‘Are we cowards,’ he said, ‘that we should retire before the kafirs and cowardly English? No! let them come on—the base-born rascals! let them come on and taste of death! if our father—may his name be ever honoured!—could overwhelm the English in the field, should we not follow so exalted an example? No, by the Prophet! we will not retire; the day is fortunate—the planets are in good conjunction. If ye are cowards, and like not the English shot—go! your absence is better than your presence.’
But all swore to fight to the last drop of blood, and the Sultaun’s disposition was made. Soon after sunrise all were at their posts—the heavy guns in the centre, the infantry behind. Two corps, one of them the favourite Kureem Cushoon, were pushed forward upon the flanks, and hundreds of rocket-men were interspersed with the line. It was a gallant and inspiring sight to see that huge force drawn up in steady array, determined upon retrieving their fame that day, and fighting for Islam and for their Sultaun.
They had waited long: the Sultaun had heard from scouts that the English had left their camp long before dawn, and their coming was looked for with eagerness. ‘They will fly,’ he cried, ‘when they see the array; the sons of dogs and swine will not dare to face the true believers.’
‘Yes,’ said Nedeem Khan and Nusrut Ali, favourites who were always near him, ‘it will be as my lord says, we shall have no fighting. Will they dare to advance against these cannon, and the various divisions which are drawn up in such wonderful order that not even a rat could get between?’
‘Infatuation!’ said Meer Ghuffoor to Abdool Wahab; ‘for all the boastings of those young coxcombs, thou wilt see them turn and fly. I have served the English, and know them well. Ere an hour elapses after the first shot, we shall be in full retreat.’
‘I trust not, Meer Sahib,’ said the other; ‘but what is that yonder?’
‘’Tis they! ’tis they!’ cried the Sultaun. ‘Now upon them, my sons! upon them, and let us see ye do brave deeds. Your Sultaun is beholding you!’
It was indeed a beautiful sight to behold. The Sultaun was on a high ground, and could see all. A few English red-coats were first seen—then more; the sun glanced from their bright bayonets and musket-barrels as they proceeded. Gradually column after column came on; though they were still at some distance, there was a halt perceived, and considerable bustle.
‘They retreat! they retreat!’ cried the Sultaun, in an ecstasy of joy, clapping his hands and laughing in his excitement. It was changed in an instant, when, after a short disposition of the troops, the English army advanced; but it appeared such a mere handful of men, when compared with his own force, that his derision grew even louder. ‘Ha! ha!’ he cried, ‘they have left half their army to keep their baggage. They hold me cheap indeed to attempt to attack me with the few that are yonder! But it is well: Inshalla! ye will see, sirs, ye will see! What troops are those on the left?’ he asked after a while, as he examined them with a telescope; ‘what green standard is that? Dare the infidels to use the sacred colour?’
Just then the breeze unfurled the standard to its full width, and, as all descried the white crescent and ball beneath it, a cry of exultation burst from the Sultaun.