"'Were you at Nasir Khan's fight?'—so the battle of Meeanee is called by the Scindians, as opposed to Sher Mohammed's fight, the battle of Dubbah.
"We reply in the negative, and suspect that we are in for one of our noble host's stock stories.
"'Hor! hor! that was an affair. O Allah, Allah Akbar! was ever the like of it before?'
"'Then you were present, Meer Sahab?'[7]
"'I—yes, indeed I was. I went out with all the vassals of my poor brother' (a broad grin), 'whom you killed. Look at his son, my nephew there' (pointing to the lean scowler sitting by his side). 'Well, you killed his poor father. And, hor! hor! you would have killed me,' pursues Ibrahim, highly amused by the idea, 'but I was a little too sharp even for the Frank.'
"We stimulate him by an inquiry.
"'How?' he vociferates. 'Why, when we went out of the tent to attack you we started to hunt the deer. Some carried swords, others spears, and many sticks, because we wanted to thrash you soundly for your impudence—not to kill you, poor things. My brother—now Allah illumine his grave!—was a simple-minded man, who said, "What can the iron of the Angreez[8] do against the steel of the Beloch?"
"'We drew up in a heap, eager for the onslaught. Presently some guns of yours appeared; they unlimbered: they began to fire. So did ours; but somehow or other we shot over you, you shot into us. I was on the other part of the field, so of course I didn't care much for that. But, a few minutes afterwards, what did we see?—a long red line, with flashing spikes, come sweeping over the plain towards us like a simoom.
"'Allah, Allah! what are these dogs doing? They are not running away? All my poor brother's men put the same question.
"'Then bang went the great guns, phit the little guns; the Franks prayed aloud to the Shaitan with a loud, horrible voice; we to Allah. What a mosque full of mullahs it was, to be sure![9] Who could fight? We howled defiance against them. Still they came on. We stood and looked at them. Still they came on. We rushed and slashed at them, like Rustams. Still they came on—the white fiends.[10] And, by Allah, when we ran away, still they came after us. It was useless to encounter this kind of magic; the head magician sitting all the time on the back of a little bay horse, waving his hat in circles, and using words which those that heard them sounded like the language of devils. I waited till my poor brother fell dead. Then I cried to the vassals, "Ye base-born, will you see your chieftain perish unavenged?" And, having done my best to fight like a soldier, I thought I had a right to run like one—hor! hor!