‘How dost thou know? what was he to thee, Sahib?’
‘He was dear as a brother to me—he was my friend. I married his sister, after years of absence from my native land. When we took Balapoor, I went to the rock thou knowest of—it was in curiosity only. His name was written there, and that renewed the hope which had never been dead within our hearts: for one of the miserable victims had written that he had been taken away ill; and by a chance, sent by Providence, we traced him to a worthy Fakeer’s Tukea,—thou mayest remember it?’
‘I do; a cool shady place, where the wearied wayfarer is ever welcomed.’
‘The kind old man tended him, administered medicine to him. He recovered, and we heard that he was taken away by that same Jaffar whom thou hast mentioned—whither, he could not tell.’
‘Alas! then I fear there is no hope of his life. Jaffar is a devil, yet in such a matter he dare not act without the Sultaun’s order. I remember,’ he added after a pause, ‘a conversation between them about an Englishman—it was before the siege; there was no one else present. Tippoo spoke of one who was skilled in fortification, in the arts of war and of gunnery, far above the French adventurers in his service, who after all are but pretenders to science. Could this be thy brother?’
‘It is! it is!’ cried Philip, catching at the idea in desperation; ‘it must be, he was eminently skilled in all. Your last words determine the idea that it was he. By your soul, tell me if you know aught of him.’
‘Alas! no,’ said the young man. ‘Yet they concealed nothing: Jaffar said it was useless; that he had sent trusty messengers to him to the fort, through the jungles, at the peril of their lives, with offers of mercy, pardon, wealth, if he would take service in the army. He had spurned all; and then the Sultaun grew furious, and swore he might die there.’
‘Did he mention the fort, the place where it was, in what direction?’ asked Philip eagerly.
‘No, and I know not, Sahib; it is not in this district. If he be still alive, he is in one of those lonely posts away to the west—in Coorg, or on the frontiers of Malabar, a little spot on the top of some lonely peak, piercing the sky, which is ever wrapped in clouds and mists, with its base surrounded by jungles, to traverse which days and weeks are required—garrisoned by the rude and barbarous infidels of the mountains, whose speech and appearance are hardly human. It is a horrible fate to think on, Sahib,’ he said, shuddering; ‘better that he should have died long ago. But, after all, it may not be your friend.’
‘Perhaps not,’ said Philip, sighing; ‘and yet I have hope; and when the Fort is stormed, and yon proud Sultaun brought to the reckoning he deserves, it will be hard if we gain not news of him we seek.’