Chapter THE TENTH (4)

Towards midday the wind dropped almost to a dead calm. This was disappointing, for Desmond suspected that he was still within the area of Angria's piratical operations--if not from Gheria, at any rate from some of the more northerly strongholds not yet captured by the East India Company or the Peshwa. But he had a good offing: scanning the horizon all around he failed to sight a single sail; and he hoped that the breeze would freshen as suddenly as it had dropped.

Now that excitement and suspense were over, and there was nothing that called for activity, Desmond felt the natural reaction from the strain he had undergone. By midday he was so tired and sleepy that he found himself beginning to doze at the wheel. The Gujarati had been sleeping for some hours, and as the vessel now required scarcely any attention, Desmond thought it a good opportunity for snatching a rest. Calling to Fuzl Khan to take his place, and bidding him keep the vessel's head, as far as he could, due north, he went below. About six bells, as time would have been reckoned on the _Good Intent_, he was wakened by the Babu, with a message from the Gujarati desiring him to come on deck.

"Is anything wrong, Babu?" he asked, springing up.

"Not so far as I am aware, sahib. Only it is much hotter since I began my watch."

Desmond had hardly stepped on deck before he understood the reason of the summons. Overhead all was clear; but towards the land a dense bank of black cloud was rising, and approaching the vessel with great rapidity. It was as though some vast blanket were being thrown seawards. The air was oppressively hot, and the sea lay like lead. Desmond knew the signs; the Gujarati knew them too; and they set to work with a will to meet the storm.

Fortunately Desmond, recognizing the unhandiness of his crew, had taken care to set no more sail than could be shortened at the briefest notice. He had not been called a moment too soon. A flash lit the black sky; a peal of thunder rattled like artillery far off; and then a squall struck the grab with terrific force, and the sea, suddenly lashed into fury, advanced like a cluster of green liquid mountains to overwhelm the vessel. She heeled bulwarks under, and was instantly wrapped in a dense mist, rain pouring in blinding sheets. The maintopsail was blown away with a report like a gun-shot; and then, under a reefed foresail, the grab ran before the wind, which was apparently blowing from the south-east. Furious seas broke over the deck; the wind shrieked through the rigging; the vessel staggered and plunged under the shocks of sea and wind. Fuzl Khan clung to the helm with all his strength, but his arms were almost torn from their sockets, and he called aloud for Desmond to come to his assistance.

It was fortunate that little was required of the crew, for in a few minutes all of them save the four Marathas from the gallivat were prostrated with sea-sickness. The Babu had run below, and occasionally, between two gusts, Desmond could hear the shrieks and groans of the terrified man. But he had no time to sympathize; his whole energies were bent on preventing the grab from being pooped. He felt no alarm; indeed, the storm exhilarated him; danger is bracing to a courageous spirit, and his blood leapt to this contest with the elements. He thrilled with a sense of personal triumph as he realized that the grab was a magnificent sea-boat. There was no fear but that the hull would stand the strain; Desmond knew the pains that had been expended in her building: the careful selection of the timbers, the niceness with which the planks had been fitted. No European vessel could have proved her superior in seaworthiness.

But she was fast drifting out into the Indian Ocean, far away from the haven Desmond desired to make. How long was this going to last? Whither was he being carried? Without chart or compass he could take no bearings, set no true course. It was a dismal prospect, and Desmond, glowing as he was with the excitement of the fight, yet felt some anxiety. Luckily, besides the provisions brought in their bundles by the fugitives, there was a fair supply of food and water on board; for although every portable article of value had been taken on shore when the grab anchored in Gheria, it had not been thought necessary to remove the bulkier articles. Thus, if at the worst the vessel were driven far out to sea, there was no danger of starvation even if she could not make port for several days.

But Desmond hoped that things would not come to this pass. Towards nightfall, surely, the squall would blow itself out. Yet the wind appeared to be gaining rather than losing strength; hour after hour passed, and he still could not venture to quit the wheel. He was drenched through and through with the rain; his muscles ached with the stress; and he could barely manage to eat the food and water brought him staggeringly by the serang in the intervals of the wilder gusts.

The storm had lasted for nearly ten hours before it showed signs of abatement. Another two hours passed before it was safe to leave the helm. The wind had by this time fallen to a steady breeze; the rain had ceased; the sky was clear and starlit; but the sea was still running high. At length the serang offered to steer while the others got a little rest; and entrusting the wheel to him, Desmond and Fuzl Khan threw themselves down as they were, on the deck near the wheel, and were soon fast asleep.

At dawn Desmond awoke to find the grab labouring in a heavy sea, with just steering-way on. The wind had dropped to a light breeze. The Gujarati was soon up and relieved the serang at the wheel; the rest of the crew, haggard, melancholy objects, were set to work to make things ship-shape. Only the Babu remained below; he lay huddled in the cabin, bruised, prostrate, unable to realize that the bitterness of death was past, unable to believe that life had any further interest for him.

Desmond's position was perplexing. Where was he? Perforce he had lost his bearings. He scanned the whole circumference of the horizon, and saw nothing but the vast dark ocean plain and its immense blue dome--never a yard of land, never a stitch of canvas. He had no means of ascertaining his latitude. During the twelve hours of the storm the grab had been driven at a furious rate; if the wind had blown all the time from the south-east, the quarter from which it had struck the vessel, she must now be at least fifty miles from the coast, possibly more, and north of Bombay. In the inky blackness of the night, amid the blinding rain, it had been impossible to read anything from the stars. All was uncertain, save the golden sheen of sunlight in the east.

