ducted many of the sieges in person, and when a mine exploded among the besiegers at Sattara in 1699, and general despondency fell on the army, the octogenarian mounted his horse and rode to the scene of disaster "as if in search of death." He piled the bodies of the dead into a human ravelin, and was with difficulty prevented from leading the assault himself. He was still the man who had chained his elephant at the battle of Samugarh forty years before. Nor was his energy confined to the overwhelming anxieties of the war. His orders extended to affairs in Afghanistan and disturbances at Agra; he even thought of retaking Kandahar. Not an officer, not a government clerk, was appointed without his knowledge, and the conduct of the whole official staff was vigilantly scrutinized with the aid of an army of spies.
We are fortunate in possessing a portrait of Aurangzib, as he appeared in the midst of his Deccan campaigns. On Monday, the 21st of March, 1695, Dr. Gemelli Careri was admitted to an audience with the emperor in his quarters, called "Gulalbar," at the camp of Galgala. He saw an old man with a white beard, trimmed round, contrasting vividly with his olive skin; "he was of low stature, with a large nose; slender and stooping with age." Sitting upon rich carpets, and leaning against gold-embroidered cushions, he received the Neapolitan courteously, asked his business in the camp, and being told of Careri 's travels in Turkey, made inquiries about the war then raging between the Sultan and the princes of Hungary. The doctor saw him again
