While the principal division of the army was displaying its choicest manoeuvres in front of the gate of the wall, now and then venturing within shot, and giving and receiving a distant volley, the noise of the firing came faintly to those engaged, and, as it was expected, caused no sensation, except of anxiety for the moment when their victorious Sultaun should arrive, driving before him the infidel defenders; and when the gates should be opened, and the mass of cavalry should rush in to complete their rout and destruction. Many a man there anticipated the pleasure of slaughtering the flying foe, of hunting them like wild beasts, of the fierce gratifications of lust and unchecked plunder; but hours passed and no victorious army appeared; the defenders of the fort called to them to come on, with insulting gestures and obscene abuse, and shook their swords and matchlocks at them in defiance. This was hardly to be borne, and yet they who mocked them were beyond their reach; at length, as they looked, several horsemen approached them with desperate speed, their horses panting with fatigue and heat. The Khan and many others rode to meet them.

‘Ya Alla kureem,’ cried all, ‘what news? where are the army and the Sultaun? why do you look so wildly?’

‘Alas!’ answered one who was well known to the Khan as a leader of note, ‘the army is defeated, and we much fear the Sultaun is lost; he was in the van leading on the attack with Syud Sahib, Hussein Ali, Bakir Sahib, and the young PatÉl, who was fighting, we heard, like a tiger, when Alla only knows how the army took a panic and fled.’

‘And you were within the walls?’ cried many voices.

‘We were, and had marched some miles. Alas! it would have been better had we never entered.’

‘And how did you escape?’

‘The ditch was already filled with our companions,’ said the horseman, ‘and we scrambled over their bodies; I found a horse near, and have ridden for my life to tell the news.’

They asked no more questions, and each looked at his fellow with silent shame and vexation that this should have been the end of all their hopes. One by one the leaders drew off, and in a short time division after division left the ground, and returned towards the camp; a few only daring to meet the discomfited host, which soon began to pour by hundreds into it, exhausted, humbled, full of shame and mortification.

Among the first was the Sultaun; for the elephants had, at a little distance, kept a parallel line with the wall. One was easily procured for him, and having been lifted upon it, he was rapidly borne to the camp; but he was unattended, and arrived at his tents almost unknown and unobserved.

But the loud nagara soon sounded, and men knew that he was safe; and though it was the signal that the Durbar was open, and that he expected their presence, few went to him, or cared to meet him in the temper which they knew must possess him. The Khan was among the first who entered; his low salaam was almost disregarded, and he took his seat, pitying the Sultaun’s shame and mortification, which was fully expressed on his sullen countenance.

One by one, however, the leaders of the divisions which had remained behind entered, and took their places in silence; none dared to speak; and the restless eyes of the monarch, the whites of which were yellow and bloodshot, wandered from one to another round the assembly, as if searching for some pretext to break forth into the rage which evidently possessed him, and which was augmented by the pain of the sprain of his ankle. There was a dead silence, so unusual in his Durbar; and the words which were spoken by the attendants to one another were uttered in a whisper. Now and then the Sultaun rubbed his ankle impatiently, and knit his brows when a severe paroxysm of pain passed through it: or else he sat silent, looking round and round;—the bravest of those present used to say afterwards that they waited to see who would be first sacrificed to his vengeance. The silence was insupportable; at last Nedeem Khan, his favourite and chief flatterer, ventured to speak.

‘May Alla and the Prophet ease the pain thou art suffering, O Sultaun!’ he said; ‘can your slave do aught to relieve it?’

‘Oh, rare bravery to speak!’ cried the Sultaun with bitterness; ‘thou wert not with me, Nedeem Khan, to partake of the abomination we have eaten this day at the hands of our own friends and those infidel Hindoos—may their ends be damnation! No, thou didst volunteer to be with the division without the gate, that thy fine clothes and fine horse might be seen by the defenders of the wall. Verily thy destiny is great, that thou wert not among that crowd, nor struggling with that heap of— Pah! where is Kasim Ali PatÉl?’ he continued after a pause; ‘why is he not present? and Lall Khan also?’

