He was an old man, said by one of the servants to be ninety years of age, short in stature, slight, very fair for a native, and with a high-bred, delicate-looking cast of features. Truly the dignity had departed from the Great Mogul, whose ancestors had once been lords of princely possessions in India. It might have been supposed that death would have been preferable to such humiliation, but it is wonderful how we all cling to the shreds of life. When I saw the poor old man he was seated on a wretched charpoy, or native bed, with his legs crossed before him, and swinging his body backwards and forwards with an unconscious dreamy look. I asked him one or two questions, and was surprised to hear an unpleasantly vulgar voice answering from behind a small screen. I was told that this proceeded from his begum, or queen, who prevented him from replying, fearful lest he might say something which should compromise their safety. Sir Richard Temple, who prepared the evidence for the trial of the ex-king of Delhi, paid many visits to the ill-fated monarch during his confinement. “It was a strange sight,” he says, “to see the aged man, seated in a darkened chamber of his palace; the finely chiselled features, arched eyebrows, aquiline profile, the sickly pallor of the olive complexion, nervous twitching of the face, delicate fingers counting beads, muttering speech, incoherent language, irritable self-consciousness—altogether made up a curious picture. Here sat the last of the Great Moguls, the descendant of emperors two centuries ago ruling the second largest population in the world; who had himself, though a phantom sovereign, been treated with regal honours. He was now about to be tried for his life by judges whose forefathers had sued for favour and protection from his imperial ancestors.” But there still remained uncaptured the two sons and the grandson of the king. The princes had a very evil fame. They had tortured and slain English prisoners. They had been the leading figures in the Mutiny. Their hands were red with innocent blood, the blood of little children and of helpless women. The princes—Mirza Mogul, at one time the commander-in-chief of the rebel forces, Mirza Khejoo Sultan, and Mirza Aboo Bukir, the son of the late heir-apparent—with some 6000 or 7000 followers, had occupied Humayon’s Tomb after the king’s capture, partly in a mood of fatalistic despair, and partly with the expectation that they might find the same mercy the king had found. Macdowell, who was second in command of Hodson’s Horse, tells how, on September 21, he got a note from Hodson, “Come sharp; bring 100 men.” He rode off at once, and, on meeting, Hodson explained that he had ascertained that the three princes were in Humayon’s Tomb, and he meant to bring them in.