Desmond's only course was to put the vessel about and steer by the sun. She must thus come sooner or later in sight of the coast, and then one or other of the men on board might recognize a landmark--a hill, a promontory, a town. The danger was that they might make the coast in the neighbourhood of one of the Pirate's strongholds; but that must be risked.

For the rest of the day there were light variable winds, such as, according to Fuzl Khan, might be expected at that season of the year. The north-east monsoon was already overdue. Its coming was usually heralded by fitful and uncertain winds, varied by such squalls or storms as they had just experienced.

The sea moderated early in the morning, and became continually smoother until, as the sun went down, there was scarce a ripple on the surface. The wind meanwhile had gradually veered to the south-west, and later to the west, and the grab began to make more headway. But with the fall of night it dropped to a dead calm, a circumstance from which the Gujarati inferred that they were still a long way from the coast. When the stars appeared, however, and Desmond was able to get a better idea of the course to set, a slight breeze sprang up again from the west, and the grab crept along at a speed of perhaps four knots.

It had been a lazy day on board. The crew had recovered from their sickness, but there was nothing for them to do, and as Orientals they were quite content to do nothing. Only the Babu remained off duty, in addition to the watch below. Desmond visited him, and persuaded him to take some food: but nothing would induce him to come on deck; the mere sight of the sea, he said, would externalize his interior.

It was Desmond's trick at the wheel between eight and midnight. Gulam Mahomed was on the look-out; the rest of the crew were forward squatting on the deck in a circle round Fuzl Khan. Desmond, thinking of other things, heard dully, as from a great distance, the drone of the Gujarati's voice. He was talking more freely and continuously than was usual with him; ordinarily his manner was morose; he was a man of few words, and those not too carefully chosen. So prolonged was the monotonous murmur, however, that Desmond by and by found himself wondering what was the subject of his lengthy discourse; he even strained his ears to catch, if it might be, some fragments of it; but nothing came into distinctness out of the low-pitched drone. Occasionally it was broken by the voice of one of the others; now and again there was a brief interval of silence; then the Gujarati began again. Desmond's thoughts were once more diverted to his own strange fate. Little more than a year before, he had been a boy, with no more experience than was to be gained within the narrow circuit of a country farm. What a gamut of adventure he had run through since then! He smiled as he thought that none of the folks at Market Drayton would recognize, in the muscular, strapping, sun-tanned seaman, the slim boy of Wilcote Grange. His imagination had woven many a chain of incident, and set him in many a strange place; but never had it presented a picture of himself in command of as mixed a crew as was ever thrown together, navigating unknown waters without chart or compass, a fugitive from the chains of an Eastern despot. His quick fancy was busy even now. He felt that it was not for nothing he had been brought into his present plight; and at the back of his mind was the belief, founded on his strong wish and hope, that the magnetism of Clive's personality, which he had felt so strongly at Market Drayton, was still influencing his career.

At midnight Fuzl Khan relieved him at the wheel, and he turned in. His sleep was troubled. It was a warm night--unusually warm for the time of year. There were swarms of cockroaches and rats on board; the cockroaches huge beasts, three times the size of those that overran the kitchen at home; the rats seeming as large as the rabbits he had been wont to shoot on the farm. They scurried about with their little restless noises, which usually would have had no power to break his sleep; but now they worried him. He scared them into silence for a moment by striking upon the floor; but the rustle and clipper-clapper immediately began again.

After vain efforts to regain his sleep, he at length rose and went on deck. He did not move with intentional quietness, but he was barefoot, and his steps made no sound. It was a black night, a warm haze almost shutting out the stars. As he reached the deck he heard low murmurs from a point somewhere aft. He had no idea what the time was: Shaik Abdullah had the water-clock, with which he timed the watches; and Desmond's could not yet be due. Avoiding the spot where the conversation was in progress, he leant over the bulwarks, and gazed idly at the phosphorescent glow upon the water. Then he suddenly became aware that the sounds of talking came from near the wheel, and Fuzl Khan was among the talkers. What made the man so uncommonly talkative? Seemingly he was taking up the thread where it had been dropped earlier in the night; what was it about?

Desmond asked himself the question without much interest, and was again allowing his thoughts to rove when he caught the word "sahib," and then the word "Firangi" somewhat loudly spoken. Immediately afterwards there was a low hiss from the Gujarati, as of one warning another to speak lower. The experiences of the past year had quickened Desmond's wits; with reason he had become more suspicious than of yore, and the necessity to be constantly on his guard had made him alert, alive to the least suggestion. Why had the speaker been hushed--and by Fuzl Khan? He remembered the ugly rumours, the veiled hints he had heard about the man in Gheria. If they were true, he had sold his comrades who trusted him. They might not be true; the man himself had always indignantly denied them. Desmond had nothing against him. So far he had acted loyally enough; but then he had nothing to gain by playing his fellow-fugitives false, and it was with this knowledge that Desmond had decided to make him privy to the escape. But now they were clear of Gheria. Fuzl Khan was free like the rest; he had no longer the same inducement to play straight if his interest seemed to him to clash with the general. Yet it was not easy to see how such a clashing could occur. Like the others he was lost at sea; until land was reached, at any rate, he could have no motive for opposition or mutiny.