‘Kasim Ali Jemadar Huzrut!’ cried Lall Khan advancing, ‘has not been seen since—’

‘Not been seen!’ thundered the Sultaun, attempting to rise, and sinking back in pain,—‘not been seen! and thou to tell me this! Oh kumbukht! By Alla, Lall Khan, hadst thou not too aided me, thou shouldest have been scourged till the skin was cut from thy back. Begone! thou and thy companions—seek him, dead or alive, and bring him hither to me.’

‘Asylum of the world! he lies, if he be killed, among the dead upon the edge of the ditch, and the enemy is in possession of the walls, and—’

‘Begone!’ roared the Sultaun; ‘if he was in hell thou shouldest bring him. Begone! thou art a coward, Lall Khan.’

‘Huzrut!’ said the old Khan, rising and joining his hands, hardly able to speak, for his grief was choking him; ‘if your slave has his dismissal, he will accompany Lall Khan in search of—’ He could not finish the speech, and the big tears rolled down his rough visage upon his beard.

‘Go, Rhyman Khan,’ said the Sultaun, evidently touched by his emotion; ‘may you be successful.’ And again he relapsed into silence, as the two officers departed on their almost hopeless errand.

‘The tiger will have blood ere he is pacified,’ whispered Bakir Sahib, who had arrived, and now sat near Nedeem. ‘I pray Alla it may be none of this assembly!’

‘Will they find Kasim Ali?’ asked the other.

‘Willa Alum,’ responded his friend, ‘I think not; but he will be no loss to us.’

‘None—but what is this?’

As he spoke there was a noise without, and suddenly a man, evidently a Hindoo, rushed bare-headed into the assembly, crying out, ‘Daad! Daad! Daad!’^[43] and advancing threw himself on the ground, and lay at full length motionless before the Sultaun.

‘What ho, Furashes! Chobdars!’ roared the Sultaun, his face quivering with rage; ‘what is this hog—this defiled father of abomination? were ye asleep to allow our Durbar to be polluted by his presence? who and what art thou?’ he cried to the trembling wretch, who had been roughly raised by the Furashes; ‘speak! art thou drunk?’

‘You are my father and mother—you are my Sultaun—you are my god!’ cried the man; ‘I am a poor Brahmin; I am not drunk—I have been plundered—I have been beaten by a devil they call Jaffar Sahib; he seeks my life, and I have fled to your throne for mercy.’

‘Thou shalt have it,’ said the Sultaun quietly, with his low chuckling laugh, which not even his officers could listen to without feeling their blood curdle; ‘thou shalt have it. Away with him, Furashes!’ he cried, raising his shrill voice, ‘away with him! I see an elephant yonder; chain him to its foot, and let him be dragged to and fro before the place he has defiled.’

The wretched man listened wildly to his sentence—he could not understand it; he looked on the Sultaun with a trembling smile, and then with a feigned laugh round the assembly; nought met his eye but stern and inexorable faces; there were many who felt the horrible injustice of the act, but none pitied the fate of the Brahmin after the event of the morning.

‘Do ye not hear?’ cried the Sultaun again; and, ere he could say a word, the Brahmin was borne shrieking out of the tent. All listened fearfully, and soon they heard the shrill scream of the elephant, as, after the wretched man had been bound to his foot, the noble and tender-hearted animal—it was old Hyder—was unwillingly goaded into a desperate run, and, dashing forward, soon put an end to his sufferings. They looked, and saw something apparently without form jerked along at the end of a chain by the foot of the elephant at every step he took in the rapid pace into which he had been urged.

‘The Durbar is closed,’ said the Sultaun after a time, during which he had not spoken, but continued moodily to watch the door of the tent for the elephant, as it passed to and fro. ‘Ye have your dismissal, sirs, we would be alone.’

They were glad to escape from his presence.

‘I said how it would be, Khan,’ said Bakir Sahib, as they passed out; ‘Alla knows what would have happened if that Brahmin had not rushed in.’

‘Alla knows!’ said the other; ‘I trembled for myself, for he was savage to me. After all it was the Brahmin’s fate—it was written—who could have averted it?’

