"'Vile wretch!' cried Cheetoo to him, 'thou art worse than they—they are brave and undaunted, thou art a coward; thy head shall be struck from thy body.'
"His cries for pardon, for life, were horrible; he besought, he threatened; but of what avail was it? He was dragged to the doorway of the tent, a Pindharee stepped behind him, and, while he still pleaded for mercy, his head was struck from his shoulders and rolled forwards.
"'Are you not dismayed?' cried Cheetoo to us; 'yours will follow.'
"'No!' cried we, one and all; 'death must come sooner or later,—and ours is now; we fear not.'
"'They fear it not,' said he to another chieftain; 'death would be welcome to them; but their punishment shall be worse—they shall linger out a miserable existence. Ho!' cried he to his Furashes, 'cut off these villains' noses and hands, and bring them to me.'
"It was done, Meer Sahib! I alone have lived to tell it: our noses were cut off—next our hands. The bleeding stumps were thrust into boiling oil, and we were driven from the camp, there and then to perish, as they thought we should, in the wild jungles. And the other two did perish; we had no one to bind up our wounds; those of Nuzzur Ali and Ramdeen broke out bleeding several days afterwards, and they died within two days of each other. So long as we were together, we supported ourselves by begging in the villages, representing ourselves to be villagers from a distant country whom the Pindharees had brought thus far and mutilated, and we procured enough to satisfy the cravings of hunger; but we could get no one to dress our wounds, which were inflamed by the scorching heat of the weather; and, as I said, the two died. Motee we never saw, but he must have died also, for the wound in his head had cut through the brain, and he never spoke. His was a happy fate compared to ours!
"I have wandered from place to place, proceeding a few coss a day. I have been fed, and my blessings are on those who gave me food for the sake of the Prophet. What I have suffered I cannot describe; but I am now with you again, and your kindness has obliterated it all from my memory. I will live and die with you, if you will grant enough to feed your faithful slave, who will now be only a burthen to you."
I was deeply affected at his story. I took the poor fellow under my care, and his wounds were healed, but he never held up his head afterwards. He died before the year was ended, I believe of shame and a sense of his helpless condition.