While these thoughts were passing through Desmond's mind he heard a man rise from the group aft and come forward. Instinctively he moved from the side of the vessel towards the mainmast, and as the man drew near Desmond stood so that the stout tree-trunk was between them. The man went rapidly towards the bows, and in a low tone hailed the look-out, whispering him a summons to join the Gujarati at the helm. The look-out, one of the Marathas, left his post; he came aft with the messenger, and, both passing on the same side of the vessel, Desmond by dodging round the mast escaped their notice.

At the best, the action of Fuzl Khan was a dereliction of duty; at the worst!--Desmond could not put his suspicions into words. It was clear that something was afoot, and he resolved to find out what it was. Very cautiously he followed the two men. Bending low, and keeping under the shadow of the bulwarks, he crept to within a few feet of the almost invisible group. A friendly coil of rope near the taffrail gave him additional cover; but the night was so dark that he ran little risk of being perceived so long as the men remained stationary. He himself could barely see the tall form of the Gujarati dimly outlined against the sky.

CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH

*In which a mutiny is quelled in a minute; and our Babu proves himself a man of war.*

Crouching low, Desmond waited. When the Maratha joined the group Fuzl Khan addressed him directly in a low firm tone.

"We are all agreed, Nanna," he said. "You are the only man wanting to our purpose. This is the fastest grab on the coast. I know a port where we can get arms and ammunition; with a few good men (and I know where they can be found), we can make a strong band, and grow rich upon our spoils."

"But what about the sahib?"

"Wah! We know what these Firangi are like--at least the Angrezi.[#] They have the heads of pigs; there is no moving them. It would be vain to ask the young sahib to join us; his mind is set on getting to Bombay and telling all his troubles to the Company. What a folly! And what an injustice to us! It would destroy our chance of making our fortunes, for what would happen? The grab would be sold; the sahib would take the most of the price; we should get a small share, not enough to help us to become rovers of the sea and our own masters."

[#] English.

"The sahib will refuse, then. So be it! But what then shall we do with him?"

"He will not get the chance of refusing. He will not be told."

"But he is taking us to Bombay. How then can we work our will?"

"He thinks he is sailing to Bombay: he will really take us to Cutch."

"How is that, brother?"

"Does he know Bombay? Of a truth no. He is a boy: he has never sailed these seas. He depends on us. Suppose we come in sight of Bombay, who will tell him? Nobody. If he asks, we will say it is some other place: how can he tell? We will run past Bombay until we are within sight of Cutch: then truly I will do the rest."

The Maratha did not reply. The momentary silence was broken by Fuzl Khan again.

"See! Put the one thing in the balance against the other: how does it turn? On the one side the twenty rupees--a pitiful sum--promised by the sahib: and who knows he will keep his promise? On the other, a tenth share for each of you in the grab and whatsoever prey falls to it."

"Then the Babu is to have a share? Of a truth he is a small man, a hare in spirit; does he merit an equal share with us? We are elephants to him."

"No. He will have no share. He will go overboard."

"Why, then, what of the tenth share?"

"It will be mine. I shall be your leader and take two."

Desmond had heard enough. The Gujarati was showing himself in his true colours. His greed was roused, and the chance of setting up as a pirate on his own account, and making himself a copy of the man whose prisoner he had been, had prompted this pretty little scheme. Desmond crept noiselessly away and returned to his quarters. Not to sleep; he spent the remainder of his watch below in thinking out his position--in trying to devise some means of meeting this new and unexpected difficulty. He had not heard what Fuzl Khan proposed ultimately to do with him. He might share the Babu's fate: at the best it would appear that he had shaken off one captivity to fall into the toils of another. He had heard grim tales of the pirates of the Cambay Gulf; they were not likely to prove more pleasant masters than the Marathas farther south, even if they did not prefer to put him summarily out of the way. His presence among them might prove irksome, and what would the death of a single English youth matter? He was out of reach of all his friends; on the _Good Intent_ none but Bulger and the New Englander had any real kindness for him, and if Bulger were to mention at any port that a young English lad was in captivity with the Pirate, what could be done? Should the projected expedition against Gheria prove successful, and he not be found among the European prisoners, it would be assumed that he was no longer living; and even if the news of his escape was known, it was absurd to suppose that all India would be searched for him.

The outlook, from any point of view, was gloomy. The Gujarati had evidently won over the whole ship's company. Were they acting from the inclination for a rover's life, coupled with hope of gain, or had they been jockeyed into mutiny by Fuzl Khan? Desmond could not tell, nor could he find out without betraying a knowledge of the plot. Then he remembered the Babu. He alone had been excepted; the other men held him in contempt; but despite his weaknesses, for which he was indeed hardly accountable, Desmond had a real liking for him; and it was an unpleasant thought that, whatever happened to himself, if the plot succeeded Surendra Nath was doomed.

But thinking of this, Desmond saw one ray of hope. He had not been for long the companion of men of different castes without picking up a few notions of what caste meant. The Babu was a Brahman; as a Bengali he had no claim on the sympathies of the others; but as a Brahman his person to other Hindus was inviolable. The Marathas were Hindus, and they at least would not willingly raise their hand against him. Yet Desmond could not be certain on this point. During his short residence in Gheria he had found that, in the East as too often in the West, the precepts of religion were apt to be kept rather in the letter than in the spirit. He had seen the sacred cow, which no good Hindu would venture to kill for untold gold, atrociously overworked, and, when too decrepit to be of further service, left to perish miserably of neglect and starvation. It might be that although the Marathas would not themselves lay hands on the Babu, they would be quite content to look calmly on while a Mohammedan did the work.

