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.. meta::
   :PG.Id: 41489
   :PG.Title: One of Clive's Heroes
   :PG.Released: 2012-11-25
   :PG.Rights: Public Domain
   :PG.Producer: Al Haines
   :DC.Creator: Herbert Strang
   :DC.Title: One of Clive's Heroes
   :DC.Language: en
   :DC.Created: 1906
   :coverpage: images/img-cover.jpg

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ONE OF CLIVE'S HEROES
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      :alt: Cover

      Cover

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      :alt: THE SUBAHDAR FALLS INTO THE TRAP.

      THE SUBAHDAR FALLS INTO THE TRAP.

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      ONE OF CLIVE'S HEROES

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      A Story of the Fight for India

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      By
      HERBERT STRANG

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      HUMPHREY MILFORD
      OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS
      LONDON, EDINBURGH, GLASGOW
      TORONTO, MELBOURNE, CAPE TOWN, BOMBAY

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      Copyright, 1906, by the Bobbs Merrill Company, in
      the United States of America

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      REPRINTED 1938 IN GREAT BRITAIN BY R. CLAY AND SONS, LTD.,
      BUNGAY, SUFFOLK.

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   Preface

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I have not attempted in this story to give a full account
of the career of Lord Clive.  That has been done by my
old friend Mr. Henty in *With Clive in India*.  It has
always seemed to me that a single book provides too
narrow a canvas for the display of a life so full and varied
as Clive's; while a story is bound to suffer, structurally
and in detail, from the compression of the events of a
life-time into so restricted a space.  I have therefore chosen
two outstanding events in the history of India and of
Clive--the capture of Gheria and the Battle of Plassey; and have
made them the pivot of a personal story of adventure.
The whole action of the present work is comprised in the
years from 1754 to 1757.

But while this book is thus rather a romance with a
background of history than an historical biography with an
admixture of fiction, the reader may be assured that the
information its pages contain is accurate.  I have drawn
freely upon the standard authorities: Orme's *History*,
Ives' *Voyage*, Grose's *Voyage*, the lives of Clive by
Malcolm and by Colonel Malleson, and many other works,
in particular the monumental volumes, by Mr. S. C. Hill
recently published, *Bengal in 1756-7*, which give a very
full, careful and clear account of that notable year, with
a mass of most useful and interesting documents.  The
maps of Bengal, Fort William, and Plassey in the present
volume are taken from Mr. Hill's work, by kind permission
of the Secretary of State for India.  I have to thank also
Mr. T. P. Marshall, of Newport, for some valuable notes on
the history and topography of Market Drayton.  For
Indian words and names the Hunterian spelling has been
adopted in the main.

For several years I myself lived within a stone's throw of
the scene of the tragedy of the Black Hole; and though at
that time I had no intention of writing a story for boys, I
hope that the impressions of Indian life, character, and
scenery then gained have helped to create an atmosphere
and to give reality to my picture.  History is more than a
mere record of events; I shall be satisfied if the reader
gets from these pages an idea, however imperfect, of the
conditions of life in which our empire-builders laboured in
India a hundred and fifty years ago.

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HERBERT STRANG.

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   Contents

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   `CHAPTER THE FIRST`_

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In which the Court Leet of Market Drayton entertains
Colonel Robert Clive; and our hero makes an
acquaintance


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   `CHAPTER THE SECOND`_

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In which our hero overhears a conversation; and,
meeting with the expected, is none the less
surprised and offended


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   `CHAPTER THE THIRD`_

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In which Mr. Marmaduke Diggle talks of the Golden
East; and our hero interrupts an interview, and
dreams dreams


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   `CHAPTER THE FOURTH`_

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In which blows are exchanged; and our hero, setting
forth upon his travels, scents an adventure


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   `CHAPTER THE FIFTH`_

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In which Job Grinsell explains; and three visitors
come by night to the *Four Alls*


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   `CHAPTER THE SIXTH`_

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In which the reader becomes acquainted with William
Bulger and other sailor men; and our hero as a
Squire of dames acquits himself with credit


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   `CHAPTER THE SEVENTH`_

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In which Colonel Clive suffers a defeat hitherto
unrecorded; and our hero finds food for reflection


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   `CHAPTER THE EIGHTH`_

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In which several weeks are supposed to elapse; and
our hero is discovered in the doldrums


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   `CHAPTER THE NINTH`_

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In which the *Good Intent* makes a running fight; and
Mr. Toley makes a suggestion


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   `CHAPTER THE TENTH`_

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In which our hero arrives in the Golden East; and
Mr. Diggle presents him to a native prince


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   `CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH`_

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In which the Babu tells the story of King Vikramâditya;
and the discerning reader may find more
than appears on the surface


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   `CHAPTER THE TWELFTH`_

In which our hero is offered freedom at the price of
honour; and Mr. Diggle finds that he has no
monopoly of quotations


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   `CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH`_

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In which Mr. Diggle illustrates his argument; and
there are strange doings in Gheria Harbour


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   `CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH`_

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In which seven bold men light a big bonfire; and the
Pirate finds our hero a bad bargain


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   `CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH`_

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In which our hero weathers a storm; and prepares for
squalls


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   `CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH`_

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


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   `CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH`_

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


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   `CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH`_

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In which Angria is astonished; and our hero begins to
pay off old scores


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   `CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH`_

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In which the scene changes; the dramatis personæ
remaining the same


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   `CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH`_

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In which there are recognitions and explanations; and
our hero meets one Coja Solomon, of Cossimbazar


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   `CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIRST`_

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In which Coja Solomon finds dishonesty the worse
policy; and a journey down the Hugli little to his liking


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   `CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SECOND`_

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In which is given a full, true, and particular account
Of the Battle of the Carts


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   `CHAPTER THE TWENTY-THIRD`_

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In which there are many moving events; and our hero
finds himself a cadet of John Company


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   `CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FOURTH`_

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In which the danger of judging by appearance is
notably exemplified


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   `CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIFTH`_

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In which our hero embarks on a hazardous mission;
and Monsieur Sinfray's khansaman makes a confession


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   `CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SIXTH`_

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In which presence of mind is shown to be next best to
absence of body


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   `CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SEVENTH`_

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In which an officer of the Nawab disappears; and
Bulger reappears


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   `CHAPTER THE TWENTY-EIGHTH`_

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In which Captain Barker has cause to rue the day when
he met Mr. Diggle; and our hero continues to
wipe off old scores


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   `CHAPTER THE TWENTY-NINTH`_

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In which our hero does not win the Battle of Plassey;
but, where all do well, gains as much glory as
the rest


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   `CHAPTER THE THIRTIETH`_

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In which Coja Solomon reappears; and gives our hero
valuable information


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   `CHAPTER THE THIRTY-FIRST`_

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In which friends meet, and part; and our hero hints
a proposal


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   `CHAPTER THE THIRTY-SECOND`_

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In which the curtain falls, to the sound of bells;
and our hero comes to his own

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.. _`CHAPTER THE FIRST`:

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   CHAPTER THE FIRST

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In which the Court Leet of Market Drayton
entertains Colonel Robert Clive; and
our hero makes an acquaintance.


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One fine autumn evening, in the year 1754, a country
cart jogged eastwards into Market Drayton at the heels
of a thickset shaggy-fetlocked and broken-winded cob.
The low tilt, worn and ill-fitting, swayed widely with the
motion, scarcely avoiding the hats of the two men who
sat side by side on the front seat, and who, to any one
watching their approach, would have appeared as dark
figures in a tottering archway, against a background of
crimson sky.

As the vehicle jolted through Shropshire Street, the
creakings of its unsteady wheels mingled with a deep
humming, as of innumerable bees, proceeding from the
heart of the town.  Turning the corner by the butchers'
bulks into the High Street, the cart came to an abrupt
stop.  In front, from the corn-market, a large wooden
structure in the centre of the street, to the *Talbot Inn*,
stretched a dense mass of people, partly townsfolk, as
might be discerned by their dress, partly country folk
who, having come in from outlying villages to market,
had presumably been kept in the town by their curiosity
or the fair weather.

"We'n better goo round about, measter," said the
driver to the passenger at his side.  "Summat's afoot
down yander."

"You're a wise man, to be sure.  Something's afoot,
as you truly say.  And being troubled from my youth up
with an inquiring nose, I'll e'en step forward and smell
out the occasion.  Do you bide here, my Jehu, till I come
back."

"Why, I will then, measter, but my name binna Jehu.
'Tis plain Tummas."

"You don't say so!  Now I come to think of it, it
suits you better than Jehu, for the Son of Nimshi drove
furiously.  Well, Tummas, I will not keep you long; this
troublesome nose of mine, I dare say, will soon be satisfied."

By this time he had slipped down from his seat, and was
walking towards the throng.  Now that he was upon his
feet, he showed himself to be more than common tall,
spare, and loose-jointed.  His face was lean and swarthy,
his eyes black and restless; his well-cut lips even now
wore the same smile as when he mischievously misnamed
his driver.  Though he wore the usual dress of the
Englishman of his day--frock, knee-breeches, and
buckle-shoes, none of them in their first youth--there was a
something outlandish about him, in the bright yellow of
his neckcloth and the red feather stuck at a jaunty angle
into the riband of his hat; and Tummas, as he looked
curiously after his strange passenger, shook his head, and
bit the straw in his mouth, and muttered:

"Ay, it binna on'y the nose, 't binna on'y the nose,
with his Jehus an' such."

Meanwhile the man strode rapidly along, reached the
fringe of the crowd, and appeared to make his way through
its mass without difficulty, perhaps by reason of his
commanding height, possibly by the aforesaid quaintness of
his aspect, and the smile which forbade any one to regard
him as an aggressor.  He went steadily on until he came
opposite to the *Talbot Inn*.  At that moment a stillness
fell upon the crowd; every voice was hushed; every
head was craned towards the open windows of the inn's
assembly-room.

[Sidenote: Reminiscences]

Gazing with the rest, the stranger saw a long table
glittering under the soft radiance of many candles and
surrounded by a numerous company--fat and thin, old and
young, red-faced and pale, gentle and simple.  At the end
farthest from the street one figure stood erect--a short,
round, rubicund little man, wearing a gown of rusty
black, one thumb stuck into his vest, and a rosy benignity
in the glance with which he scanned the table.  He threw
back his head, cleared his tight throat sonorously, and
began, in tones perhaps best described as treacly, to
address the seated company, with an intention also
towards the larger audience without.

"Now, neebours all, we be trim and cosy in our
insides, and 'tis time fur me to say summat.  I be proud,
that I be, as it falls to me, bein' bailiff o' this town, to ax
ya all to drink the good health of our honoured townsman
an' guest.  I ha' lived hereabout, boy an' man, fur a
matter o' fifty year, an' if so be I lived fifty more I couldna
be a prouder man than I bin this night.  Boy an' man, says
I.  Ay, I knowed our guest when he were no more'n table
high.  Well I mind him, that I do, comin' by this very
street to school; ay, an' he minds me too, I warrant.  I
see him now, I do, skippin' along street fresh an' nimble-like,
his eyne chock full o' mischief, lookin' round fur to
see some poor soul to play a prank on.  It do feel strange-like
to have him a-sittin' by my elbow to-day.  Many's the
tale I could tell o' his doin' an' our sufferin'.  Why, I mind
a poor lump of a prentice as I wunst had, a loon as never
could raise a keek: poor soul, he bin underground this
many year.  Well, as I were sayin', this prentice o' mine
were allers bein' baited by the boys o' the grammar-school.
I done my best for him, spoke them boys fair an' soft, but
bless ya, 'twas no good; they baited him worse'n ever.
So one day I used my stick to um.  Next mornin', I was
down in my bake-hus, makin' my batch ready fur oven,
when, oothout a word o' warnin', up comes my two feet
behind, down I goes head fust into my flour barrel, and
them young----hem! the clergy be present--them
youngsters dancin' round me like forty mad merryandrews
at a fair."

A roar of laughter greeted the anecdote.

"Ay, neebours," resumed the bailiff, "we can laugh
now, you an' me, but theer's many on ya could tell o your
own mishappenin's if ya had a mind to 't.  As fur me, I
bided my time.  One day I cotched the leader o' them boys
nigh corn-market, an' I laid him across the badgerin' stone,
and walloped him nineteen-twenty--hee! hee!  D'ya mind
that, General?"

He turned to the guest at his right hand, who sat with
but the glimmer of a smile, crumbling one of Bailiff Malkin's
rolls on the table-cloth.

"But theer," continued the speaker, "that be nigh
twenty year ago, an' the shape o' my strap binna theer
now, I warrant.  Three skins ha' growed since then--hee! hee!
Who'd ha' thought, neebours, as that young
limb as plagued our very lives out 'ud ha' bin here to-day,
a general, an' a great man, an' a credit to his town an'
country?  Us all thought as he'd bring his poor feyther's
grey hairs in sorrow to the grave.  An' when I heerd as
he'd bin shipped off to the Injies--well, thinks I, that bin
the last we'll hear o' Bob Clive.  But bless ya! all eggs
binna addled.  General Clive here--'twere the Injun sun
what hatched he, an' binna he, I ax ya, a rare young
fightin' cock?  Ay, and a good breed too.  A hunnerd year
ago theer was a Bob Clive as med all our grandfeythers
quake in mortal fear, a terrible man o' war was he.  They
wanted to put 'n into po'try an' the church sarvice.

   |   From Wem and from Wyche
   |   An' from Clive o' the Styche,
   |       Good Lord, deliver us.

That's what they thought o' the Bob Clive o' long ago.
Well, this Bob Clive now a-sittin' at my elbow be just as
desp'rate a fighter, an' thankful let us all be, neebours,
as he does his fightin' wi' the black-faced Injuns an' the
black-hearted French, an' not the peaceful bide-at-homes
o' Market Drayton."

The little bailiff paused to moisten his lips.  From his
audience arose feeling murmurs of approval.

"Ya known what General Clive ha' done," he resumed.
"'Twas all read out o' prent by the crier in corn-market.
An' the grand folks in Lun'on ha' give him a gowd sword,
an' he bin hob-a-nob wi' King Jarge hisself.  An' us folks
o' Market Drayton take it proud, we do, as he be come to
see us afore he goes back to his duty.  Theer's a' example
fur you boys.  Theer be limbs o' mischief in Market
Drayton yet.  Ay, I see tha, 'Lijah Notcutt, a-hangin' on
to winder theer.  I know who wringed the neck o' Widder
Peplow's turkey.  An' I see tha too, 'Zekiel Podmore; I
know who broke the handle o' town pump.  If I cotch ya
at your tricks I'll leather ya fust an' clap ya in the stocks
afterwards, sure as my name be Randle Malkin.  But as I
wan sayin', if ya foller th' example o' General Clive, an'
turn yer young sperits into the lawful way--why, mebbe
there be gowd swords an' mints o' money somewheers fur
ya too.  Well now, I bin talkin' long enough, an' to tell ya
the truth I be dry as a whistle, so I'll ax ya all to lift yer
glasses, neebours, an' drink the good health o' General
Clive.  So theer!"

[Sidenote: "General Clive!"

As the worthy bailiff concluded his speech, the company
primed their glasses, rose, and drank the toast with
enthusiasm.  Lusty cheers broke from the drier throats
outside; caps were waved, rattles whirled, kettles beaten,
with a vigour that could not have been exceeded if the
general loyalty had been stirred by the presence of King
George himself.  Only one man in the crowd held his
peace.  The stranger remained opposite to the window,
silent, motionless, looking now into the room, now round
upon the throng, with the same smile of whimsical
amusement.  Only once did his manner change; the smile faded,
his lips met in a straight line, and he made a slight
rearward movement, seeming at the same moment to lose
something of his height.  It was when the guest of the
evening stood up to reply: a young man, looking
somewhat older than his twenty-nine years, his powdered hair
crowning a strong face, with keen, deep-set eyes, full lips
and masterful chin.  He wore a belaced purple coat; a
crimson sash crossed his embroidered vest; a diamond
flashed upon his finger.  Letting his eyes range slowly
over the flushed faces of the diners, he waited until the
bailiff had waved down the untiring applauders without;
then, in a clear voice, began:

"Bailiff Malkin, my old friends----"

But his speech was broken in upon by a sudden commotion
in the street.  Loud cries of a different tenor arose
at various points; the boys who had been hanging upon
the window-ledge dropped to the ground; the crowd
surged this way and that, and above the mingled clamour
sounded a wild and fearful squeal that drew many of the
company to their feet and several in alarm to the window.
Among these the bailiff, red now with anger, shook his
fist at the people and demanded the meaning of the
disturbance.  A small boy, his eyes round with excitement,
piped up:

"An't please yer worship, 'tis a wild Injun come from
nowheer an' doin' all manner o' wickedness."

