Bangalore was a fine town, situated on a plain so elevated that the climate was temperate, the soil fertile, and vegetation abundant. The town was of considerable extent, that portion lying within the fortifications being a mile and a quarter long, by half a mile broad. It was surrounded by a strong rampart, a thick hedge, and a deep, dry ditch. The wall, however, did not extend across the side facing the fort, whose guns were supposed to render it ample protection.

The fort was oval in shape, and about nine hundred yards across, at its greatest diameter. It was defended by a broad rampart, strengthened by thirty semicircular bastions and five outworks. The two gates, one at each end, were also protected by outworks. In the fort stood the splendid palace built by Tippoo. Here also were immense foundries of cannon, factories for muskets, the arsenal, and large magazines of grain and ammunition.

The position taken up by the army lay to the northeast of the petah, or town, and the next morning a reconnoitring party, escorted by Colonel Floyd, with the whole of the cavalry and a brigade of infantry, went out to examine the defences of the town and fort. Seeing a large body of laden elephants and camels, escorted by a strong body of horsemen, Colonel Floyd rode with the cavalry to attack them. The movement was a rash one, as the guns on the fort opened fire, and although at first he defeated the Mysore horse, a heavy fire was poured upon him, when entangled in broken ground. He himself was shot by a musket ball which, striking him in the face, passed through both jaws. It was at first believed that he was dead, but he was carried back to camp, and ultimately recovered. This rash attack cost the lives of seventy-one men, and of four times as many horses.

As Tippoo's army was lying at a distance of only six miles away, the general determined that it would be best, in the first place, to capture the town without delay; and to assault the fort on that side, as he could then do so without any fear of an attack by Tippoo; who would be able to harass him, constantly, were he to approach the fort from any other direction. Orders were therefore issued for the 36th Regiment, supported by the 26th Bengal Sepoys, and a party of artillery under Colonel Moorhouse, to prepare to storm the north gate of the town at daybreak the next morning.

As soon as dawn broke, the troops rushed forward against the gate. The outside work was speedily stormed, but as they issued from it, towards the gate itself, they were received with a very heavy fire from the walls, together with a storm of hand grenades. Colonel Moorhouse brought forward a six pounder, receiving two wounds as the piece was run up to the gate. The first time it was fired, it had no effect beyond making a small hole, and the next shot had no greater success. Colonel Moorhouse ordered a twelve-pounder to be brought up, but as he was aiding to put it into position, another ball struck him, and he fell dead.

While the artillerymen were pouring shot after shot into the gate, the roar of musketry was unceasing, the 36th keeping up an incessant fire upon the enemy upon the wall, in order to cover, as much as possible, the operations of the gunners. At last, the gate gave way. The troops poured in, cheering loudly, and the enemy at once fled.

Many, however, took up their positions in the houses, and kept up a galling fire, until their places of refuge were stormed by detachments of troops, scattered through the town. By nine o'clock all was over, and the town completely in the possession of the British.

Tippoo, furious at its having been so speedily captured, moved down early in the afternoon with a strong force of infantry; and, marching along by the side of the fort, endeavoured to force his way into the town through the open space at that end. He was aided by the guns of the fort, while his artillery kept up a heavy cannonade upon the British encampment.

When the sultan was seen marching towards the town, with the evident intention of endeavouring to retake it, the 76th Regiment was sent in to reinforce the garrison; and the three battalions opposed so steady a resistance to Tippoo's infantry that the latter were forced to fall back, after sustaining a loss of five hundred men. The troops began next morning to erect batteries.

The position was a singular one. A small army was undertaking the siege of a strong fortress, while an army vastly outnumbering it was watching them; and was able, at any moment, to throw large reinforcements into the fort through the Mysore gate, which was at the opposite end of the fort to that attacked, the efforts of the British being directed against the Delhi gate, which faced the town.

The advantage which had been gained, by the employment of the great train carrying the provisions for the troops, was now manifest; for, unless the army had been so provided, it would have been forced to retreat; as, in the face of Tippoo's army, with its great host of cavalry, it would have been impossible to gather provisions.

The first batteries erected by the engineers proved to be too far distant from the wall of the fort to effect any material damage, and others were commenced at a much shorter range. The work was performed with great difficulty, for the guns of the defenders were well served, and a storm of missiles were poured, night and day, into the town and against the batteries. The garrison, which consisted of eight thousand men, were frequently relieved by fresh troops from the sultan's army, and were thus able to maintain their fire with great vigour.

On the 17th, Tippoo cannonaded the British camp from a distance, but without doing great damage. In the meantime, the fire of our siege guns was steadily doing its work, in spite of the heavy fire kept up on them. The stone facing of the bastion next to the gateway was soon knocked away, but the earth banks behind, which were very thick and constructed of a tough red clay, crumbled but slowly. Still, the breach was day by day becoming more practicable, and Tippoo, alarmed at the progress that had been made, moved his army down towards the east side of the fort, and seemed to meditate an attack upon our batteries. He placed some heavy guns behind a bank surrounding a large tank, and opened some embrasures through which their fire would have taken our trenches, which were now pushed up close to the fort, in flank.

Lord Cornwallis at once directed a strong force to advance, as if with the intention of attacking the new work, and Tippoo ordered his troops to retire from it. It was evident, however, that he had determined to give battle in order to save the fort, and the English general therefore determined to storm the place that very night, the 21st of March. The preparations were made secretly, lest the news should be taken to Tippoo by one of the natives in the town, and it was not until late in the evening that orders were issued to the troops which were to take part in the assault.

The column was to be composed of the grenadier and light companies of all the European regiments, and these were to be followed and supported by several battalions of Sepoys. The force, commanded by Colonel Maxwell, at eleven o'clock issued from the town and advanced through the trenches. The besieged were vigilant, and the instant the leading company sprang from the trenches and, in the bright moonlight, ran forward to the breach, a number of blue lights were lighted all along the ramparts, and a heavy musketry fire was opened.

The scene was eagerly watched by the troops in the camp, every feature being distinctly visible. The storming party could be seen, rushing up the breach and mounting, by ladders, over the gateway, which was the central object of attack. The enemy gathered in masses at the top of the breach, but as soon as the stormers collected in sufficient strength, and charged them with the bayonet, they broke and dispersed.

The grenadiers moved along the ramparts to the right, clearing it of its defences as they went along. The light companies did the same along the ramparts to the left, while the Sepoys descended into the body of the fort. The whole of the defenders fled towards the Mysore gate at the other end of the fort, and when the three bodies of troops met there, they found the gate blocked by the masses of fugitives.

They charged them on all sides. The governor, a brave old soldier, and a great favourite of the sultan, died fighting gallantly to the last. Six hundred of the garrison fell, and three hundred, for the most part wounded, were taken prisoners. The British loss was only fifty officers and men, killed and wounded.

The body of the governor was found, next morning, among the slain; and Lord Cornwallis sent a message to Tippoo, with an offer to have the body carried to his camp for burial. Tippoo, however, replied that the proper place for a soldier to be buried was where he fell, and accordingly the brave old soldier was laid to rest, in the fort, by the Mohammedan troops in the Sepoy regiments; with all military honours.

While the assault was going on, Tippoo—who, in spite of the precautions taken, had received news of the intention of the general, and had warned the garrison of the fort to be prepared—despatched two heavy columns, as soon as the fire opened, to attack the British camp on its flank. The movement had been foreseen and prepared against, and the attacks were both repulsed with heavy loss.

The capture of the fort was effected but just in time, for the provisions were almost entirely consumed, and the scanty rations were eked out by digging up the roots of grasses and vegetables within the circuit of our pickets. The draught and carriage cattle were dying daily, by hundreds. The few remaining, intended for food, were in so emaciated a state that the flesh was scarcely eatable. And, worst of all, the supply of ammunition was almost exhausted.

