Chapter XI

Treading disdainfully
Upon our very throats, he echoed back
Our clamorous shouts of triumph with defiance,
And laughed all threats and stratagems to scorn.

HINDOO DRAMA.

Chusero, and his brave companion in calamity, wandered all night through the woods, uncertain as to the direction in which they were proceeding. Towards morning they discovered a wretched hut, loosely covered with dried branches and withered leaves. Permitting their horse to take such food as he could find in such a spot, they laid themselves down to rest, and slept until noon, when Afkun, awaking to the dreadful recollection of the events of the preceding day, pressed both his hands on his forehead, thought of his home, and asked himself with a sob that almost rent his manly heart, “Ah! what now shall become of my Nourmahal!”

No regrets passed through his mind for having joined the banner of the prince in this war. He felt convinced, from all he had heard of Jehangire, from the well-known habits of his life, from the follies which he had committed, even when on his way to the Sutledge--follies, which of course lost no shade of their original puerility, in the rumours that wafted intelligence of them to all quarters of the empire; but especially from the sallies of downright insanity to which Jehangire was subject, that he was unfit to rule so important an empire as Hindostan.

In summing up and justifying to himself his motives of action, the husband of Nourmahal endeavoured to conceal the consciousness, that he had also committed his destinies in the prince’s cause, from a vague, yet always increasing apprehension, that there were strong, perhaps indissoluble, though invisible links of affection between her and Jehangire, which must, sooner or later, draw them too closely together. And yet it was, perhaps, this feeling which, more than any other, determined him, in the first moments of the civil war, to choose the side he had taken. He knew not to what courses the reckless and malignant Bochari might instigate the emperor, if he reached the northern provinces, borne on the tide of victory. He feared the passions of the sovereign, now no longer checked by the prohibitions of Acbar, or awed by the authority of Fazeel.

Looking at the intelligent and chivalrous youth slumbering by his side, covered with the gore and dust of battle, in which, though defeated, he bore a part worthy of the valour of Baber, he felt more and more attached to him. Placing his left hand on the prince’s shoulder, and raising the other to the skies, he swore never to desert him; and even if he could not promote him to the throne, for which he was so well fitted by nature, at all events to acknowledge no other master, to the last moment of his existence.

Afkun had awoke feverish and thirsty. He saw, by the flushed cheek and brow, that his companion was equally so; and hearing, as he thought, a gurgling sound at some distance, he went out to search for the place whence it came. He soon lighted on a little brook, whose clear waters were singing their way over a bed of pebbles and through fallen leaves, little conscious of the tremendous scenes that had just been enacted upon the banks of the river, to which haply they were about to offer their slender tribute. Stooping down, he drank copiously of the refreshing stream; then taking off his helmet, he filled it with the transparent element, and laid it beside the prince, who, just opening his eyes, looked around, wondering where he was. The affectionate pressure of Afkun’s hand answered all his inquiries, and a draught of the pure cold spring at once restored to his features their wonted expression.

Chusero and his companion agreed that their only resource would be to proceed at once to Lahore, which, being well fortified and powerfully garrisoned, would enable them to hold out against the enemy, until the late disasters could be in some measure repaired, and a new army organized. With this view Afkun went in search of his horse, which was nowhere to be seen. Venturing to call aloud to the animal, certain, that if within the reach of his voice it would immediately answer to his appeal, three or four men started at the sound from beneath branches of trees, with which they had covered themselves. They turned out to be soldiers of Cashmere, who had fled thither, like himself, from the field of battle, and whose delight was inexpressible on finding that their leader had also escaped unhurt from the perils of the disastrous day. They immediately went in different directions to look for their chieftain’s well-known steed, which they found at some distance, feeding on the leaves of a tamarisk. The whole party then proceeded through the forest, directing their course by the sun, westward.

After emerging from the forest, they were joined, from time to time, by other fugitives from the late scene of contest, who informed them that the emperor’s army was already moving, with great rapidity, towards Lahore. The unwelcome tidings also reached them, that Man-Singh, notwithstanding his astonishing feat in cutting his way through the ranks of the enemy, had been made prisoner, and ordered to be confined in the fortress of Gwalior; and that Bochari, with three thousand chosen men, had set out expressly in pursuit of the prince, whom he had strict injunctions to convey, dead or alive, to the presence of the emperor. Chusero resolved to sell his freedom only with his life, for he knew that so long as Bochari controlled the councils of his father, one would be just as valueless to him as the other.