"A wild Injun!  Cotch him!  Ring the 'larum bell!  Put
him in the stocks!"

But the bailiff's commands passed unheeded.  The people
were thronging up the street, elbowing each other, treading
on each other's toes, yelling, booing, forgetful of all
save the strange coincidence that, on this evening of all
others, the banquet in honour of Clive, the Indian hero,
had been interrupted by the sudden appearance of a live
Indian in their very midst.

A curious change had come over the demeanour of the
stranger who hitherto had been so silent, so detached in
manner, so unmoved.  He was now to be seen energetically
forcing his way towards the outskirts of the
crowd, heaving, hurling, his long arms sweeping obstacles
aside.  His eyes flashed fire upon the yokels scurrying
before him, a vitriolic stream of abuse scorched their faces
as he bore them down.  At length he stopped suddenly,
caught a hulking farmer by the shoulder, and with a
violent twist and jerk flung him headlong among his
fellows.  Released from the man's grasp, a small negro
boy, his eyes starting, his breast heaving with terror,
sprang to the side of his deliverer, who soothingly patted
his woolly head, and turned at bay upon the crowd, now
again pressing near.

"Back, you boobies!" he shouted.  "'Tis my boy!  If
a man of you follows me, I'll break his head for him."

He turned and, clasping the black boy's hand close in
his, strode away towards the waiting cart.  The crowd
stood in hesitation, daunted by the tall stranger's fierce
mien.  But one came out from among them, a slim boy of
some fifteen years, who had followed at the heels of the
stranger and had indeed assisted his progress.  The rest,
disappointed of their Indian hunt, were now moving back
towards the inn; but the boy hastened on.  Hearing his
quick footsteps the man swung round with a snarl.

"I hope the boy isn't hurt," said the lad quietly.  "Can
I do anything for you?"

The stranger looked keenly at him; then, recognizing by
his mien and voice that this at least was no booby, he
smiled; the truculence of his manner vanished, and he
said:

"Your question is pat, my excellent friend, and I thank
you for your good will.  As you perceive, my withers are
not wrung."  He waved his right hand airily, and the boy
noticed that it was covered from wrist to knuckles with
what appeared to be a fingerless glove of black velvet.
"The boy has taken no harm.  'Hic niger est,' as Horace
somewhere hath it; and black spells Indian to your too
hasty friends yonder.  Scipio is his praenomen, bestowed
on him by me to match the cognomen his already by
nature--Africanus, to wit.  You take me, kind sir?  But I
detain you; your ears doubtless itch for the eloquence of
our condescending friend yonder; without more ado then,
good night!"

[Sidenote: A Gloved Hand]

And turning on his heel, waving his gloved hand in
salutation, the stranger went his way.  The lad watched
him wonderingly.  For all his shabbiness he appeared a
gentleman.  His speech was clean cut, his accent pure;
yet in his tone, as in his dress, there was something
unusual, a touch of the theatrical, strange to that old sleepy
town.

He hoisted the negro into the cart, then mounted to his
place beside the driver, and the vehicle rumbled away.

Retracing his steps, the boy once more joined the crowd,
and wormed his way through its now silent ranks until he
came within sight of the assembly-room.  But if he had
wished to hear Clive's speech of thanks, he was too late.
As he arrived, applause greeted the hero's final words, and
he resumed his seat.  To the speeches that followed no
heed was paid by the populace; words from the vicar and
the local attorney had no novelty for them.  But they
waited, gossiping among themselves, until the festivity
was over and the party broke up.  More shouts arose as
the great man appeared at the inn door.  Horses were
there in waiting; a hundred hands were ready to hold the
stirrup for Clive; but he mounted unassisted and rode off
in company with Sir Philip Chetwode, a neighbouring
squire, whose guest he was.  When the principal figure
had gone, the throng rapidly melted away, and soon the
street had resumed its normal quiet.

The boy was among the last to quit the scene.  Walking
slowly down the road, he overtook a bent old man in the
smock of a farm labourer, trudging along alone.

"Hey, measter Desmond," said the old man, "I feels
for tha, that I do.  I seed yer brother theer, eatin' an'
drinkin' along wi' the noble general, an' thinks I, 'tis hard
on them as ha' to look on, wi' mouths a-waterin' fur the
vittles an' drink.  But theer, I'd be afeard to set lips to
some o' them kickshawses as goes down into the nattlens
o' high folk; an', all said an' done, a man canna be more'n
full, even so it bin wi' nowt but turmuts an' Cheshire
cheese.  Well, sir, 'tis fine to be a nelder son, that's true,
an' dunna ya take on about it.  You bin on'y a lad, after
all, pardon my bold way o' speakin', an' mebbe when you
come to man's estate, why, there'll be a knife an' fork fur
you too, though I doubt we'll never see General Clive in
these parts no moore.  Here be my turnin'; good night to
ya, sir."

"Good-night, Dickon."

[Sidenote: To Cheswardine]

And Desmond Burke passed on alone, out of the silent
town, into the now darkening road that led to his home
towards Cheswardine.





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.. _`CHAPTER THE SECOND`:

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   CHAPTER THE SECOND

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In which our hero overhears a conversation;
and, meeting with the expected, is none
the less surprised and offended.


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Desmond's pace became slower when, having crossed the
valley, he began the long ascent that led past the site of
Tyrley Castle.  But when he again reached a stretch of
level road he stepped out more briskly, for the darkness of
the autumn night was moment by moment contracting the
horizon, and he had still several miles to go on the unlighted
road.  Even as the thought of his dark walk crossed his
mind he caught sight of the one light that served as a
never-failing beacon to night travellers along that highway.  It
came from the windows of a wayside inn, a common place
of call for farmers wending to or from Drayton market, and
one whose curious sign Desmond had many times studied
with a small boy's interest.  The inn was named the
*Four Alls*: its sign a crude painting of a table and
four seated figures--a king, a parson, a soldier, and a
farmer.  Beneath the group, in a rough scrawl, were the
words--

   |   Rule all: Pray all:
   |   Fight all: Pay all.
   |

As Desmond drew nearer to the inn, there came to him
along the silent road the sound of singing.  This was
somewhat unusual at such an hour, for folk went early to
bed, and the inn was too far from the town to have attracted
waifs and strays from the crowd.  What was still more
unusual, the tones were not the rough, forced, vagrant
tones of tipsy farmers; it was a single voice, light, musical,
and true.  Desmond's curiosity was nicked, and he hastened
his step, guessing from the clearness of the sound that
the windows were open and the singer in full view.

The singing ceased abruptly just as he reached the inn.
But the windows stood indeed wide open, and from the
safe darkness of the road he could see clearly, by the light
of four candles on the high mantelshelf, the whole interior
of the inn parlour.  It held four persons.  One lay back
in a chair near the fire, his legs outstretched, his chin on
his breast, his open lips shaking as he snored.  It was
Tummas Biles the tranter, who had driven a tall stranger
from Chester to the present spot, and whose indignation
at being miscalled Jehu had only been appeased by a quart
of strong ale.  On the other side of the fireplace, curled
up on a settle, and also asleep, lay the black boy Scipio
Africanus.  Desmond noted these two figures in passing;
his gaze fastened upon the remaining two, who sat at a
corner of the table, a tankard in front of each.

One of the two was Job Grinsell, landlord of the inn,
a man with a red nose, loose mouth, and shifty eyes--not
a pleasant fellow to look at, and regarded vaguely as a
bad character.  He had once been head gamekeeper to
Sir Willoughby Stokes, the squire, whose service he had
left suddenly and in manifest disgrace.  His companion
was the stranger, the negro boy's master, the man whose
odd appearance and manner of talk had already set
Desmond's curiosity abuzzing.  It was clear that he must be
the singer, for Job Grinsell had a voice like a saw, and
Tummas Biles knew no music save the squeak of his
cart-wheels.  It surprised Desmond to find the stranger already
on the most friendly, to all appearance indeed confidential,
terms with the landlord.

"Hale, did you say?" he heard Grinsell ask.  "Ay,
hale as you an' me, an' like to last another twenty year,
rot him."

"But the gout takes him, you said--nodosa podagra, as
my friend Ovid would say?"

"Ay, but I've knowed a man live forty year win the
gout.  And he dunna believe in doctor's dosin'; he goes
to Buxton to drink the weeters when he bin madded wi'
the pain, an' comes back sound fur six month."

"Restored to his dear neighbours and friends--caris
propinquis----"

"Hang me, but I wish you'd speak plain English an'
not pepper yer talk win outlandish jabber."

"Patience, Job; why, man, you belie your name.  Come,
you must humour an old friend; that's what comes of
education, you see; my head is stuffed with odds and ends
that annoy my friends, while you can't read, nor write,
nor cipher beyond keeping your score.  Lucky Job!"

Desmond turned away.  The two men's conversation
was none of his business; and he suspected from the
stranger's manner that he had been drinking freely.  He
had stepped barely a dozen paces when he heard the voice
again break into song.  He halted and wheeled about;
the tune was catching, and now he distinguished some of
the words--

   |   Says Billy Morris, Masulipatam,
   |   To Governor Pitt: "D'ye know who I am.
   |   D'ye know who I am, I AM, I AM?
   |   Sir William Norris, Masulipatam."
   |
   |   Says Governor Pitt, Fort George Madras;
   |   "I know what you are----"
   |

Again the song broke off; the singer addressed a
question to Grinsell.  Desmond waited a moment; he felt an
odd eagerness to know what Governor Pitt was; but
hearing now only the drone of talking, he once more turned
his face homewards.  His curiosity was livelier than ever
as to the identity of this newcomer, who addressed the
landlord as he might his own familiar friend.  And what
had the stranger to do with Sir Willoughby Stokes?  For
it was Sir Willoughby that suffered from the gout; he
it was that went every autumn and spring to Buxton;
he was away at this present time, but would shortly
return to receive his Michaelmas rents.  The stranger had
not the air of a husbandman; but there was a vacant farm
on the estate; perhaps he had come to offer himself as
a tenant.  And why did he wear that half-glove upon
his right hand?  Finger-stalls, wrist-straps, even mittens
were common enough, useful, and necessary at times; but
the stranger's glove was not a mitten, and it had no fellow
for the left hand.  Perhaps, thought Desmond, it was a
freak of the wearer's, like his red feather and his vivid
neckcloth.  Desmond, as he walked on, found himself
hoping that the visitor at the *Four Alls* would remain
for a day or two.

After passing through the sleeping hamlet of Woods-eaves,
he struck into a road on his left hand.  Twenty
minutes' steady plodding uphill brought him in sight of
his home, a large, ancient, rambling grange house lying
back from the road.  It was now nearly ten o'clock, an
hour when the household was usually abed; but the door
of Wilcote Grange stood open, and a guarded candle in
the hall threw a faint yellow light upon the path.  The
gravel crunched under Desmond's boots, and, as if
summoned by the sound, a tall figure crossed the hall and
stood in the entrance.  At the sight Desmond's mouth
set hard; his hands clenched, his breath came more
quickly as he went forward.

"Where have you been, sirrah?" were the angry words
that greeted him.

"Into the town, sir."

He had perforce to halt, the doorway being barred by
the man's broad form.

"Into the town!  You defy me, do you?  Did I not bid
you remain at home and make up the stock-book?"

"I did that before I left."

"You did, did you?  I lay my life 'tis ill done.  What
did you in the town at this time o' night?"

"I went to see General Clive."

"Indeed!  You!  Hang me, what's Clive to you?  Was
you invited to the regale?  You was one of that stinking
crowd, I suppose, that bawled in the street.  You go and
herd with knaves and yokels, do you? and bring shame
upon me, and set the countryside a-chattering of Richard
Burke and his idle young oaf of a brother!  By gad, sir,
I'll whip you for this; I'll give you something to remember
General Clive by!"

He caught up a riding-whip that stood in the angle of
the doorway, and took Desmond by the shoulder.  The
boy did not flinch.

"Whip me if you must," he said quietly, "but don't
you think we'd better go outside?"

The elder, with an imprecation, thrust Desmond into the
open, hauled him some distance down the path, and then
beat him heavily about the shoulders.  He stood a foot
higher, his arm was strong, his grip firm as a vice;
resistance would have been vain; but Desmond knew better
than to resist.  He bent to the cruel blows without a wince
or a murmur.  Only, his face was very pale when, the
bully's arm being tired and his breath spent, he was flung
away and permitted to stagger to the house.  He crawled
painfully up the wainscoted staircase and into the dark
corridor leading to his bedroom.  Halfway down this he
paused, felt with his hand along the wall, and discovering
by this means that a door was ajar, stood listening.

"Is that you, Desmond?" said a low voice within.

"Yes, mother," he replied, commanding his voice, and
quietly entering.  "I hoped you were asleep."

"I could not sleep until you came in, dear.  I heard
Dick's voice.  What is the matter?  Your hand is
trembling, Desmond."

"Nothing, mother, as usual."

A mother's ears are quick; and Mrs. Burke detected the
quiver that Desmond tried to still.  She tightened her
clasp on his hot hand.

"Did he strike you, dear?"

"It was nothing, mother.  I am used to that."

"My poor boy!  But what angered him?  Why do you
offend your brother?"

"Offend him!" exclaimed the boy passionately, but still
in a low tone.  "Everything I do offends him.  I went to
see General Clive; I wished to; that is enough for Dick.
Mother, I am sick of it all."

"Never mind, dear.  A little patience.  Dick doesn't
understand you.  You should humour him, Desmond."

"Haven't I tried, mother?  Haven't I?  But what is
the use?  He treats me worse than any carter on the farm.
I drudge for him, and he bullies me, miscalls me before the
men, thrashes me--oh, mother!  I can't endure it any
longer.  Let me go away, anywhere; anything would be
better than this!"

Desmond was quivering with pain and indignation; only
with difficulty did he keep back the tears.

"Hush, Desmond!" said his mother.  "Dick will hear
you.  You are tired out, dear boy; go to bed; things will
look brighter in the morning.  Only have patience.
Good-night, my son."

Desmond kissed his mother and went to his room.  But
it was long before he slept.  His bruised body found no
comfort; his head throbbed; his soul was filled with
resentment and the passionate longing for release.  His life had
not been very happy.  He barely remembered his father--a
big, keen-eyed, loud-voiced old man--who died when his
younger son was four years old.  Richard Burke had run
away from his Irish home to sea.  He served on Admiral
Rooke's flagship at the battle of La Hogue, and, rising
in the navy to the rank of warrant-officer, bought a ship
with the savings of twenty years and fitted it out for
unauthorized trade with the East Indies.  His daring,
skill, and success attracted the attention of the officers of
the Company.  He was invited to enter the Company's
service.  As captain of an Indiaman he sailed backwards
and forwards for ten years; then at the age of fifty retired
with a considerable fortune and married the daughter of
a Shropshire farmer.  The death of his wife's relatives
led him to settle on the farm their family had tenanted
for generations, and it was at Wilcote Grange that his
three children were born.

Fifteen years separated the elder son from the younger;
between them came a daughter, who married early and left
the neighbourhood.  Four years after Desmond's birth the
old man died, leaving the boy to the guardianship of his
brother.

There lay the seed of trouble.  No brothers could have
been more unlike than the two sons of Captain Burke.
Richard was made on a large and powerful scale; he was
hard-working, methodical, grasping, wholly unimaginative,
and in temper violent and domineering.  Slighter and less
robust, though not less healthy, Desmond was a boy of
vivid imagination, high-strung, high-spirited, his feelings
easily moved, his pride easily wounded.  His brother was
too dull and stolid to understand him, taking for deliberate
malice what was but boyish mischief, and regarding him
as sullen when he was only dreamily thoughtful.

As a young boy Desmond kept as much as possible out
of his brother's way.  But as he grew older he came more
directly under Richard's control, with the result that they
were now in a constant state of feud.  Their mother, a
woman of sweet temper but weak will, favoured her
younger son in secret; she learnt by experience that open
intervention on his behalf did more harm than good.

Desmond had two habits which especially moved his
brother to anger.  He was fond of roaming the country
alone for hours together; he was fond of reading.  To
Richard each was a waste of time.  He never opened a
book, save a manual of husbandry, or a ready reckoner;
he could conceive of no reason for walking, unless it were
the business of the farm.  Nothing irritated him more
than to see Desmond stretched at length with his nose
in Mr. Defoe's *Robinson Crusoe*, or a volume of Hakluyt's
*Voyages*, or perhaps Mr. Oldys's *Life of Sir Walter Raleigh*.
And as he himself never dreamed by day or by night, there
was no chance of his divining the fact that Desmond, on
those long solitary walks of his, was engaged chiefly in
dreaming, not idly, for in his dreams he was always the
centre of activity, greedy for doing.