At the best, it was Desmond and the Babu against the crew--hopeless odds, for if it came to a fight the latter would be worse than useless. Not that Desmond held the man in such scorn as the men of his own colour. Surendra Nath was certainly timid and slack, physically weak, temperamentally a coward: yet he had shown gleams of spirit during the escape, and it seemed to Desmond that he was a man who, having once been induced to enter upon a course, might prove both constant and loyal. The difficulty now was that, prostrated by his illness during the storm, he was not at his best; certainly in no condition to face a difficulty either mental or physical. So Desmond resolved not to tell him of the danger impending. He feared the effect upon his shaken nerves. He would not intentionally do anything against Desmond's interest, but he could scarcely fail to betray his anxiety to the conspirators. Feeling that there was nobody to confide in, Desmond decided that his only course was to feign ignorance of what was going on, and await events with what composure he might. Not that he would relax his watchfulness; on the contrary he was alert and keen, ready to seize with manful grip the skirts of chance.

Perhaps, he thought, the grab might fall in with a British ship. But what would that avail? The grab with her extraordinary sailing powers could show a clean pair of heels to any Indiaman, however fast, even if he could find an opportunity of signalling for help. Fuzl Khan, without doubt, would take care that he never had such a chance.

Turning things over in his mind, and seeing no way out of his difficulty, he was at length summoned to relieve the Gujarati at the wheel. It was, he supposed, about four in the morning, and still pitch-dark. When he came to the helm Fuzl Khan was alone: there was nothing to betray the fact that the plotters had, but little before, been gathered around him. The look-out, who had left his post to join the group, had returned forward, and was now being relieved, like the Gujarati himself.

Desmond exchanged a word or two with the man, and was left alone at the wheel. His mind was still set on the problem how to frustrate the scheme of the mutineers. He was convinced that if the grab once touched shore at any point save Bombay, his plight would be hopeless. But how could he guard against the danger? Even if he could keep the navigation of the grab entirely in his own hands by remaining continuously at the helm, he was dependent on the plotters for information about the coast; to mislead him would be the easiest thing in the world. But it suddenly occurred to him that he might gain time by altering the course of the vessel. If he kept out of sight of land he might increase the chance of some diversion occurring.

Accordingly he so contrived that the grab lost rather than gained in her tacks against the light north-west wind now blowing. None of the men, except possibly the Gujarati, had sufficient seamanship to detect this manoeuvre; he had gone below, and when he came on deck again he could not tell what progress had been made during his absence. Only the mainsail, foresail, and one topsail were set: these were quite enough for the untrained crew to trim in the darkness--likely to prove too much, indeed, in the event of a sudden squall. Thus the process of going about was a long and laborious one, and at the best much way was lost.

Not long after he had begun to act on this idea he was somewhat concerned to see the serang, who was in charge of the deck watch, come aft and hang about near the wheel, as though his curiosity had been aroused. Had he any suspicions? Desmond resolved to address the man and see what he could infer from the manner of his reply.

"Is all well, serang?"

"All well, sahib," answered the man. He stopped, and seemed to hesitate whether to say more; but after a moment or two he moved slowly away. Desmond watched him. Had he discovered the trick? Would he go below and waken Fuzl Khan? Desmond could not still a momentary tremor. But the serang did not rejoin his messmates, nor go below. He walked up and down the deck alone. Apparently he suspected nothing.

Desmond felt relieved; but though he was gaining time, he could but recognize that it seemed likely to profit him little. A criminal going to execution may step never so slowly across the prison yard; there is the inexorable gallows at the end, and certain doom. Could he not force matters, Desmond wondered? It was evidently to be a contest, whether of wits or of physical strength, between himself and the Gujarati. Without one or other the vessel could not be safely navigated; if he could in some way overcome the ringleader, he felt pretty sure that the crew would accept the result and all difficulty would be at an end. But how could he gain so unmistakable an ascendency? In physical strength Fuzl Khan was more than his match: there was no doubt of the issue of a struggle if it were a matter of sheer muscular power. For a moment he thought of attempting to enlist the Marathas on his side. They were Hindus; the Gujarati was a Muslim; and they must surely feel that, once he was among his co-religionists in Cutch, in some pirate stronghold, they would run a very poor chance of getting fair treatment. But he soon dismissed the idea. The Gujarati must seem to them much more formidable than the stripling against whom he was plotting. The Hindu, even more than the average human being elsewhere, is inclined to attach importance to might and bulk--even to mere fat. If he sounded the Marathas, and, their fear of the Gujarati outweighing their inevitable distrust of him as a Firangi, they betrayed him to curry a little favour, there was no doubt that the fate both of himself and the Babu would instantly be decided. He must trust to himself alone.

