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"Hearken now, Gahagan Khan. His Highness Prince Holkar has sent me
to thee. You shall have the moon-face for your wife--your second
wife, that is;--the first shall be the incomparable Puttee Rooge,
who loves you to madness;--with Puttee Rooge, who is the wife, you
shall have the wealth and rank of Bobbachy Bahawder, of whom his
Highness intends to get rid. You shall be second in command of his
Highness's forces. Look, here is his commission signed with the
celestial seal, and attested by the sacred names of the forty-nine
Imaums. You have but to renounce your religion and your service,
and all these rewards are yours."
He produced a parchment, signed as he said, and gave it to me (it
was beautifully written in Indian ink: I had it for fourteen
years, but a rascally valet, seeing it very dirty, washed it,
forsooth, and washed off every bit of the writing). I took it
calmly, and said, "This is a tempting offer. O Vizier, how long
wilt thou give me to consider of it?"
After a long parley, he allowed me six hours, when I promised to
give him an answer. My mind, however, was made up--as soon as he
was gone, I threw myself on the sofa and fell asleep.
* * *
At the end of the six hours the Vizier came back: two people were
with him; one, by his martial appearance, I knew to be Holkar, the
other I did not recognise. It was about midnight.
"Have you considered?" said the Vizier, as he came to my couch.
"I have," said I, sitting up,--I could not stand, for my legs were
tied, and my arms fixed in a neat pair of steel handcuffs. "I
have," said I, "unbelieving dogs! I have. Do you think to pervert
a Christian gentleman from his faith and honour? Ruffian
blackamoors! do your worst; heap tortures on this body, they cannot
last long. Tear me to pieces: after you have torn me into a
certain number of pieces, I shall not feel it; and if I did, if
each torture could last a life, if each limb were to feel the
agonies of a whole body, what then? I would bear all--all--all--
all--all--ALL!" My breast heaved--my form dilated--my eye flashed
as I spoke these words. "Tyrants!" said I, "dulce et decorum est
pro patria mori." Having thus clinched the argument, I was silent.
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