These day-dreams constituted almost the sole joy of
Desmond's life.  When he was quite a little fellow he would
sprawl on the bank near Tyrley Castle and weave
romances about the Norman barons whose home it had
been--romances in which he bore a strenuous part.  He
knew every interesting spot in the neighbourhood: Salisbury
Hill, where the Yorkist leader pitched his camp before
the battle of Blore Heath; Audley Brow, where Audley the
Lancastrian lay watching his foe; above all Styche Hall,
whence a former Clive had ridden forth to battle against
the king, and where his namesake, the present Robert
Clive, had been born.  He imagined himself each of those
bold warriors in turn, and saw himself, now a knight in
mail, now a gay cavalier of Rupert's, now a bewigged
Georgian gentleman in frock and pantaloons, but always
with sword in hand.

No name sang a merrier tune in Desmond's imagination
than the name of Robert Clive.  Three years before, when
he was imbibing Latin, Greek, and Hebrew under
Mr. Burslem at the grammar school on the hill, the amazing
news came one day that Bob Clive, the wild boy who had
terrorized the tradespeople, plagued his master, led the
school in tremendous fights with the town boys, and
suffered more birchings than any scholar of his time--Bob
Clive, the scapegrace who had been packed off to India as
a last resource, had turned out, as his father said, "not
such a booby after all,"--had indeed proved himself to be
a military genius.  How Desmond thrilled when the old
schoolmaster read out the glorious news of Clive's defence
of Arcot with a handful of men against an overwhelming
host!  How he glowed when the schoolroom rang with
the cheers of the boys, and when, a half-holiday being
granted, he rushed forth with the rest to do battle in the
churchyard with the town boys, and helped to lick them
thoroughly in honour of Clive!

From that moment there was for Desmond but one
man in the world, and that man was Robert Clive.  In
the twinkling of an eye he became the devoutest of
hero-worshippers.  He coaxed Mr. Burslem to let him occupy
Clive's old desk, and with his fists maintained the
privilege against all comers.  The initials "R.C." roughly cut
in the oak never lost their fascination for him.  He
walked out day after day to Styche Hall, two miles
away, and pleased himself with the thought that his
feet trod the very spots once trodden by Bob Clive.
Not an inch of the route from Hall to school--the
meadow-path into Longslow, the lane from Longslow to
Shropshire Street, Little Street, Church Street, the
churchyard--was unknown to him: Bob Clive had known them
all.  He feasted on the oft-told stories of Clive's boyish
escapades: how he had bundled a watchman into the
bulks and made him prisoner there by closing down and
fastening the shutters; how he had thrown himself across
the current of a torrential gutter to divert the stream
into the cellar shop of a tradesman who had offended him;
above all, that feat of his when, ascending the spiral
turret-stair of the church, he had lowered himself down
from the parapet, and, astride upon a gargoyle, had worked
his way along it until he could secure a stone that
lay in its mouth, the perilous and dizzy adventure
watched by a breathless throng in the churchyard below.
The Bob Clive who had done these things was now doing
greater deeds in India; and Desmond Burke sat
day after day at his desk, gazing at the entrancing
"R.C." and doing over again in his own person the
exploits of which all Market Drayton was proud, and
he the proudest.

But at the age of fourteen his brother took him from
school, though Mr. Burslem had pleaded that he might
remain longer and afterwards proceed to the university.
He was set to do odd jobs about the farm.  To farming
itself he had no objection; he was fond of animals and
would willingly have spent his life with them.  But he
did object to drudging for a hard and inconsiderate
taskmaster such as his brother was, and the work he was
compelled to do became loathsome to him, and bred a spirit
of discontent and rebellion.  The further news of Clive's
exploits in India, coming at long intervals, set wild
notions beating in Desmond's head, and made him
long passionately for a change.  At times he thought of
running away: his father had run away and carved out
a successful career, why should not he do the same?
But he had never quite made up his mind to cut the knot.

Meanwhile it became known in Market Drayton that
Clive had returned to England.  Rumour credited him
with fabulous wealth.  It was said that he drove through
London in a gold coach, and outshone the King himself
in the splendour of his attire.  No report was too highly
coloured to find easy credence among the simple country
folk.  Clive was indeed rich: he had a taste for ornate
dress, and though neither so wealthy nor so gaily
apparelled as rumour said, he was for a season the lion of
London society.  The directors of the East India
Company toasted him as "General" Clive, and presented him
with a jewelled sword as a token of their sense of his
services on the Coromandel coast.  No one
suspected at the time that his work was of more than local
importance and would have more far-reaching consequences
than the success of a trading company.  Clive
had, in fact, without knowing it, laid the foundations
of a vast empire.

At intervals during two years scraps of news about
Clive filtered through to his birthplace.  His father had
left the neighbourhood, and Styche Hall was now in the
hands of a stranger, so that Desmond hardly dared to
hope that he would have an opportunity of seeing his
idol.  But, information having reached the court of
directors that all was not going well in India, their eyes
turned at once to Clive as the man to set things right.
They requested him to return to India as Governor of
Fort St. David, and, since a good deal of the trouble
was caused by quarrels as to precedence between the
King's and the Company's officers, they strengthened his
hands by obtaining for him a lieutenant-colonel's
commission from King George.  Clive was nothing loth to
take up his work again.  He had been somewhat
extravagant since his arrival in England; great holes had
been made in the fortune he had brought back; and he
was still a young man, full of energy and ambition.
What was Desmond's ecstasy, then, to learn that his hero,
on the eve of his departure, had accepted an invitation
to the town of his birth, there to be entertained
by the court leet.  From the bailiff and the steward of
the manor down to the javelin men and the ale-taster,
official Market Drayton was all agog to do him honour.
Desmond looked forward eagerly to this red-letter day.
His brother, as a yeoman of standing, was invited to
the banquet, and it seemed to Desmond that Richard
took a delight in taunting him, throwing cold water on his
young enthusiasm, ironically commenting on the
mistake some one had made in not including him among the
guests.  His crowning stroke of cruelty was to forbid the
boy to leave the house on the great evening, so that
he might not even obtain a glimpse of Clive.  But this
was too much: Desmond for the first time deliberately
defied his guardian, and though he suffered the
inevitable penalty, he had seen and heard his hero, and was
content.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER THE THIRD`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER THE THIRD

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: bold

In which Mr. Marmaduke Diggle talks of
the Golden East; and our hero interrupts
an interview, and dreams dreams.


.. vspace:: 2

Sore from his flogging, Desmond, when he slept at last,
slept heavily.  Richard Burke was a stickler for early
rising, and admitted no excuses.  When his brother did
not appear at the usual hour Richard went to his room,
and, smiting with his rough hand the boy's bruised
shoulders, startled him to wakefulness and pain.

"Now, slug-a-bed," he said, "you have ten minutes
for your breakfast, then you will foot it to the Hall and see
whether Sir Willoughby has returned or is expected."

Turning on his heel he went out to harry his labourers.

Desmond, when he came downstairs, felt too sick to
eat.  He gulped a pitcher of milk, then set off for his
two-mile walk to the Hall.  He was glad of the errand.
Sir Willoughby Stokes, the lord of the manor, was an
old gentleman of near seventy years, a good landlord, a
persistent Jacobite, and a confirmed bachelor.  By nature
genial, he was subject to periodical attacks of the gout,
which made him terrible.  At these times he betook
himself to Buxton, or Bath, or some other spa, and so
timed his return that he was always good-tempered on
rent-day, much to the relief of his tenants.  He disliked
Richard Burke as a man as much as he admired him as a
tenant; but he had taken a fancy to Desmond, lent
him books from his library, took him out shooting when
the weather and Richard permitted, and played chess
with him sometimes of a rainy afternoon.  His
housekeeper said that Master Desmond was the only human
being whose presence the squire could endure when the
gout was on him.  In short, Sir Willoughby and
Desmond were very good friends.

Desmond had almost reached the gate of the Hall
when, at a sudden turn of the road, he came upon a man
seated upon a low hillock by the roadside, idly
swishing at the long ripe grass with a cane.  At the first
glance Desmond noticed the strangely-clad right hand
of his overnight acquaintance, the shabby clothes,
the red feather, the flaming neckcloth.  The man looked
up at his approach; the winning smile settled upon his
swarthy face, which daylight now revealed as seamed and
scarred; and, without stirring from his seat or desisting
from his occupation, he looked in the boy's face and said
softly:

"You are early afoot, like the son of Anchises, my
young friend.  If I mistake not, when Aeneas met the son
of Evander they joined their right hands.  We have
met--let us also join hands and bid each other a very good
morning."

Desmond shook hands; he did not know what to make
of this remarkable fellow who must always be quoting
from his school-books; but there was no harm in shaking
hands.  He could not in politeness ask the question that
rose to his lips--why the stranger wore a mitten on one
hand; and if the man observed his curiosity he let it pass.

"You are on business bent, I wot," continued the
stranger.  "Not for the world would I delay you.  But since
the hand-clasp is but a part of the ceremony of
introduction, might we not complete it by exchanging names?"

"My name is Desmond Burke," said the boy.

"A good name, a pleasant name, a name that I know."
Desmond was conscious that the man was looking keenly
at him.  "There is a gentleman of the same name--I
chanced to meet him in London--cultivating literature in
the Temple; his praenomen, I bethink me, is Edmund.
And I bethink me, too, that in the course of my
peregrinations on this planet I have more than once heard the
name of one Captain Richard Burke, a notable seaman,
in the service of our great Company.  I repeat, my young
friend, your name is a good one; may you live to add
lustre to it!"

"Captain Burke was my father."

"My prophetic soul!" exclaimed the stranger.  "But
surely you are somewhat late in following the craft paternal;
you do not learn seamanship in this sylvan sphere?"

"True," responded Desmond with a smile.  "My
father turned farmer; he died when I was a little fellow,
and I live with my mother.  But you will excuse me, sir;
I have an errand to the Hall beyond us there."

"I am rebuked.  'Nam garrulus idem est,' as our friend
Horace would say.  Yet one moment.  Ere we part let us
complete our interrupted ceremony.  Marmaduke Diggle,
sir--plain Marmaduke Diggle, at your service."

He swept off his hat with a smile.  But as soon as
Desmond had passed on the smile faded.  Marmaduke
Diggle's mouth became hard, and he looked after the
retreating form with a gaze in which curiosity, suspicion,
and dislike were blended.

He was still seated by the roadside when Desmond
returned some minutes later.

"A pleasant surprise, Mr. Burke," he said.  "Your
business is most briefly, and let us hope happily,
despatched."

"Briefly, at any rate.  I only went up to the Hall to
see if the Squire was returned; it is near rent-day, and
he is not usually so late in returning."

"Ah, your squires!" said Diggle with a sigh.  "A
fine thing to have lands--oliveyards and vineyards, as
the Scripture saith.--You are returning?  The Squire is
not at home?  Permit me to accompany you some steps
on your road.--Yes, it is a fine thing to be a landlord.
It is a state of life much to be envied by poor landless
men like me.  I confess I am poor--none the pleasanter
because 'tis my own fault.  You behold in me, Mr. Burke,
one of the luckless.  I sought fame and fortune years ago
in the fabulous East Indies----"

"The Indies, sir?"

"You are interested?  In me also, when I was your
age, the name stirred my blood and haunted my imagination.
Yes, 'tis nigh ten years since I first sailed from
these shores for the marvellous East.  'Multum et terris
jactatus et alto.'  Twice have I made my fortune--got
me enough of the wealth of Ormus and of Ind to buy up
half your county.  Twice, alas! has an unkind Fate
robbed me of my all!  But, as I said, 'tis my own fault.
'Nemo contentus,' sir--you know the passage?  I was
not satisfied: I must have a little more; and yet a little
more.  I put my wealth forth in hazardous
enterprises--presto! it is swept away.
But I was born, sir, after all,
under a merry star.  Nothing discourages me.  After
a brief sojourn for recuperation in this salubrious spot
I shall return; and this time, mark you, I shall run no
risks.  Five years to make my fortune; then I shall come
home, content with a round ten lakhs."

"What is a lakh?"

"Ah, I forgot, you are not acquainted with these
phrases of the Orient.  A lakh, my friend, is a hundred
thousand rupees, say twelve thousand pounds.  And I
warrant you I will not squander it as a certain gentleman
we know squandered his."

"You mean General Clive?"

"Colonel Clive, my friend.  Yes, I say Colonel Clive
has squandered his fortune.  Why, he came home with
thirty lakhs at the least: and what does he do?  He
must ruffle it in purple and fine linen, and feed the fat
in royal entertainments; then, forsooth, he stands for a
seat in Parliament, pours out his gold like water--to
what end?  A petition is presented against his return:
the House holds an inquiry; and the end of the sorry
farce is, that Mr. Robert Clive's services are dispensed
with.  When I think of the good money he has wasted----  But
then, sir, I am no politician.  Colonel Clive and I
are two ruined men; 'tis a somewhat strange coincidence
that he and I are almost of an age, and that we both,
before many weeks are past, shall be crossing the ocean
once more to retrieve our fallen fortunes."

Walking side by side during this conversation they
had now come into the road leading past Desmond's
home.  In the distance, approaching them, appeared a
post-chaise, drawn by four galloping horses.  The sight
broke the thread of the conversation.

"'Tis the Squire at last!" cried Desmond.  "Sure he
must have put up at Newcastle overnight."

But that he was intently watching the rapid progress
of the chaise, he might have noticed a curious change of
expression on his companion's face.  The smile faded,
the lips became set with a kind of grim determination.
But Diggle's pleasant tone had not altered when he said:

"Our ways part here, my friend--for the present.  I
doubt not we shall meet again; and if you care to hear
of my adventures by field and flood--why, 'I will a round
unvarnished tale deliver,' as the Moor of Venice says in
the play.  For the present, then, farewell!"

He turned down a leafy lane, and had disappeared from
view before the chaise reached the spot.  As it ran by,
its only occupant, a big, red-faced, white-wigged old
gentleman, caught sight of the boy and hailed him in a
rich, jolly voice.

"Ha, Desmond!  Home again, you see!  Scotched
the enemy once more!  Come and see me!"

The chaise was past before Desmond could reply.  He
watched it until it vanished from sight; then, feeling
somewhat cheered, went on to report to his brother that
the Squire had at last returned.

He felt no little curiosity about his new acquaintance.
What had brought him to so retired a spot as Market
Drayton?  He could have no friends in the neighbourhood,
or he would surely not have chosen for his lodging
a place of ill repute like the *Four Alls*.  Yet he had
seemed to have some acquaintance with Grinsell the
innkeeper.  He did not answer to Desmond's idea of an
adventurer.  He was not rough of tongue or boisterous
in manner; his accent, indeed, was refined; his speech
somewhat studied, and, to judge by his allusions and his
Latin, he had some share of polite learning.  Desmond
was puzzled to fit these apparent incongruities, and
looked forward with interest to further meetings with
Marmaduke Diggle.

During the next few days they met more than once.  It
was always late in the evening, always in quiet places,
and Diggle was always alone.  Apparently he desired to
make no acquaintances.  The gossips of the neighbourhood
seized upon the presence of a stranger at the *Four
Alls*, but they caught the barest glimpses of him; Grinsell
was as a stone wall in unresponsiveness to their inquiries;
and the black boy, if perchance a countryman met him on
the road and questioned him, shook his head and made
meaningless noises in his throat, and the countryman
would assure his cronies that the boy was as dumb as a
platter.

But whenever Desmond encountered the stranger, strolling
by himself in the fields or some quiet lane, Diggle
always seemed pleased to see him, and talked to him with
the same ease and freedom, ever ready with a tag from
his school-books.  Desmond did not like his Latin, but he
found compensation in the traveller's tales of which Diggle
had an inexhaustible store--tales of shipwreck and mutiny,
of wild animals and wild men, of Dutch traders and
Portuguese adventurers, of Indian nawabs and French
buccaneers.  Above all was Desmond interested in stories of
India: he heard of the immense wealth of the Indian
princes; the rivalries of the English, French, and Dutch
trading companies; the keen struggle between France and
England for the preponderating influence with the natives.
Desmond was eager to hear of Clive's doings; but he
found Diggle, for an Englishman who had been in India,
strangely ignorant of Clive's career; he seemed impatient
of Clive's name, and was always more ready to talk of his
French rivals, Dupleix and Bussy.  The boy was
impressed by the mystery, the colour, the romance of the
East; and after these talks with Diggle he went home
with his mind afire, and dreamed of elephants and tigers,
treasures of gold and diamonds, and fierce battles in which
English, French, and Indians weltered in seas of blood.

