‘Come, gentlemen,’ said Kasim, ‘we lose time, and we have a long ride before us.’
The Sultaun, plunged into despair, had retired westward. The army had collected, but thousands were missing, killed, or had deserted from his standard. Still there was hope: his officers were yet faithful; the forage of the north bank of the Cavery was utterly destroyed; and the active Poornea, at the head of the irregular cavalry, was out burning villages and setting fire to the grass of the wide plains. If the English should advance, they would be drawn on to defeat as before. There was still hope: his plans of defence were being matured: troops poured into the Fort from all sides, and provisions for a year. He had treasure too, and there was no fear. What could the English, with their small amount of artillery, effect against the hundreds of cannon in the Fort and the new fortifications? ‘Let them come on!’ he would say; ‘with that fort before, and a bare country behind them, let us see how long they will stay!’ And his words were echoed by his sycophants; but it was easy to see, for all that, how dread gnawed at his heart.
On the evening of the fourth day after the action, he was in his tent of audience. He was confident, for no news had been heard of the English army, and it had not advanced upon the road as he had expected. He hoped it had retreated, or was stationary for want of forage; and he was even asserting broadly that it had.
Suddenly a messenger entered with dismay upon his face. Tippoo knew not what to think. All his officers were present, and every one trembled, though they knew not what to expect.
‘Speak, Madur-bukhta!’ cried Tippoo fiercely; ‘what hast thou to say?’
‘May I be your sacrifice! May I be pardoned,’ stammered the man; ‘the English—the kafirs—have crossed the river!’
‘Crossed the river?’ echoed all; ‘how? where?’
‘Dog!’ cried the Sultaun, ‘if thou liest, I will have thee torn asunder. Where did they cross?’
‘At Sosillay.’