The news of the fall of the fortress, considered by the natives to be almost impregnable, under the very eyes of the sultan himself and his great army, produced a widespread effect; greatly depressing the spirit of Tippoo's adherents, while it proportionately raised those of the British troops, and excited the hopes of the peoples conquered by Tippoo and his father. One result was that the polagars, or chiefs, of a tribe that had but recently fallen under the yoke of Mysore, were at once emboldened to bring in provisions to the town. As great stores were found in the magazines in the fort, the starving animals regained some of their condition during the ten days that the troops were occupied in repairing the breaches, burying the dead, and placing the fort in a condition to stand a siege, should Tippoo return during the absence of the army.

When this was done, and the stores of ammunition replenished from the magazines, the army started on its march north to Deonhully, where they were to effect a junction with the cavalry that the Nizam had agreed to furnish. As it marched, it passed within three miles of Tippoo's army, which was proceeding in a westerly direction. Tippoo could here have brought on a general engagement, had he wished it; but the capture of Bangalore had for the time cowed his spirit, and he continued his march, at a rate that soon placed him beyond the reach of the British.

At Deonhully a junction was effected with the Nizam's horse, ten thousand in number. These proved, however, of no real utility, being a mere undisciplined herd, who displayed no energy whatever, except in plundering the villagers. The united force now moved southeast, to guard a great convoy which was advancing up the pass of Amboor; and, when this had been met, returned to Bangalore.

During the operations of the siege, the Rajah's troop had remained inactive, and Dick's duties as interpreter had been nominal. At Bangalore, no English prisoners had been found, and he was heartily glad when he heard that it was the intention of Lord Cornwallis to march directly upon Seringapatam.

It was, indeed, a necessity for the English general to bring the campaign to a speedy termination. The war was entailing a tremendous strain upon the resources of the Company. The Nizam and Mahrattis were not to be depended upon in the slightest degree, and might at any moment change sides. The French revolution had broken out, and all Europe was alarmed, and many of the English regiments might, at any moment, be ordered to return home. Therefore, anything like a thorough conquest of Mysore was impossible, and there was only time to march to Seringapatam, to capture Tippoo's capital, and to dictate terms to him.

Immense exertions were made to restore the efficiency of the baggage train, and on the 3rd of May, the army marched from Bangalore.

Tippoo, devoured alike by rage and fear, had taken no efficient steps to meet the coming storm. His first thought was to prevent the English from discovering the brutal cruelty with which his white captives had been treated. He had, over and over again, given the most solemn assurances that he had no white prisoners in his hands; and he now endeavoured to prevent their obtaining evidence of his falsehood and cruelty, by murdering the whole of those who remained in his hands at Seringapatam. Having effected this massacre, he next ordered all the pictures that he had caused to be painted on the walls of his palace and other buildings, holding up the English to the contempt and hatred of his subjects, to be obliterated; and he also ordered the bridge over the northern loop of the Cauvery to be destroyed. He then set out with his army to bar the passage of the British to Seringapatam.

The weather was extremely bad when the British started. Rain storms had deluged the country, and rendered the roads well nigh impassable, and the movement was, in consequence, very slow. Tippoo had taken up a strong position on the direct road and, in order to avoid him, Lord Cornwallis took a more circuitous route, and Tippoo was obliged to fall back.

The whole country through which the English passed had been wasted. The villages were deserted, and not an inhabitant was to be met with. Suffering much from wet, and the immense difficulties of bringing on the transport, the army, on the 13th of May, arrived on the Cauvery, nine miles east of Seringapatam. Here it had been intended to cross the river, but the rains had so swollen the stream that it was found impossible to ford it. It was, therefore, determined to march to a point on the river, ten miles above Seringapatam, where it was hoped that a better ford could be found; and where a junction might be effected with General Abercrombie's Bombay army, which was moving up from the Malabar coast, and was but thirty or forty miles distant.

To effect this movement, it was necessary to pass within sight of the capital. Tippoo came out, and took up a strong position, on a rugged and almost inaccessible height. In front was a swamp stretching to the river, while batteries had been thrown up to sweep the approaches.

By a night march, accomplished in the midst of a tremendous thunder and rain storm, Lord Cornwallis turned Tippoo's position. The confusion occasioned by the storm, however, and the fact that several of the corps lost their way, prevented the full success hoped for from being attained, and gave Tippoo time to take up a fresh position.

Colonel Maxwell led five battalions up a rocky ledge, held by a strong body of the Mysore troops, carried it at the point of the bayonet, and captured some guns. Tippoo immediately began to fall back, but would have lost the greater portion of his artillery, had not the Nizam's horse moved forward across the line by which the British were advancing. Here they remained in an inert mass, powerless to follow Tippoo, and a complete barrier to the British advance. So unaccountable was their conduct, that it was generally believed in the army that it was the result of treachery; and it was with difficulty that the British troops could be restrained from firing into the horde of horsemen, who had, from the time they joined the force, been worse than useless.

As soon as the British could make their way through, or round, the obstacle to their advance, they pursued the retreating force of Tippoo, until it took refuge under the guns of the works round Seringapatam. Their loss had been 2000, that of the British 500.

But the success was of little benefit to the latter. The terrible state of the roads, and the want of food, had caused the death of great numbers of draught animals, and the rest were so debilitated as to be absolutely useless; and during the two days' marches, that were required to reach the point on the river previously determined upon, the battering train, and almost the whole of the carts, were dragged along by the troops.

The position of the army was bad in the extreme. Neither food nor forage were to be obtained from the country round. The troops were almost on famine rations, worn out by fatigue, and by the march through heavy rains, and nights spent on the sodden ground. Tippoo's horsemen hovered round them. The cavalry of the Nizam, which had been specially engaged to keep the foe at a distance, never once ventured to engage them. It was absolutely impossible to communicate with General Abercrombie, and after remaining but a couple of days in his new camp, Lord Cornwallis felt that the army could only be saved from destruction by immediate retreat.

No time was lost in carrying out the decision, when once arrived at. Some natives were paid heavily to endeavour to make their way to Abercrombie, with orders for him to retire down the ghauts again into Malabar. Then the whole of the battering train, and the heavy equipments, were destroyed; and on the 26th of May, the army started for its long march back to Bangalore.

It had made but six miles when a body of horsemen, some two thousand strong, were seen approaching. Preparations were instantly made to repel an attack, when a soldier rode in, and announced that the horsemen were the advance party of two Mahratta armies, close at hand. This was welcome news, indeed, for Lord Cornwallis had no idea that the Mahrattis were within two hundred miles of him, and had come to believe that they had no intention, whatever, of carrying out their engagements.

They had, it appeared, sent off a messenger, every day, to inform him of their movements; but so vigilant were Tippoo's cavalry, that not one of them ever reached the British. In a few hours, the junction was completed, and the sufferings of the army were at an end. Stores of every kind were abundant with the Mahrattis, and not only food, but clothing, and every necessary of life, could be purchased in the great bazaars, occupied by the Mahratta traders who accompanied the army.

Had the two Mahratta armies arrived a couple of days earlier, the destruction of the siege train would have been avoided, Seringapatam would have been besieged, Abercrombie's army of eight thousand men have joined, and the war brought at once to a conclusion. It was now, however, too late. The means for prosecuting the siege of so powerful a fortress were altogether wanting, and the united armies returned, by easy marches, to Bangalore.

On the march, the future plan of operations was decided upon. Lord Cornwallis sent orders for the sum of 1,500,000 rupees, that had been intended for China, to be at once despatched to Bangalore for the use of the army, and the allies. The larger of the Mahratta forces, under Purseram Bhow, with a detachment of Bombay troops that had accompanied it, were to march to the northwest, and reduce some of the forts and towns still held by the troops of Mysore. The other Mahratta force, consisting chiefly of cavalry, under Hurry Punt, were to remain at Bangalore.

The cause of the long delay, on the part of the Nizam and the Mahrattis, was now explained. The Nizam's troops had spent six months in the siege of the fortress of Capool, while an equal time had been occupied, by Purseram Bhow, in the siege of Durwar, a very strong place, garrisoned by ten thousand men.

Tippoo began negotiations immediately after his defeat near Seringapatam, and these were continued until July, when they were finally broken off. Some months were occupied in reducing a number of the hill forts, commanding the entrances to the various passes. Among these, two, deemed absolutely impregnable, Savandroog and Nundidroog, were captured, but the attack upon Kistnagherry was repulsed with considerable loss.

