The Tiger of Mysore: A Story of the War with Tippoo SaibHenty, G. A. (George Alfred)
History
The Tiger of Mysore: A Story of the War with Tippoo Saib
Henty, G. A. (George Alfred)
India -- History -- Mysore War, 1799 -- Fiction; Tipu Sultan, Fath 'Ali, Nawab of Mysore, 1753-1799 -- Juvenile fiction
"I don't say that no English get drunk, Annie, because there is no
doubt that some do. But it is very far from being true of the great
proportion of them. Tippoo only says it to excite the people against
us, because, now that he has made them all Mohammedans, they cannot
drink wine--at any rate, openly. When I bought these two bottles, the
trader made a great mystery over it, and if I had not given him a sign
he understood, and which made him believe that I was a Hindoo and not
a Mussulman, he would not have admitted that he kept it at all. He did
say so, at first, for I have no doubt he thought that, as I was an
officer of the Palace, it was a snare, and that if he had admitted he
had wine I should have reported him, and it would have served as an
excuse for his being fined, and perhaps having all his goods
confiscated. When I made the sign that an old Hindoo had taught me,
his manner changed directly, and he took me to the back of his little
shop, and produced the wine. I told him I wanted it for medicine, and
that was quite true, for I thought it was a drug you were very likely
to need, on your journey."
"How much farther have we to ride?" she asked, after a pause.
"Only about thirty-five miles--that is to say, it is only that
distance to the frontier. There is a road that is rather more direct,
but it passes through Oussoor, a large town, which we had better
avoid. It is not more than fifty miles from the frontier to Tripataly,
but once across the line we can take matters easily, and stop whenever
you get tired."
"It will be all very strange to me, Dick. I sha'n't mind it, as long
as you are with me, but it will be dreadful when you go. I am afraid
your mother won't like me. You see, I know nothing of English ways,
and I am oh! so ignorant. I cannot even read--at least, very little.
One of the girls used to teach me, from a book she had when she was
carried off. It was a Bible--she used to tell me stories out of it.
But one day they found it, and she was beaten, very much, for
venturing to have it. I am afraid I have quite forgotten even my
letters; but she and the other girls used to teach me about religion,
and told me I must never forget that I was a Christian, whatever they
might do to me, and I was to say my prayers every night after I lay
down, and every morning before I got up. Of course, I have always done
it."
"You need not be afraid of my mother, Annie. She is very kind, and I
am sure she will take to you very much, and will be very glad that I
have brought you to Tripataly; for, you see, she has no girls of her
own. She will teach you to read and write, and if we go back to
England, I dare say you will go to school for a time, so as to learn
things like other girls."
"I can work very nicely," she said. "The ladies of the harem all used
to say that."
"Well, you will find that very useful, no doubt."
"And what else is there to learn?" she asked.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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