Part 40 (1/2)

Watchman! Awake! Awake!

Oh, watch of the night, arise!

For the windows unclose; A blue gown hung with pearl-fringing lies On a bosom of rose.

Oh! close at hand in the old man's tower The lovers will wanton a happy hour.

Watchman! Arise! Arise!

Oh, rouse thee, watchman, rouse!

Lo! the rain of night is past!

Her veil is dank, 'neath her level brows The heavy tears fall fast.

Oh, far away lies her lovers part And close at hand lies her broken heart.

Oh! Watchman, rouse thee, rouse!”

”Tis a rare song,” hiccupped Jan-Ali, ”but devil take me if I can tell what it means.”

”Tis the tale of a wanton,” quoth Tardi-Beg gravely, ”and see you, she wore a blue gown fringed with pearl.”

Babar looked at them both with irritation.

”Before the Lord!” he said almost sharply, ”I know not which is best; understanding, or the lack of it.”

Then he burst into a roar of laughter.

”They be merry devils over in Kabul,” quoth a surly-faced cook in the royal kitchen. ”Mayhap they may laugh the wrong side of their mouths ere long.”

CHAPTER IV

Fate knocked at the Door of Death, My soul in her hollow hand.

Angels opened it. Lo! G.o.d saith, To whom gave He this command?

Take him back to the Gates of Life And set his feet in the way So he and his children and his wife Will praise my mercy alway.

_Babar_.

The oncoming of cooler weather brought renewed activity once more. So far Agra was almost the southern limit of Babar's Empire. Below it, and to east and west, the Pagans--as these northern Mahomedans called the Hindus collectively--still held undisturbed sway. In truth they had never been touched by invasion from the north; the marauders had generally turned tail and fled before the scorch of the hot weather ere they had time to reach and harry so far south. And of all the Pagans the one most to be feared was Rana Sanka, the Rajput chief of Udaipur. Sooner or later Babar knew there must be a trial of strength between them; but he meant to put it off as long as he could.

Meanwhile there were menaces to Agra closer at hand; notably the strong fort of Biana which had lately gone over to the Rajput side.

That was not to be endured, and Humayon, who was an excellent second-in-command, set out to reduce the renegades to order, Babar meanwhile remaining in Agra and making preparations for the big fight that was bound to come.

One of these was the casting of a big siege cannon for the purpose of battering Biana, which was sure to be recalcitrant to the last. The task was entrusted to Master-gunsmith Ali-Kool, than whom no better craftsman lived in all Asia. He had learnt his art away in the far West, and called himself ever Ali-Kool of Turkey. A small, spare bit of a man with spa.r.s.e whiskers and a faint pitting of small-pox--or gun-powder--over a puffy face. But an excellent artificer, staking his reputation on a big gun that should throw a fifty-pound shot over four miles! It was a big order, and Babar's imagination caught fire. He was down at the furnaces every day watching the preparations. Eight furnaces in a circle, centring the huge clay mould. But it was at night that he loved to see the roaring flames with the naked, black figures of the stokers dancing about them, and the lurid glow of the half-molten metal lighting up the very heavens above. The heat was intense. None of his courtiers could stand it for long, but he, his eyes keen with curiosity, doffed raiment and went about naked as he was born, save for a waist-cloth.

”The Most-Clement prepares himself for Paradise,” remarked the most caustic wit of the party; and Babar laughed gaily. ”I prefer h.e.l.l in time rather than in eternity, friend,” he replied; and as usual began an extempore versicle on the idea.

”Will it be at dawn to-morrow, master?” he asked of Ali-Kool late one evening.

”At dawn to-morrow,” replied the master-gunsmith boastfully, ”the largest cannon in Asia will be found in the armoury of Babar Padishah!”

He was nearly beside himself with excitement; but at dawn next day he stood, pale to ashen-greyness, still as a stone.