While he was still anxiously debating the matter with himself his eye caught the two muskets lashed to the wooden framework supporting the wheel. He must leave no hostages to fortune. Taking advantage of a lull in the wind he steadied the wheel with his body, and with some difficulty drew the charges and dropped them into the sea. If it came to a tussle the enemy would certainly seize the muskets; it would be worth something to Desmond to know that they were not loaded. It was, in truth, but a slight lessening of the odds against him; and as he restored the weapons to their place he felt once more how hopeless his position remained.

Thus pondering and puzzling, with no satisfaction, he spent the full period of his term of duty. At the appointed time Fuzl Khan came to relieve him. It was now full daylight; but, scanning the horizon with a restless eye, Desmond saw no sign of land, nor the sail of any vessel.

"No land yet, sahib?" said the Gujarati, apparently in surprise.

"No, as you see."

"But you set the course by the stars, sahib?"

"Oh yes; the grab must have been going slower than we imagined."

"The wind has not shifted?"

"Very little. I have had to tack several times."

The man grunted, and looked at Desmond, frowning suspiciously; but Desmond met his glance boldly, and said, as he left to go below:

"Be sure to have me called the moment you sight land."

He went below, threw himself into his hammock, and being dead tired, was soon fast asleep.

Some hours later he was called by the Babu.

"Sahib, they say land is in sight at last. I am indeed thankful. To the landlubber the swell of waves causes nauseating upheaval."

"'Tis good news indeed," said Desmond, smiling. "Come on deck with me."

They went up together. The vessel was bowling along under a brisk south-wester, which he found had been blowing steadily almost from the moment he had left the helm. The land was as yet but a dim line on the horizon; it was necessary to stand in much closer if any of the landmarks were to be recognized. He took the wheel; the shade on the sea-line gradually became more definite; and in the course of an hour they opened up a fort somewhat similar in appearance to that of Gheria. All the ship's company were now on deck, looking eagerly shorewards.

"Do you know the place?" asked Desmond of the Gujarati unconcernedly.

The man gazed at it intently for a minute or so.

"Yes, sahib; it is Suvarndrug," he said. "Is it not, Nanna?"

"Yes, of a truth; it is Suvarndrug; I was there a month ago," replied the Maratha.

"What do you say, Gulam?" he continued, turning to one of the Biluchis standing near.

"It is Suvarndrug. I have seen it scores of times. No one can mistake Suvarndrug. See, there is the hill; and there is the mango grove. Oh yes, certainly it is Suvarndrug."

At this moment four grabs were seen beating out of the harbour. Fuzl Khan uttered an exclamation; then, turning to Desmond, he said with a note of anxiety:

"It is best to put about at once, sahib. See the grabs! They may be enemies."

Desmond's heart gave a jump; his pulse beat more quickly under the stress of a sudden inspiration. He felt convinced that the fortress was not Suvarndrug; the Gujarati's anxiety to pile up testimony to the contrary was almost sufficient in itself to prove that. If not Suvarndrug it was probably one of Angria's strongholds, possibly Kolaba. In that case the grabs now beating out were certainly the Pirate's, and the men knew it. Here was an opportunity, probably the only one that would occur, of grappling with the mutiny. The crew would be torn by conflicting emotions; with the prospect of recapture by Angria their action would be paralyzed; if he could take advantage of their indecision he might yet gain the upper hand. It was a risky venture; but the occasion was desperate. He could afford for the present to neglect the distant grabs, for none of the vessels on the coast could match the _Tremukji_ in speed, and bend all his energies upon the more serious danger on board.

"Surely it cannot be Suvarndrug?" he said, with an appearance of composure that he was far from feeling. "Suvarndrug, you remember, has been captured. The last news at Gheria was that it was in the Company's hands, though there was a rumour that it might be handed over to the Peshwa. We should not now see Angria's grabs coming out of Suvarndrug. But if it is Suvarndrug, Fuzl Khan, why put about? As fugitives from Gheria we should be assured of a welcome at Suvarndrug. We should be as safe there as at Bombay."

The Gujarati was none too quick-witted. He was patently taken aback, and hesitated for a reply. The grab was standing steadily on her course shorewards. Desmond was to all appearance unconcerned; but the crew were looking at one another uneasily, and the Gujarati's brow was darkening, his fidgettiness increasing. Surendra Nath was the only man among the natives who showed no anxiety. He was leaning on the taffrail, gazing almost gloatingly at the land, and paying no heed to the strange situation around him.

Desmond was watching the Gujarati keenly. The man's manner fully confirmed his suspicions, and even in the tenseness of the moment he felt a passing amusement at the big fellow's puzzle-headed attempts to invent an explanation that would square with the facts. Failing to hit upon a plausible argument, he began to bluster.

"You, Firangi, heed what I say. It is not for us to run risks: the hind does not walk open-eyed into the tiger's mouth. The grab must be put about immediately, or----"

"Who is in command?" asked Desmond quietly; "you or I?"

"We share it. I can navigate as well as you."

"You forget our arrangement in Gheria. You agreed that I should command."

"Yes, but at the pleasure of the rest. We are ten; we will have our way; the grab must be put about, at once."

"Not by me."

Desmond felt what was coming and braced himself to meet it.

Then things happened with startling rapidity. The Gujarati, with a yell of rage, made a rush towards the wheel. Knowing what to expect Desmond slipped behind it and with a few light leaps gained the deck forward. Fuzl Khan shouted to the serang to take the helm and steer the vessel out to sea; then set off in headlong pursuit of Desmond, who had now turned and stood awaiting the attack. The Gujarati did not even trouble to draw his knife. He plunged at him like a bull, shouting that he would deal with the pig of a Firangi as he had dealt with the sentinel at Gheria.

