Chapter XIV

Dread not though singly he contend with multitudes,
To such as he--odds are of little moment--
He needs no succour but his own right arm,
Resistless as the lion, when delightedly
He rings his clashing claws, and cleaves asunder
The elephant’s broad temples.

HINDOO DRAMA.

The three days of truce demanded, and unhappily obtained by the imperialists, under the pretext of burning their dead, for which as many hours would have been sufficient, were not intended to be spent in idleness. Finding that in Afkun they had no ordinary foe to contend against, that the inhabitants were determined in their resistance, that supplies of provisions did not reach the camp adequate to the wants of so large an army, and that they would be soon under the necessity of raising the siege, unless some extraordinary measures were adopted, Bochari arranged with omrahs, resident within the walls, with whom he carried on intercourse by means of spies, the several attempts upon Afkun’s life, which, however, the indomitable strength and valour of the Turcomanian had defeated.

It is but justice to Jehangire to observe, that when these mean stratagems were hinted or talked of in the council, for they were not made the subject of any discussion or resolution in that body, both he and Auzeem uniformly discountenanced them. But Bochari took every thing upon himself. Whenever he discovered that any plan which he had conceived was likely to meet with resistance, he immediately avoided any further show of carrying it on. Regardless of personal responsibility, he persevered in his own course, whatever it was, acting nevertheless in the name of the emperor, as if he had obtained the assent of Jehangire to all his schemes.

Auzeem felt as strongly as Bochari the necessity of reducing Lahore, or of abandoning the siege, with all possible expedition. The idea of taking it by storm, after the specimen of resistance the imperialists had already encountered, seemed hazardous in the extreme. Observing, however, that the river Rawee, upon which the inhabitants almost entirely depended for their supply of water, might be diverted from its natural channel, by excavating a passage for it, partly in the forest above the town, partly behind the lines of the beseigers, and permitting it again to enter its own bed at some distance below the walls, Auzeem proposed that during the truce twenty thousand men should be employed in forming a canal for that purpose. The idea was a bold one, and upon a survey of the ground being made, it was found so practicable, that the men were set to work upon it without delay. Their labours having been carried on day and night, not only without interruption, but even without suspicion, on the part of the besieged, the excavation was completed during the night of the third day of the truce.

A canal was formed sufficiently wide and deep to receive the whole volume of the Rawee, nearly a league above Lahore, and to convey it to one of its own tributaries, which entered the old channel at about the same distance below the town where the descent was so rapid that no danger existed of any part of the water finding its way upwards. It became necessary, however, to throw a dam across the ordinary bed of the river, which was effected by driving stakes into it, and filling the interstices with rocks and hard clay, so as to prevent any portion of the water from making its escape in its wonted direction. This latter operation, however, occupied the besiegers some hours beyond the period of the truce.

The vigilance of Afkun suffered nothing connected with the defence of the town to escape his attention. His preparations for meeting a fresh assault were fully arranged on the morning after the three days had elapsed. As he was crossing the wooden bridge, however, which led over the Rawee, in the middle of Lahore, he observed that the river had fallen considerably below its margin. He mentioned the circumstance to a group of the inhabitants, who happened to be standing on the bridge; but as they did not attach any great importance to the circumstance, attributing it to the heats which had already set in with great violence, he passed on to the ramparts. His eyes were directed on all sides to the lines of the besiegers; he found them strongly occupied, but exhibiting no symptoms of a renewal of any thing like a general, or even a partial assault. Nevertheless, he imagined, from the bustle which he occasionally detected beyond the lines, and from the numerous parties which he saw in motion here and there, that operations were in progress either for raising the siege, or for carrying into effect some other purpose, which he could not at the moment divine.

Afkun’s suspicions having been excited, he sent for the prince, and, accompanied by him, walked back to the bridge, where he ascertained that the river was still lower than when he first observed it. He immediately ordered the Rawee to be sounded, and having convinced himself that the volume of its waters was rapidly failing, he apprized the people of their danger, and directed them forthwith to bring every vessel they could lay their hands upon, to fill all the reservoirs of the town and citadel, and to be as frugal as possible in their consumption of the vital element, until measures could be taken for frustrating this new attempt upon the part of the enemy to compel the town to surrender.