By the capture of these places, Lord Cornwallis obtained access to supplies from the Malabar and Carnatic coasts, and was thus free from the risk of any recurrence of the misfortunes that had marred his previous attempt to lay siege to Seringapatam; and, on the 5th of February, 1792, he again came within sight of Tippoo's capital.



Chapter 9: News Of The Captive.

During the nine months that had elapsed since the retreat from before Seringapatam, Dick had been occupied in following out the main object of his presence in Mysore. Finding that Purseram Bhow's army was the first that would be engaged in active service, he asked permission from the general to join it. This was at once granted, and Lord Cornwallis introduced him to the officer in command of the Bombay troops attached to that army, informing him of the object that he had in view.

"He will not be of much use as an interpreter," he said, "for as the country in which you are going to operate formed, until lately, a part of the Mahratta dominions, Mahratti will be principally spoken. He will, therefore, go simply as an officer of my staff, attached for the present to your command. He has asked me to allow him to take with him twenty men, belonging to the troop of his uncle, the Rajah of Tripataly. His object, in doing so, is that he will be able to traverse the country independently, and can either rejoin me here, or go to one of the other columns operating against the hill forts, if it should seem to him expedient to do so. Should you desire to make a reconnaissance at any time, while he is with you, you will find him useful as an escort, and will not be obliged to ask Purseram Bhow for a party of his cavalry."

Dick was sorry to leave his uncle, whose tent he had now shared for the last ten months. He found himself, however, very comfortable with the Bombay troops, being made a member of the mess, consisting of the officer in command and the four officers of his staff. Wishing to have some duties with which to occupy himself, he volunteered to act as an aide-de-camp; and although the work was little more than nominal, it gave him some employment. When not otherwise engaged, he generally rode with Surajah, whom his uncle had appointed to command the twenty troopers.

In the year that had elapsed since his arrival in India, Dick had grown considerably, and broadened out greatly, and was now a powerful young fellow of over seventeen. He had, since the troop joined the army of Lord Cornwallis, exchanged his civilian dress for the undress uniform of an officer, which he had purchased at the sale of the effects of a young lieutenant on the general's staff, who had died just as the army arrived before Bangalore. It was, indeed, necessary that he should do this, riding about, as he did, either on the staff of the general, or with the officers of the quartermasters' department. There would be no difficulty in renewing his uniform, for hardship, fever, and war had carried off a large number of officers, as well as men; and the effects were always sold by auction, on the day following the funeral.

Many hill fortresses were captured by the Mahrattis, but few offered any resistance; as their commanders knew well that there was no chance of their being relieved, while the men were, in most cases, delighted at the prospect of an escape from their enforced service, and of freedom to return to their homes. In a few of these forts, English captives were found. Some had been there for years, their very existence being apparently forgotten by the tyrant. Some had been fairly treated by the Mysore governor, and where this was the case, the latter was furnished by the British officers with papers, testifying to the kindness with which they had treated the prisoners, and recommending them to the officers of any of the allied forces they might encounter on their way home, or when established there.

Upon the other hand, some of the prisoners were found to have been all but starved, and treated with great brutality. In two cases, where the captives said that some of their companions had died from the effects of the ill treatment they had received, the governors were tried by court martial and shot, while some of the others they sentenced to be severely flogged.

Every captive released was closely scrutinised by Dick, and eagerly questioned. From one of them, he obtained news that his father had certainly been alive four years previously, for they had been in prison together, in a hill fort near Bangalore.

"I was a civilian and he a sailor," he said, "consequently neither of us were of any use in drilling Tippoo's battalions, and had been sent up there. Your father was well, then. The governor was a good fellow, and we had nothing much to complain of. Mr. Holland was a favourite of his, for, being a sailor, he was handy at all sorts of things. He could mend a piece of broken furniture, repair the lock of a musket, and make himself generally useful. He left there before I did, as the governor was transferred to some other fort—I never heard where it was—and he took your father with him. I don't know whether he had Tippoo's orders to do so, or whether he took him simply because he liked him.

"At any rate, he was the only prisoner who went with him. The rest of us remained there till a few months back, when the fort was abandoned. It was just after the capture of Bangalore, and the place could have offered no resistance, if a body of troops had been sent against it. At any rate, an order arrived one morning, and a few hours afterwards the place was entirely abandoned, and we and the garrison marched here."

"My father was quite well?"

"Quite well. He used to talk to me, at times, of trying to make his escape. Being a sailor, I have no doubt that he could have got down from the precipice on which the fort stood; but he knew that, if he did so, we should all suffer for it, and probably be all put to death, as soon as Tippoo heard that one of us had escaped—for that was always done, in order to deter prisoners from trying to get away."

"Do you think that there is any chance of his being still alive?"

"That is more than I can possibly say. You see, we have not known much of what is passing outside our prison. Some of the guards were good natured enough, and would occasionally give us a scrap of news; but we heard most from the ill-tempered ones, who delighted in telling us anything they knew that would pain us.

"Three or four months ago, we heard that every white prisoner in Seringapatam had been put to death, by Tippoo's orders, and that doubtless there would be a similar clearance everywhere else. Then, again, we were told that the English had retreated, beaten, from before Seringapatam, and that the last of them would soon be down the ghauts. But whether the prisoners have been killed in other hill forts like this, I cannot say, although I suppose not, or we should not have escaped."

"Certainly no such orders can have been sent to the forts here, for we have found a few prisoners in several of them. Of course, it may be otherwise in the forts near the capital, which Tippoo might have thought were likely to fall into our hands; while he may not have considered it worth while to send the same orders to places so far away as this, where no British force was likely to come. Still, at any rate, it is a great satisfaction that my father was alive four years ago, and that he was in kind hands. That is all in favour of my finding him, still alive, in one of the places we shall take, for Lord Cornwallis intends to besiege some of the fortresses that command the passes, because he cannot undertake another siege of Seringapatam until he can obtain supplies, freely and regularly, from beyond the ghauts; as nothing whatever can be obtained from the country round, so completely is it wasted by Tippoo's cavalry. I have, therefore, great hopes that my father may be found in one of these forts."

"I hope, indeed, that you may find him. I am convinced that the governor would save his life, if he could do so; though, on the other hand, he would, I am sure, carry out any order he might receive from Tippoo. Of course, he may not be in charge of a fort now, and may have been appointed colonel of one of the regiments. However, it is always better to hope that things will come as you wish them, however unlikely it may seem that they will do so. We have been living on hope here, though the chances of our ever being released were small, indeed. Of course, we did not even know that Tippoo and the English were at war, until we heard that an English army was besieging Bangalore; and even then we all felt that, even if Tippoo were beaten and forced to make peace, it would make no difference to us. He kept back hundreds of prisoners when he was defeated before, and would certainly not surrender any he now holds, unless compelled to do so; and no one would be able to give information as to the existence of captives in these distant forts.

"And yet, in the teeth of all these improbabilities, we continued to hope, and the hopes have been realised."

The capture of forts by the Mahratta army was abruptly checked. Having, so far, met with such slight opposition, Purseram Bhow became over confident, and scattered his force over a wide extent of country, in order that they might more easily find food and forage. In this condition they were suddenly attacked by Tippoo, who took advantage of the English being detained at Bangalore, while the transport train was being reorganised, to strike a blow at the Mahrattis.

The stroke was a heavy one. Many of the detached parties were completely destroyed; and the Mahratta general, after gathering the rest to his standard, was forced to retreat, until strong reinforcements were sent him from Bangalore.

Learning, from them, that it was probable Lord Cornwallis would advance as soon as they rejoined him, Dick determined to go back to Bangalore, as it was unlikely that, after the severe check they had received, the Mahrattis would resume the offensive for a time.

Surajah and the men were glad to return to the troop, and as soon as the Mysorean force returned to Seringapatam, Dick, without waiting for the infantry to get in motion, rode rapidly across the country with his little party.

