble me not.—So, Runga Swamee! what news? hast thou prepared all?’

‘Alas!’ said the Syud as he went out, ‘I shudder at his communion with those Brahmin infidels. I would to Alla I were with my old brethren in arms; but that is now impossible, and death alone will be honourable to the old soldier.’

‘All is prepared, O Sultaun,’ replied the Brahmin; ‘we wait for the men—thou hast them ready?’

‘Ay, there are twelve dogs, sons of unchaste mothers, swine!—take them.’

‘The goddess will be pleased, O Sultaun—she will drink their blood. To-night, to-night she will put fear into their hearts; she will send rain—the river will fill—they will be cut off.’

‘Ha! ha! ha!’ laughed the Sultaun, ‘and twelve base-born Feringhees will go to hell. Who is without—Jaffar?’

‘Refuge of the world! I am here.’

‘Hast thou obeyed the orders I gave thee yesterday?’

‘Protector of the poor! I have; not one lives now—Feringhee, Moslim, or Hindoo; the prisoners died in the night. It was hard work, there were so many, but it was done,’ and he chuckled. ‘There were twelve spared—the last twelve.’

‘Good: if the Fort is taken, the kafirs will look in vain for their brethren. Now go thou to the prison, take the twelve sons of perdition who were captured in the sortie, bind them hand and foot, and convey them to the temple. Thou art ready, Runga Swamee? As the sun rises, their blood must flow, one by one. The men are ready, the priests wait, the swords are sharp—what more? Enough—go! thou understandest, Jaffar?’

‘Ay, my lord.’

‘Hast thou sent for him—for Compton?’

‘The men go to-morrow.’

‘Good: when he comes he shall be the next offering, if thou wantest more, Pundit.’

‘I am thankful,’ replied the man: ‘thou wilt gain much favour for this and thy gifts to Brahmins—thirty thousand years of protection for every offering.’

‘Inshalla!’ said the Sultaun; ‘go! time flies.’

It was noon, the day was bright and hot, and a strong mirage flickered upon the white tents of the English camp, the parched ground around them, and the black and rocky bed of the river. In the camp many men were moving about, and marching to and fro. The Sultaun was looking at them with his telescope, but saw nothing to excite alarm. He was gayer than usual, for he had seen his face in a jar of oil, and the reflection had been fortunate.

‘Rain will fall to-night in the hills,’ he said to a favourite near him, Rajah Khan, as he observed some heavy masses of white fleecy clouds in the west, which hung over the nearer hills and shrouded the distant peaks. ‘The Brahmins are right, the sacrifice has done good; after all, only a few Feringhees have gone to hell before their time—ha! ha!’

‘May your prosperity increase!’ said the officer; ‘they have deserved their death.’

As he spoke a man rushed up the steps of the cavalier. Tears were in his eyes, and his manner was wild.

‘What has happened, O fool?’ said the Sultaun; ‘hast thou seen the devil?’

‘Khodawund!’ said the soldier, speaking with difficulty, ‘the Syud, the holy Meer Ghuffoor is dead.’

‘Merciful Alla!’ cried Tippoo, ‘art thou sure of this?’

‘Alas! quite sure, Light of the World! I carried him away: behold his blood.’

‘It was his destiny,’ said the Sultaun gloomily; ‘it was once said his fate was linked with mine,—let it come. His death was that of a soldier, may mine be the same! Go! let him be buried with honour. We will dine here,’ he added to an attendant; ‘we feel hot within, and this air from the water is cool.’

His light repast was soon finished, and again he sat looking towards the trenches. He thought there were many men in them; as if by mutual consent, the firing had ceased on both sides, and no sound arose except the busy hum of the city: in the English camp all was still as death. He speculated for a while idly upon the unusual quietness, and looked again. On a sudden a man climbed upon the mound of the trench; he was tall and noble in appearance; his height was exaggerated by his position—he looked a giant. The Sultaun’s heart sank within him; he could not be mistaken in those features—it was Baird, whom he had so often reviled. ‘He comes to revenge the old man,’ he muttered—‘to revenge Mathews!’

It was a noble sight to see that one man stand thus alone in front of both armies: he appeared to look at the Fort for an instant, then drew his sword from its scabbard, and as it came forth it flashed in the sunlight. He waved it high in the air. Another leaped to his side: he was a native, and wore a steel cap and glittering chain-armour; a shield hung on his arm, and he waved a broad sabre. They leaped together from the mound, followed by hundreds, who with loud cheers dashed on in regular order.

‘Prophet of Alla!’ cried the Sultaun, ‘they come—Baird and Kasim Ali! Look to the breach! every man to the breach! defend it with your lives!’

He was hurrying away, when a thought appeared to strike him. ‘Stay!’ he cried, ‘bring water; we have eaten, and are unclean; we would not die like a kafir, but one for whom the Apostle waits ere he enters Paradise. I come, O Mohamed! I come quickly now.’