The prisoner was becoming dizzy with the fearful whirl. He was afraid to move, expecting every moment that he should be obliged to relinquish his hold, and commit himself to the abyss beneath; when happily the cord slipped from the projecting buttress above, and dashed him with considerable violence against the stony face of the mountain. Though severely bruised, he managed to retain his hold of the silken ladder, now no longer agitated; and after pausing a moment to recover his self-possession, he continued to lower himself until his progress was arrested by the branches of a large tree. Upon these he rested, and determined to remain till dawn.
As soon as the first beam of day slanted over the valley in which the escaped prisoner had taken refuge, he perceived that he was in the heart of a thickly-wooded glen, surrounded by a family of monkeys, which began to announce their dissatisfaction at his unwelcome intrusion by the most discordant chattering. Fearing that their din might give warning of his escape to the garrison above, he descended the tree with all possible despatch; when his joy was only equalled by his astonishment at beholding before him the unsightly form of the fakeer.
“Welcome to liberty! God is merciful! Your enemies shall be scattered, and the captive prince enthroned! Retire with me to my dwelling, and you shall know further.”
Saying this, the holy man led the way, followed by the grandson of Jehangire: for he who had just escaped from captivity was no less a personage than Dawir Buxsh, son of Sultan Chusero, and heir to the imperial throne. Beneath the root of a large forest tree, a hole had been dug to the depth of seven feet, which led into a small cavern scarcely two yards square. The mode of entrance and egress was by means of the notched trunk of a small tree, that served as a ladder.
Before he entered the subterranean retreat of his venerable companion, the young prince, aided by the old man, twisted round a tree the cord by which he had escaped from the fortress, and with a stick tightened it until it gave way above, just where it had been chafed by the rough ledge over which it had been thrown to prevent contact with the mountain side. Having taken this precaution, he entered the sacred dwelling of the fakeer.
CHAPTER III.
“Welcome,” said the venerable man, “to the abode of the free! You interpreted the symbols as I had anticipated, and your liberty is secured. The Emperor is dead, and the Vizier seeks to place you upon the throne as legitimate heir of the empire. You must repair instantly to the capital, and the crown will be placed upon your head.”
“May not this be a device,” asked the prince musingly, “to seduce me into the power of new enemies? Is not Shah Jehan in arms? What forces can I oppose to so powerful a rival?”
“The kingdom is divided. Your uncle Sheriar, at the Sultana’s instigation, claims the succession, and is prepared to substantiate his claims by force of arms; but the Vizier is determined to place the sceptre in your grasp; and backed by the imperial army under the conduct of such a leader, no one can be in a condition to dispute your lawful inheritance with any chance of success. Your father’s rebellion is forgotten, and the people shout your name with enthusiasm.”
“But how,” inquired the prince, with a keen glance at the venerable minister of the Prophet,—“how have all these facts reached this lone retreat?”