One morning Desmond set out for a long walk in the
direction of Newport.  It was holiday on the farm; Richard
Burke allowed his men a day off once every half year when
he paid his rent.  They would almost rather not have
had it, for he made himself particularly unpleasant both
before and after.  On this morning he had got up in a
bad temper, and managed to find half a dozen occasions for
grumbling at Desmond before breakfast, so that the boy was
glad to get away and walk off his resentment and soreness
of heart.

As he passed the end of the lane leading towards the
Hall, he saw two men in conversation some distance down
it.  One was on horseback, the other on foot.  At a second
glance he saw with surprise that the mounted man was
his brother, the other Diggle.  A well-filled money-bag
hung at Richard Burke's saddle-bow; he was on his
way to the Hall to pay his rent.  His back was towards
Desmond; but, as the latter paused, Richard threw a
rapid glance over his shoulder, and with a word to the
man at his side cantered away.

Diggle gave Desmond a hail and came slowly up the
lane, his face wearing its usual pleasant smile.  His manner
was always very friendly, and had the effect of making
Desmond feel on good terms with himself.

"Well met, my friend," said Diggle cordially.  "I was
longing for a chat.  Beshrew me if I have spoken more
than a dozen words to-day, and that, to a man of my
sociable temper, not to speak of my swift and practised
tongue--'lingua celer et exercitata': you remember the
phrase of Tully's--is a sore trial."

"You seemed to be having a conversation a moment
ago," said Desmond.

"Seemed!--that is the very word.  That excellent
farmer--sure he hath a prosperous look--had mistaken me.
'Tis not the apparel makes the man; my attire is not of the
best, I admit; but, I beg you tell me frankly, would you
have taken me for a husbandman, one who with relentless
ploughshare turns the stubborn soil, as friend Horace
somewhere puts it?  Would you, now?"

"Decidedly not.  But did my brother so mistake you?"

"Your brother!  Was that prosperous and well-mounted
gentleman your brother?"

"Certainly.  He is Richard Burke, and leases the
Wilcote Farm."

"Noble pair of brothers!" exclaimed Diggle, seizing
Desmond's reluctant hand.  "I congratulate you, my friend.
What a brother!  I stopped him to ask the time of day.
But permit me to say, friend Desmond, you appear
somewhat downcast; your countenance hath not that serenity
one looks for in a lad of your years.  What is the trouble?"

"Oh, nothing to speak of," said Desmond curtly; he
was vexed that his face still betrayed the irritation of the
morning.

"Very well," said Diggle with a shrug.  "Far be it
from me to probe your sorrows.  They are nothing to me,
but sure a simple question from a friend----"

"Pardon me, Mr. Diggle," said Desmond impulsively,
"I did not mean to offend you."

"My dear boy, a tough-hided traveller does not easily
take offence.--Shall we walk?--D'you know, Master
Desmond, I fancy I could make a shrewd guess at your trouble.
Your brother--Richard, I think you said?--is a farmer, he
was born a farmer, he has the air of a farmer, and a
well-doing farmer to boot.  But we are not all born with a love
for mother-earth, and you, meseems, have dreamed of a
larger life than lies within the pinfolds of a farm.  To tell
the truth, my lad, I have been studying you."  They were
walking now side by side along the Newport road.
Desmond felt that the stranger was becoming personal; but
his manner was so suave and sympathetic that he could
not take offence.  "Yes, I have been studying you,"
continued Diggle.  "And what is the sum of my discovery?
You are wasting your life here.  A country village is no
place for a boy of ideas and imagination, of warm blood
and springing fancy.  The world is wide, my friend: why
not adventure forth?"

"I have indeed thought of it, Mr. Diggle, but----"

"But me no buts," interrupted Diggle with a smile.
"Your age is----"

"Near sixteen."

"Ah, still a boy; you have a year ere you reach the
bourn of young manhood, as the Romans held it!  But
what matters that?  Was not Scipio Africanus--namesake
of the ingenuous youth that serves me--styled boy
at twenty?  Yet you are old enough to walk alone, and
not in leading strings,--or waiting maybe for dead men's
shoes."

"What do you mean, sir?" Desmond flashed out,
reddening with indignation.

"Do I offend?" said Diggle innocently.  "I make my
apology.  But I had heard, I own, that Master Desmond
Burke was in high favour with your squire; 'tis even
whispered that Master Desmond cherishes, cultivates,
cossets the old man--a bachelor, I understand, and
wealthy, and lacking kith or kin.  Sure I should never have
believed 'twas with any dishonourable motive."

"'Tis not, sir.  I never thought of such a thing."

"I was sure of it.  But to come back to my starting-point.
'Tis time you broke these narrow bounds.  India,
now--what better sphere for a young man bent on making
his way?  Look at Clive, whom you admire--as stupid a
boy as you could meet in a day's march.  Why, I can
remember----"  He caught himself up, but after the
slightest pause resumed: "'Forsan et haec olim
meminisse juvabit.'  Look at Clive, I was saying; a lout, a
bear, a booby--as a boy, mark you; yet now----!  Is
there a man whose name rings more loudly in the world's
ear?  And what Robert Clive is, that Desmond Burke
might be if he had the mind and the will.--You are going
farther?  Ah, I have not your love of ambulation.  I will
bid you farewell for this time; sure it will profit you to
ponder my words."

Desmond did ponder his words.  He walked for three
or four hours, thinking all the time.  Who had said that
he was waiting for the squire's shoes?  He glowed with
indignation at the idea of such a construction being placed
upon his friendship for Sir Willoughby.  "If they think
that," he said to himself, "the sooner I go away the
better."  And the seed planted by Diggle took root and began to
germinate with wonderful rapidity.  To emulate Clive!--what
would he not give for the chance?  But how was
it possible?  Clive had begun as a writer in the service of
the East India Company; but how could Desmond
procure a nomination?  Perhaps Sir Willoughby could help
him; he might have influence with the Company's directors.
But, supposing he obtained a nomination, how could he
purchase his outfit?  He had but a few guineas, and after
what Diggle had said he would starve rather than ask the
squire for a penny.  True, under his father's will he was
to receive five thousand pounds at the age of twenty-one.
Would Richard advance part of the sum?  Knowing
Richard, he hardly dared to hope for such a departure
from the letter of the law.  But it was at least worth
attempting.





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.. _`CHAPTER THE FOURTH`:

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   CHAPTER THE FOURTH

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In which blows are exchanged; and our hero,
setting forth upon his travels, scents an
adventure

.. vspace:: 2

That same day, at supper, seeing that Richard was
apparently in a good temper, Desmond ventured to make
a suggestion.

"Dick," he said frankly, "don't you think it would
be better for all of us if I went away?  You and I don't
get along very well, and perhaps I was not cut out for a
farmer."

Richard grunted, and Mrs. Burke looked apprehensively
from one to the other.

"What's your idea?" asked Richard.

"Well, I had thought of a writership in the East India
Company's service, or better still, a cadetship in the
Company's forces."

"Hark to him!" exclaimed Richard, with a scornful
laugh.  "A second Clive, sink me!  And where do you
suppose the money is to come from?"

"Couldn't you advance a part of what is to come to me
when I am twenty-one?"

"Not a penny, I tell you at once, not a penny.  'Tis
enough to be saddled with you all these years.  You may
think yourself lucky if I can scrape together a tenth of
the money that'll be due to you when you're twenty-one.
That's the dead hand, if you like; why father put that
provision in his will it passes common sense to understand.
No, you'll have to stay and earn part of it, though in truth
you'll never be worth your keep."

"That depends on the keeper," retorted Desmond,
rather warmly.

"No insolence, now.  I repeat, I will not advance one
penny.  Go and get some money out of the Squire, that is
so precious fond of you."

"Richard, Richard!" said his mother anxiously.

"Mother, I'm the boy's guardian.  I know what it is.
He has been crammed with nonsense by that idle knave at
the *Four Alls*.  Look 'ee, my man, if I catch you speaking
to him again, I'll flay your skin for you."

"Why shouldn't I?  I saw you speaking to him."

"Hold your tongue, sir.  The dog accosted me.  I
answered his question and passed on.  Heed what I say:
I'm a man of my word."

Desmond said no more.  But before he fell asleep that
night he had advanced one step further towards freedom.
His request had met with the refusal he had anticipated.
He could hope for no pecuniary assistance; it remained to
see what could be done without money; and he resolved
to take the first opportunity of consulting Diggle.  It was
Diggle who had suggested India as the field for his
ambition; and the suggestion would hardly have been made
if there were great obstacles in the way of its being acted
on.  Desmond made light of his brother's command that
he should cut Diggle's acquaintance; it seemed to him
only another act of tyranny, and his relations with Richard
were such that to forbid a thing was to provoke him to do it.

His opportunity came next day.  Late in the afternoon
he met Diggle, as he had done many times before, walking
in the fields, remote from houses.  When Desmond caught
sight of him, he was sauntering along, his eyes bent upon
the ground, his face troubled.  But he smiled on seeing
Desmond.

"Well met, friend," he said; "'leni perfruor otio'--which
is as much as to say--I bask in idleness.  Well
now, I perceive in your eye that you have been meditating
my counsel.  'Tis well, friend Desmond.  And whereto has
your meditation arrived?"

"I have thought over what you said.  I do wish to get
away from here; I should like to go to India; indeed, I
asked my brother to advance a part of some money that is
to come to me, so that I might obtain service with the
Company; but he refused."

"And you come to me for counsel.  'Tis well done,
though I trow your brother would scarce be pleased to
hear of it."

"He forbade me to speak to you."

"Egad he did!  'Haec summa est!'  What has he
against me?--a question to be asked.  I am a stranger in
these parts: that is ill; and buffeted by fortune: that is
worse; and somewhat versed in humane letters: that, to
the rustic intelligence, is a crime.  Well, my lad, you have
come to the right man at the right time.  You are
acquainted with my design shortly to return to the Indies--a
rare field for a lad of mettle.  You shall come with me."

"But are you connected with the Company?  None
other, I believed, have a right to trade."

"The Company!  Sure, my lad, I am no friend to the
Company, a set of stiff-necked, ignorant, grasping, paunchy
peddlers who fatten at home on the toil of better men.
No, I am an adventurer, I own it; I am an interloper;
and we interlopers, despite the Company's monopoly, yet
contrive to keep body and soul together."

"Then I should not sail to India on a Company's ship?"

"Far from it, indeed.  But let not that disturb you,
there are other vessels.  And for the passage--why, sure
I could find you a place as supercargo or some such thing;
you would thus keep the little money you have and add to
it, forming a nest-egg which, I say it without boasting, I
could help you to hatch into a fine brood.  I am not
without friends in the Indies, my dear boy; there are princes
in that land whom I have assisted to their thrones; and if,
on behalf of a friend, I ask of them some slight thing,
provided it be honest--'tis the first law of friendship, says
Tully, as you will remember, to seek honest things for our
friends--if, I say, on your behalf, I proffer some slight
request, sure the nawabs will vie to pleasure me, and the
foundation of your fortune will be laid."

Desmond had not observed that, during this eloquent
passage, Diggle had more than once glanced beyond him,
as though his mind were not wholly occupied with his
oratorical efforts.  It was therefore with something of a
shock that he heard him say in the same level tone:

"But I perceive your brother approaching.  I am not
the man to cause differences between persons near akin;
I will therefore leave you; we will have further speech on
the subject of our discourse."

He moved away.  A moment after, Richard Burke came
up in a towering passion.

"You brave me, do you?" he cried.  "Did I not forbid
you to converse with that vagabond?"

"You have no right to dictate to me on such matters,"
said Desmond hotly, facing his brother.

"I've no right, haven't I?" shouted Richard.  "I've
a guardian's right to thrash you if you disobey me, and by
George!  I'll keep my promise."

He lifted the riding whip, without which he seldom went
abroad, and struck at Desmond.  But the boy's blood was
up.  He sprang aside as the thong fell; it missed him,
and before the whip could be raised again he had leapt
towards his brother.  Wrenching the stock from his grasp,
Desmond flung the whip over the hedge into a green-mantled
pool, and stood, his cheeks pale, his fists clenched,
his eyes flaming, before the astonished man.

"Coward!" he cried, "'tis the last time you lay hands
on me."

Recovered from his amazement at Desmond's resistance,
Richard, purple with wrath, advanced to seize the boy.
But Desmond, nimbly evading his clutch, slipped his foot
within his brother's, and with a dexterous movement
tripped him up, so that he fell sprawling, with many an
oath, on the miry road.  Before he could regain his feet,
Desmond had vaulted the hedge and set off at a run
towards home.  Diggle was nowhere in sight.

The die was now cast.  Never before had Desmond
actively retaliated upon his brother, and he knew him well
enough to be sure that such an affront was unforgivable.
The farm would no longer be safe for him.  With startling
suddenness his vague notions of leaving home were
crystallized into a resolve.  No definite plan formed itself
in his mind as he raced over the fields.  He only knew
that the moment for departure had come, and he was
hastening now to secure the little money he possessed and
to make a bundle of his clothes and the few things he
valued before Richard could return.  Reaching the Grange,
he slipped quietly upstairs, not daring to face his mother
lest her grief should weaken his resolution, and in five
minutes he returned with his bundle.  He stole out through
the garden, skirted the copse that bounded the farm
enclosure, and ran for half a mile up the lane until he felt
that he was out of reach.  Then, breathless with haste,
quivering with the shock of this sudden plunge into
independence, he sat down on the grassy bank to reflect.

What had he done?  It was no light thing for a boy of
his years, ignorant of life and the world, to cut himself
adrift from old ties and voyage into the unknown.  Had
he been wise?  He had no trade as a stand-by; his whole
endowment was his youth and his wits.  Would they
suffice?  Diggle's talk had opened up an immense
prospect, full of colour and mystery and romance, chiming
well with his day-dreams.  Was it possible that, sailing
to India, he might find some of his dreams come true?
Could he trust Diggle, a stranger, by his own admission
an adventurer, a man who had run through two fortunes
already?  He had no reason for distrust; Diggle was well
educated, a gentleman, frank, amiable.  What motive
could he have for leading a boy astray?

Mingled with Desmond's Irish impulsiveness there was
a strain of caution derived from the stolid English yeomen
his forebears on the maternal side.  He felt the need, before
crossing his Rubicon, of taking counsel with some one older
and wiser--with a tried friend.  Sir Willoughby Stokes,
the squire, had always been kind to him.  Would it not
be well to put his case to the Squire and follow his advice?
But he durst not venture to the Hall yet.  His brother
might suspect his errand and seize him there, or
intercept him on the way.  He would wait.  It was the
Squire's custom to spend a quiet hour in his own room
long after the time when other folk in that rural
neighbourhood were abed.  Desmond sometimes sat with him
there, reading or playing chess.  If he went up to the Hall
at nine o'clock he would be sure of a welcome.

The evening passed slowly for Desmond in his enforced
idleness.  At nine o'clock, leaving his bundle in a hollow
tree, he set off toward the Hall, taking a short cut across
the fields.  It was a dark night, and he stopped with a
start as, on descending a stile overhung by a spreading
sycamore, he almost struck against a person who had just
preceded him.

"Who's that?" he asked quickly, stepping back a little:
it was unusual to meet any one in the fields at so late an
hour.

"Be that you, Measter Desmond?"

"Oh, 'tis you, Dickon.  What are you doing this way
at such an hour?  You ought to have been abed long ago."

"Ay, sure, Measter Desmond; but I be goin' to see
Squire," said the old man, apparently with some hesitation.

"That's odd.  So am I.  We may as well walk together,
then--for fear of the ghosts, eh, Dickon?"

"I binna afeard o' ghosts, not I.  True, 'tis odd I be
goin' to see Squire.  I feel it so.  Squire be a high man,
and I ha' never dared lift up my voice to him oothout
axen.  But 'tis to be.  I ha' summat to tell him, low-born
as I be; ay, I mun tell him, cost what it may."

"Well, he's not a dragon.  I have something to tell
him too--cost what it may."

There was silence for a space.  Then Dickon said,
tremulously:

"Bin it a great matter, yourn, sir, I make bold to ax?"

"That's as it turns out, Dickon.  But what is it with
you, old man?  Is aught amiss?"

"Not wi' me, sir, not wi' me, thank the Lord above.
But I seed ya, Measter Desmond, t'other day, in speech
win that--that Diggle as he do call hisself, and--and, I
tell ya true, sir, I dunna like the looks on him; no, he
binna a right man; an' I were afeard as he med ha' bin
fillin' yer head wi' fine tales about the wonders o' the
world an' all."