The intelligence that the river was somewhere stopped in its course, spread with the rapidity of lightning through all parts of Lahore. The people, alarmed lest they should be deprived of the most essential of all things, especially at such a season, when the sun was raging in the sky, and pouring down its fire upon the town as from a glowing furnace, were seized with an universal panic. Instead of proceeding methodically, as Afkun had directed them, to secure as much of the ebbing stream as they could, while any portion of it remained, they rushed into the channel with their pitchers, and such small earthen vessels as they could carry in their hands, and rendered the water so muddy by their improvident haste, that they destroyed the only chance which they possessed of securing a supply even for the coming night. By noon the river was completely dried up, and when the sun set, the channel was as hardened as the footway of the most frequented street in Lahore.

The slender provision which the inhabitants had thus allowed themselves to make, of an element without which existence could not go on above a few hours at the utmost, was quickly exhausted, the very fear of losing it having even accelerated its consumption beyond the ordinary proportions. The public fountains were surrounded by multitudes, who, instead of waiting for the regular supply, such as it was, contended with each other in breaking down the marble ornaments, in order to get at the stream within, which was wholly inadequate to their wants.

As the evening advanced, the contests at the wells throughout the town, whether public or private, became dreadful. Mothers, with infants in their arms, and followed by troops of children, fainting for the want of water, fought against each other with a degree of fury which seemed to belong to the region of condemned spirits, for a portion of water that would scarcely fill the hollow of the hand. This when obtained, they gave at once to the infant at the breast, their natural sources having been dried up by the excitement of the scenes in which they were engaged. When the cries of the infants were allayed, those of the other children became still more urgent. They lay upon the earth in piles, most of them unable to express their wants in any language save that of mournful and incessant wailings, which drove the mothers, already miserable and exhausted by their exertions, to madness. Besides the hostilities which they had to carry on against each other for precedence at the few wells that still yielded a scanty supply, they had soon fiercer enemies, even than their own sex to encounter, in the numerous troops of dogs congregating around them.

Wherever blood was shed, and in many parts of the town it might have been seen in streams all the night, these unfortunate animals, possessing no masters, and accustomed to band together for self-defence, rushed upon the red torrents, which they speedily drank up. Fired by the taste of the grateful liquid, and by the thirst which, on that fatal night, and the greater part of the next day, preyed upon all living creatures within the walls, these rabid outlaws fearlessly attacked every thing that came in their way. The results were awful. The howl of insanity was heard in every direction. Men, women, and children, as if suddenly struck by the sword of the destroying angel, became simultaneously victims of this new pestilence. They ran up and down the streets, wild with anguish. The inhuman sounds which they uttered--now resembling the barking of blood-hounds--now the fierce cry of the jackall--now the agonizing moan of the wild bull, when stung to the heart by swarms of the gadfly, gave to the other accumulating horrors of the scene so painful a character, that captivity, torture, death itself, seemed preferable to existence in such a place.

Those of the inhabitants who still retained the power to move, collecting in a body, rushed out through one of the gates, along the dry bed of the river, until they arrived at the spot, where it again received the flowing waters. They hastened headlong into the flood. Many were drowned--many drinking too copiously of the element in the midst of the fever, which prevented them from knowing what they did, perished instantly, the vital current being at once repelled from the heart. Those whom the waters did not destroy, were easily overcome by the enemy, who, having assembled in force, attacked and slew them without mercy.

Chusero gave up all hope of retaining the town, under these circumstances. But the resolution of Afkun was not so to be subdued. At all events he determined that, if possible, Lahore should not be given up to the mere mercy of the imperialists. Collecting at night the principal part of the garrison, he explained to them that the river must have been intercepted in its course, by a mound thrown across it, somewhere above the town. The forest which lay in that direction, and the works raised by the besiegers, prevented him from ascertaining the precise spot where that mound must have been erected; but the difficulties of the hour admitted of no deliberation. Military weapons were now of no further use. Hatchets, pickaxes, spades, torches, were the only arms of which they stood in need. He appeared himself, equipped with a massive iron club in one hand, and a lighted flambeau in the other, and having already collected from the citadel all the instruments of the kind just mentioned, which it contained, he bade the soldiers take them up and follow him.