He accompanied the English army during their operations, obtaining permission to go with the columns engaged in the siege of the hill fortresses, and was present at the capture of all the most important strongholds. To his bitter disappointment, no English prisoners were found in any of them, and it was but too certain that all who might have been there had been massacred, by Tippoo's orders, on the first advance of the British against Seringapatam.

Great indeed was the satisfaction of the army when they at last came in sight of the city. The capital of Mysore stood on an island, in the river Cauvery. This was four miles in length, and two in breadth. The town stood in its centre, the fort at the northern end. The island was approached by two bridges, one close to the fort, the other at the south, both being defended by strong batteries. There were also three fords, two of these being at the north end of the island, and also defended by batteries; the third was near the centre of the island, a mile below the fort, and leading to the native town.

The fort was separated from the rest of the island by a deep ditch cut across it. It was defended by numerous batteries. There were two gardens on the island, full of large trees, one of them being the burial place of Hyder Ali. This was connected with the fort by two avenues of trees. The country round was flat, a considerable portion being almost level with the river, and devoted to the cultivation of rice, while at other points a forest extended, almost to the bank.

After obtaining a view, from some high ground, of the city and of Tippoo's army encamped beyond its walls, the British force took up its position six miles to the northwest of the city. No sooner had the army reached their camping ground than Lord Cornwallis, with his staff, reconnoitred the approaches.

A thick hedge, formed by a wide belt of thorny shrubs, interlaced and fastened together by cords, extended from the bank of the river, about a thousand yards above Seringapatam; and, making a wide sweep, came down to it again opposite the other end of the island.

It was within the shelter of this formidable obstacle that Tippoo's army was encamped. Within the enclosed space were seven or eight eminences, on which strong redoubts had been erected. Fearing that Tippoo might, as soon as he saw the position taken up by the assailants, sally out with his army, take the field, and, as before, cut all his communications, Lord Cornwallis determined to strike a blow at once.

At sunset, orders were accordingly issued for the forces to move, in three columns, at three o'clock; by which time the moon would be high enough to light up, thoroughly, the ground to be traversed. The centre column, consisting of 3,700 men, under Lord Cornwallis himself, was to burst through the hedge at the centre of the enemy's position, to drive the enemy before them, and, if possible, to cross the ford to the island with the fugitives.

This, however, was not to be done until the centre column was reinforced by that under General Meadows, which was to avoid a strong redoubt at the northwest extremity of the hedge, and, entering the fence at a point between the redoubt and the river, drive the enemy before it, until it joined the centre column. Colonel Meadows had 3,300 under his command. The left column, consisting of 1,700 men under Colonel Maxwell, was first to carry a redoubt on Carrygut Hill, just outside the fence; and, having captured this, to cut its way through the hedge, and to cross the river at once, with a portion of the centre column.

Unfortunately, owing to a misunderstanding as to the order, the officer guiding General Meadow's column, instead of taking it to a point between the northwestern redoubt and the river, led it directly at the fort. This was stoutly defended, and cost the British eighty men and eleven officers. Leaving a strong garrison here, the column advanced, but came upon another redoubt, of even greater strength and magnitude; and the general, fearing that the delay that would take place in capturing it would entirely disarrange the plan of the attack, thought he had better make his way out through the hedge, march round it to the point where the centre column had entered it, and so give Lord Cornwallis the support he must need, opposed as he was to the whole army of Tippoo.

In the meantime, Colonel Maxwell's force had stormed the work on Carrygut Hill, and had made its way through the hedge; suffering heavily, as it did so, from the fire of a strong body of the enemy, concealed in a water course. The head of the centre column, under General Knox, after cutting its way through the hedge, pushed on with levelled bayonets, thrust its way through the enemy's infantry, and, mingling with a mass of fugitives, crossed the main ford close under the guns of the fort, and took possession of a village, half way between the town and the fort.

Unfortunately, in the confusion but three companies had followed him. The rest of the regiment and three companies of Sepoys crossed lower down, and gained possession of a palace on the bank of the river. The officer in command, however, not knowing that any others had crossed, and receiving no orders, waited until day began to break. He then recrossed the river and joined Lord Cornwallis, a portion of whose column, having been reinforced by Maxwell's column, crossed the river nearly opposite the town.

As they were crossing, a battery of the enemy's artillery opened a heavy fire upon them; but Colonel Knox, with his three companies, charged it in the rear, drove out the defenders, and silenced the guns.

All this time Lord Cornwallis was with the reserve of the central column, eagerly waiting the arrival of General Meadows' division. This, in some unaccountable way, had missed the gap in the hedge by which the centre column had entered, and, marching on, halted at last at Carrygut Hill, where it was not discovered until daylight.

The Mysore army on its left was still unbroken, and had been joined by large numbers of troops from the centre. On discovering the smallness of the force under Lord Cornwallis, they attacked it in overwhelming numbers, led by Tippoo himself. The British infantry advanced to meet them with the bayonet, and drove them back with heavy loss. They rallied, and returned to the attack again and again, but were as often repulsed; continuing their attacks, however, until daylight, when Lord Cornwallis, discovering at last the position of General Meadows, joined him on Carrygut Hill.

When day broke, the commanders of the two armies were able to estimate the results of the night's operations. On the English side, the only positions gained were the works on Carrygut Hill, the redoubt at the northwest corner of the hedge, another redoubt captured by the centre column, and the positions occupied by the force under Colonels Stuart and Knox, at the eastern end of the island.

The sultan found that his army was much reduced in strength, no less than twenty-three thousand men being killed, wounded, or missing. Of these, the missing were vastly the most numerous, for ten thousand Chelahs, young Hindoos whom Tippoo had carried off in his raids, and forced to become soldiers, and, nominally, Mohammedans, had taken advantage of the confusion, and marched away with their arms to the Forest of Coorg.

Tippoo made several determined efforts to drive Colonel Stuart's force off the island, and to recapture the redoubts, but was repulsed with such heavy loss that he abandoned the attempt altogether, evacuated the other redoubts, and brought his whole army across on to the island.

Tippoo now attempted to negotiate. He had already done so a month before, but Lord Cornwallis had refused to accept his advances, saying that negotiation was useless, with one who disregarded treaties and violated articles of capitulation.

"Send hither," he wrote, "the garrison of Coimbatoor, and then we will listen to what you have to say."

Lord Cornwallis alluded to the small body of troops who, under Lieutenants Chalmers and Nash, had bravely defended that town when it had been attacked by one of Tippoo's generals. The gallant little garrison had surrendered at last, on the condition that they should be allowed to march freely away. This condition had been violated by Tippoo, and the garrison had been marched, as prisoners, to Seringapatam. The two officers had been kept in the fort, but most of the soldiers, and twenty-seven other European captives who had lately been brought in from the hill forts, were lodged in the village that Colonel Knox had first occupied, on crossing the river, and had all been released by him. Some of these had been in Tippoo's hands for many years, and their joy at their unexpected release was unspeakable.

Preparations were now made for the siege. General Abercrombie was ordered up, with a force of six thousand men, but before his arrival, Lieutenant Chalmers was sent in with a letter from Tippoo, asking for terms of capitulation. Negotiations were indeed entered into, but, doubting Tippoo's good faith, the preparations for the siege were continued; and upon the arrival of General Abercrombie's force, on the 15th of February, siege operations were commenced at the end of the island still in British possession.

A few days afterwards, the army was astounded at hearing that the conditions had been agreed upon, and that hostilities were to cease at once. So great was the indignation, indeed, that a spirit of insubordination, and almost mutiny, was evinced by many of the corps. They had suffered extreme hardships, had been engaged in most arduous marches, had been decimated by fever and bad food, and they could scarce believe their ears when they heard that they were to hold their hands, now that, after a year's campaigning, Seringapatam was at their mercy; and that the man who had butchered so many hundred English captives, who had wasted whole provinces and carried half a million people into captivity, who had been guilty of the grossest treachery, and whose word was absolutely worthless, was to escape personal punishment.