"Is that all, Dickon?  You fear my head may be
turned, eh?  Don't worry about me."

"Why, sir, ya may think me bold, but I do say this:
If so be ya gets notions in yer head--notions o' goin' out
alone an' seein' the world an' all, go up an' ax Squire
about it.  Squire he done have a wise head; he'll advise ya
fur the best; an' sure I bin he'd warn ya not to have no
dealin's win that Diggle, as he do call hisself."

"Why, does the Squire know him, then?"

"'Tis my belief Squire do know everything an' every
body.  Diggle he med not know, to be sure, but if so be
ya say 'tis a lean man, wi' sharp nose, an' black eyes like
live coals, an' a smilin' mouth--why, Squire knows them
sort, he done, and wouldna trust him not a' ell.  But maybe
ya'd better go on, sir: my old shanks be slow fur one so
young an' nimble."

"No hurry, Dickon.  Lucky the Squire was used to
London hours in his youth, or we'd find him abed.  See,
there's a light in the Hall; 'tis in the strong-room next to
the library; Sir Willoughby is reckoning up his rents
maybe, though 'tis late for that."

"Ay, ya knows the Hall, true.  Theer be a terrible deal
o' gowd an' silver up in that room, fur sure, more'n a
aged man like me could tell in a week."

"The light is moving; it seems Sir Willoughby is finishing
up for the night.  I hope we shall not be too late."

But at this moment a winding of the path brought
another face of the Hall into view.

"Why, Dickon," exclaimed Desmond, "there's another
light; 'tis the Squire's own room.  He cannot be in two
places at once; 'tis odd at this time of night.  Come, stir
your stumps, old man."

They hurried along, scrambling through the hedge that
bounded the field, Desmond leaping, Dickon wading, the
brook that ran alongside the road.  Turning to the left,
they came to the front entrance to the Hall, and passed
through the wicket-gate into the grounds.  They could
see the Squire's shadow on the blind of the parlour; but
the lighted window of the strong-room was now hidden
from them.  Stepping in that direction, to satisfy a strange
curiosity he felt, Desmond halted in amazement as he saw,
faintly silhouetted against the sky, a ladder placed against
the wall, resting on the sill of the strong-room.  His
surprise at seeing lights in two rooms, in different wings
of the house, so late at night, changed to misgiving and
suspicion.  He hastened back to Dickon.

"I fear some mischief is afoot," he said.  Drawing the
old man into the shade of a shrubbery, he added: "Remain
here; do not stir until I come for you, or unless you hear
me call."

Leaving Dickon in trembling perplexity and alarm, he
stole forward on tip-toe towards the house.





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.. _`CHAPTER THE FIFTH`:

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   CHAPTER THE FIFTH

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In which Job Grinsell explains; and three
visitors come by night to the "Four Alls."

.. vspace:: 2

At the foot of the wall lay a flower-bed, now bare and
black, separated by a gravel path from a low shrubbery of
laurel.  Behind this latter Desmond stole, screened from
observation by the bushes.  Coming to a spot exactly
opposite the ladder, he saw that it rested on the sill of the
library window, which was open.  The library itself was
dark, but there was still a dull glow in the next room.  At
the foot of the ladder stood a man.  The meaning of it all
was plain.  The large sum of money recently received by
Sir Willoughby as rents had tempted some one to rob him.
The robber must have learnt that the money was kept in
the strong-room; and it argued either considerable daring
or great ignorance to have timed his visit for an hour
when any one familiar with the Squire's habits would have
known that he would not yet have retired to rest.

Desmond was about to run round to the other side of
the house and rouse the Squire when the dim light in the
strong-room was suddenly extinguished.  Apparently the
confederate of the man below had secured his booty and
was preparing to return.  Desmond remained fixed to the
spot, in some doubt what to do.  He might call to Dickon
and make a rush on the man before him; but the labourer
was old and feeble, and the criminal was no doubt armed.
A disturber would probably be shot, and though the report
would alarm the household, the burglars would have time
to escape in the darkness.  Save Sir Willoughby himself,
doubtless every person in the house was by this time abed
asleep.

It seemed best to Desmond to send Dickon for help
while he himself still mounted guard.  Creeping silently
as a cat along the shrubbery, he hastened back to the
labourer, told him in a hurried whisper of his discovery,
and bade him steal round to the servants' quarters, rouse
them quietly, and bring one or two to trap the man at the
foot of the ladder while others made a dash through the
library upon the marauder in the strong-room.  Dickon,
whose wits were nimbler than his legs, understood what
he was to do and slipped away, Desmond returning to his
coign of vantage as noiselessly as he came.

He was just in time to see that a heavy object, apparently
a box, was being lowered from the library window
on to the ladder.  Sliding slowly down, it came to the hands
of the waiting man; immediately afterwards the rope by
which it had been suspended was dropped from above,
and the dark figure of a man mounted the sill.

He already had one leg over, preparing to descend,
when Desmond, with a sudden rush, dashed through the
shrubs and sprang across the path.  The confederate was
stooping over the booty; his back was towards the
shrubbery; at the snapping of twigs and the crunching of the
gravel he straightened himself and turned.  Before he was
aware of what was happening, Desmond caught at the
ladder by the lowest rung, and jerked it violently outwards
so that its top fell several feet below the window-sill,
resting on the wall out of reach of the man above.  Desmond
heard a smothered exclamation break from the fellow, but
he could pay no further attention to him, for, as he rose
from stooping over the ladder, he was set upon by a burly
form.  He dodged behind the ladder.  The man sprang
after him, blindly, clumsily, and tripped over the box.  But
he was up in a moment, and, reckless of the consequences
of raising an alarm, was fumbling for a pistol, when
there fell upon his ears a shout, the tramp of hurrying
feet, and the sound of another window being thrown open.

With a muffled curse he swung on his heel, and made to
cross the gravel path and plunge into the shrubbery.  But
Desmond was too quick for him.  Springing upon his
back, he caught his arms, thus preventing him from using
his pistol.  He was a powerful man, and Desmond alone
would have been no match for him; but before he could
wriggle himself entirely free, three half-clad men-servants
came up with a rush, and in a trice he was secured.

In the excitement of these close-packed moments
Desmond had forgotten the other man, whom he had last seen
with his leg dangling over the window-sill.  He looked up
now; the window was still open; the ladder lay exactly
where he had jerked it; evidently the robber had not
descended.

"Quick!" cried Desmond.  "Round to the door!  The
other fellow will escape!"

He himself sprinted round the front of the house to the
door by which the servants had issued, and met the Squire
hobbling along on his stick, pistol in hand.

"We have got one, sir!" cried Desmond.  "Have you
seen the other?"

"What--why--how many villains are there?" replied
the Squire, who between amazement and wrath was
scarcely able to appreciate the situation.

"There was a man in the library; he did not come
down the ladder; he may be still in the house."

"The deuce he is!  Desmond, take the pistol, and shoot
the knave like a dog if you meet him."

"I'll guard the door, Sir Willoughby.  They are bringing
the other man round.  Then we'll all go into the house
and search.  He can't get out without being seen if the
other doors are locked."

"Locked and barred.  I did it myself an hour ago.
I'll hang the villain."

In a few moments the servants came up with their captive
and the box, old Dickon following.  Only their figures
could be seen: it was too dark to distinguish features.

"You scoundrel!" cried the Squire, brandishing his
stick.  "You'll hang for this.  Take him into the house.
In with you all.  You scoundrel!"

"An you please, Sir Willoughby, 'tis----" began one
of the servants.

"In with you, I say," roared the Squire.  "I'll know
how to deal with the villain."

The culprit was hustled into the house, and the group
followed, Sir Willoughby bringing up the rear.  Inside
he barred and locked the door, and bade the men carry
their prisoner to the library.  The corridors and staircase
were dark; but by the time the Squire had mounted on his
gouty legs candles had been lighted, and the face of the
housebreaker was for the first time visible.  Two servants
held the man; the others, with Desmond and Dickon,
looked on in amazement.

"Job Grinsell, on my soul and body!" cried the Squire.
"You villain!  You ungrateful knave!  Is this how you
repay me?  I might have hanged you, you scoundrel,
when you poached my game; a word from me and Sir
Philip would have seen you whipped before he let his inn
to you; but I was too kind; I am a fool; and you----
by gad, you shall hang this time."

The Squire's face was purple with anger, and he shook
his stick as though then and there he would have wrought
chastisement on the offender.  Grinsell's flabby face,
however, expressed amusement rather than fear.

"Bless my soul!" cried the Squire, suddenly turning to
his men, "I'd forgotten the other villain.  Off with you;
search for him; bring him here."

Desmond had already set off to look for Grinsell's
accomplice.  Taper in hand he went quickly from room to room;
joined by the Squire's servants, he searched every nook
and cranny of the house, examining doors and windows,
opening cupboards, poking at curtains--all in vain.  At
last, at the end of a dark corridor, he came upon an
open window some ten feet above the ground.  It was so
narrow that a man of ordinary size must have had some
difficulty in squeezing his shoulders through; but
Desmond was forced to the conclusion that the housebreaker
had sprung out here, and by this time had made good his
escape.  Disappointed at his failure, he returned with the
servants to the library.

"We can't find him, Sir Willoughby," said Desmond,
as he opened the door.  To his surprise, Grinsell and
Dickon were gone; no one but the Squire was in the
room, and he was sitting in a big chair, limp and listless,
his eyes fixed upon the floor.

"We can't find him," repeated Desmond.

The Squire looked up.

"What did you say?" he asked, as though the events
of the past half-hour were a blank.  "Oh, 'tis you,
Desmond, yes; what can I do for you?"

Desmond was embarrassed.

"I--we have--we have looked for the other villain, Sir
Willoughby," he stammered.  "We can't find him."

"Ah!  'Twas you gave the alarm.  Good boy; zeal;
excellent; but a little mistake; yes, Grinsell explained; a
mistake, Desmond."

The Squire spoke hurriedly, disconnectedly, with an
embarrassment even greater than Desmond's.

"But, sir," the boy began, "I saw----"

"Yes, yes," interrupted the old man.  "I know all
about it.  But Grinsell's explanation--yes, I know all
about it.  I am obliged to you, Desmond; but I am
satisfied with Grinsell's explanation; I shall go no further
in the matter."

He groaned and put his hand to his head.

"Are you ill, Sir Willoughby?" asked Desmond
anxiously.

The Squire looked up; his face was an image of distress.
He was silent for a moment; then said slowly:

"Sick at heart, Desmond, sick at heart.  I am an old
man--an old man."

Desmond was uncomfortable.  He had never seen the
Squire in such a mood, and had a healthy boy's natural
uneasiness at any display of feeling.

"You see that portrait?" the Squire went on, pointing
wearily with his stick at the head of a young man done
in oils.  "The son of my oldest friend--my dear old
friend Merriman.  I never told you of him.  Nine years
ago, Desmond--nine years ago, my old friend was as
hale and hearty a man as I myself, and George was the
apple of his eye.  They were for the King--God save
him!--and when word came that Prince Charles was
marching south from Scotland they arranged secretly with
a party of loyal gentlemen to join him.  But I hung
back, I had not their courage: I am alive, and I lost my
friend."

His voice sank, and, leaning heavily upon his stick, he
gazed vacantly into space.  Desmond was perplexed, and
still more ill at ease.  What had this to do with the
incidents of the night?  He shrank from asking the question.

"Yes, I lost my friend," the Squire continued.  "We
had news of the Prince; he had left Carlisle; he was
moving southwards, about to strike a blow for his father's
throne.  He was approaching Derby.  George Merriman
sent a message to his friends, appointing a rendezvous:
gallant gentlemen, they would join the Stuart flag!  The
day came, they met, and the minions of the Hanoverian
surrounded them.  Betrayed!--poor loyal
gentlemen!--betrayed by one who had their confidence and abused
it--one of my own blood, Desmond--the shame of it!  They
were tried, hanged--hanged!  It broke my old friend's
heart; he died; 'twas one of my blood that killed him."

Again speech failed him.  Then, with a sudden change
of manner, he said:

"But 'tis late, boy; your brother keeps early hours.  I
am not myself to-night, the memory of the past unnerves
me.  Bid me good-night, boy."

Desmond hesitated, biting his lips.  What of the motive
of his visit?  He had come to ask advice: could he go
without having mentioned the subject that troubled him?
The old man had sunk into a reverie, his lips moved as
though he communed with himself.  Desmond had not the
heart to intrude his concerns on one so bowed with grief.

"Good-night, Sir Willoughby!" he said.

The Squire paid no heed, and Desmond, vexed, bewildered,
went slowly from the room.

At the outer door he found Dickon awaiting him.

"The Squire has let Grinsell go, Dickon," he said; "he
says 'twas all a mistake."

"If Squire says it, then 't must be," said Dickon slowly,
nodding his head.  "We'n better be goin' home, sir."

"But you had something to tell Sir Willoughby?"

"Ay sure, but he knows it--knows it better'n me."

"Come, Dickon, what is this mystery?  I am in a
maze: what is it, man?"

"Binna fur a' aged poor feller like me to say.  We'n
better go home, sir."

Nothing that Desmond said prevailed upon Dickon to
tell more, and the two started homewards across the
fields.  Some minutes afterwards they heard the sound
of a horse's hoofs clattering on the road to their left, and
going in the same direction.  It was an unusual sound at
that late hour, and both stopped instinctively and looked
at each other.

"A late traveller, Dickon," said Desmond.

"Ay, maybe a king's post, Measter Desmond," replied
the old man.  Without more words they went on till they
came to a lane leading to the labourer's cottage.

"We part here," said Desmond.  "Dickon, good-night!"

"Good-night to you, sir!" said the old man.  He
paused: then in a grave, earnest, quavering voice, he
added: "The Lord Almighty have you in His keeping,
Measter Desmond, watch over you night and day, now
and evermore."

And with that he hobbled down the lane.

.. vspace:: 2

At nine o'clock that night Richard Burke left the
Grange--an unusual thing for him--and walked quickly
to the *Four Alls*.  The inn was closed, and shutters
darkened the windows; but, seeing a chink of light between
the folds, the farmer knocked at the door.  There was
no answer.  He knocked again and again, grumbling
under his breath; at length, when his patience was almost
exhausted, a window above opened, and, looking up,
Mr. Burke dimly saw a head.

"Is that you, Grinsell?" he asked.

"No, massa."

"Oh, you're the black boy, Mr. Diggle's servant.  Is
your master in?"

"No, massa."

"Well, come down and open the door.  I'll wait for him."

"Massa said no open door for nuffin."

"Confound you, open at once!  He knows me, I'm a
friend of his; open the door!"

"Massa said no open door for nobody."

The farmer pleaded, stormed, cursed, but Scipio Africanus
was inflexible.  His master had given him orders,
and the boy had learnt, at no little cost, that it was the
wisest and safest policy to obey.  Finding that neither
threats nor persuasion availed, Burke took a stride or
two in the direction of home; then he halted, pondered
for a moment, changed his mind, and began to pace up
and down the road.

His restless movements were by and by checked by the
sound of footsteps approaching.  He crossed the road,
stood in the shadow of an elm, and waited.  The
footsteps drew nearer; he heard low voices, and now
discerned two dark figures against the lighter road.  They
came to the inn and stopped.  One of them took a key
from his pocket and inserted it in the lock.

"'Tis you at last," said Burke, stepping out from his
place of concealment.  "That boy of yours would not let
me in, hang him!"

At the first words Diggle started and swung round, his
right hand flying to his pocket; but recognizing the voice
almost immediately, he laughed.

"'Tis you, my friend," he said.  "'Multa de nocte
profectus es.'  But you've forgot all your Latin, Dick.
What is the news, man?  Come in."

"The bird is flitting, Sim, that's all.  He has not been
home.  His mother was in a rare to-do.  I pacified her,
told her I'd sent him to Chester to sell oats--haw, haw!
He has taken some clothes and gone.  But he won't go
far, I trow, without seeing you, and I look to you to carry
out the bargain."

"Egad, Dick, I need no persuasion.  He won't go
without me, I promise you that.  I've a bone to pick
with him myself--eh, friend Job?"

Grinsell swore a hearty oath.  At this moment the
silence without was broken by the sound of a trotting horse.

"Is the door bolted?" whispered Burke.  "I mustn't
be seen here."

"Trust me fur that," said Grinsell.  "But no one will
stop here at this time o' night."

But the three men stood silent, listening.  The sound
steadily grew louder; the horse was almost abreast of
the inn; it was passing--but no, it came to a halt;
they heard a man's footsteps, and the sound of the bridle
being hitched to a hook in the wall.  Then there was a
sharp rap at the door.