The glaring day waned fast. Kasim had been wounded about mid-day, and still lay near the same spot, enduring almost insufferable agony. At first he had been insensible, but when he recovered and was enabled to look around him, the place was deserted, except by a few of the enemy at a distance, who were busily employed in stripping the dead and wounded of their arms and clothes. He found his sword, his shield, and daggers were gone,—his turban and waistband, and upper garment also: his head and his body were bare, for they had thought him dead, and the fierce rays of the burning sun descended in unmitigated fury upon him, increasing to an agonising degree the torment of thirst.

‘Water! water!’ he cried to those whom he saw afar off; ‘Water, for the sake of your mothers and your children!—will ye suffer me to die?’

Alas! they heard him not; they were too busy in their work of plunder; and if they had, it would have been only to return, and with a thrust of a spear or a sword to have ended his sufferings. To him death would have been welcome, for his agony was past enduring, and he had no hope of alleviation till he died. But his voice was too weak for them to hear; and if he exerted it there came a rush of blood into his mouth which almost choked him.

He tried to move, to drag himself under the shade of a bush which was at a short distance; it was impossible,—the pain he suffered became excruciating; and, after making several desperate but ineffectual attempts, he fainted. This temporary oblivion, at least, brought absence from pain, and was welcome,—but it did not last; and as the returning life-blood poured through his heart, his agony of body was renewed, and thoughts too rapid and too vague to assume decisive forms—a weak delirium, in which his mother, Ameena, his friend, the Sultaun, the dreadful passage of the ditch, and the heaps of struggling forms—were incoherently mingled in wild confusion. Now his distempered fancy caused him to imagine that he again bore on the Sultaun,—now his form would seem to change into Ameena’s, and he would shout his despair, and cry the war-cry of the faith as he strove for life and mastery among the thousands who fiercely struggled with him; but his fancied shouts were only low moans, which from time to time escaped him, as he lay to all appearance dead.

And again the thirst, the heat, and the pain slowly but surely brought on frenzy—fierce ravings of battle and hot contest; and words of encouragement to those around him: defiance of the enemy, with wild invocations of Alla and the Prophet, broke from his lips in faint murmurs, though passionately uttered; he thought them shouts, but they could scarcely have been heard by one standing over him. At times the sweat poured from him in streams, or stood in big drops on his brow; again his frame would seem to dry up, till he thought it would crack and burst.

In a lucid moment he found he had dragged himself, during a paroxysm of delirium, under the shade of the bush; it was grateful to him, and soothed his burning head and skin; and with the coolness came visions of quiet shady groves—of fountains, whose ceaseless plashings, mingling with the gentle rustling of leafy boughs, were music in his ears—of bubbling springs, whose waters flowed up to his lips and were dashed thence by malignant forms which his excited brain created. By turns despair and hope possessed him, but in his quiet moments he prayed to Alla for death, for release from suffering, and from the deadly sickness caused by a burning throat and loss of blood. He could feel that he had been shot through the body, and he wondered how it was possible to retain life in such a state.

As often as he looked for a moment over the open space, he saw in hundreds the horrible birds of prey, ravens and kites, and the filthy and powerful vultures, tearing the hardly cold bodies, and disputing with each other over their sickening banquet, while others wheeled and screamed above them ready to take the place of any who should be driven by the rest from their meal. Wherever he looked, it was the same; there were hundreds of the obscene birds, struggling, scrambling, fighting with each other, while thousands of crows, in clamorous and incessant flight, hovered over, alighting where chance threw in their way a coveted morsel; and now and then some prying raven would approach him with long hops, croaking to his fellows, his keen black eye glistening brightly in anticipation, and would hardly be scared away by the faint gestures and cries of the sufferer.

The night fell gently—that night, which many an one would spend in luxury, in the enjoyment of voluptuous pleasures, surrounded by objects which enthral the senses, lying upon the softest carpets, while burning incense filled the air with rich perfume, and the soft sighs of women and the gentle tinkling of their anklets sounded in their ears—that night he would pass in terror, surrounded by the ghastly forms of the dead.