Still higher did the indignation rise, both among officers and men, when the conditions of the treaty became known, and it was discovered that no stipulation whatever had been made for the handing over of the English prisoners still in Mysore, previous to a cessation of hostilities. This condition, at least, should have been insisted upon, and carried out previous to any negotiations being entered upon.

The reasons that induced Lord Cornwallis to make this treaty, when Seringapatam lay at his mercy, have ever been a mystery. Tippoo had proved himself a monster unfitted to live, much less to rule, and the crimes he had committed against the English should have been punished by the public trial and execution of their author. To conclude peace with him, now, was to enable him to make fresh preparations for war, and to necessitate another expedition at enormous cost and great loss of life. Tippoo had already proved that he was not to be bound either by treaties or oaths. And, lastly, it would have been thought that, as a general, Lord Cornwallis would have wished his name to go down to posterity in connection with the conquest of Mysore, and the capture of Seringapatam, rather than with the memorable surrender of York Town, the greatest disaster that ever befell a British army.

The conditions were, in themselves, onerous, and had they been imposed upon any other than a brutal and faithless tyrant, might have been deemed sufficient. Tippoo was deprived of half his dominions, which were to be divided among the allies, each taking the portions adjacent to their territory. A sum of 3,300,000 pounds was to be paid for the expenses of the war. All prisoners of the allied powers were to be restored.

Two of Tippoo's sons were to be given up as hostages. Even after they had been handed over, there were considerable delays before Tippoo's signature was obtained, and it was not until Lord Cornwallis threatened to resume hostilities that, on the 18th of March, a treaty was finally sealed. Of the ceded territory the Mahrattis and the Nizam each took a third as their share, although the assistance they had rendered in the struggle had been but of comparatively slight utility. It may, indeed, be almost said that it was given to them as a reward for not accepting the offers Tippoo had made them, of joining with him against the British.

The British share included a large part of the Malabar coast, with the forts of Calicut and Cananore, and the territory of our ally, the Rajah of Coorg. These cessions gave us the passes leading into Mysore from the west. On the south we gained possession of the fort of Dindegul, and the districts surrounding it; while on the east we acquired the tract from Amboor to Caroor, and so obtained possession of several important fortresses, together with the chief passes by which Hyder had made his incursions into the Carnatic.

Dick felt deeply the absence of any proviso, in the treaty, that all prisoners should be restored previous to a cessation of hostilities; at the same time admitting the argument of his uncle that, although under such an agreement some prisoners might be released, there was no means of insuring that the stipulation would be faithfully carried out.

"You see, Dick, no one knows, or has indeed the faintest idea, what prisoners Tippoo still has in his hands. We do not know how many have been murdered during the years Tippoo has reigned. Men who have escaped have, from time to time, brought down news of murders in the places where they had been confined, but they have known little of what has happened elsewhere. Moreover, we have learned that certainly fifty or sixty were put to death, at Seringapatam, before we advanced upon it the first time. We know, too, that some were murdered in the hill forts that we have captured. But how many remain alive, at the present time, we have not the slightest idea. Tippoo might hand over a dozen, and take a solemn oath that there was not one remaining; and though we might feel perfectly certain that he was lying, we should be in no position to prove it.

"The stipulation ought to have been made, if only as a matter of honour, but it would have been of no real efficiency. Of course, if we had dethroned Tippoo and annexed all his territory, we should undoubtedly have got at all the prisoners, wherever they were hidden. But we could hardly have done that. It would have aroused the jealousy and fear of every native prince in India. It would have united the Nizam and the Mahrattis against us, and would even have been disapproved of in England, where public opinion is adverse to further acquisitions of territory, and where people are, of course, altogether ignorant of the monstrous cruelties perpetrated by Tippoo, not only upon English captives, but upon his neighbours everywhere.

"Naturally, I am prejudiced in favour of this treaty, for the handing over of the country from Amboor to Caroor, with all the passes and forts, will set us free at Tripataly from the danger of being again overrun and devastated by Mysore. My people will be able to go about their work peacefully and in security, free alike from fear of wholesale invasion, or incursions of robber bands from the ghauts. All my waste lands will be taken up. My revenue will be trebled.

"There is another thing. Now that the English possess territory beyond that of the Nabob of Arcot, and are gradually spreading their power north, there can be little doubt that, before long, the whole country of Arcot, Travancore, Tanjore, and other small native powers will be incorporated in their dominions. Arcot is powerless for defence, and while, during the last two wars, it has been nominally an ally of the English, the Nabob has been able to give them no real assistance whatever, and the burden of his territory has fallen on them. They took the first step when, at the beginning of the present war, they arranged with him to utilise all the resources and collect the revenues of his possessions, and to allow him an annual income for the maintenance of his state and family. This is clearly the first step towards taking the territory into their own hands, and managing its revenues, and the same will be done in other cases.

"Lord Cornwallis the other day, in thanking me for the services that you and I and the troop have rendered, promised me that an early arrangement should be made, by which I should rule Tripataly under the government of Madras, instead of under the Nabob. This, you see, will be virtually a step in rank, and I shall hold my land direct from the English, instead of from a prince who has become, in fact, a puppet in their hands."

A few days later, the army set off on its march from Mysore, and the same day the Rajah, after making his adieus to Lord Cornwallis, started with his troop for Tripataly, making his way by long marches, instead of following the slow progress of the army. After a couple of days at Tripataly, they went down to Madras, and brought back the Rajah's household.

The meeting between Dick and his mother was one of mixed feeling. It was twenty months since the former had left with his uncle, and he was now nearly eighteen. He had written whenever there was an opportunity of sending any letters; and although his position as interpreter on the staff of the general had relieved her from any great anxiety on his account, she was glad, indeed, to see him again.

Upon the other hand, the fact that, as the war went on, and fortress after fortress had been captured, no news came to her that her hopes had been realised; and that the war had now come to a termination, without the mystery that hung over her husband being in any way cleared up, had profoundly depressed Mrs. Holland, and it was with mingled tears of pleasure and sorrow that she fell on his neck on his return to Madras.

"You must not give way, Mother," Dick said, as she sobbed out her fears that all hope was at an end. "Remember that you have never doubted he was alive, and that you have always said you would know if any evil fate had befallen him; and I have always felt confident that you were right. There is nothing changed. I certainly have not succeeded in finding him, but we have found many prisoners in some of the little out-of-the-way forts. Now, some of them have been captives quite as long as he has; therefore there is no reason, whatever, why he should not also be alive. I have no thought of giving up the search as hopeless. I mean to carry out our old plans; and certainly I am much better fitted to do so than I was when I first landed here. I know a great deal about Mysore, and although I don't say I speak the dialect like a native, I have learnt a good deal of it, and can speak it quite as well as the natives of the ghauts and outlying provinces. Surajah, who is a great friend of mine, has told me that if I go he will go too, and that will be a tremendous help. Anyhow, as long as you continue to believe firmly that Father is still alive, I mean to continue the search for him."

"I do believe that he is alive, Dick, as firmly as ever. I have not lost hope in that respect. It is only that I doubt now whether he will ever be found."

"Well, that is my business, Mother. As long as you continue to believe that he is still alive, I shall continue to search for him. I have no other object in life, at present. It will be quite soon enough for me to think of taking up the commission I have been promised, when you tell me that your feeling that he is alive has been shaken."

Mrs. Holland was comforted by Dick's assurance and confident tone, and, putting the thought aside for a time, gave herself up to the pleasure of his return. They had found everything at Tripataly as they had left it, for the Mysore horsemen had not penetrated so far north, before Tippoo turned his course east to Pondicherry. The people had, months before, returned to their homes and avocations.

One evening the Rajah said, as they were all sitting together:

"I hear from my wife, Dick, that your mother has told her you still intend to carry out your original project."

"Yes, Uncle. I have quite made up my mind as to that. There are still plenty of places where he may be, and certainly I am a good deal more fitted for travelling about in disguise, in Mysore, than I was before."

The Rajah nodded.

"Yes. I think, Dick, you are as capable of taking care of yourself as anyone could be. I hear that Surajah is willing to go with you, and this will certainly be a great advantage. He has proved himself thoroughly intelligent and trustworthy, and I have promised him that someday he shall be captain of the troop. You are not thinking of starting just yet, I suppose?"