"Who's there?" cried Grinsell gruffly.

"Open the door instantly," said a loud, masterful voice.

Burke looked aghast.

"You can't let him in," he whispered.

The others exchanged glances.

"Open the door," cried the voice again.  "D'you hear,
Grinsell?  At once!--or I ride to Drayton for the
constables!"

Grinsell gave Diggle a meaning look.

"Slip out by the back door, Mr. Burke," said the
innkeeper.  "I'll make a noise with the bolts so that he
cannot hear you."

Burke hastily departed, and Grinsell, after long, loud
fumbling with the bolts, threw open the door and gave
admittance to the Squire.

"Ah, you are here both," said Sir Willoughby, standing
in the middle of the floor, his riding-whip in his hand.
"Now, Mr.--Diggle, I think you call yourself.  I'm a
man of few words, as you know.  I have to say this.
I give you till eight o'clock to-morrow morning; if you
are not gone, bag and baggage, by that time, I will issue
a warrant.  Is that clear?"

"Perfectly," said Diggle with his enigmatical smile.

"And one word more.  Show your face again in these
parts and I will have you arrested.  I have spared you
twice for your mother's sake.  This is my last warning.
Grinsell, you hear that too?"

"I hear 't," growled the man.

"Remember it, for, mark my words, you'll share his fate."

The Squire was gone.

Grinsell scowled with malignant spite; Diggle laughed
softly.

"'Quanta de spe decidi!'" he said, "which in plain
English, friend Job, means that we are dished--utterly,
absolutely.  I must go on my travels again; well, such
was my intention; the only difference is, that I go with
an empty purse instead of a full one.  Who'd have thought
the old dog would ha' been such an unconscionable time
dying!"

"Gout or no gout, he's good for another ten year,"
growled the innkeeper.

"Well, I'll give him five.  And with the boy out of
the way, maybe I'll come to my own even yet.  The
young puppy!"  At this moment Diggle's face was by
no means pleasant to look upon.  "Fate has always had
a grudge against me, Job.  In the old days, I bethink
me, 'twas I that was always found out.  You had many
an escape."

"Till the last.  But I've come out of this well."  He
chuckled.  "To think what a fool blood makes of a man!
Squire winna touch me, 'cause of you.  But it must gall
him; ay, it must gall him."

"Hist!" said Diggle suddenly.  "There are footsteps
again.  Is it Burke coming back?  The door's open, Job."

The innkeeper went to the door and peered into the
dark.  A slight figure came up at that moment--a boy,
with a bundle in his hand.

"Is that you, Grinsell?  Is Mr. Diggle in?"

"Come in, my friend," said Diggle, hastening to the
door.  "We were just talking of you.  Come in; 'tis a
late hour; 'si vespertinus subito'--you remember old
Horace?  True, we haven't a hen to baste with
Falernian for you, but sure friend Job can find a wedge of
Cheshire and a mug of ale.  Come in."

And Desmond went into the inn.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER THE SIXTH`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER THE SIXTH

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: bold

In which the reader becomes acquainted with
William Bulger and other sailor men;
and our hero as a squire of dames acquits
himself with credit.

.. vspace:: 2

One warm October afternoon, some ten days after the night
of his visit to the *Four Alls*, Desmond was walking along
the tow-path of the Thames, somewhat north of Kingston.
As he came to the spot where the river bends round towards
Teddington, he met a man plodding along with a rope over
his shoulder, hauling a laden hoy.

"Can you tell me the way to the *Waterman's Rest*?"
asked Desmond.

"Ay, that can I," replied the man without stopping.
"'Tis about a quarter-mile behind me, right on waterside.
And the best beer this side o' Greenwich."

Thanking him, Desmond walked on.  He had not gone
many yards further before there fell upon his ear, from
some point ahead, the sound of several rough voices raised
in chorus, trolling a tune that seemed familiar to
him.  As he came nearer to the singers, he distinguished
the words of the song, and remembered the occasion on
which he had heard them before: the evening of Clive's
banquet at Market Drayton--the open window of the
*Four Alls*, the voice of Marmaduke Diggle.

   |   Sir William Norris, Masulipatam--

these were the first words he caught; and immediately
afterwards the voices broke into the second verse:

   |   Says Governor Pitt, Fort George, Madras,
   |   "I know what you are: an ass, an ass,
   |   An ass, an ass, an ASS, an ASS,"
   |   Signed "Governor Pitt, Fort George, Madras."

And at the conclusion there was a clatter of metal upon
wood, and then one voice, loud and rotund, struck up
the first verse once more--

   |   Says Billy Norris, Masulipatam--
   |

The singer was in the middle of the stave when Desmond,
rounding a privet hedge, came upon the scene.  A patch
of greensward, sloping up from a slipway on the
riverside; a low, cosy-looking inn of red brick covered with
a crimson creeper; in front of it a long deal table, and
seated at the table a group of some eight or ten seamen,
each with a pewter tankard before him.  To the left,
and somewhat in the rear of the long table, was a smaller
one, at which two seamen, by their garb a cut above the
others, sat opposite each other, intent on some game.

Desmond's attention was drawn towards the larger table.
Rough as was the common seaman of George the Second's
time, the group here collected would have been hard to
match for villainous looks.  One had half his teeth knocked
out, another a broken nose; all bore scars and other marks
of battery.

Among them, however, there was one man marked out
by his general appearance and facial expression as superior
to the rest.  In dress he was no different from his mates;
he wore the loose blouse, the pantaloons, the turned-up
cloth hat of the period.  But he towered above them in
height; he had a very large head, with a very small squab
nose, merry eyes, and a fringe of jet-black hair round
cheeks and chin.  When he removed his hat presently he
revealed a shiny pink skull, rising from short wiry hair
as black as his whiskers.  Alone of the group, he wore
no love-locks or greased pigtail.  In his right hand, when
Desmond first caught sight of him, he held a tankard,
waving it to and fro in time with his song.  He had lost
his left hand and forearm, which were replaced by an iron
hook projecting from a wooden socket, just visible in his
loose sleeve.

He was half-way through the second stanza when he
noticed Desmond standing at the angle of the hedge a
few yards away.  He fixed his merry eyes on the boy, and,
beating time with his hook, went on with the song in
stentorian tones--

   |   An ass, an ass, an ASS, an ASS,
   |   Signed "Governor Pitt, Fort George, Madras."

The others took up the chorus, and finally brought their
tankards down upon the deal with a resounding whack.

"Ahoy, Mother Wiggs, more beer!" shouted the big man.

Desmond went forward.

"Is this the *Waterman's Rest*?"

"Ay, ay, young gen'leman, and a blamed restful place
it is, too, fit for watermen what en't naught but landlubbers,
speaking by the book, but not for the likes of us
jack tars.  Eh, mateys?"

His companions grunted acquiescence.

"I have a message for Mr. Toley; is he here?"

"Ay, that he is.  That's him at the table yonder.
Mr. Toley, sir, a young gen'leman to see you."

Desmond advanced to the smaller table.  The two men
looked up from their game of dominoes.  One was a tall,
lean fellow, with lined and sunken cheeks covered with
iron-gray stubble, a very sharp nose, and colourless eyes;
the expression of his features was melancholy in the extreme.
The other was a shorter man, snub-nosed, big-mouthed;
one eye was blue, the other green, and they looked in
contrary directions.  His hat was tilted forward, resting
on two bony prominences above his eyebrows.

"Well?" said Mr. Toley, the man of melancholy countenance.

"I have a message from Captain Barker," said Desmond.
"I am to say that he expects you and the men at
Custom House Quay next Wednesday morning, high tide
at five o'clock."

Mr. Toley lifted the tankard at his left hand, drained it,
smacked his lips, then said in a hollow voice:

"Bulger, Custom House Quay, Wednesday morning,
five o'clock."

A grunt of satisfaction and relief rolled round the
company, and in response to repeated cries for more beer a
stout woman in a mob cap and dirty apron came from the
inn with a huge copper can, from which she proceeded to
fill the empty tankards.

"Is the press still hot, sir?" asked Mr. Toley.

"Yes.  Four men, I was told, were hauled out of the
*Good Intent* yesterday."

"And four bad bargains for the King," put in the second
man, whose cross glances caused Desmond no little discomfort.

At this moment Joshua Wiggs the innkeeper came up,
carrying three fowling-pieces.

"There be plenty o' ducks to-day, mister," he said.

"Then we'll try our luck," said Mr. Toley, rising.
"Thank 'ee, my lad," he added to Desmond.  "You'll
take a sup with the men afore you go?  Bulger, see to
the gentleman."

"Ay, ay, sir.  Come aboard, matey."

He made a place for Desmond at his side on the bench,
and called to Mother Wiggs to bring a mug for the
gentleman.  Meanwhile, Mr. Toley and his companion had each
taken a fowling-piece and gone away with the landlord.
Bulger winked at his companions, and when the sportsmen
were out of earshot he broke into a guffaw.

"Rare sport they'll have!  I wouldn't be in Mr. Toley's
shoes for something.  What's a cock-eyed man want with
a gun in his hand, eh, mateys?"

Desmond felt somewhat out of his element in his present
company; but having reasons of his own for making
himself pleasant, he said, by way of opening a
conversation:

"You seem pleased at the idea of going to sea again,
Mr. Bulger."

"Well, we are and we en't, eh, mateys?  The *Waterman's
Rest* en't exactly the kind of place to spend shore
leave; it en't a patch on Wapping or Rotherhithe.  And
to tell 'ee true, we're dead sick of it.  But there's reasons;
there mostly is; and the whys and wherefores, therefores
and becauses, I dessay you know, young gen'leman,
a-comin' from Captain Barker."

"The press-gang?"

"Ay, the press is hot in these days.  Cap'n sent us here
to be out o' the way, and the orficers to look arter us.
Not but what 'tis safer for them too; for if Mr. Sunman
showed his cock-eyes anywhere near the Pool, he'd be
nabbed by the bailiffs, sure as he's second mate o' the
*Good Intent*.  Goin' to sea's bad enough, but the
*Waterman's Rest* and holdin' on the slack here's worse, eh,
mateys?"

"Ay, you're right there, Bulger."

"But why don't you like going to sea?" asked Desmond.

"Why?  You're a landlubber, sir--meanin' no offence--or
you wouldn't ax sich a foolish question.  At sea 'tis
all rope's end and salt pork, with Irish horse for a tit-bit."

"Irish horse?"

"Ay.  That's our name for it.  'Cos why?  Explain
to the gen'leman, mateys."

With a laugh the men began to chant--

   |   Salt horse, salt horse, what brought you here?
   |   You've carried turf for many a year.
   |   From Dublin quay to Ballyack
   |   You've carried turf upon your back.
   |

"That's the why and wherefore of it," added Bulger.
"Cooks call it salt beef, same as French mounseers don't
like the sound of taters an' calls 'em pummy detair; but
we calls it Irish horse, which we know the flavour.
Accordingly, notwithstandin' an' for that reason, if you
axes the advice of an old salt, never you go to sea,
matey."

"That's unfortunate," said Desmond with a smile,
"because I expect to sail next Wednesday morning,
high tide at five o'clock."

"Binks and barnacles!  Be you agoin' to sail with us?"

"I hope so."

"Billy come up!  You've got business out East then?"

"Not yet, but I hope to have.  I'm going out as supercargo."

"Oh!  As supercargo!"

Bulger winked at his companions, and a hoarse titter
went the round of the table.

"Well," continued Bulger, "the supercargo do have
a better time of it than us poor chaps.  And what do
Cap'n Barker say to you as supercargo, which you are
very young, sir?"

"I don't know Captain Barker."

"Oho!  But I thought as how you brought a message
from the captain?"

"Yes, but it came through Mr. Diggle."

"Ah!  Mr. Diggle?"

"A friend of mine--a friend of the captain.  He has
arranged everything."

"I believe you, matey.  He's arranged everything.
Supercargo!  Well, to be sure!  Never a supercargo as
I ever knowed but wanted a man to look arter him, fetch
and carry for him, so to say.  How would I do, if I
might make so bold?"

"Thanks," said Desmond, smiling as he surveyed the
man's huge form.  "But I think Captain Barker might
object to that.  You'd be of more use on deck, in spite
of----"

He paused, but his glance at the iron hook had not
escaped Bulger's observant eye.

"Spite of the curlin' tongs, you'd say.  Bless you, spit
't out, I en't tender in my feelin's."

"Besides," added Desmond, "I shall probably make
use of the boy who has been attending on me at the *Goat
and Compasses*--a clever little black boy of Mr. Diggle's."

"Black boys be hanged!  I never knowed a Sambo as
was any use on board ship.  They howls when they're
sick, and they're allers sick, and never larns to tell a
marlin-spike from a belayin' pin."

"But Scipio isn't one of that sort.  He's never sick,
Mr. Diggle says; they've been several voyages together,
and Scipio knows a ship from stem to stern."

"Scipio, which his name is?  Oncommon name, that."

There was a new tone in Bulger's voice, and he gave
Desmond a keen and, as it seemed, a troubled look.

"Yes, it is strange," replied the boy, vaguely aware of
the change of manner.  "But Mr. Diggle has ways of his
own."

"This Mr. Diggle, now; I may be wrong, but I should
say--yes, he's short, with bow legs and a wart on his
cheek?"

"No, no; you must be thinking of some one else.  He
is tall, rather a well-looking man; he hasn't a wart, but
there is a scar on his brow, something like yours."

"Ah!  I know they sort; a fightin' sort o' feller, with a
voice like--which I say, like a nine-pounder?"

"Well, not exactly; he speaks rather quietly; he is
well educated, too, to judge by the Latin he quotes."

"Sure now, a scholard.  Myself, I never had no book
larnin' to speak of; never got no further than pothooks
an' hangers!"

He laughed as he lifted his hook.  But he seemed to be
disinclined for further conversation.  He buried his face in
his tankard, and when he had taken a long pull set the
vessel on the table and stared at it with a preoccupied air.
He seemed to have forgotten the presence of Desmond.
The other men were talking among themselves, and Desmond,
having by this time finished his mug of beer, rose to
go on his way.

"Good-bye, Mr. Bulger," he said; "we shall meet again
next Wednesday."

"Ay, ay, sir," returned the man.

He looked long after the boy as he walked away.

"Supercargo!" he muttered.  "Diggle!  I may be
wrong, but----"

Desmond had come through Southwark and across
Clapham and Wimbledon Common, thus approaching the
*Waterman's Rest* from the direction of Kingston.
Accustomed as he was to long tramps, he felt no fatigue, and
with a boy's natural curiosity he decided to return to the
city by a different route, following the river bank.  He
had not walked far before he came to the ferry at Twickenham.
The view on the other side of the river attracted
him: meadows dotted with cows and sheep, a verdant hill
with pleasant villas here and there; and seeing the
ferryman resting on his oars, he accosted him.

"Can I get to London if I cross here?" he asked.

"Sure you can, sir.  Up the hill past Mr. Walpole his
house; then you comes to Isleworth and Brentford, and a
straight road through Hammersmith village--a fine walk,
sir, and only a penny for the ferryman."

Desmond paid his penny and crossed.  He sauntered
along up Strawberry Hill, taking a good look at the snug
little house upon which Mr. Horace Walpole was spending
much money and pains.  Wandering on, and preferring
by-lanes to the high road, he lost his bearings, and at
length, fearing that he was going in the wrong direction,
he stopped at a wayside cottage to inquire the way.  He
was further out than he knew.  The woman who came to
the door in answer to his knock said that, having come so
far, he had better proceed in the same direction until he
reached Hounslow, and then strike into the London road
and keep to it.  Desmond was nothing loth.  He had
heard of Hounslow and those notorious "Diana's foresters"
Plunket and James Maclean--highwaymen who a few years
before had been the terror of night travellers across the
lonely Heath.  There was a fascination about the scene
of their exploits.  So he trudged on, feeling now a little
tired, and hoping to get a lift in some farmer's cart that
might be going towards London.

