“I was born a prince,” said Sevajee, “and am incapable of acting the part of a bondsman. Chains cannot enslave the soul of the free.”
“But the vanquished,” replied Aurungzebe, “lose all their rights with their fortune. The chance of war has made the Mahratta chief my servant, and I am resolved to relinquish nothing of what the sword has given.”
“The chance of war has indeed placed me in your power; but not as your servant. I received the pledge of your general that I should be treated as a prince, not as a slave. I have yet to learn if the sovereign of a great empire can descend to the low and pitiable degradation of a lie.”
“The law of the conqueror is his will—of the vanquished, obedience.”
Sevajee turned his back upon the throne: Aurungzebe, losing his usual equanimity, started from his seat: his lip quivered, his cheek became blanched, his hand was laid upon his dagger, and he was about to issue some terrible order against Sevajee, when that prince turning towards him said, with an undaunted tone—
“Emperor of the Moguls, restore to me your daughter, whom you have torn from the protection of a husband, and I will honour you as a father: give me back my child, which you have withheld from the longings of a parent, and I will venerate you as a benefactor: restore me to my subjects, and I, as a tributary prince, will acknowledge your supremacy: but be assured that no reverse of fortune can deprive me of my dignity of mind, which nothing shall extinguish but death.”
The Emperor’s wrath appeared to subside at this request, which he affected to treat as absurd. Pretending to look upon Sevajee as a madman, he ordered him from his presence and gave him in charge to the director-general of the imperial camp, who had orders to subject him to a rigorous confinement. He was in consequence imprisoned in that officer’s house, and guarded with a vigilance that seemed to defy all chance of escape.
Months flew by, and Sevajee became extremely uneasy under his captivity, which was however relieved by occasional communications from the princess; she having contrived to convey information to him from time to time by means of a person who was permitted to enter his prison with flowers. This man was well known to the director-general, who had the highest confidence in him; but the gold of Rochinara and the promises of remuneration made by the Mahratta, corrupted the integrity of the vendor of flowers, and he finally became instrumental to one of the most extraordinary escapes which the pen of history records. For weeks he had been in the habit of visiting the prisoner at stated periods, under the plea of selling him flowers, of which the latter affected to be extremely fond. Not the slightest suspicion was awakened.
One morning the usual attendant entered Sevajee’s prison with his first meal, but to his astonishment found that the captive had escaped. Upon the floor lay a man apparently in deep slumber. He was upon his face, quite naked. An alarm was instantly raised, and the director-general hastened to the prison. The naked man turned out to be the flower-seller, whose sleep was so profound that he awoke with the greatest difficulty. Upon opening his eyes he appeared amazed at seeing himself naked, and no less so at being surrounded by inquisitive persons who questioned him concerning the prisoner’s flight. He protested his utter ignorance of the matter, but observed that he had been evidently robbed of his clothes, though by whom he could not tell, unless the Mahratta had taken them the better to effect his purpose. He affected to be astonished at having been found in such a state of unpremeditated oblivion; but, as if struck by some sudden recollection, he stated that Sevajee had induced him to drink a glass of sherbet, shortly after he entered his room, which he could now have no doubt had been drugged with opium, as he had swallowed it but a short time when he was overcome by a drowsiness which he could not control, and had evidently sunk down senseless from the powerful effects of the opiate. His story was sufficiently plausible; and, fortunately for him, under the sanction of his supposed integrity, was believed; the man thus eluded suspicion. An alarm was immediately raised, and a search made after the fugitive, but he was nowhere to be found. When the Emperor was informed that Sevajee had quitted his prison he was greatly exasperated, and ordered several bodies of men to be despatched in search of him; but his vexation was destined to receive a still greater aggravation, for shortly after the news had reached him of the Mahratta’s escape, he discovered that his favourite daughter had become the partner of his flight.