"No, Uncle. I thought of staying another month or two, before I go off again. Mother says she cannot let me go before that."

"I fancy it will take you longer than that, Dick, before you can pass as a native."

Dick looked surprised.

"Why, Uncle, I did pass as a native, eighteen months ago."

"Yes, you did, Dick; but for how long? You went into shops, bought things, chatted for a short time with natives, and so on; but that is not like living among them. You would be found out before you had been a single day in the company of a native."

Dick looked still more surprised.

"How, Uncle? What do I do that they would know me by."

"It is not what you do, Dick, but it is what you don't do. You can't sit on your heels—squat, as you call it. That is the habitual attitude of every native. He squats while he cooks. He squats for hours by the fire, smoking and talking. He never stands for any length of time and, except upon a divan or something of that sort, he never sits down. Before you can go and live among the natives, and pass as one for any length of time, you must learn to squat as they do, for hours at a stretch; and I can tell you that it is not by any means an easy accomplishment to learn. I myself have quite lost the power. I used to be able to do it, as a boy, but from always sitting on divans or chairs in European fashion, I have got out of the way of it, and I don't think I could squat for a quarter of an hour, to save my life."

Dick's mother and cousins laughed heartily, but he said, seriously, "You are quite right, Uncle. I wonder I never thought of it before. It was stupid of me not to do so. Of course, when I have been talking with Surajah or other officers, by a camp fire, I have sat on the ground; but I see that it would never do, in native dress. I will begin at once."

"Wait a moment, Dick," the Rajah said. "There are other things which you will have to practise. You may have to move in several disguises, and must learn to comport yourself in accordance with them. You must remember that your motions are quicker and more energetic than are those of people here. Your walk is different; the swing of the arms, your carriage, are all different from theirs. You are unaccustomed to walk either barefooted or in native shoes. Now, all these things have to be practised before you can really pass muster. Therefore I propose that you shall at once accustom yourself to the attire, which you can do in our apartments of an evening. The ranee and the boys will be able to correct your first awkwardness, and to teach you much.

"After a week or two, you must stain your face, arms, and legs, and go out with Rajbullub in the evening. You must keep your eyes open, and watch everything that passes, and do as you see others do. When Rajbullub thinks that you can pass muster, you will take to going out with him in the daylight, and so you will come, in time, to reach a point that it will be safe for you to begin your attempt.

"Do not watch only the peasants. There is no saying that it may not be necessary to take to other disguises. Observe the traders, the soldiers, and even the fakirs. You will see that they walk each with a different mien. The trader is slow and sober. The man who wears a sword walks with a certain swagger. The fakir is everything by turns; he whines, and threatens; he sometimes mumbles his prayers, and sometimes shrieks at the top of his voice.

"When you are not riding or shooting, lad, do not spend your time in the garden, or with the women. Go into the town and keep your eyes open. Bear in mind that you are learning a lesson, and that your life depends upon your being perfect in every respect.

"As to your first disguise, I will speak to Rajbullub, and he will get it ready by tomorrow evening. The dress of the peasant of Mysore differs little from that here, save that he wears rather more clothing than is necessary in this warm climate."



Chapter 10: In Disguise.

On the following evening, Dick appeared in the room where the others were sitting, in the dress Rajbullub had got for him, and which was similar to that of other peasants. The boys had already been told that he was shortly going on a journey, and that it would be necessary for him to travel in disguise, but had been warned that it was a matter that was not to be spoken of, to anyone. The early respect, that Dick's strength and activity had inspired them with, had been much shaken when they discovered that he was unable either to ride or shoot; but their father's narrative of his adventures, when scouting with Surajah, had completely reinstated him in their high opinion.

When he entered, however, they burst out laughing. The two ladies could not help smiling, and Dick was not long before he joined in the laugh against himself. He had felt uncomfortable enough when he started, in an almost similar dress, with Surajah, although there was then no one to criticise his appearance. But now, in the presence of his mother and aunt, he felt strangely uncomfortable.

"Never mind, Dick," his uncle said, encouragingly. "The boys would feel just as uncomfortable as you do now, if they were dressed up in European fashion. Now, while we are talking, make your first attempt at sitting on your heels."

Dick squatted down until his knees nearly touched his chest, and a moment later lost his balance and toppled over, amid a roar of laughter. Next time, he balanced himself more carefully.

"That is right, Dick. You will get accustomed to it, in time. But you must see, already, that there is a good deal more to be done than you thought of, before you can pass as a native. Remember, you must not only be able to balance yourself while sitting still, but must be able to use your hands—for cooking purposes, for example; for eating; or for doing anything there may be to do—not only without losing your balance, but without showing that you are balancing yourself."

"It is much more difficult than I thought, Uncle. Of course, I have always seen the natives squatting like this, but it seemed so natural that it never struck me it was difficult at all. I say, it is beginning to hurt already. My shin bones are aching horribly."

"Yes; that is where the strain comes, my boy. But you have got to stick to it, until your muscles there, which have never been called into play in this way before, get accustomed to the work."

"I understand that, Uncle. It was just the same with my arms, when I began to climb. But I can't stand this any longer. I can no more get up than I can fly;" and Dick rolled over on to his side.

Again and again he tried, after a short rest between each trial. As he gave it up, and limped stiffly to the divan, he said:

"I feel as if some one had been kicking me on the shins, until he had nearly broken them, Mother. I have been kicked pretty badly several times, in fights by rough fellows at home in Shadwell, but it never hurt like this;" and he rubbed his aching legs ruefully.

"Well, Uncle, I am very much obliged to you for putting me up to practising this position. It seemed to me that it would be quite a simple thing, to walk along quietly, and to move my arms about as they do; but I never thought of this.

"I wonder, Mother, you never told me that, above all things, I should have to learn to squat on my heels for any time. It would not have been so difficult to learn it, five or six years ago, when I was not anything like so heavy as I am now."

"It never once occurred to me, Dick. I wish it had. I thought I had foreseen every difficulty, but it never once came into my mind that, in order to pass as a native, you must be able to sit like one."

"Ah, well, I shall learn in time, Mother," Dick replied cheerfully. "Every exercise is hard at first, but one soon gets accustomed to it."

Dick threw himself with his usual energy into his new work. Although of a morning, when he first woke, his shins caused him the most acute pain, he always spent half an hour in practice. Afterwards he would sit for some time, allowing the water from the tap at the side of the bath to flow upon the aching muscles. Then he would dress and, as soon as breakfast was over, go for a run in the garden. At first it was but a shamble, but gradually the terrible stiffness would wear off, and he would return to the house comparatively well.

Of an evening the practice was longer, and was kept up until the aching pain became unendurable. At the end of four or five days, he was scarcely able to walk at all, but after that time matters improved, and three weeks later he could preserve the attitude for half an hour at a time.

In other respects, his training had gone on uninterruptedly every day. He went out into the town, accompanied sometimes by Rajbullub, sometimes by Surajah, in the disguises of either a peasant, a soldier, or a trader; and learnt to walk, and carry himself, in accordance with his dress. Before putting on these disguises, he painted himself with a solution that could easily be washed off, on his return to the palace, where he now always wore a European dress.

"You cannot be too careful," the Rajah said. "There are, of course, Mohammedans here; and, for aught we know, some may act as agents or spies of Tippoo, just as the English have agents and spies in Mysore. Were one of them to send word that you had taken to Indian attire, and that it was believed that you were about to undertake some mission or other, it would add considerably to your difficulties and dangers. As it is, no one outside our own circle ever sees you about with me or the boys, except in your European dress, and Rajbullub tells me that, in no single instance while you have been in disguise, has any suspicion been excited, or question asked by the people of various classes with whom you and he converse in the streets."

Another month passed, and by this time Dick could, without any great fatigue, squat on his heels for an hour at a time. As the date for his departure drew near, his mother became more and more nervous and anxious.