More than once as he walked his thoughts recurred to
the scene at the *Waterman's Rest*.  They were a rough,
villainous-looking set, these members of the crew of the
*Good Intent*!  Of course, as supercargo he would not come
into close contact with them; and Mr. Diggle had warned
him that he would find seafaring men somewhat different
from the country folk among whom all his life hitherto
had been passed.  Diggle's frankness had pleased him.
They had left the *Four Alls* early on the morning after
that strange incident at the Squire's.  Desmond had told
his friend what had happened, and Diggle, apparently
surprised to learn of Grinsell's villainy, had declared that the
sooner they were out of his company the better.  They had
come by easy stages to London, and were now lodging at
a small inn near the Tower: not a very savoury neighbourhood,
Diggle admitted, but convenient.  Diggle had soon
obtained for Desmond a berth on board the *Good Intent*
bound for the East Indies, and from what he let drop the
boy understood that he was to sail as supercargo.  He
had not yet seen the vessel; she was painting, and would
shortly be coming up to the Pool.  Nor had he seen
Captain Barker, who was very much occupied, said Diggle,
and had a great deal of trouble in keeping his crew out
of the clutches of the pressgang.  Some of the best of
them had been sent to the *Waterman's Rest* in charge
of the chief and second mates.  It was at Diggle's
suggestion that he had been deputed to convey the captain's
message to the men.

It was drawing towards evening when Desmond reached
Hounslow Heath, a wide bare expanse of scrubby land
intersected by a muddy road.  A light mist lay over the
ground, and he was thankful that the road to London was
perfectly direct, so that there was no further risk of his
losing his way.  The solitude and the dismal appearance
of the country, together with its ill-repute, made him
quicken his pace, though he had no fear of molestation;
having nothing to lose he would be but poor prey for a
highwayman, and he trusted to his cudgel to protect him
from the attentions of any single footpad or tramp.

Striding along, in the gathering dusk he came suddenly
upon a curious scene.  A heavy travelling carriage was
drawn half across the road, its forewheels perilously near
the ditch.  Near by was a lady, standing with arms stiff
and hands clenched, stamping her foot as she addressed,
in no measured terms, two men who were rolling over one
another in a desperate tussle a few yards away on the
heath.  As Desmond drew nearer he perceived that a
second and a younger lady stood at the horses' heads,
grasping the bridles firmly with both hands.

His footsteps were unheard on the heavy road, and the
elder lady's back being towards him he came up to her
unawares.  She started with a little cry when she saw
a stranger move towards her out of the gloom.  But
perceiving at a second glance that he was only a boy, with
nothing villainous about his appearance, she turned to him
impulsively and, taking him by the sleeve, said:

"There!  You see them!  The wretches!  They are
drunk and pay no heed to me!  Can you part them?  I
do not wish to be benighted on this heath.  The wretch
uppermost is the coachman."

"I might part them, perhaps," said Desmond dubiously.
"Of course I will try, ma'am."

"Sure I wouldn't trust 'em, mamma," called the younger
lady from the horses' heads.  "The man is too drunk to
drive."

"I fear 'tis so.  'Tis not our own man, sir.  As we
returned to-day from a visit to Taplow our coachman was
trampled by a horse at Slough, and my husband stayed
with him--an old and trusty servant--till he could consult
a surgeon.  We found a substitute at the inn to drive us
home.  But the wretch brought a bottle; he drank with
the footman all along the road; and now, as you see, they
are at each other's throats in their drunken fury.  Sure we
shall never get home in time for the rout we are bid to."

"Shall I drive you to London, ma'am?" said Desmond.
"'Twere best to leave the men to settle their differences."

"But can you drive?"

"Oh yes," replied Desmond with a smile.  "I am used
to horses."

"Then I beg you to oblige us.  Yes, let the wretches
fight themselves sober.  Phyllis, this gentleman will drive
us; come."

The girl--a fair, rosy-cheeked, merry-eyed damsel of
fifteen or thereabouts--left the horses' heads and entered
the carriage with her mother.  Desmond made a rapid
examination of the harness to see that all was right; then
he mounted the box and drove off.  The noise of the
rumbling wheels penetrated the besotted intelligence of
the struggling men; they scrambled to their feet, looked
wildly about them, and set off in pursuit.  But they had
no command of their limbs; they staggered clumsily this
way and that, and finally found their level in the slimy
ditch that flanked the road.

Desmond whipped up the horses in the highest spirits.
He had hoped for a hit in a farmer's cart; fortune had
favoured him in giving him four roadsters to drive himself.
And no boy, certainly not one of his romantic impulses,
but would feel elated at the idea of helping ladies in
distress, and on a spot known far and wide as the scene of
perilous adventure.

The carriage was heavy; the road, though level, was
thick with autumn mud; and the horses made no great
speed.  Desmond, indeed, durst not urge them too much,
for the mist was thickening, making the air even darker
than the hour warranted; and as the roadway had neither
hedge nor wall to define it, but was bounded on each side
by a ditch, it behoved him to go warily.  He had just
come to a particularly heavy part of the road where the
horses were compelled to walk, when he heard the thud
of hoofs some distance behind him.  The sound made him
vaguely uneasy.  It ceased for a moment or two; then he
heard it again, and realized that a horse was coming at
full gallop.  Instinctively he whipped up the horses.  The
ladies had also heard the sound; and, putting her head
out of the window, the elder implored him to drive faster.

Could the two besotted knaves have put the horseman
on his track, he wondered.  They must believe that the
carriage had been run away with, and in their tipsy rage
they would seize any means of overtaking him that offered.
The horseman might be an inoffensive traveller; on the
other hand, he might not.  It was best to leave nothing
to chance.  With a cheery word, to give the ladies
confidence, he lashed at the horses and forced the
carriage on at a pace that put its clumsy springs to a severe
test.

Fortunately the road was straight, and the horses
instinctively kept to the middle of the track.  But fast
as they were now going, Desmond felt that if the
horseman was indeed pursuing he would soon be overtaken.
He must be prepared for the worst.  Gripping the reins
hard with his left hand, he dropped the whip for a moment
and felt in the box below the seat in the hope of finding a
pistol; but it was empty.  He whistled under his breath
at the discovery: if the pursuer was a "gentleman of the
road" his predicament was indeed awkward.  The carriage
was rumbling and rattling so noisily that he had long since
lost the sound of the horse's hoofs behind.  He could not
pause to learn if the pursuit had ceased; his only course
was to drive on.  Surely he would soon reach the edge of
the heath; there would be houses; every few yards must
bring him nearer to the possibility of obtaining help.
Thus thinking, he clenched his teeth and lashed the
reeking flanks of the horses, which plunged along now at a
mad gallop.

Suddenly, above the noise of their hoofs and the rattling
of the coach he heard an angry shout.  A scream came
from the ladies.  Heeding neither, Desmond quickly
reversed his whip, holding it half-way down the long
handle, with the heavy iron-tipped stock outward.  The
horseman came galloping up on the off side, shouted to
Desmond to stop, and without waiting drew level with the
box and fired point-blank.  But the rapid movement of his
horse and the swaying of the carriage forbade him to take
careful aim.  Desmond felt the wind of the bullet as it
whizzed past him.  Next moment he leaned slightly
sideways, and, never loosening his hold on the reins with his
left hand, he brought the weighty butt of his whip with a
rapid cut, half sideways, half downwards, upon the
horseman's head.  The man with a cry swerved in the saddle;
almost before Desmond could recover his balance he was
amazed to see the horse dash suddenly to the right, spring
across the ditch, and gallop at full speed across the
heath.

But he had no time at the moment to speculate on this
very easy victory.  The horses, alarmed by the pistol shot,
were plunging madly, dragging the vehicle perilously near
to the ditch on the left hand.  Then Desmond's familiarity
with animals, gained at so much cost to himself on his
brother's farm, bore good fruit.  He spoke to the horses
soothingly, managed them with infinite tact, and coaxed
them into submission.  Then he let them have their heads,
and they galloped on at speed, pausing only when they
reached the turnpike going into Brentford.  They were
then in a bath of foam, their flanks heaving like to burst.
Learning from the turnpike-man that he could obtain a
change of horses at the *Bull* inn, Desmond drove there,
and was soon upon his way again.

While the change was being made, he obtained from
the lady the address in Soho Square where she was
staying.  The new horses were fresh; the carriage rattled
through Gunnersbury, past the turnpike at Hammersmith
and through Kensington, and soon after nine o'clock
Desmond had the satisfaction of pulling up at the door
of Sheriff Soames' mansion in Soho Square.

The door was already open, the rattle of wheels having
brought lacqueys with lighted torches to welcome the
belated travellers.  Torches flamed in the cressets on both
sides of the entrance.  The hall was filled with servants
and members of the household, and in the bustle that
ensued when the ladies in their brocades and hoops had
entered the house, Desmond saw an opportunity of slipping
away.  He felt that it was perhaps a little ungracious to
go without a word with the ladies; but he was tired; he
was unaccustomed to town society; and the service he
had been able to render seemed to him so slight that he
was modestly eager to efface himself.  Leaving the
carriage in the hands of one of the lacqueys, with a few
words of explanation, he hastened on towards Holborn
and the city.





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.. _`CHAPTER THE SEVENTH`:

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   CHAPTER THE SEVENTH

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In which Colonel Clive suffers a defeat
hitherto unrecorded; and our hero finds food
for reflection.

.. vspace:: 2

It was four o'clock, and Tuesday afternoon--the day
before the *Good Intent* was to sail from the Pool.
Desmond was kicking his heels in his inn, longing for the
morrow.  Even now he had not seen the vessel on which
he was to set forth in quest of his fortune.  She lay in the
Pool, but Diggle had found innumerable reasons why
Desmond should not visit her until he embarked for good
and all.  She was loading her cargo; he would be in the
way.  Captain Barker was in a bad temper; better not
see him in his tantrums.  The pressgangs were active;
they thought nothing of boarding a vessel and seizing on
any active young fellow who looked a likely subject for
His Majesty's navy.  Such were the reasons alleged.  And
so Desmond had to swallow his impatience and fill in his
time as best he might; reading the newspapers, going
to see Mr. Garrick and Mistress Kitty Clive at Drury Lane,
spending an odd evening at Ranelagh Gardens.

On this Tuesday afternoon he had nothing to do.  Diggle
was out; Desmond had read the newspapers and glanced
at the last number of the World; he had written to his
mother--the third letter since his arrival in London;
he could not settle to anything.  He resolved to go for
a walk, as far as St. Paul's, perhaps, and take a last look
at the busy streets he was not likely to see again for many
a day.

Forth then he issued.  The streets were muddy; a mist
was creeping up from the river, promising to thicken into
a London fog, and the link-boys were already preparing
their tow and looking for a rich harvest of coppers ere the
night was old.  Desmond picked his way through the
quagmires of John Street, crossed Crutched Friars, and
went up Mark Lane into Fenchurch Street, intending to
go by Leadenhall Street and Cornhill into Cheapside.

He had just reached the lower end of Billiter Street, the
narrow thoroughfare leading into Leadenhall, when he
saw Diggle's tall figure running amain towards him, with
another man close behind, apparently in hot pursuit.
Diggle caught sight of Desmond at the same moment,
and his eyes gleamed as with relief.  He quickened his
pace.

"Hold this fellow behind me," he panted as he passed,
and before Desmond could put a question he was gone.

There was no time for deliberation.  Desmond had but
just perceived that the pursuer was in the garb of a
gentleman and had a broad patch of plaster stretched across his
left temple, when the moment for action arrived.  Stooping
low, he suddenly caught at the man's knees.  Down
he came heavily, mouthing hearty abuse, and man and
boy were on the ground together.

Desmond was up first.  He now saw that a second
figure was hurrying on from the other end of the street.
He was not sure what Diggle demanded of him; whether
it was sufficient to have tripped up the pursuer, or whether
he must hold him still in play.  But by this time the man
was also upon his feet; his hat was off, his silk breeches
and brown coat with lace ruffles were all bemired.  Puffing
and blowing, uttering many a round oath such as came freely
to the lips of the Englishman of King George the Second's
time, he shouted to his friend behind to come on, and,
disregarding Desmond, made to continue his pursuit.

Desmond could but grapple with him.

"Let go, villain!" cried the man, striving to free
himself.  Desmond clung on; there was a brief struggle, but
he was no match in size or strength for his opponent,
who was thick-set and of considerable girth.  He fell
backwards, overborne by the man's weight.  His head
struck on the road; dazed by the blow he loosened his
clutch, and lay for a moment in semi-unconsciousness
while the man sprang away.

But he was not so far gone as not to hear a loud shout
behind him and near at hand, followed by the tramp of
feet.

"Avast there!"  The voice was familiar: surely it was
Bulger's.  "Fair play!  Fourteen stone against seven
en't odds.  Show a leg, mateys."

The big sailor with a dozen of his mates stood full in
the path of the irate gentleman, who, seeing himself beset,
drew his rapier and prepared to fight his way through.
A moment later he was joined by his companion, who
had also drawn his rapier.  Together the gentlemen stood
facing the sailors.

"This is check, Merriman," said the last comer as the
seamen, flourishing their hangers menacingly, pressed
forward past the prostrate body of Desmond.  "The fellow
has escaped you; best withdraw at discretion."

"Come on," shouted Bulger, waving his hook.  "Bill
Bulger en't the man to sheer off from a couple of
landlubbers."

As with his mates in line he steadily advanced, the two
gentlemen, their lips set, their eyes fixed on the assailants,
their rapiers pointed, backed slowly up the street.  The
noise had brought clerks and merchants to the doors;
some one sprang a rattle; there were cries for the
watchmen; but no one actively interfered.  Meanwhile Desmond
had regained his senses, and, still feeling somewhat dizzy,
had sat down upon a doorstep, wondering not a little at
the pursuit and flight of Diggle and the opportune arrival
of the sailors.  Everything had happened very rapidly;
scarcely two minutes had elapsed since the first onset.

He was still resting when there was a sudden change in
the quality of the shouts up street.  Hitherto they had
been boisterous rallying cries, now they were
unmistakably hearty British cheers, expressing nothing but
approval and admiration.  And they came not merely from
the throats of the sailors, but from the now considerable
crowd that filled the street.  A few moments afterwards
he saw the throng part, and through it Bulger marching
at the head of his mates, singing lustily.  They came
opposite to the step on which he sat, and Bulger caught
sight of him.

"Blest if it en't our supercargo!" he cried, stopping
short.

A shout of laughter broke from the sailors.  One of
them struck up a song.

   |       Oho! we says good-bye,
   |       But never pipes our eye,
   |   Tho' we leaves Poll, Sue, and Kitty all behind us;
   |       And if we drops our bones
   |       Down along o' Davy Jones,
   |   Why, they'll come and ax the mermaids for to find us.
   |

"And what took ye, Mister Supercargo, to try a fall
with the fourteen stoner?"

"Oh, I was helping a friend."

"Ay, an' a friend was helpin' him, an' here's a dozen
of us a-helpin' of one supercargo."

"And I'm much obliged to you, Mr. Bulger.  But what
were you cheering for?"

"Cheerin'!  Why, you wouldn't guess.  'Twas General
Clive, matey."

"General Clive!"

"Ay, General Clive, him what chased the mounseers
out o' Fort St. George with a marlin-spike.  I didn't
know him at fust, comin' up behind t'other chap; but
when I seed that purple coat with the gold lace and the
face of him above it I knowed him.  In course there was
no more fight for us then; 'twas hip-hip hurray and up
with our hangers.  Clive, he smiled and touched his hat.
'Bulger,' says he, 'you en't much fatter----'"

"Does he know you, then?"

"Know me!  In course he does.  Wasn't I bo'sun's
mate on board the Indiaman as took him east twelve year
ago or more?  That was afore I got this here button-hook
o' mine.  Ay, I remember him well, a-trampin' up an'
down deck with his hands in his pockets an' his mouth set
tight an' his chin on his stock, never speakin' to a soul, in
the doldrums if ever a lad was.  Why, we all thought
there was no more spirit in him than in the old wooden
figure-head--leastways, all but me.  'I may be wrong,'
says I to old Tinsley the bo'sun, 'I may be wrong,' says I,
'but I be main sure that young sad down-in-the-mouth
have got a blazin' fire somewhere in his innards.'  Ay,
and time showed it.  There was a lot of cadets aboard
as poked fun at the quiet chap an' talked him over,
awinkin' their eyes.  From talkin' it got to doin'.  One
day, goin' to his bunk, he found it all topsy-versy, hair
powder on his pillow, dubbin in his shavin' cup, salt pork
wropt up in his dressin'-gown.  Well, I seed him as he
comed on deck, an' his face were a sight to remember,
pale as death, but his eyes a-blazin' like live coals in the
galley fire.  Up he steps to the cadet as was ringleader;
how he knowed it I can't tell you, but he was sure of it,
same as I always am.  'Sir,' says he, quiet as a lamb, 'I
want a word with you.'  'Dear me!' says the cadet, 'have
Mr. Clive found his voice at last?'  'Yes, sir,' says Clive,
'behave, an' something else.'  Cook happened to be
passin' with a tray; a lady what was squeamish had been
havin' her vittles on deck.  Mr. Clive cotched up a basin
o' pea soup what was too greasy for madam, and in a
twink he sets it upside down on the cadet's head.  Ay,
'twas a pretty pictur', the greasy yellow stuff runnin' down
over his powdered hair an' lace collar an' fine blue coat.
My eye! there was a rare old shindy, the cadet cursin' and
splutterin', the others laughin' fit to bust 'emselves.  The
cadet out with his fists, but there, 'twas no manner o' use.
Mr. Clive bowled him over like a ninepin till he lay along
deck all pea-soup an' gore.  There was no more baitin' o'
Mr. Clive that voyage.  'Bo'sun,' says I, 'what did I tell
you?  I may be wrong, but that young Mr. Bob Clive 'll
be a handful for the factors in Fort St. George.'"

