From that moment it was carnage where I went. I pierced. I cut. I disembowelled all before me--making corpses of the living, and crushing to pulp the dead under my great feet, which soon were shod with blood.
The Prince encouraged me by his voice, and pushed constantly forward. His gun, which a soldier behind him reloaded as fast as it was discharged, was never silent, and his aim was so sure that he never missed. The Enemy's ranks crumbled before us. And Alemguir, full of ardour urged me on and on! He desired to reach the Maharajah of Mysore, who in the centre of his army directed the battle.
At last he found him, shouted defiance at him, and defied him to meet him in single combat.
The Maharajah smiled scornfully and did not answer.
All at once my Mahout, who, being occupied with guiding me, and less carried away by the fury of the battle, had a better opportunity of observing the situation, cried out in a voice of horror, "_Back!--Back!--or you are lost_!"
But the Prince continued to shout "_Forward!"_ And my Mahout could jab my ear as much as he chose--I refused to obey!
"Prince! Prince! You are lost!" groaned the unhappy slave. "The army of Golconda is in retreat, and we are surrounded! It is too late to escape!"
A ball struck him. With a groan he rolled off my neck, clinging an instant, deluging me with blood, then he fell.
I stopped, horrified; turning the body gently over with the tip of my trunk--he did not move; he did not breathe; it was the end.
My poor Mahout had breathed his last so quickly--almost without pain. This then, was what "_Fate_" had in store for _him_!
I could see him off there, at Bangok, saying so gravely to me, "Ought we to rejoice, or weep?" Alas! he was dead; he could neither weep or rejoice any more!...
But around me were shouts of triumph. My Master still fought.
"Take him alive!" cried the Maharajah from his elephant. "He shall die by the hand of the executioner!"
I tried to rush forward but my feet were entangled in running knots which they had thrown around me, and my furious efforts only drew them tighter.
All was ended. I was taken; and my Master with me.
Poor Princess Saphire-of-Heaven! In her desolate Palace she was suffering a thousand times more from fear and anxiety than we from our misfortune. For her also it was _Fate_!