Cornwell, Bernard 01 Sharpe’s Tiger-Serigapatam-Apr-May 1799

‘Hakeswill’s a lucky man,’ McCandless said drily, abandoning any further attempt to drag the truth from Sharpe. ‘Those tigers were man-eaters.’

‘But not devil-caters, sir. One whiff of HakeswiH and they must have gone right off their feed.’

‘He still swears it was you who threw him to the tigers,’ McCandless said. ‘I’ve no doubt he’ll try to take his revenge.’

‘I’ve no doubt either, sir, but I’ll be ready for him.’ And next time, Sharpe thought, he would make certain the bastard died.

McCandless turned as the slow funeral procession appeared at the end of the long road that led to the mausoleum. Opposite him, behind an honour guard of the King’s 73rd, Appah Rao, now in the Rajah’s service, also watched the cortege approach. Appah Rao’s family and household all lived. McCandless had sat in Appah Rao’s courtyard, a musket on his lap, and turned back every redcoat or sepoy who had come to the house. Mary had thus survived unscathed and Sharpe had heard that she would now marry her Kunwar Singh, and he was glad for her. He remembered the ruby he had once promised to give her and he smiled at the thought. Some other lass, maybe. The Tippoo’s ruby was deep in his pouch, hidden like all the other looted jewels.

The muffled drumbeat came nearer and the red-coated honour guard stiffened to attention. Mourners followed the coffin, most of them the Tippoo’s officers. Gudin was among them. McCandless took off his cocked hat. ‘There’ll be more fighting to come, Sharpe,’ the Colonel said softly. ‘We have other enemies in India.’

Tm sure we have, sir.’

The Colonel glanced at Sharpe. He saw a young man, hard as flint, and the restless anger in Sharpe’s heart made him dangerous as flint and steel, but there was also a kindness in Sharpe. McCandless had seen that kindness in the dungeons, and McCandless believed it betrayed a soul that was well worth saving. T may have uses for you if you’re willing,’ the Colonel said.

Sharpe seemed surprised. ‘I thought you were going home, sir. To Scotland.’

McCandless shrugged. ‘There’s work undone here, Sharpe, work undone. And what will I ever do in Scodand but dream of India? I think I shall stay for a while.’

‘And I’d be privileged to help you, sir, so I would,’ Sharpe said, then he snatched off his shako as the coffin drew close. His hair, which he had still not clubbed or powdered, fell loose across his scarlet collar as he stood to attention. Far away, beyond the river, rain fell on a green land, but above Sharpe the sun shone, glistening its watery light on the mausoleum’s bulging white dome beneath which, in a dark crypt under their silk-draped tombs, the Tippoo’s parents lay. Now the Tippoo would join them.

The coffin was carried slowly past Sharpe. The men bearing the Tippoo were dressed in his tiger-striped tunic, while the coffin itself was draped with a great striped tiger pelt. It was a mangy skin, uncured and still bloody, but the best that could be discovered in the chaos following the city’s fall, and down one flank there was a long ancient scar and Sharpe, seeing it, smiled. He had seen that scar before. He had seen it every night that he was in the Tippoo’s dungeons. And now he saw it again, scored into a tiger skin that covered a brave dead king.

It was Sharpe’s tiger.

Historical Note

The siege and fall of Seringapatam (now Sriringapatna) in May 1799 ended decades of warfare between the remarkable Muslim dynasty that ruled the state of Mysore and the invading British. The British, under Lord Cornwallis, had captured the city before, in 1792, and at that time they decided to leave the Tippoo on his throne, but mutual antagonisms, and the Tippoo’s preference for a French alliance, led to the final Mysore war. The aim of the war was simple: to do what had not been done in 1792, unthrone the Tippoo, to which end the British concocted some very thin reasons to justify an invasion of Mysore, ignored the Tippoo’s overtures for peace and so marched on Seringapatam. It was a brutally naked piece of aggression, but successful, for with the Tippoo’s death the most formidable obstacle to British rule in southern India was removed, and with it the increasingly slim chance that Napoleon, then at the head of a French army stranded in Egypt, would intervene in the subcontinent.

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