"I shall never forgive myself, if you do not come back," she said one day, when they were alone. "I cannot but feel that I have been selfish, and that really, on the strength of a conviction which most people would laugh at as whimsical and absurd, I am risking the substance for a shadow, and am imperilling the life of my only boy, upon the faint chance that he may find my husband. I know that even your uncle, although he has always been most kind about it, and assisted in every way in his power, has but little belief in the success of your search; although, as he sees how bent I am upon it, he says nothing that might dash my hopes.

"If evil comes of it, Dick, I shall never forgive myself. I shall feel that I have sacrificed you to a sort of hallucination."

"I can only say, Mother," Dick replied, "that I came out here, and entered into your plans, only because I had the most implicit faith that you were right. I should now continue it on my own account, even if tomorrow you should be taken from me. Of course, I see plainly enough that the chances are greatly against my ever hearing anything of Father; but from what has taken place during the campaign, I have seen that there must be many British captives still hidden away among the hill forts, and it is quite possible he may be among them. I do not even say that it is probable, but the chances are not so very greatly against it; and even if I thought they were smaller—much smaller than I believe them to be—I should still consider it my duty to go up and try and find him. So, even if it should happen that I never come back again, you will not have yourself to blame, for it is not you that are sending me, but I who am going of my free will; and indeed, I feel it so much my duty that, even were you to turn round now and ask me to stay, I should still think it right to undertake this mission.

"But indeed, Mother, I see no great danger in it; in fact, scarcely any danger at all—at any rate, unless I find Father. If I do so, there might certainly be risk in attempting to get him away; but this, if I am lucky enough in discovering him, will not weigh with me for an instant. If I do not find him, it seems to me that the risk is a mere nothing. Surajah and I will wander about, enlisting in the garrisons of forts. Then, if we find there are no prisoners there, we shall take an early opportunity of getting away. In some places, no doubt, I shall be able to learn from men of the garrison whether there are prisoners, without being forced to enter at all; for although in the great forts, like Savandroog and Outradroog, it is considered so important the defences should be kept secret, that none of the garrison are allowed to leave until they are discharged as too old for service, there is no occasion for the same precaution in the case of less important places. Thus, you see, we shall simply have to wander about, keeping our eyes and ears open, and finding out, either from the peasants or the soldiers themselves, whether there are any prisoners there."

"I wish I could go with you, Dick. I used to think that, when the work of searching for your father had begun, I could wait patiently for the result; but instead of that, I find myself even more anxious and more nervous than I was at Shadwell."

"I can quite understand, Mother, that it is very much more trying work, sitting here waiting, than it is to be actively engaged. The only thing is, that you must promise me not to trouble more than you can help; for if I think of you as sitting here fretting about me, I shall worry infinitely more than I otherwise should over any difficulties we may have to encounter. You must remember that I shall have Surajah with me. He is a capital companion, and will always be able to advise me upon native business. He is as plucky as a fellow can be, and I can trust him to do anything, just as I would myself."

The preparations for departure now began in earnest. There was some discussion as to the arms that were to be taken, but at last it was decided that, with safety, they could carry nothing beyond a matchlock, a pistol, and a sword each.

Great pains were taken in the selection of the matchlocks. In the armoury were several weapons of high finish, with silver mountings, that had belonged to the Rajah's father and grandfather. These were tried against each other, and the two that were proved to be the most accurate were chosen. Dick found, indeed, that at distances up to a hundred yards, they were quite equal to the English rifle he had brought out. The silver mountings were taken off, and then the pieces differed in no way, in appearance, from those in general use among the peasantry.

The pistols were chosen with equal care. The swords were of finely tempered steel, the blades being removed from their jewelled handles, for which were substituted rough handles of ordinary metal.

Ten gold pieces were sewn up underneath the iron bands encircling the leathern scabbard, as many under the bosses of their shields, and five pieces in the soles of each of their shoes. In their waist sashes, the ordinary receptacle of money, each carried a small bag with native silver coins.

At last all was ready and, an hour before daybreak, Dick took a cheerful farewell of his mother, and a hearty one of his uncle, and, with Surajah, passed through the town and struck up into the hills. Each carried a bag slung over his shoulder, well filled with provisions, a small water bottle, and, hung upon his matchlock, a change of clothing. In the folds of his turban, Dick had a packet of the powder used for making dye, so that he could, at any time, renew the brown shade, when it began to fade out.

For a time but few words were spoken. Dick knew that, although his mother had borne up bravely till the last, she would break down as soon as he left her; and the thought that he might never see her again weighed heavily upon him. Surajah, on the contrary, was filled with elation at the prospect of adventures and dangers, and he was silent simply because he felt that, for the present, his young lord was in no humour for speech.

As soon as the sun rose, Dick shook off his depression. They were now a considerable distance up the hillside. There was no path, for the people of Tripataly had no occasion to visit Mysore, and still less desire for a visit from the Mysoreans. Periodically, raids were made upon the villages and plains by marauders from the hills, but these were mostly by the passes through the ghauts, thirty or forty miles left or right from the little state which, nestling at the foot of the hills, for the most part escaped these visitations—which, now that the British had become possessed of the territories and the hills, had, it was hoped, finally ceased. Nevertheless, the people were always prepared for such visits. Every cultivator had a pit in which he stored his harvest, except so much as was needed for his immediate wants. The pit was lined with mats, others were laid over the grain. Two feet of soil was then placed over the mats and, after the ground had been ploughed, there was no indication of the existence of the hiding place.

The town itself was surrounded by a wall, of sufficient strength to withstand the attacks of any parties of marauders; and the custom of keeping a man on a watch tower was still maintained. At the foot of the tower stood a heavy gun, whose discharge would at once warn the peasants for miles round of an enemy, calling those near to hasten to the shelter of the town, while the men of the villages at a distance could hurry, with their wives and families, to hiding places among the hills.

Dick and Surajah had no need of a path, for they were well acquainted with the ground, and had often wandered up, nearly to the crest of the hills, in pursuit of game. An hour before noon, they took their seats under a rock that shaded them from the sun's rays and, sitting down, partook of a hearty meal. There was no occasion for haste, and they prepared for rest until the heat of the day was passed.

"We are fairly off now, Surajah," Dick said, as he stretched himself out comfortably. "I have been thinking of this almost as long as I can remember, and can hardly believe that it has come to pass."

"I have thought of it but a short time, my lord."

"No, no, Surajah," Dick interrupted. "You know it was arranged that, from the first, you were to call me Purseram, for unless you get accustomed to it, you will be calling me 'my lord' in the hearing of others."

"I had forgotten," Surajah replied with a smile, and then went on. "It is but a short time since I was sure I was going with you, but I have ever hoped that the time would come when, instead of the dull work of drilling men and placing them on guard, I might have the opportunity of taking part in war and adventure, and indeed had thought of asking my lord, your uncle, to permit me to go away for a while in one of the Company's regiments, and there to learn my business. Since the English have become masters, and there is no longer war between rajah and rajah, as there used to be in olden times, this is the only way that a man of spirit can gain distinction. But this adventure is far better, for there will be much danger, and need for caution as well as courage."

Dick nodded.

"More for caution and coolness than for courage, I think, Surajah. It will only be in case we find my father, or if any grave suspicion falls on us, that there will be need for courage. Once well into Mysore, I see but little chance of suspicion falling upon us. We have agreed that we will first make for Seringapatam, avoiding as much as possible all places on the way where inquiries whence we come may be made of us. Once in the city, we shall be safe from such questions, and can travel thence where we will; and it will be hard if we do not, when there, manage to learn the places at which any prisoners there may be are most likely to be kept.

"Besides, my father is as likely to be there as anywhere, for Tippoo may, since our army marched away, have ordered all prisoners to be brought down from the hill forts to Seringapatam."

When the sun had lost its power, they proceeded on their way again. Their start had been timed so that, for the first week, they would have moonlight; and would, therefore, be able to travel at night until they arrived at Seringapatam. It was considered that it was only necessary to do this for the first two or three nights as, after that, the tale that they were coming from a village near the frontier, and were on their way to join Tippoo's army, would seem natural enough to any villagers who might question them.