But it was not for nothing that Desmond had fought a dozen battles for the possession of Clive's desk at school, and a dozen more for the honour of the school against the town; that his muscles had been developed by months of hard work at sea and harder work in the dockyard at Gheria. Deftly dodging the man's blind rush, he planted his bare feet firmly and threw his whole weight into a terrific body blow that sent the bigger man with a thud to the deck. Panting, breathless, trembling with fury, Fuzl Khan sprang to his feet, caught sight of the muskets, and tearing one from its fastenings raised it to his shoulder. Desmond seized the moment with a quickness that spoke volumes for his will's absolute mastery of his body. As the man pulled the harmless trigger, Desmond leapt at him; a crashing blow beneath the chin sent him staggering against the wheel; a second while he tottered brought him limp and almost stunned to the deck.

Meanwhile the crew had looked on for a few breathless moments in amazement at this sudden turn of affairs. But as the Gujarati fell Desmond heard a noise behind him. Half turning, he saw Shaik Abdullah rushing towards him with a marlinspike. The man had him at a disadvantage, for he was breathless from his tussle with Fuzl Khan; but at that moment a dark object hurtled through the air, striking this new antagonist at the back of the head, and hurling him a lifeless lump into the scuppers. Desmond looked round in wonderment: who among the crew had thus befriended him so opportunely? His wonder was not lessened when he saw the Babu, trembling like a leaf, his eyes blazing, his dusky face indescribably changed. At the sight of Desmond's peril the Bengali, forgetting his weakness, exalted above his timidity, had caught up with both hands a round nine-pounder shot that lay on deck, and in a sudden strength of fury had hurled it at the Biluchi. His aim was fatally true; the man was killed on the spot.

With his eyes Desmond thanked the Babu; there was no time for words. The hostile grabs were undoubtedly making chase. They had separated, with the intention of bearing down upon and overhauling the _Tremukji_ in whatever direction she might flee. Fuzl Khan still lay helpless upon the deck.

"Secure that man," said Desmond to two of the crew. He spoke curtly and sternly, with the air of one who expected his orders to be executed without question; though he felt a touch of anxiety lest the men should still defy him. But they went about their task instantly without a word: Desmond's bold stand, and the swift overthrow of the big Gujarati, had turned the tide in his favour, and he thrilled with relief and keen pleasure that he was master of the situation.

While the ringleader of the mutineers was being firmly bound, Desmond turned to Nanna and said:

"Now, answer me at once. What is that place?"

"It is Kolaba, sahib."

"Where is Kolaba?"

"Two or three miles south of Bombay, sahib."

"Good. Run up the fore-topsail."

He went to the wheel.

"Thank you, serang. I will relieve you. Go forward and see that the men crowd on all sail."

The mutiny had been snuffed out; the men went about their work quietly, with the look of whipped dogs; and barring accidents Desmond knew that before long he would make Bombay and be safe. With every stitch of canvas set, the vessel soon showed that she had the heels of her pursuers. Before she could draw clear, two of them came within range with their bow-chasers, and their shot whistled around somewhat too close to be comfortable. But she steadily drew ahead, and ere long it was seen that the four grabs were being hopelessly outpaced. They kept up the chase for the best part of an hour, but as they neared the British port they recognized that they were running into danger and had the discretion to draw off.

Now that the pursuit was over Desmond ventured to steer due north-east, and the coast line became more distinctly visible. It was about two o'clock in the afternoon, judging by the height of the sun, when the serang, pointing shorewards, said:

"There is Bombay, sahib."

"You are sure?"

"Yes; I know it by the cluster of palmyra trees. No one can mistake them."

Moment by moment the town and harbour came more clearly into view. Desmond saw an extensive castle, a flag flying on its pinnacled roof, set amid a green mass of jungle and cocoa-nut forest, with a few Portuguese-built houses dotted here and there. In front a narrow jungle-clad island, called, as he afterwards learnt, Old Woman Island, stretched like a spit into the sea. To the south of the fort was the Bunder pier, with the warehouses at the shore end. Southward of these were the hospital and the doctor's house overlooking the harbour, while hard by were the marine yard and the docks ensconced behind the royal bastion.

Feeling that he had nothing more to fear, Desmond ordered Fuzl Khan to be cast loose and brought to him. The man wore a look of sullen surprise, which Desmond cheerfully ignored.

"Now, Fuzl Khan," he said, "we are running into Bombay harbour. You know the channel?"

The man grunted a surly affirmative.

"Well, you will take the helm, and steer us in to the most convenient moorings."

He turned away, smiling at the look of utter consternation on the Gujarati's face. To be trusted after his treacherous conduct was evidently more than the man could understand. The easy unconcern with which Desmond walked away had its effect on the crew. When orders were given to take in sail they carried them out with promptitude, and Desmond chuckled as he saw them talking to one another in low tones and discussing him, as he guessed by their glances in his direction. The Gujarati performed his work at the helm skilfully, and about five o'clock, when the sun was setting, casting a romantic glow over the long straggling settlement, the _Tremukji_ ran to her anchorage among a host of small craft, within a few cables-lengths of the vessels of Admiral Watson's squadron, which had arrived from Madras a few weeks before.

CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH

*In which our hero finds himself among friends; and Colonel Clive prepares to astonish Angria.*

The entrance of a strange grab had not passed unnoticed. Before the anchor had been dropped, the superintendent of marine put off in a toni.

"What grab is that?" he shouted in Urdu, as he came alongside.

"The _Tremukji_, sir," replied Desmond in English.

"Eh! what! who in the name of Jupiter are you?"

"You'd better come aboard, sir, and I'll explain," said Desmond with a smile.

The superintendent mounted the side, rapping out sundry exclamations of astonishment that amused Desmond not a little.

"Don't talk like a native! H'm! Queer! Turn him inside out! No nonsense!"

"Well, here I am," he added, stepping up to Desmond. "My name's Johnson, and I'm superintendent of marine. Now then, explain; no nonsense!"

Desmond liked the look of the little man. He was short and stout, with a very large red face, a broad turn-up nose, and childlike blue eyes that bespoke confidence at once.

"My name is Desmond Burke, sir, and I've run away from Gheria in this grab."

"The deuce you have!"

"Yes, sir. I've been a prisoner there for six months and more, and we got off a few nights ago in the darkness."

"H'm! Any more Irishmen aboard?"

"Not that I'm aware of, sir."

"And you got away from Gheria, did you? You're the first that ever I heard did so. Nothing to do with Commodore James, eh?"

"No, sir. I don't know what you mean."

"Why, Commodore James started t'other day to take a good sea-look at Gheria. There's an expedition getting ready to draw that rascally Pirate's teeth. You saw nothing of the squadron? No nonsense, now."

"Not a thing, sir. We were blown out to sea, and I suppose the Commodore passed us in the night."

"H'm! Very likely. And you weathered that storm, did you? Learnt your seamanship, eh?"

"Picked up a little on board the _Good Intent_, sir. I was ship's boy aboard."

"Mighty queer ship's boy!" said Mr. Johnson in an audible aside. "The _Good Intent's_ a villainous interloper; how came you aboard of her?"

"I was in a sense tricked into it, sir, and when we got to Gheria Captain Barker and Mr. Diggle the supercargo sold me to Angria."

"Sold you to the Pirate?"

"Yes, sir."

"And where do you hail from, then?"

"Shropshire, sir; my father was Captain Richard Burke, in the Company's service."

"Jupiter! You're Dick Burke's son! Gad, sir, give me your hand; I knew Dick Burke; many's the sneaker of Bombay punch we've tossed off together. No nonsense about Dick; give me your fist. And so you sneaked out of Gheria and sailed this grab, eh? Well, you're a chip of the old block, and a credit to your old dad. I want to hear all about this. And you'll have to come ashore and see the Governor."

"It's very kind of you, Mr. Johnson, but really I can't appear before the Governor in this rig."

He glanced ruefully at his bare legs and feet and tattered garments.

"True, you en't very ship-shape, but we'll soon alter that. Ever use a razor?"

"Not yet, sir," replied Desmond with a smile.

"Thought not. Plenty of native barbers. You must get shaved. And I'll rig you up in a suit of some sort. You must see the Governor at once, and no nonsense."

"What about the grab, sir?"

"Leave that to me. You've got a pretty mixed crew, I see. All escaped prisoners too?"

"All but four."

"And not one of 'em to be trusted, I'll swear. Well I'll put a crew aboard to take charge. Come along; there's no time to lose. Colonel Clive goes to bed early."

"Colonel Clive! Is he here?"

"Yes; arrived from home two days ago. Ah! that reminds me; you're a Shropshire lad; so's he; do you know him?"

"No, sir; I've seen him; I--I----"

Desmond stammered, remembering his unfortunate encounter with Clive in Billiter Street.

"Well, well," said the superintendent, with a quizzical look; "you'll see him again. Come along."

Desmond accompanied Mr. Johnson on shore. A crowd had gathered. There were sepoys in turban, cabay,[#] and baggy drawers; bearded Arabs; Parsis in their square brimless hats; and a various assortment of habitues of the shore--crimps, landsharks, badmashes,[#] bunder[#] gangs. Seeing Desmond hold his nose at the all-prevailing stench of fish Mr. Johnson laughed.

[#] Cloak.

[#] Rowdy characters.

[#] Port.

"You'll soon get used to that," he said. "'Tis all fish-oil and bummaloes[#] in Bombay."

[#] Small fish the size of smelt, known when dried as "Bombay duck."

Having sent a trustworthy crew on board the Tremukji, the superintendent led Desmond to his house near the docks. Here, while a native barber plied his dexterous razor on Desmond's cheeks and chin, Mr. Johnson searched through a miscellaneous hoard of clothes in one of his capacious presses for an outfit. He found garments that proved a reasonable fit, and Desmond, while dressing, gave a rapid sketch of his adventures since he left the prison-shed in Gheria.

"My wigs, but you've had a time of it. Mutiny and all! Dash my buttons, here's a tale for the ladies! Let me look at you. Yes, you'll do now, and faith you're a pretty fellow. And Dick Burke's son! You've got his nose to a T; no nonsense about that. Now you're ready to make your bow to Mr. Bourchier. He's been a coursing match with Colonel Clive and Mr. Watson[#] up Malabar Hill, and we'll catch him before he sits down to supper. How do you feel inside, by the way? Ready for a decent meal after the Pirate's hog's wash, eh?"