Subsisting upon such wild berries and fruits, as the trees and shrubs they found on their way, furnished; or, upon the provisions supplied to them by the hospitable peasants, at whose huts they claimed the assistance seldom denied in Hindostan to travellers; the prince and his friend, attended by their followers, arrived in the course of a few days on the banks of the Rawee, a deep and rapid river, which it would be impossible for them to pass, unless at some of the ferries, where boats were established at the expense of government. A boy whom they met with, driving some swine, conducted them to the nearest ferry; but although the passage was much frequented, no boats were to be found. Afkun proceeded alone to the next village, where the ferryman lived, and learned from him, that orders had been already received by the zemindar of the district, from the imperial army, to stop all the passages of the Rawee, and that, in compliance with those orders, the boats had been secreted.

Upon returning to the prince, Afkun proposed to take measures for compelling the ferryman to disclose the place where the boats were concealed. “We have,” said he, “it is true, but a small force--in all, I think, not exceeding a hundred men, but their quivers are not wholly exhausted, their zeal may be relied upon, and we have no time for deliberation.” It was then near midnight. Proceeding to the village, they took the ferryman out of his bed, and threatened to tie a large stone round his neck and throw him into the river, unless he forthwith complied with their demand. He declared that the mandate of the zemindar had been executed, not by him, but by the villagers, as he happened to be at some distance fishing, when the orders arrived. They then proceeded to seize the villagers, whose huts he pointed out. Some were taken in their beds--others escaping, by their outcries alarmed the country. The ferry-boats were nowhere to be found. Two of his followers, whom Afkun had taken the precaution to send down the river to see if, in any of the creeks, the boats had been concealed, returned to him at day-break, with intelligence that two rafts, loaded with wood, were tied to a tree at a distance below the village. Hastening with the prince and his followers to the spot, they speedily disencumbered the rafts of their burthen, and, crowding on board, began to put across the stream. They had scarcely quitted the bank, when the zemindar, being roused from sleep by the tumult, presented himself, attended by his guards and a concourse of the people, and having in vain ordered the rafts to be brought back, fired upon the navigators. They returned the fire with their arrows, one of which transfixed the zemindar, others wounded his guards and the people, who, irritated by the circumstance, plunged into the river, and surrounding the rafts, endeavoured to sink them. Some were pierced with arrows in the attempt, others had their hands cut off. In the confusion the paddles were lost, by which the rafts had hitherto been conducted. The fugitives were therefore obliged to allow themselves to be borne down the current.

Chusero and Afkun immediately divested themselves of their armour, with a view to swim to the farther bank, though the Rawee exhibited a considerable expanse at that place, and appeared to widen at every step. Meanwhile, a strong body of the imperial guards made their appearance, led on by Bochari, who, perceiving his prey ready to escape, jumped into the ferry-boat, which was just launched from a neighbouring creek, where it had been hauled up, and with a few followers, proceeded at once towards the raft, where he saw the prince and Afkun ready to dive into the stream. Bochari, also, had left off his armour, in consequence of the heat of the weather, and the rapidity with which he was eager to travel. Afkun, observing the foe whom he had in vain often attempted to discover in the field of battle, felt new life rushing through his nerves, and entreating the prince to save his life by hastening to the distant bank, lifted him on his steed, and pushing the animal into the water, waited the approach of the ferry-boat as the rock expects the coming wave, whose utmost fury it disdains.

Both the warriors instinctively drew their scymitars at the same moment, and as the boat, impelled by the oar and the current, passed the raft, the two weapons met with a clash which flung a blaze of light upon the water. The men on either side hung back, as if in the presence of such chieftains they had no right to take a share in the conflict.

The impetuosity with which the boat was urged drove it against a sand bank, where it adhered. The raft was in a few moments at its stern, and Afkun, ordering his men to board the boat and sink her, if they could, grappled with Bochari. The latter, feeling his arm held back by somebody behind him, made an effort to extricate himself, and in doing so, fell over the side of the vessel. Afkun seized him by the shoulder, and pulling him on to the raft, gave him time to get erect upon his legs. Again the two scymitars flashed against each other, each of the combatants feeling, that in that moment, the fate of the empire was in his hands, and that he had no means of safety except in his own prowess. The advantage, at first, seemed in favour of Afkun, who, scarcely allowing Bochari any time for parrying his blows, laid upon him as if he were about to cleave him in two.

The Persian, however, gradually finding his footing on the raft, threw up the weapon of the Turcoman by a dexterous understroke, and stooping, wheeled round to the other side, where he placed himself in an attitude of defence that drew forth applause even from the rival parties in the boat, and suspended their contest. Both raft and boat were now entangled in the sand-bank, the current driving them through it with a force which they could not master.

