numerous as the effective strength. So vast a host was like a plague of locusts in the country; it devoured everything, and though at times it was richly provisioned, at others the Marathas cut off communications with the base of supplies in the north, and a famine speedily ensued.
The Marathas, on the other hand, cared nothing for luxuries: a cake of millet sufficed them for a meal, with perhaps an onion for relish. They defended a fort to the last, and then defended another fort. They were pursued from place to place, but were never daunted, and they filled up the intervals of sieges by harassing the Moghul armies, stopping convoys of supplies, and laying the country waste in the path of the enemy. There was no bringing them to a decisive engagement. It was one long series of petty victories followed by larger losses. Nothing was gained that was worth the labour; more and more the Marathas became objects of dread to the demoralized Moghul army; and the country, exasperated at the sufferings of a prolonged occupation by an alien and licentious soldiery, became increasingly devoted to the cause of the intrepid bandits, which they identified as their own.
The marvellous thing about this wearisome campaign of twenty years is the way in which the brave old emperor endured its many hardships and disappointments. It was he who planned every campaign, issued all the general orders, selected the points for attack and the lines of entrenchment, and controlled every movement of his various divisions in the Deccan. He con-