They continued their course until nearly midnight, by which time they were both completely fatigued, and, choosing a spot sheltered by bushes, lay down to sleep. It took another two days before they were clear of the broken country, and the greater portion of this part of the journey they performed in daylight. Occasionally they saw, in the distance, the small forts which guarded every road to the plateau. To these they always gave a very wide berth, as although, according to the terms of peace, they should all have been evacuated, they might still be occupied by parties of Tippoo's troops.

Indeed, all the news that had arrived, since the army left, represented Tippoo as making every effort to strengthen his army and fortresses, and to prepare for a renewal of the war.

Several times they saw bears, which abounded among the ghauts, and once beheld two tigers crossing a nullah. They had, however, other matters to think of, and neither the flesh nor the skins of the bears would have been of any use to them. The work was severe, and they were glad when at last they reached the level country. In some of the upper valleys, opening on to this, they had seen small villages. Near one of these they had slept, and as in the morning they saw that the inhabitants were Hindoos, they fearlessly went out and talked with them, in order to gain some information as to the position of the forts, and to learn whether any bodies of Tippoo's troops were likely to be met with.

They found the people altogether ignorant on these matters. They were simple peasants. Their whole thoughts were given to tilling their land, and bringing in sufficient to live upon, and to satisfy the demands of the tax gatherers when they visited them. They had little communication with other villages, and knew nothing of what was passing outside their own. They evinced no curiosity whatever concerning their visitors, who bought from them some cakes of ground ragee, which formed the chief article of their food.

The country through which they passed, on emerging from the hills, was largely covered with bush and jungle, and was very thinly populated. It was an almost unbroken flat, save that here and there isolated masses of rock rose above it. These were extremely steep and inaccessible, and on their summits were the hill forts that formed so prominent a feature in the warfare of both Mysore and the Nizam's dominions to the north. These forts were, for the most part, considered absolutely impregnable, but the last war with the British had proved that they were not so, as several of the strongest had been captured, with comparatively slight loss.

Whenever they passed within a few miles of one of these hill fortresses, Dick looked at it with anxious eyes; for there, for aught he knew, his father might be languishing.

After two days' walking across the plain, they felt that there was no longer any necessity for concealment, except that it would be as well to avoid an encounter with any troops. Although, therefore, they avoided the principal roads, they kept along beaten paths, and did not hesitate to enter villages to buy food.

They no longer saw caste marks on the foreheads of the inhabitants. The Hindoos had been compelled by force to abandon their religion, all who refused to do so being put to death at once. Dick and Surajah found that their dialect differed much more from that of the country below the ghauts than they had expected and, although they had no difficulty in conversing with the peasants, they found that their idea that they would be able to pass as natives of one of these villages was an altogether erroneous one.

"This will never do, Surajah," Dick said, as they left one of the villages. "We shall have to alter our story somehow, for the first person we meet, in Seringapatam, will see that we are not natives of Mysore. We must give out that we come from some village far down on the ghauts—one of those which have been handed over to the English by the new treaty. You know the country well enough there to be able to answer any questions that may be asked. We must say that, desiring to be soldiers, and hating the English raj, we have crossed the hills to take service of some sort in Mysore. This will be natural enough: and of course there are many Mohammedans down in the plains, especially among the villages on the ghauts."

"I think that would be best, Purseram."

"There is one comfort," Dick went on. "It is evident that Tippoo is hated by all the Hindoos. He has forced them to change their religion, and we need have no fear of being betrayed by any of them, except from pressure, or from a desire to win Tippoo's goodwill."

"Yes, that might be the case with those who are fairly well off, but would scarcely be so among the poorer classes. Besides, even they, were we living among them, would have no reason for suspecting our story. There seems no doubt, from what they say, that Tippoo is preparing for war again, and I think that we shall do well, as soon as we enter the city, to change our attire, or we might be forced into joining the army, which would be the last thing we want. What I should desire, above all things, is to get service of some kind in the Palace."

After six days' travel, they saw the walls of Seringapatam. Dick had made many inquiries, at the last halting place, as to the position of the fords on that side of the town; and learned that only those leading to the fort were guarded. The ford opposite the town was freely open to traffic, and could be crossed without question by country people, although a watch was kept to see that none of the very numerous prisoners escaped by it.

It was here, therefore, that they crossed the river, the water being little more than knee deep. No questions were asked by the guard as they passed, their appearance differing in no way from that of the peasants of the neighbourhood.

After a quarter of a mile's walk they entered the town. It was open, and undefended by a wall. The streets were wide, and laid out at right angles. The shops, however, were poor, for the slightest appearance of wealth sufficed to excite the cupidity of Tippoo or his agents, and the possessor would be exposed to exorbitant demands, which, if not complied with, would have entailed first torture and then death.

The streets, however, presented a busy appearance. They were thronged with soldiers. Battalions of recruits passed along, and it was evident that Tippoo was doing all in his power to raise the strength of his army to its former level. They wandered about for some time, and at last, in a small street, Dick went up to an old man whose face pleased him. He was standing at the door of his house.

"We desire to find a room where we can lodge for a time," he said. "Can you direct us where we can obtain one?"

"You are not soldiers?" the old man asked.

"No. We desire to earn our living, but have not yet decided whether to join the army."

"You are from the plains?" the native said sharply, in their own dialect.

"That is so," Dick replied.

"And yet you are Mohammedans?"

"Every one is Mohammedan here."

"Ah! Because it is the choice of 'death or Mohammed.' How comes it that two young men should voluntarily leave their homes to enter this tiger's den? You look honest youths. How come you here?"

"I trust that we are honest," Dick said. "We have assuredly not ventured here without a reason, and that reason is a good one; but this is not a city where one talks of such matters to a stranger in the street, even though his face tells one that he can be trusted with a secret."

The old man was silent for a minute; then he said:

"Come in, my sons. You can, as you say, trust me. I have a room that you can occupy."

They followed him into the house, and he led them into a small room at the back. It was poorly furnished, but was scrupulously clean. A pan of lighted charcoal stood in one corner, and over this a pot of rice was boiling.

"I bid you welcome," he said gravely.

And as the salutation was not one in use by the Mohammedans, Dick saw that his idea that the old man was a Hindoo, who had been forced to abjure his religion, was a correct one. The old man motioned to them to take their seats on the divan.

"I do not ask for your confidence," he said, "but if you choose to give it to me, it will be sacred, and it may be that, poor as I am, I am able to aid you. I will tell you at once that I am a native of Conjeveram and, of course, a Hindoo. I was settled as a trader at Mysore, the old capital. But when, four years ago, the tyrant destroyed that town, I, with over a hundred thousand of our religion, was forced to adopt Mohammedanism. I was of high caste and, like many others, would have preferred death to yielding, had it not been that I had a young daughter; and for her sake I lived, and moved here from Mysore.

"I gained nothing by my sin. I was one of the wealthiest traders in the whole city, and I had been here but a month when Tippoo's soldiers burst in one day. My daughter was carried off to the Tiger's harem, and I was threatened with torture, unless I divulged the hiding place of my money.

"It was useless to resist. My wealth was now worthless to me, and without hesitation I complied with their demands; and all I had was seized, save one small hoard, which was enough to keep me thus to the end of my days. My wants are few: a handful of rice or grain a day, and I am satisfied. I should have put an end to my life, were it not that, according to our religion, the suicide is accursed; and, moreover, I would fain live to see the vengeance that must some day fall upon the tyrant.

"After what I have said, it is for you to decide whether you think I can be trusted with your secret, for I am sure it is for no slight reason that you have come to this accursed city."

Dick felt that he could safely speak, and that he would find in this native a very valuable ally. He therefore told his story without concealment. Except that an exclamation of surprise broke from his lips, when Dick said that he was English, the old man listened without a remark until he had finished.

"Your tale is indeed a strange one," he said, when he had heard the story. "I had looked for something out of the ordinary, but assuredly for nothing so strange as this. Truly you English are a wonderful people. It is marvellous that one should come, all the way from beyond the black water, to seek for a father lost so many years ago. Methinks that a blessing will surely alight upon such filial piety, and that you will find your father yet alive.