CHAPTER V.
Aurungzebe, exasperated beyond all bounds at being thus perpetually foiled by a petty chieftain, determined at once to stop the further progress of his arms. He therefore sent against him Mirza Rajah, a gallant Rajpoot, accustomed to make war in a mountainous country. Sevajee at length found himself opposed to a man whom he was unable to resist. As the Mogul army more than five times outnumbered his own, he was obliged to retreat to his mountain fastnesses, whither he was pursued by the victorious Mirza. All his fortresses shortly fell into the enemy’s hands, and he was driven to extremity. At length, the fort in which he had placed all his treasure was invested.
It resisted for many weeks; but one morning, when the magazine was open to supply the garrison with powder, a paper kite, to which a blind match had been previously attached, was raised over the battlements and dropped into the combustible repository. A tremendous explosion succeeded, and the fortress became an easy capture. Finding that he had no chance of beingable to recover it, he resigned himself to his destiny, and upon receiving a solemn pledge from Mirza Rajah that he should meet at Delhi with a safe and honourable reception, he disbanded his army, and delivered himself up to the victorious Rajpoot.
On his arrival at Delhi, the Mahratta chief was ordered into the Emperor’s presence, and commanded by the usher to make the usual prostration; but he refused to obey, and casting towards Aurungzebe a look of indignant scorn, expressed contempt for his person.
“I am now in your power,” he said haughtily; “but your victory over me has been to you a disgrace, and to me a triumph. You have subdued me by mere numerical force. For years, with a few hardy followers, I have baffled your hosts. You have at length taken captive the object of your dread: but princes should not forget their pledges. When I delivered myself into the hands of your general, I was assured of honourable treatment. Am I then to be degraded by being commanded to prostrate myself before a man, even though he be Emperor of the Moguls? We are both sovereigns, and be assured that the Mahratta chieftain will never pay that adoration to man which is due alone to God.”
Aurungzebe did not condescend to reply. He was deeply incensed, and turning to the usher, ordered that the refractory prisoner should be taken from his presence. In spite, however, of this rude bearing, the Emperor was much struck with the unbending boldness of the mountain warrior. He could not but feel respect for the man who had for years defeated his armies, and raised himself to sovereignty from being chief of a mere band of robbers. The exploits of Sevajee had reached as far as Delhi, and public curiosity was excited to see this remarkable man. His bearing in the imperial presence astonished all who heard him, nor were they less surprised at the forbearance of Aurungzebe, who was not generally backward in administering summary justice where occasion seemed to demand it.
It happened that, while the Mahratta chief was before the Emperor, the principal ladies of his harem saw what passed from behind a curtain. Among these was the Princess Rochinara, towhom the memory of Sevajee was still dear, though the lapse of years had somewhat weakened her former impressions. She had never been allowed to see her child, nor would her father ever give her the least information respecting him. This was a bitter penalty for having degraded herself in the eyes of the haughty representative of the house of Timour, by an alliance with a petty chieftain, whom that proud potentate looked upon in no other light than that of a mere marauder. The princess had often sighed for the freedom she had enjoyed during her short abode in the mountains which overlooked the coast of Malabar.
When Sevajee appeared before the Emperor, all Rochinara’s former partialities revived. She was struck with his lofty deportment of fearless independence. The toils and military enterprises of years had not abated the fire of his eye, or the beauty of his person. He was still the man to win alike a lady’s love and the warrior’s admiration. When the princess perceived the silent indignation of her father, as he ordered the noble Mahratta to be removed from his presence, she trembled for the safety of a man whom she felt to be still dear to her. His boldness, and the reputation of his exploits, had won the admiration of many Omrahs of the Emperor’s court, and they interceded with their indignant master in behalf of the captive. Aurungzebe, not withstanding their intercession, expressed his determination to confine Sevajee for life, recalling to mind with a bitterness which years had failed to mitigate, the disgrace he had heaped upon the house of Timour, by espousing, without her parent’s consent, a princess of that illustrious race.
Hearing that her father was inexorable, Rochinara sought his presence, and falling at his feet, pleaded for the liberty of his prisoner, and endeavoured to extenuate his conduct at the late interview.
“Though I despise pomp,” said the Emperor, in a tone of severe solemnity, “I will ever insist upon receiving those honours which the refractory presume to refuse. Power depends as much upon the empty pageantries and ceremonies of state as upon abilities and strength of mind. The former, in fact, are the mostsuccessful instruments of the latter. When the rebel, whom I have condescended to admit into my presence, knows how to honour the sovereign of the Moguls, he may expect his indulgence.”
