Tippoo Sultaun: A tale of the Mysore war. Taylor Meadows

fell, but it was useless. I should have been lost, encumbered as I was with my arms, only for the bearers who saved me. No, even as Alla sends visitations of evil, so does he most frequently in his wisdom find a path of extrication from them; there was a youth—a noble fellow, a very Roostum, and by Alla a Mejnoon in countenance—who saw the accident. His quick eye saw thy lifeless form cast up by the boiling water, and he rescued thee at the peril of his own life—a valuable one too, fairest, for he is the son of a widow, the only son, and the head of the family—in a word the son of her who has tended thee so gently—’

      ‘Holy Prophet!’ exclaimed the lady, ‘was I in this peril, and so rescued? At the peril of his own life too—and he a widow’s son, thou saidst? What if he had been lost?’ And she fell to musing silently.

      Gradually however (for the Khan did not hazard a reply) her bosom heaved: a tear welled over one of her eyelids, and fell upon her hand unnoticed—another, and another. The Khan let them have their course. ‘They will soothe her better than my words,’ he thought, and thought truly.

      After awhile she spoke again; it was abruptly, and showed her thoughts had been with her deliverer.

      ‘Thou wilt reward him, noble Khan,’ she said; ‘mine is but a poor life, ’tis true, but of some worth in thy sight, I know—and of much in that of those I have left behind. My mother! it would have been a sore blow to thee to have heard of thy rose’s death so soon after parting.’

      ‘Reward him, Ameena!’ cried the Khan, ‘ay, with half my wealth, would he take it; but he is of proud blood and a long ancestry, though he is but a Patél, and such an offer would be an insult. Think—thou art quick-witted, and speak thy thought freely.’

      ‘He would not take money?’ thou saidst.

      ‘No, no—I dare not offer it.’

      ‘Jewels perhaps, for his mother—he may have all mine; thou knowest there are some of value.’

      ‘He would set no value upon them; to him they are of no use, for he is not married.’

      ‘Not married! and so beautiful!’ she said, musing aloud.

      ‘Nor to his mother,’ continued the Khan, who had not heard her exclamation—‘she is an old woman. No, jewels would not do, though they are better than money.’

      ‘Horses, arms—they might gratify him, if he is a soldier.’

      ‘Ay, that is better, for he is a soldier from head to heel. But of what use would they be to him without service in which to exercise them? Here there are no enemies but plunderers now and then; but—I have it now,’ he continued joyfully after a pause—‘service! ay, that is his best reward—to that I can help him. By the Prophet, I was a fool not to have thought of this sooner. He will be a rare addition to Tippoo’s Pagha. I am much mistaken, too, in a few months, if he have an opportunity (and, by the blessing of the Prophet, it is seldom wanting against either the English or Hindoo Kafirs), if he do not win himself not only renown, but a command perhaps like my own. Tippoo Sultaun is no respecter of persons.’

      ‘Ay, my noble lord, such an offer would be worthy of thy generosity and his acceptance,’ was the lady’s reply: ‘and he could easily follow us to the city.’

      ‘And why not accompany us? I for one should be glad of his society, for he is a scholar as well as a soldier, and that is more than I am. Besides one of my men fell last night, and his place is vacant.’

      ‘Fell! was drowned?’ she exclaimed.

      ‘No, my pearl, his hour was come; he fell by the hand of Alla, struck by lightning.’

      ‘Ay, it was very fearful,’ she said shuddering, ‘I remember that;—who fell, didst thou say?’

      ‘Ibrahim.’

      ‘Alas! it was he that twice saved thy life.’

      ‘It was; but this was his destiny, thou knowest: it had been written, and who could have averted it? What sayest thou, shall I offer the Patél the place.’

      ‘Not Ibrahim’s, since thou askest me,’ she said; ‘as he is of gentle blood, ask him to accompany thee; or say, “Come to Abdool Rhyman at Seringapatam, the leader of a thousand horse,”—which thou wilt. Say thou wilt give him service in thine own risala, and hear his determination.’

      ‘Well spoken, my rose!’ said the blunt soldier; ‘verily I owe him the price of thy glorious beauty and thy love, both of which were lost to me, but for him, for ever. So Alla keep thee! I will not disturb thee again till evening, and advise thee to rest thyself from all thy many fatigues and alarms—Alla Hafiz!’

      ‘A very Roostum! a Mejnoon in countenance,’ thought the fair creature, as, shutting her eyes, she threw herself back against the pillows; ‘a noble fellow, my lord called him, and a scholar—how many perfections! A widow’s son—very dear to her he must be—she will not part with him.’

      Again there was another train of thought. ‘He must have seen my face—holy Prophet! I was not able to conceal that; he carried me too in his arms, and I was insensible; what if my dress was disordered?’ and she blushed unconsciously, and drew it instinctively around her. ‘And he must have seen me too in the broad light when he entered this room: what could he have thought of me? they say I am beautiful.’ And a look she unthinkingly cast upon a small mirror, which, set in a ring, she wore upon her thumb, appeared to confirm the thought, for a gentle smile passed over her countenance for an instant. ‘What could he have thought of me?’ she added. But her speculations as to his thoughts by some unaccountable means to her appeared to disturb her own; and, after much unsatisfactory reasoning, she fell into a half dose, a dreamy state, when the scenes of the night before—the storm—the danger—the waters—and her own rescue, flitted before her fancy; and perhaps it is not strange, that in them a figure which she believed to be a likeness of the young Patél occupied a prominent and not a disagreeable situation.

CHAPTER IV.

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      It was now evening: the gentle breeze which came over the simosa-grove loaded the air with the rich perfume of the blossoms. Cattle, returning from the distant pastures, lowed as they approached the village; and a noisy herd of goats, driven by a few half-naked boys, kept up an incessant bleating. Far in the west the sun had set in brilliancy; and a few light and exquisitely tinted clouds floated away towards the rocky range of the Adoni fortress, whose rugged outlines could be seen sharply defined against the sky. There were many beauties there, but they only remained to the living.

      The grave of the Khan’s retainer had been filled in, and the long narrow mound raised on the top: one by one, those who had attended the funeral turned away and retired; but the Khan and Kasim, anxious to pay the last marks of respect to the deceased, stayed till all had been smoothed down, and the place swept. Garlands of flowers were strewn upon the grave—they left the dead to its corruption, and returned home.

      But among soldiers, especially Asiatics—whose belief in fatality, while it leads them to be often reckless of life, yet when a stroke of sorrow comes teaches them resignation—death makes perhaps but little impression, unless any one near or dear is stricken down. The Khan and his host, having partaken of the hearty meal supplied by the Patél, and most exquisitely cooked by the stout functionary we have before alluded to, and having each been supplied with that soother of many mortal ills a good hooka, had already almost forgotten the ceremony they had assisted in, and were well disposed to become excellent friends, and to detail to each other passages in their lives, which they would for ever have remained ignorant of but for the fortuitous circumstances in which they had been placed.

      And it was after a recital of his own deeds, which, however modestly given, could not fail of having impressed Kasim with a high sense of his gallant conduct, that the Khan said, ‘My brother, I was an adventurer, as you might be; young and active, hairbrained perhaps, and ready for any exciting employment, with only my