The imperialists were on the watch for a movement of this description. They were, therefore, prepared to defend the mound, as well as to take advantage of the opening of the gate in that direction. Their calculations upon the latter point were foreseen, however, by Afkun. They might have easily penetrated the town in the opposite quarter, had they reached the gate in time, during the rush of the populace to the lower part of the Rawee. But before Afkun quitted the town, he closed that gate with his own hand, and confided the care of the portal, through which he was now about to lead his forlorn hope, to the valour of Chusero.

Out went ten thousand men in the depths of the night, armed only as the Turcomanian had directed, animated by the sufferings they were enduring, to a degree that fitted them to meet any perils. When the last man passed the gate the prince was there to bar it again, and to encourage, by his presence, his patience, and his gallantry, the remnants of the guard that still survived the general calamity. Moving in a solid mass, the followers of Afkun no sooner reached the forest than they lighted their torches, and set fire to the trees. These were chiefly pine, and having been rendered particularly inflammable by the prevalent heats, the whole forest was immediately in conflagration on both sides of the bed of the Rawee. The men advanced, unflinching, through the blaze, until they arrived near the mound, whence a hundred pieces of artillery were discharged upon them. Their ranks, though ploughed through, still moved on, reckless of all danger. Again the volley was repeated; but the fevered men heard above its thunder the rushing of the waters, of which they were in search, and hurrying onward with a quickened but steady and resolute pace, attacked the mound with their pick-axes.

In the meantime, the forest burning far and wide, attracted the attention of the besiegers, and filled them with alarm for the safety of the camp, should the wind bear the flame in that direction. Their apprehensions were soon realized. The night breeze from the river blew along the new channel, and carried with it showers of ignited fragments, which fell among the tents and bazaars. All hands were called upon to pull down the tents, many of which were already on fire, or consumed like a scroll of parchment. The army was thrown into confusion. The plans, so well arranged by the council for taking advantage of all probable movements on the part of the besieged when driven to despair, were rendered of no avail. There was nobody to carry them into effect--all were occupied in looking to their own safety.

Afkun was the first to ascend the mound. Regardless of the gunners, whose office soon became useless, as his surviving followers were already engaged in undermining the dam on which the artillery was planted, he drove his iron mace between two of the stakes, and loosening them, until they yielded to his hand, he pulled them out of the bed of the river as if they were bulrushes. He proceeded, in the same manner, to remove one stake after another, while the pickaxes, spades, and hatchets, resounded along the pile incessantly. His next care was to remove the cannon to the banks of the river, and to point them against the mound. As soon as he saw, by the flames around him, that it was sufficiently weakened, he directed his men to withdraw, and place themselves at the guns which the imperialists had abandoned. A single discharge of the battery was sufficient to shake the wall to its foundation, when the whole mass, yielding to the pressure of the flood, disappeared.

The joy of these brave men, when they beheld the triumphant result of their labours; the feeling, that to their perishing parents, children, and relatives--to all their partners in calamity--they had been the means of restoring existence, and with it new courage and hope--gave them temperance in the enjoyment of the delicious waters of which they had been so unexpectedly deprived. Under the direction, and the example, of their leader, they at first bathed in the stream--a course by which they found their thirst effectually slaked. They then drank without danger of excess. Thus refreshed, they hastened back to Lahore, where they were received at the dawn of day by all the assembled people, who lavished upon them tokens of admiration for their valour, and of affection for their services, which no rewards could repay.

The banks of the Rawee, within the town, were crowded all the day by the aged men, the matrons, and their children, who remained by its flowing waters, to assure themselves that the intelligence of its return was no deception. Now that the precaution was no longer necessary, they felt a pleasure in taking to their homes abundant supplies of the copious element; when fatigued with their exertions, they still revisited the stream, carrying with them their mandolins and tabors, to the sounds of which the youths danced and sang; while their happy parents sat in circles around them, as if they were celebrating a festival. When the dance and the song were over, they suspended their instruments upon the dependent branches of the adjacent trees, and slumbered beneath the pleasant shade, or sported with the dimpling tide, until their senses became once more familiarised to its music.