“Allow him, my father, another interview, but abate somewhat of the rigour of court form. In his native mountains he has not learned to be courtly, but nature has taught him to be magnanimous; and let not Aurungzebe, though mighty, yield to him in this, or in any other quality which the brave respect.”
“Well, then, to please a daughter whom I love, I will indulge the haughty mountaineer with a remission of some portion of that state-ceremony which it is customary to offer in the imperial presence, and of that external homage which conquered princes owe to the Emperor of the Moguls.”
A message was sent by Rochinara in the warmth of her zeal to the keeper of Sevajee’s prison; and the Mahratta, without being consulted upon the measure, was introduced into the Dewan Aum, or hall of public audience. The corrugated brow and compressed lip, apparent to all present, as he entered, proclaimed in terms sufficiently intelligible his determination not to succumb to a superior.
When he had reached the centre of the hall, the usher advanced and commanded him to make the customary obeisance at the foot of the throne.
“I was born a prince,” said Sevajee, “and am incapable of acting the part of a bondsman. Chains cannot enslave the soul of the free.”
“But the vanquished,” replied Aurungzebe, “lose all their rights with their fortune. The chance of war has made the Mahratta chief my servant, and I am resolved to relinquish nothing of what the sword has given.”
“The chance of war has indeed placed me in your power; but not as your servant. I received the pledge of your general that I should be treated as a prince, not as a slave. I have yet to learn if the sovereign of a great empire can descend to the low and pitiable degradation of a lie.”
“The law of the conqueror is his will—of the vanquished, obedience.”
Sevajee turned his back upon the throne: Aurungzebe, losing his usual equanimity, started from his seat: his lip quivered, his cheek became blanched, his hand was laid upon his dagger, and he was about to issue some terrible order against Sevajee, when that prince turning towards him said, with an undaunted tone—
“Emperor of the Moguls, restore to me your daughter, whom you have torn from the protection of a husband, and I will honour you as a father: give me back my child, which you have withheld from the longings of a parent, and I will venerate you as a benefactor: restore me to my subjects, and I, as a tributary prince, will acknowledge your supremacy: but be assured that no reverse of fortune can deprive me of my dignity of mind, which nothing shall extinguish but death.”
The Emperor’s wrath appeared to subside at this request, which he affected to treat as absurd. Pretending to look upon Sevajee as a madman, he ordered him from his presence and gave him in charge to the director-general of the imperial camp, who had orders to subject him to a rigorous confinement. He was in consequence imprisoned in that officer’s house, and guarded with a vigilance that seemed to defy all chance of escape.
Months flew by, and Sevajee became extremely uneasy under his captivity, which was however relieved by occasional communications from the princess; she having contrived to convey information to him from time to time by means of a person who was permitted to enter his prison with flowers. This man was well known to the director-general, who had the highest confidence in him; but the gold of Rochinara and the promises of remuneration made by the Mahratta, corrupted the integrity of the vendor of flowers, and he finally became instrumental to one of the most extraordinary escapes which the pen of history records. For weeks he had been in the habit of visiting the prisoner at stated periods, under the plea of selling him flowers, of which the latteraffected to be extremely fond. Not the slightest suspicion was awakened.
One morning the usual attendant entered Sevajee’s prison with his first meal, but to his astonishment found that the captive had escaped. Upon the floor lay a man apparently in deep slumber. He was upon his face, quite naked. An alarm was instantly raised, and the director-general hastened to the prison. The naked man turned out to be the flower-seller, whose sleep was so profound that he awoke with the greatest difficulty. Upon opening his eyes he appeared amazed at seeing himself naked, and no less so at being surrounded by inquisitive persons who questioned him concerning the prisoner’s flight. He protested his utter ignorance of the matter, but observed that he had been evidently robbed of his clothes, though by whom he could not tell, unless the Mahratta had taken them the better to effect his purpose. He affected to be astonished at having been found in such a state of unpremeditated oblivion; but, as if struck by some sudden recollection, he stated that Sevajee had induced him to drink a glass of sherbet, shortly after he entered his room, which he could now have no doubt had been drugged with opium, as he had swallowed it but a short time when he was overcome by a drowsiness which he could not control, and had evidently sunk down senseless from the powerful effects of the opiate. His story was sufficiently plausible; and, fortunately for him, under the sanction of his supposed integrity, was believed; the man thus eluded suspicion. An alarm was immediately raised, and a search made after the fugitive, but he was nowhere to be found. When the Emperor was informed that Sevajee had quitted his prison he was greatly exasperated, and ordered several bodies of men to be despatched in search of him; but his vexation was destined to receive a still greater aggravation, for shortly after the news had reached him of the Mahratta’s escape, he discovered that his favourite daughter had become the partner of his flight.