Days passed: the thunder of cannon ceased not night or day, and the hearts of all were appalled. No mercy was expected from the British. Death would have been welcome at first; but its gradual approach, and the stern progression of the English to victory, could not be shut out from men’s eyes. All the redoubts beyond the Fort had been carried long ago; even the French, upon whom the eye of the Sultaun rested in hope, were beaten back by the native troops of his enemies, though they fought bravely. Then he felt how he had been cajoled, deceived, betrayed into destruction. To all his letters to the English commander there was but one reply—send the money and the hostages, and the cannon shall cease, but not before. At this his proud heart rebelled; there were those around him who still ridiculed the idea of danger, but he well knew its reality. Day by day the mosque resounded with his frantic prayers; the Moolas to this day tell how impious they were—how he raved, prayed, cursed by turns, till those who heard believed that a judgment would follow them.
He held no communication with his family, for his presence in the zenana was ever a signal for an outburst of grief. He lived in his hall of audience, or in a small room off it, where most part of the day and night was passed in vain astrological calculations, or those horrible magical rites we have before alluded to; at other times he was upon the walls, directing cannon, and firing with his own hand.
The breach became practicable; the guns on both sides of it had long been silenced, and men looked on at the work of destruction, and heard the storm of shot, shells, and grape which poured through it, in sullen despair. The brave Meer Ghuffoor, who was devoted to the Sultaun, saw that it could not be defended much longer; when the day dawned he went to the monarch, to try to rouse him to a sense of his danger: it was vain.
‘There is nothing between thee and thine enemies, O my Sultaun!’ said the Syud; ‘nothing to prevent the storm. Their men are ready in the trenches, and have been there since it was light; I have watched them. The walls are gone. If your slave is permitted, he will commence a wall and a ditch across the inside that cannot be breached, and it will stop them.’
‘Go, Syud, we fear not,’ said the Sultaun; ‘we have hope in other things; events will happen which thou knowest not of. The English will be blasted this day—withered from the face of the earth. Already we have ordered Fateehas for to-morrow. Go, old man! we feel for thy zeal, but there is no fear; Mars is yet in the circle of planets.’
‘Thou wilt never see to-morrow,’ said the Syud prophetically, ‘unless what I advise is done. I will do it; I have sought death these many days, but it comes not—I may find it there.’
‘Go then, in the name of the Shitan, go!’ cried the Sultaun hastily; ‘trouble me no more. Do as thou wilt, but trouble me not.—So, Runga Swamee! what news? hast thou prepared all?’
‘Alas!’ said the Syud as he went out, ‘I shudder at his communion with those Brahmin infidels. I would to Alla I were with my old brethren in arms; but that is now impossible, and death alone will be honourable to the old soldier.’
‘All is prepared, O Sultaun,’ replied the Brahmin; ‘we wait for the men—thou hast them ready?’
‘Ay, there are twelve dogs, sons of unchaste mothers, swine!—take them.’