Afkun again advanced upon his foe, who, holding his scymitar before him, watched the coming blow with admirable coolness, and rendered it ineffectual, without attempting to return it. He felt the power of the gigantic arm against which he had hazarded his life, and looked only to the resources of his ingenuity to exhaust that strength, or at least to reduce it to his own level. But the Turcoman was not there for the play of the gladiator, with which he was little conversant. He repeated his onsets, until finding himself baffled by the vigilance of his antagonist, he turned his scymitar in his hand, and striking that of Bochari with the back of his weapon, sent more than the half of it ringing into the stream. Then flinging his own blade after it, he closed at once upon his dismayed opponent, grasping him in his arms as the bear of Gundwana compresses the panther when they meet over the same spoil, threatened to annihilate him, and would probably have accomplished his purpose, if the raft, over-balanced by their united weight, had not inclined to one side, when both fell headlong into the foaming current.

The combatants disappeared; but in a few moments their heads were seen above the water, at a short distance below the boat, struggling for breath, Afkun still holding Bochari powerless in one of his muscular arms, while with the other he endeavoured to stem the rapidity of the tide. The contest was no longer equal. The cavalry on the banks witnessed the danger in which their chief was involved, but afraid to fire while the antagonists were thus closely linked together, they procured another boat, and hastened to Bochari’s assistance. Afkun, still stemming his way to the further bank, plunged repeatedly with his burden in the depths of the river, and it was not until he saw the second boat push forth from the shore, and quickly gaining upon him, that diving once more, he returned to the surface alone.

The boatmen gave up Bochari as lost, when the soldiers in the vessel, levelling their matchlocks at Afkun, sent forth a shower of balls that ploughed the waters around him. But like the noble stag, even when hard pressed by dogs and hunters in full pursuit, he held on his way in stately pride, not looking once behind him, and urging his limbs with unquailing energy through the flood, now that he could use them without incumbrance, soon left the boat at a distance whence their fire was of no avail, until touching the shelving bank, he strode it up like a god emerging from his own dominion.

Bochari re-appeared a few moments after, and was taken into the boat, in a condition so feeble that he was at first supposed to be lifeless. But being conveyed to the shore with the least possible delay, he was stripped of all his garments, and covered with hot sand, while the soles of his feet were rubbed with heated oil. The flickering embers of existence were thus gradually retained and strengthened, the glow came back to his pallid cheek, and his arms were again seen beating the air, as if he were still engaged in the deadly strife from which he had just been rescued. From that moment he never heard the name of Afkun repeated, without feeling his frame incased in the icy shroud of death.

The Turcoman’s first anxiety was to know what had become of the prince. Nor was he long condemned to doubt upon that subject; while, having ascended an eminence, he was still hesitating as to the direction in which he should bend his steps, his beauteous steed, much soiled with mud, came trotting towards him, neighing with delight for having recovered its master. Looking along the bank whence the animal had come, he perceived Chusero, and ran forward eagerly to meet him. The prince related, that having escaped with no small difficulty from the eddies of the Rawee, in which he was for some time involved, he lost sight of the rafts altogether, but that, keeping his way, as soon as he reached the land, along the river be heard the discharge of fire-arms. He was at no loss to conjecture at whom they were directed, and galloped on with all speed until, without suspecting it, he entered a morass, where his horse sunk instantly to the saddle. He threw himself off; the animal, with instinctive foresight of its peril, swaying on its side, rolled over, and thus extricating its limbs, cautiously retraced its steps, until it found a firm footing. At that moment Afkun’s well-known figure presented itself upon the rising ground.

A brook, which formed one of the tributaries of the Rawee, enabled them to cleanse the animal, who stood with joyous tranquillity in the stream, while they applied the element to his limbs. Then mounting on his back, and following the guidance of the river, they rode onward night and day until they reached the gates of Lahore, which they found closed, and vigilantly guarded, on account of the rumoured approach of the imperial troops. The prince, on demanding admission, was at once recognised by the sentinels, and entering the city, was every where received with enthusiastic acclamations, notwithstanding his recent disaster. The promises of fidelity made to him by the garrison and the inhabitants, were renewed. They swore that they would defend the town to the last; for besides the obligation they had already contracted towards the prince, they apprehended from the mode in which the emperor, at the instigation of Bochari, dealt with the prisoners who had fallen into his hands, that they were to expect no mercy; that the town, if unfortunately captured, would be given up to the pillage of the imperial troops; that neither sex, nor age would be spared; and that of the city itself not one stone would be permitted to remain upon another.