[#] It was customary to use the title Mr. in speaking to or of both naval and military officers.

"I'm quite comfortable inside," said Desmond smiling, "but, to tell you the truth, Mr. Johnson, I feel mighty uneasy outside. After six months of the dhoti these breeches and things seem just like bandages."

"It en't the first time you've been swaddled, if you had a mother. Well now, if you're ready. What! That rascal gashed you? Tuts! 'tis a scratch. Can't wait to doctor that. Come on."

The two made their way into the fort enclosure, and walked rapidly to Government House in the centre. In answer to Mr. Johnson the darwan[#] at the door said that the Governor would not return that night. After the coursing match he was giving a supper party at his country house at Parel.

[#] Doorkeeper.

"That's a nuisance. But we can't have any nonsense. The Governor's a bit of an autocrat; too much starch in his shirt, I say; but we'll go out to Parel and beard him, by Jove! 'Tis only five miles out, and we'll drive there in under an hour."

Turning away he hurried out past the tank-house on to the Green, and by good luck found an empty shigram[#] waiting to be hired. Desmond mounted the vehicle with no little curiosity. These great beasts with their strange humps would surely not cover five miles in less than an hour. But he was undeceived when they started. The two sturdy oxen trotted along at a good pace in obedience to the driver's goad, and the shigram rattled across Bombay Green, past the church and the whitewashed houses of the English merchants, their oyster-shell windows already lit up; and in some forty-five minutes entered a long avenue leading to Mr. Bourchier's country house. Twice during the course of the journey Desmond was interested to see the shigramwallah[#] pull his team up, dismount, and, going to their heads, insert his hand in their mouths.

[#] Carriage like a palanquin on wheels.

[#] Wallah is a personal affix, denoting a close connexion between the person and the thing described by the main word. Shigramwallah thus=carriage-driver.

"What does he do that for?" he asked.

"To clear their throats, to be sure. When the beasts go at this pace they make a terrible lot of foam, and if he didn't swab it out they'd choke, and no nonsense. Well, here we are. Dash my wig, won't his Excellency open his eyes!"

Since their departure from the fort the sky had become quite dark. At the end of the avenue they could see the lights of Governor Bourchier's bungalow, and by and by caught sight of figures sitting on the veranda. Desmond's heart beat high; he made no doubt that one of them was Clive; the moment to which he had looked forward so eagerly was at last at hand. He was in no dreamland; his dream had come true. He felt a little nervous at the prospect of meeting men so famous, so immeasurably above him, as Clive and Admiral Watson; but with Clive he felt a bond of union in his birthplace, and it was with recovered confidence that he sprang out of the cart and accompanied Mr. Johnson to the bungalow. He was further reassured by a jolly laugh that rang out just as he reached the steps leading up to the veranda.

"Hallo, Johnson!" said a voice, "what does this mean?"

"I've come to see the Governor, Captain."

"Then you couldn't have come at a worse time. The supper's half an hour late, and you know what that means to the Governor."

Mr. Johnson smiled.

"He'll forget his supper when he has heard my news. 'Tis about the Pirate."

"What's that?" said another voice. "News of the Pirate?"

"Yes, Mr. Watson. This young gentleman----"

But he was interrupted by the khansaman,[#] who came out at this moment and with a salaam announced that supper was served.

[#] Butler.

"You'd better come in, Johnson," said the first speaker. "Any news of the Pirate will be sauce to Mr. Bourchier's goose."

The gentlemen rose from their seats, and went into the house, followed by Desmond and the superintendent. In a moment Desmond found himself in a large room brilliantly lighted with candles. In the centre was a round table, and Mr. Bourchier, the Governor, was placing his guests. He did not look very pleasant, and when he saw Mr. Johnson he said:

"You come at a somewhat unseasonable hour, sir. Cannot your business wait till the morning?"

"I made bold to come, your Excellency, because 'tis a piece of news the like of which no one in Bombay has ever heard before. This young gentleman, Mr. Desmond Burke, son of Captain Burke, whom you'll remember, sir, has escaped from Gheria."

The Governor and his guests were by this time seated, and instantly all eyes were focussed on Desmond, and exclamations of astonishment broke from their lips.

"Indeed! Bring chairs, Hossain."

One of the native attendants left the room noiselessly, and returning with chairs placed them at the table.

"Sit down, gentlemen. That is amazing news, as you say, Mr. Johnson. Perhaps Mr. Burke will relate his adventure as we eat."

Desmond took the chair set for him. The guests were five. Two of them wore the laced coats of admirals; the taller, a man of handsome presence, with a round chubby face, large eyes, small full lips, his head crowned by a neat curled wig, was Charles Watson, in command of the British fleet; the other was his second, Rear-Admiral Pocock. A third was Richard King, captain of an Indiaman, in a blue coat with velvet lappets and gold embroidery, buff waistcoat and breeches. Next him sat a jolly red-faced gentleman in plain attire, and between him and the Governor was Clive himself, whose striking face--the lawyer's brow, the warrior's nose and chin, the dreamer's mouth--would have marked him out in any company.

Desmond began his story. The barefooted attendants moved quietly about with the dishes, but the food was almost neglected as the six gentlemen listened to the clear, low voice telling of the escape from the fort, the capture of the grab, and the eventful voyage to Bombay harbour.