Amidst all the congratulations, however, poured in upon him by the inhabitants, for rescuing them from the horrors which they had lately suffered, Afkun could not conceal from himself the impression, that they were much more apprehensive of a reconstruction of the mound, than of any other disaster which could befall them. Their fears upon that subject, when yielded to for a moment, assumed an appearance of unnatural excitement, blinding all power of judgment, and suppressing every sentiment of loyalty to him, whose cause now depended chiefly on their allegiance. Of the ten thousand choice men of the garrison, who had sallied out to overthrow the dam, scarcely half the number returned. The havoc made in the garrison, and amongst the able-bodied of the people, by the want of water, during the dreadful days and nights they had just passed, was irreparable.

He was not unapprised of the state of the besieging army--of their want of provisions--of the confusion into which they had been thrown by the firing of the forest, amidst which they were encamped. But the latter evil admitted of a speedy remedy--indeed he saw, by the restoration of the tents, and re-organization of the besieging lines, that the discipline of the imperialists, though for a while endangered, was soon re-established. The deficiency of supplies would urge them to desperate efforts. Should they succeed in capturing the town, their vengeance would be insatiable--the calamities, which the faithful inhabitants had just sustained, would only be exchanged for extermination.

The prince was also fully sensible of the difficulties, which any attempt to hold the town much longer presented. The control which the imperialists possessed over the Rawee, whenever they might choose to exercise it, was alone sufficient to destroy his hope of permanent success, if he were to confine himself within its walls. His emissaries, moreover, brought him intelligence, that a division of the enemy had received orders to march for Cashmere--his only remaining resource. Should they arrive there before Afkun, the consequences would be fatal. He felt that he owed to the people of Lahore a debt of gratitude, which he could never repay. They had adhered to him under circumstances, such as never before had tested the fidelity of a town besieged. The moment had arrived, he thought, when a capitulation might be obtained upon the most favourable terms; if so, the interests of the inhabitants, which he very much preferred to his own, required that arrangements for that purpose should be made without delay.

Upon communicating with the principal authorities of the town, Chusero and Afkun had the satisfaction to learn that they, as well as the leading inhabitants, were prepared to hold out to the last, if such were the wish of the prince; but that if no real benefits were likely to arise from a prolongation of their resistance, they would take it upon themselves to arrange for a surrender, as soon as they should be assured of the safety of the prince, and of his valiant champion.

“You,” they said, “can never expect to make a capitulation, which will not include your own submission; and then you would be in the hands of a man--that odious Persian--from whom you could expect no mercy. Betake yourselves, therefore, to Cashmere, while yet you may--your presence there is of infinitely more importance than it can be any longer in Lahore; and should you ultimately succeed in rescuing the empire from the sway of that tyrant, be confident that the people of Lahore will be among the first to hail your triumph, and to rally round your throne.”

Chusero and Afkun were deeply affected by these natural and fervent expressions of attachment; and being upon further reflection convinced that the course thus suggested, was the right one, they took an affectionate farewell of their friends, and at midnight, disguised as dervishes, passing through a postern door of one of the towers of the fortifications, bent their footsteps towards Cashmere.

In the afternoon of the next day, the authorities sent a messenger, with his shield on his back, to the camp of the imperialists, to announce that they were ready either to capitulate upon honourable terms, or to defend the town while a handful of rice remained in their granaries; that they had abundant supplies both of rice and wheat, which they would place at the emperor’s disposal, but that there should be a complete amnesty for the past, and that no plunder should be permitted on any account. Bochari, upon being informed that the prince and Afkun were no longer in Lahore, refused to listen to a proposal for a capitulation upon any terms. But on this occasion, the more prudent councils of Auzeem, supported as they were by the clement disposition of Jehangire, who felt at all times for the sufferings of his people, fortunately prevailed; and Auzeem took care that the terms of the surrender, which were eventually arranged as the authorities had proposed, should be inviolably observed.