‘There is no hope of his life,’ said the old man. ‘I have seen many shot, but a man never survived such a wound—his liver is pierced, and he must die.’
‘I tell thee no! Moorad-ali,’ said the Sultaun; ‘we have had dreams about him of late, his destiny we know is linked with our own, and we are alive—Inshalla! we shall yet see him on horseback.’
‘Inshalla-ta-Alla,’ said the Hukeem, ‘in him alone is the power, and we will do what we can to aid any merciful interference he may make.’ But his directions for an application were little different from the mixture of the cook, which was shortly afterwards applied. The Sultaun waited a while in the hope of hearing Kasim speak, but he continued to lie breathing heavily and slightly groaning, when additional pain caused a pang.
‘We can do no good,’ he said to the Khan; ‘let us leave him to the care of Alla, who will restore him to us if it be his destiny. Come then with me to the morning Durbar; we will summon the leaders, and settle some plan for the future, which we were too disturbed to arrange yesterday.’
The Khan followed him, charging the women strictly with the care of the poor sufferer until he returned; he was soon afterwards engaged in deliberation with the Sultaun and his officers. One of two alternatives presented themselves to Tippoo; either to abandon the undertaking suddenly, and while the English should think him engaged there to fall upon their territory with fire and sword,—or to send for heavy guns from Seringapatam, and breach the barrier, when an assault, such as could not be withstood by the besieged, might be made with success. The latter was in the end adopted; the army serving in Malabar was desired to join the Sultaun by long forced marches; heavy batteries of guns were ordered directly from the city; and his officers, from his manner and the eagerness with which he entered into the matter, saw how intent he was on providing for the emergency.
The pain Tippoo had suffered the whole night was intense; but the excitement of the Durbar, the dictation of the letters to his officers, and the deliberation, had prevented him from betraying it more than by an impatient gesture or ill-suppressed oath. At last he could bear it no longer, and sank back upon his musnud, cursing terribly the infidels who had caused his defeat and suffering; but he rallied again immediately, and started up to a sitting posture, while he exposed and pointed to his ankle, which he had hitherto kept concealed under a shawl.
‘Ye see what pain and grief are devouring us,’ he cried, ‘and we call upon ye to revenge it.’
‘We are ready—on our head and eyes be it!’ cried all.
‘For every throb of pain,’ continued the Sultaun, speaking in suppressed rage from between his closed teeth, while he held his ankle, ‘we will have a kafir’s life; we will hunt them like beasts, we will utterly despoil their country. Ya, Alla Mousoof! we swear before thee and this company, that we will resent this affront upon thy people to the death—that we will not leave this camp, pressing as are our necessities elsewhere, till we have sent thousands of these kafirs to perdition; and ye are witness, my friends, of this.’
‘And I swear to aid thee, O Sultaun!’ cried the Khan with enthusiasm, ‘and to revenge that poor boy if he dies.’ ‘And I! and I!’ cried all, as they started to their feet in the wild spirit of the moment; ‘the kafirs shall be utterly destroyed.’