The sun sank in glory, the hues of the brilliant west faded dimly on his aching sight, and from the east over the wooded hills the yellow moon arose, dim at first, and seemingly striving to maintain the waning daylight. Soon, however, that faded away, and the melancholy and quivering wail of the brass horn, and the deep sound of the evening kettle-drums from the wall, showed that the enemy were setting their night-watch. The gorged birds of prey flapped their broad wings heavily in their short flights to the nearest trees, to roost there till the morrow should break, enabling them to recommence their glutting and bloody feast.

They were succeeded by beasts of prey: one by one jackals issued from the jungle, and looking carefully around, first one and then another raised his nose into the air, and as he sniffed the banquet, sent forth a howl or shriek which ran through the unfortunate Kasim’s veins like ice. Now he could see many, many, running to and fro in the moon’s bright light, and their cries and screams increased fearfully. To his excited and delirious spirit—for his senses fled and returned at intervals—the place he thought was the hell he had read of, and the howls like those of the damned. Now stalked abroad the stealthy wolf, and the gaunt and fierce hyÆna mingled his horrible howl with those of the innumerable jackals which hurried on in packs to the ditch; and Kasim could hear the distant bayings of others as they answered the invitation from afar. How he prayed for death! Had he possessed a weapon, he would have rid himself of life; but he had to endure all, and he shrank into the bush as far as he could, to screen himself from the notice of the wild animals, lest he should be torn in pieces by them ere he was dead. Some even came and sniffed at him, and their bright and wild eyes glared upon him; but seeing that he yet lived, they passed on to where in the ditch carcases lay in heaps inviting them to feast.

On a sudden, while he lay in utter despair, he thought he heard the clashing sound of an elephant’s bells, and the peculiar and monotonous cry of palankeen-bearers. Could it be? or was it only a mockery of his senses, such as had raised water to his lips and spread before him delicious and juicy fruits? He listened in fearful suspense; he did not hear it for a time, and hope, which had arisen strong within him, was dying away, when it came again on the soft night breeze that had just arisen, and he could hear it clearly above the yells and howls of the beasts around him, who were fighting savagely over the dead.

Alla! how he panted, as the welcome sound came nearer and nearer; and how his spirit sank within him as he thought it might only be travellers by some by-road he knew not of. Now his faculties were all sharply alive; had he possessed the power of motion, how gladly would he have hurried to meet them; he tried to move, to raise himself, and fell back helpless. ‘Alas!’ he said aloud, ‘it is but a delusion; they will pass me, and the light of morning will never shine on Kasim Ali alive.’ His own voice seemed awful in the solitude, but he could speak now, although very faintly, and if they passed near him he was determined to exert his utmost energy in one cry, should it even be his last effort.

A horse’s neigh now rang shrill and clear in the distance, and the clash of the elephant’s bells became more and more distinct. They were coming!—they were surely coming—perhaps for him—perhaps it was the Khan—perhaps the Sultaun had thought of him—how tumultuous were his thoughts!

Now he even thought he could hear voices, and presently there was another loud snorting neigh, for the horses had smelt the dead afar off. He crawled out from his hiding-place, and looked with intense expectation; there was a twinkling light far away among the jungle. It blazed up.

‘Ya Alla kureem! it is a torch—they come, they come!’ cried the poor fellow. He heard a confused sound of voices, for the yells of the beasts had ceased: he could see many slinking off into the thickets, and there was perfect silence. Now the red light illumined the trees at a little distance—they were descending one side of a hollow towards him—he could track their progress by the light upon the trees—he lost it for a time, as they ascended the other side—again it gleamed brightly, and on a sudden burst like a meteor upon his glance, as the body of men, with several torches, the elephant, the palankeen, and some horsemen appeared for a moment on an open spot pressing towards him.

He could not be mistaken: but Kasim now dreaded lest the garrison should make a sally over the ditch; he looked there—all was dark, but in the distance a few lights on the wall were hurrying to and fro, as though the alarm was given, and a shrill blast of the collery horn was borne to his ear. ‘They will not come!’ he thought, and thought truly; they would not have dared to face the ghastly spectacle in the ditch.

