‘John Simpson.’
‘God be praised for this!’ exclaimed Philip, as he fell on his knees and blessed Him aloud; ‘there is yet hope, for assuredly he did not perish here, Charles.’
CHAPTER XL.
‘These are too precious to remain here, Charles,’ said Philip; ‘we must remove them.’ It was easily done: with their pen-knives they carefully cut round the plaster of each inscription, and then separated it from the wall without difficulty; they were precious relics, and the young men long gazed on them, with that depth of feeling which such memorials were well calculated to excite. ‘Ah! Philip, if we could only trace him further,’ said Charles.
‘We thought not of this when we came hither,’ he replied, ‘and we should be thankful; it is just possible that some one in the town may have heard tidings of him if he were really ill, and we will go thither and inquire.’
They did not tarry on the rock for an instant; their horses awaited them at the bottom, and the distance between the rock and the small town being quickly traversed, they arrived in the bazaar. Philip directly made for the Chouree, where the former Kotwal and others sat engaged in their functions of superintending the market, and directing the issues of grain and forage to the followers of the British army.
They were received courteously by the functionary, who was all civility to his late conquerors: Philip at once opened the cause of his visit, and expressed his anxiety for intelligence, however vague, of his lost friend.
The Kotwal racked his brains, or appeared to do so; he could remember nothing about the rock or its victims, being fearful lest he should compromise himself by some unlucky remark or confession. ‘So many had perished there,’ he said; ‘it was the Sultaun’s order, and in Balapoor they never knew anything about them.’
‘But was no one ever brought here?’ asked Philip.