The Tiger of Mysore: A Story of the War with Tippoo Saib

by G. A. Henty

"I agree with you that it would be a disadvantage to go as a soldier," Dick said, after a pause; "but what disguise would you recommend us to choose?"

"That I must think over. You both look too straight and active to be employed as the assistants of a trader, or I could have got some of my friends to take you in that capacity. The best disguise will be a gayer attire, such as would be worn by the retainers of some of the chiefs; and were it not that, if questioned, you could not say who was your employer, that is what I should recommend."

"I saw a number of men working at a battery they are erecting by the river side. Could we not take service there until something better presents itself?"

"I should not advise that," the native replied, "for the work is very hard, and the pay poor. Indeed, most of those employed on it are men driven in from the country round and forced to labour, getting only enough pay to furnish them with the poorest food. There would also be the disadvantage that, if you were so employed, you would have no opportunity of seeing any English captives who may have been brought here of late.

"All that I can at present do, myself, is to speak to some of my friends who have been here for a long time, and ask them whether they can remember an English captive being sent up here from Coorg, some eight years ago, and whether they ever heard what was his fate. I should say, of course, that I have received a message from friends at Conjeveram; that some of the man's relations have sent out to make inquiries concerning him, and asking me if I can find any news as to his fate. My friends may not know themselves, but they may be able to find out from others. Very many of our people were forced into the ranks of the army, and there is not a regiment which has not some men who, although regarded as Mohammedans, are still at heart, as we all are, as true to our faith as ever.

"It is from these that we are more likely to obtain information than in any other way. You will not be very long before you will be able to satisfy yourself as to whether or not he whom you seek is in this city; and if he should not be here, there remain but the two towns that I have named, and the hill forts. As to these, it will be well-nigh impossible to obtain an entrance, so jealously are they all guarded. None save the garrisons are allowed to enter. The paths, which are often so steep and difficult that men and provisions have to be slung up in baskets, are guarded night and day, and none are allowed to approach the foot of the rocks within musket shot--lest, I suppose, they might find some spot where an ascent could be made. The garrisons are seldom changed. The soldiers are allowed to take their wives and families up with them, but once there, they are as much prisoners as those in the dungeons. That is one reason why captives once sent up there never come down again, for were they to do so they might, if by chance they escaped, be able to give information as to the approaches that would assist an assailing force.

"I do not say that all are killed, though undoubtedly most of them are put to death soon after they arrive; but it may be that some are retained in confinement, either from no orders being sent for their execution, or from their very existence being, in time, forgotten by the tyrant here. Some of these may languish in dungeons, others may have gained the goodwill of the commanders of the fort--for even among the Mohammedans there are doubtless many good and merciful men.

"Now for the present. This house has but one storey in front, but there is a room over this, and that is at your service. Furniture it has none, but I will, this evening, get a couple of trusses of straw. It is but a loft, but you will not want to use it, save to sleep in. You need not fear interruption in this house. There is scarce a man here that is not, like myself, a Hindoo, for when we were brought here from Mysore, the piece of ground on which the street stands was assigned to us, and we were directed to build houses here. Few besides ourselves ever enter it, for those who still carry on trade have booths in the marketplace.

"There is one thing I will tell you at once. We, the persecuted, have means of recognising each other. Outward signs there are none, neither caste mark nor peculiarity of dress; but we know each other by signs. When we salute, we turn in the thumbs as we raise our hands to our turbans--so. If we have no occasion to salute, as we move our hands, either to stroke our faces, or to touch the handles of our daggers, or in other way, we keep the thumb turned in. If the man be one of ourselves, he replies in the same way. Then, to prevent the possibility of error, the one asks the other a question--on what subject it matters not, providing that before he speaks, he coughs slightly.

"You must remember that such communication is not made lightly. Were it to be so, it would soon attract notice. It is used when you want to know whether you can trust a man. It is as much as to say, 'Are you a friend? Can I have confidence in you? Will you help me?'--and you can see that there are many occasions on which such knowledge may be most useful, even to the saving of life."