The voices were real, and the lights were but a short distance from him: the party had stopped to consult, and the poor fellow’s heart beat wildly with suspense lest they should advance no further; he could not hear what they said, but on a sudden a cry arose from several, ‘Kasim Ali! Kasim Ali! ho!’ which resounded far and wide among the still jungle.

He strove to repeat it, but the blood gushed into his throat: he fell back in despair. They came nearer and nearer, shouting his name.

‘It was near this spot,’ said one; ‘I am sure of it, for here is a corpse, and here another: let us look further.’ And they continued to track the way of the fugitives by the dead.

‘Kasim Ali! Kasim Ali! ho, hote!’ shouted a voice which thrilled to Kasim’s very soul, for it was the Khan’s: how well he knew it—an angel’s would have been less welcome. One torch-bearer was advancing, hardly fifty paces from him; he waited an instant, then summoning his resolution, ‘Ho! hote!’ he cried, with all his remaining power. The sound was very faint, but it was heard.

‘Some one answered!’ shouted the torch-bearer.

‘Where? for the sake of Alla,’ cried the Khan from his horse.

‘Yonder, in front.’

‘Quick, run!’ was the reply, and all hurried on, looking to the right and left.

Kasim could not speak, but he waved his arm; as they came close to him, the broad glare of the torch fell on him, and he was seen.

All rushed towards him, and the old Khan, throwing himself recklessly from his horse, ran eagerly to his side and gazed in his face. Kasim’s eye was dim, and his face and body were covered with blood; but the features were well known to him, and the old soldier, unable to repress his emotion, fell on his knees beside him, and raising his clasped hands wept aloud.

‘Shookur-khoda! Ul-humd-ul-illa!’ he cried at last when he could speak, ‘he lives! my friends, he lives! I vow a gift to thee, O Moula Ali, and to thee, O Burhanee Sahib, for this joy; I vow Fatehas at your shrines, and to feed a hundred Fakeers in your names.’

‘Do not speak, Kasim Ali, my son, my heart’s life. Inshalla! you will live. Inshalla! we will tend thee as a child. Do not stir hand or foot:’ (Kasim had clasped the Khan’s hand, and was endeavouring to raise it to his lips:) ‘no thanks, no thanks—not a word! art thou not dear to us? Ay, by Alla and his apostle! Gently now, my friends, gently; so, raise him up—now the palankeen here, ’tis the Khanum’s own, Kasim—never heed his blood,’ he added, as some of the bearers strove to put their waistbands under him. ‘Aistee, aistee!^[44]—kubardar!^[45]—well done! Art thou easy, Kasim? are the pillows right?—what, too low? thou canst not breathe?—now, are they better?—nay, speak not, I understand thy smile;’ and truly it was one of exquisite pleasure which overspread his face.

‘What, water?’ he continued, as Kasim motioned to his open mouth, ‘Ya, Alla! he can have had none here all day. Quick, bring the soraee and cup! There,’ he said, filling a cup with the sparkling and cool fluid, ‘Bismilla, drink!’

The fevered Kasim clutched it as though it had contained the water of Paradise; cup after cup was given him, and he was refreshed. The flower of life, which had well nigh withered, was revived once more, and hope again sprang up in his breast.

‘Go on with easy steps,’ cried the Khan to the bearers, ‘I will give you a sheep to-morrow if ye carry him well and quickly.’

‘On our head and eyes be it,’ said the chief of the bearers, and they set forward.

The men on the wall fired a few random shots at the party, but they were too distant to aim with effect, and it proceeded rapidly. The journey of some miles was a severe trial to the exhausted Kasim, and they were several times obliged to rest; but they reached the summit of the last declivity after some hours, and the welcome sight of the huge camp below, the white tents gleaming brightly in the moonlight, among which hundreds of watchfires were sparkling, greeted the longing eyes of Kasim. In a few minutes more they had arrived at the Khan’s own tent, and he was lifted from the palankeen into the interior, and laid on a soft bedding which had been prepared within. The place was cleared of those who had crowded round, and although Kasim’s eyes were dizzy, and the tent reeled before him, he was conscious that the gentle voices which were around him, the shrouded forms which knelt by him, and the soft hands which washed the hard and clotted blood from him, were those of Ameena’s women.