While this narrative had been in progress, Desmond
was walking with Bulger and his mates back towards the
river.

"How was it you happened to be hereabouts so early?"
asked Desmond.  "I didn't expect to see you till
to-morrow."

Bulger winked.

"You wouldn't ax if you wasn't a landlubber, meanin'
no offence," he said.  "'Tis last night ashore.  We
sailormen has had enough o' *Waterman's Rests* an' such-like.
To tell you the truth, we gave Mr. Toley the slip, and now
we be goin' to have a night at the *Crown an' Anchor*."

"What about the pressgang?"

"We takes our chance.  They won't press me, sartin
sure, 'cos o' my tenter-hook here, and I'll keep my
weather-eye open, trust me for that."

Here they parted company.  Desmond watched the jolly
crew as they turned into the Minories, and heard their
rollicking chorus:

   |       Ho! when the cargo's shipped,
   |       An' the anchor's neatly tripped,
   |   An' the gals are weepin' bucketfuls o' sorrer,
   |       Why, there's the decks to swab,
   |       An' we en't agoin' to sob,
   |   S'pose the sharks do make a meal of us to-morrer.
   |

At the *Goat and Compasses* Diggle was awaiting him.

"Ha! my friend, you did it as prettily as a man could
wish.  'Solitudo aliquid adjuvat,' as Tully somewhere
hath it, not foreseeing my case, when solitude would have
been my undoing.  I thank thee."

"Was the fellow attacking you?" asked Desmond.

"That to be sure was his intention.  I was in truth in
the very article of peril; I was blown; my breath was near
gone, when at the critical moment up comes a gallant
youth--'subvenisti homini jam perdito'--and with
dexterous hand stays the enemy in his course."

"But what was it all about?  Do you know the man?"

"Ods my life! 'twas a complete stranger, a man, I
should guess, of hasty passions and tetchy temper.  By
the merest accident, at a somewhat crowded part, I
unluckily elbowed the man into the kennel, and though I
apologized in the handsomest way he must take offence
and seek to cut off my life, to extinguish me 'in primo
aevo,' as Naso would say.  But Atropos was forestalled,
my thread of life still falls uncut from Clotho's shuttle;
still, still, my boy, I bear on the torch of life
unextinguished."

Desmond felt that all this fine phrasing, this copious
draught from classical sources, was intended to quench
the ardour of his curiosity.  Diggle's explanation was
very lame; the fury depicted on the pursuer's face could
scarcely be due to a mere accidental jostling in the street.
And Diggle was certainly not the man to take to his heels
on slight occasion.  But after all Diggle's quarrels were
his own concern.  That his past life included secrets
Desmond had long suspected, but he was not the first man of
birth and education who had fallen into misfortune, and at
all events he had always treated Desmond with kindness.
So the boy put the matter from his thoughts.

The incident, however, left a sting of vexation behind it.
In agreeing to accompany Diggle to the East, Desmond
had harboured a vague hope of falling in with Clive and
taking service, in however humble a capacity, with him.
It vexed him sorely to think that Clive, whose memory for
faces, as his recognition of Bulger after twelve years had
shown, was very good, might recognize him, should they
meet, as the boy who had played a part in what was
almost a street brawl.  Still, it could not be helped.
Desmond comforted himself with the hope that Clive had
taken no particular note of him, and, if they should ever
encounter, would probably meet him as a stranger.





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.. _`CHAPTER THE EIGHTH`:

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   CHAPTER THE EIGHTH

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.. class:: bold

In which several weeks are supposed to
elapse; and our hero is discovered in the
Doldrums.

.. vspace:: 2

The *Good Intent* lay becalmed in the Doldrums.  There
was not wind enough to puff out a candle flame.  The sails
hung limp and idle from the masts, yet the vessel rolled as
in a storm, heaving on a tremendous swell so violently that
it would seem her masts must be shaken out of her.  The
air was sweltering, the sky the colour of burnished copper,
out of which the sun beat remorselessly in almost
perpendicular beams.  Pitch ran from every seam of the decks,
great blisters like bubbles rose upon the woodwork; the
decks were no sooner swabbed than--presto!--it was as
though they had not known the touch of water for an age.

For two weeks she had lain thus.  Sometimes the hot
day would be succeeded by a night of terrible storm,
thunder crashing around, the whole vault above lacerated
by lightning, and rain pouring, as it were out of the
fissures, in sheets.  But in a day all traces of the storm
would disappear, and if, meanwhile, a sudden breath of
wind had carried the vessel a few knots on her southward
course, the hopes thus raised would prove illusory,
and once more she would lie on a sea of molten lead, or,
still worse, would be rocked on a long swell that had all
the discomforts of a gale without its compensating excitement.

The tempers of officers and crew had gone from bad to
worse.  The officers snapped and snarled at one another,
and treated the men with even more than the customary
brutality of the merchant marine of those days.  The
crew, lounging about half-naked on the decks, seeking
what shelter they could get from the pitiless sun, with
little to do and no spirit to do anything, quarrelled among
themselves, growling at the unnecessary tasks set them
merely to keep them from flying at each others' throats.

The *Good Intent* was a fine three-masted vessel of nearly
400 tons, large for those days, though the new East
Indiamen approached 500 tons.  When her keel was laid for
the Honourable East India Company some twenty years
earlier, she had been looked on as one of the finest
merchant vessels afloat; but the buffeting of wind and wave
in a dozen voyages to the eastern seas, and the more
insidious and equally destructive attacks of worms and
dry-rot, had told upon her timbers.  She had been sold
off and purchased by Captain Barker, who was one of the
class known as "interlopers," men who made trading
voyages to the East Indies on their own account,
running the risk of their vessels being seized and themselves
penalized for infringing the Company's monopoly.  She
was now filled with a miscellaneous cargo: wine in chests,
beer and cider in bottles, hats, worsted stockings, wigs,
small shot, lead, iron, knives, glass, hubble-bubbles,
cochineal, sword-blades, toys, coarse cloth, woollen
goods--anything that would find a market among the European
merchants, the native princes, or the trading classes of
India.  There was also a large consignment of muskets
and ammunition.  When Desmond asked the second mate
where they were going, the reply was that if he asked no
questions he would be told no lies.

On this sultry afternoon a group of seamen, clad in
nothing but shirt and breeches, were lolling, lying,
crouching on the deck forward, circled around Bulger.  Seated
on an upturned tub, he was busily engaged in baiting a
hook.  Tired of the "Irish horse" and salt pork that
formed the staple of the sailors' food, he was taking
advantage of the calm to fish for bonitos, a large fish
over two feet long, the deadly enemy of the beautiful
flying-fish that every now and then fell panting upon
the deck in their mad flight from marine foes.  The bait
was made to resemble the flying-fish itself, the hook being
hidden by white rag-stuffing, with feathers pricked-in to
counterfeit spiked fins.

As the big seaman deftly worked with iron hook and
right hand, he spun yarns for the delectation of his
mates.  They chewed tobacco, listened, laughed, sneered,
as their temper inclined them.  Only one of the group
gave him rapt and undivided attention--a slim youth,
with hollow sunburnt cheeks, long bleached hair, and
large gleaming eyes.  His neck and arms were bare,
and the colour of boiled lobsters; but, unlike the rest, he
had no tattoo-marks pricked into his skin.  His breeches
were tatters, his striped shirt was covered with
parti-coloured darns.

"Ay, as I was saying," said Bulger, "'twas in these
latitudes, on my last voyage but three.  I was in a
Bristol ship a-carryin' of slaves from Guinea to the
plantations.  Storms!--I never seed such storms nowhere;
and, contrairywise, calms enough to make a Quaker sick.
In course the water was short, an' scurvy come aboard,
an' 'twas a hammock an' a round shot for one or other of
us every livin' day.  As reg'lar as the mornin' watch the
sharks came for their breakfast; we could see 'em comin'
from all p'ints o' the compass; an' sure as seven bells
struck there they was, ten deep, with jaws wide open, like
Parmiter's there when there's a go of grog to be sarved
out.  We was all like the livin' skellington at Bartlemy
Fair, and our teeth droppin' out that fast, they pattered
like hailstones on the deck."

"How did you stick 'em in again?" interrupted Parmiter,
anxious to get even with Bulger for the allusion
to his gaping jaw.  He was a thick-set, ugly fellow,
his face seamed with scars, his mouth twisted, his ears
dragged at the lobes by heavy brass rings.

"With glue made out of albicores we caught, to be
sure.  Well, as I was saying, we was so weak there
wasn't a man aboard could reach the maintop, an' the
man at the wheel had two men to hold him up.  Things
was so, thus, an' in such case, when, about eight bells
one arternoon, the look-out at the mast-head----"

"Thought you couldn't climb?  How'd he get there?"
said the same sceptic.

"Give me time, Parmiter, and you'll know all about the
hows an' whys, notwithstanding and sobeits.  He'd been
there for a week, for why? 'cos he couldn't get down.
We passed him up a quarter-pint o' water and a biscuit
or two every day by a halyard.  Well, as I was sayin',
all at once the look-out calls down, 'Land ho!'--leastways
he croaked it, 'cos what with weakness and little water
our throats was as dry as last year's biscuit.  'Where
away?' croaks first mate, which I remember his name
was Tonking.  And there, sure enough, we seed a small
island, which it might be a quarter-mile long.  Now,
mind you, we hadn't made a knot for three weeks.  How
did that island come there so sudden like?  In course,
it must ha' come up from the bottom o' the sea.  And
as we was a-lookin' at it we seed it grow, mateys--long
spits o' land shootin' out this side, that side, and t'other
side--and the whole concarn begins to move towards us,
comin' on, hand over hand, slow, dead slow, but sure
and steady.  Our jaws were just a-droppin' arter our teeth
when fust mate busts out in a laugh; by thunder, I
remember that there laugh to-day!  'twas like--well, I
don't know what 'twas like, if not the scrapin' of a
handsaw; an' says he, 'By Neptune, 'tis a darned monstrous
squid!'  And, sure enough, that was what it was, a squid
as big round as the Isle o' Wight, with arms that ud
reach from Wapping Stairs to Bugsby Marshes, and just
that curly shape.  An' what was more, 'twas steerin'
straight for us.  Ay, mateys, 'twas a horrible moment!"

The seamen, even Parmiter the scoffer, were listening
open-mouthed when a hoarse voice broke the spell, cutting
short Bulger's story and dispersing the group.

"Here you, Burke you, up aloft and pay the topmast
with grease.  I'll have no lazy lubbers aboard my ship,
I tell you.  I've got no use for nobody too good for his
berth.  No Jimmy Duffs for me!  Show a leg, or, by
heavens, I'll show you a rope's end and make my
mark--mind that, my lad!"

Captain Barker turned to the man at his side.

"'Twas an ill turn you did me and the ship's company,
Mr. Diggle, bringing this useless lubber aboard."

"It does appear so, captain," said Diggle sorrowfully.
"But 'tis his first voyage, sir: discipline--a little discipline!"

Meanwhile Desmond, without a word, had moved away
to obey orders.  He had long since found the uselessness
of protest.  Diggle had taken him on board the *Good
Intent* an hour before sailing.  He left him to himself
until the vessel was well out in the mouth of the Thames,
and then came with a rueful countenance and explained
that, after all his endeavours, the owners had absolutely
refused to accept so youthful a fellow as supercargo.
Desmond felt his cheeks go pale.

"What am I to be, then?" he asked quietly.

"Well, my dear boy, Captain Barker is rather short of
apprentices, and he has no objection to taking you in place
of one if you will make yourself useful.  He is a first-rate
seaman.  You will imbibe a vast deal of useful knowledge
and gain a free passage, and when we reach the Indies I
shall be able, I doubt not, by means of my connexions,
to assist you in the first steps of what, I trust, will prove
a successful career."

"Then who is supercargo?"

"Unluckily that greatness has been thrust upon me.
Unluckily, I say; for the office is not one that befits a
former fellow of King's College at Cambridge.  Yet there
is an element of good luck in it, too; for, as you know,
my fortunes were at a desperately low ebb, and the
emoluments of this office, while not great, will stand me in
good stead when we reach our destination, and enable me
to set you, my dear boy--to borrow from the
vernacular--on your legs."

"You have deceived me, then!"

"Nay, nay, you do bear me hard, young man.  To
be disappointed is not the same thing as to be deceived.
True, you are not, as I hoped, supercargo, but the
conditions are not otherwise altered.  You wished to go to
India--well, Zephyr's jocund breezes, as Catullus hath
it, will waft you thither: we are flying to the bright cities
of the East.  No fragile bark is this, carving a dubious
course through the main, as Seneca, I think, puts it.  No,
'tis an excellent vessel, with an excellent captain, who
will steer a certain course, who fears not the African
blast nor the grisly Hyades nor the fury of Notus----"

Desmond did not wait the end of Diggle's peroration.
It was too late to repine.  The vessel was already
rounding the Foreland, and though he was more than half
convinced that he had been decoyed on board on false
pretences, he could not divine any motive on Diggle's
part, and hoped that his voyage would be not much less
pleasant than he had anticipated.

But even before the *Good Intent* made the Channel he
was woefully undeceived.  His first interview with the
captain opened his eyes.  Captain Barker was a small,
thin, sandy man, with a large upper lip that met the lower
in a straight line, a lean nose, and eyes perpetually
bloodshot.  His manner was that of a bully of the most brutal
kind.  He browbeat his officers, cuffed and kicked his
men, in his best days a martinet, in his worst a madman.
The only good point about him was that he never used
the cat, which, as Bulger said, was a mercy.

"Humph!" he said when Desmond was presented to
him.  "You're him, are you?  Well, let me tell you this,
my lad: the ship's boy on board this 'ere ship have got to
do what he's bid, and no mistake about it.  If he don't,
I'll make him.  Now you go for'ard into the galley and
scrape the slush off the cook's pans; quick's the word."

From that day Desmond led a dog's life.  He found
that as ship's boy he was at the beck and call of the
whole company.  The officers, with the exception of
Mr. Toley, the melancholy first mate, took their cue from the
captain; and Mr. Toley, as a matter of policy, never sided
with him openly.  The men resented his superior manners
and the fact that he was socially above them.  The
majority of the seamen were even more ruffianly than the
specimens he had seen at the *Waterman's Rest*--the scum
of Wapping and Rotherhithe.  His only real friend on
board was Bulger, who helped him to master the many
details of a sailor's work, and often protected him against
the ill-treatment of his mates; and, in spite of his one arm,
Bulger was a power to be reckoned with.

At the best of times the life of a sailor was hard, and
Desmond found it at first almost intolerable.  Irregular
sleep on an uncomfortable hammock, wedged in with the
other members of the crew, bad food, and over-exertion
told upon his frame.  From the moment when all hands
were piped to lash hammocks to the moment when the
signal was given for turning in, it was one long round
of thankless drudgery.  But he proved himself to be very
quick and nimble.  Before long, no one could lash his
hammock with the seven turns in a shorter time than he.
After learning the work on the mainsails and try-sails he
was sent to practise the more acrobatic duties in the tops,
and when two months had passed, no one excelled him
in quickness aloft.  If his work had been confined to the
ordinary seaman's duties he would have been fairly content,
for there is always a certain pleasure in accomplishment,
and the consciousness of growing skill and power
was some compensation for the hardships he had to
undergo.  But he had to do dirty work for the cook, clean
out the styes of the captain's pigs, swab the lower deck,
sometimes descend on errands for one or other to the
nauseous hold.

Perhaps the badness of the food was the worst evil to
a boy accustomed to plain but good country fare.  The
burgoo or oatmeal gruel served at breakfast made him
sick; he knew how it had been made in the cook's dirty
pans.  The "Irish horse" and salt pork for dinner soon
became distasteful; it was not in the best condition when
brought aboard, and before long it became putrid.  The
strong cheese for supper was even more horrible.  He
lived for the most part on the tough sea-biscuit of mixed
wheat and pea-flour, and on the occasional duffs of flour
boiled with fat, which did duty as pudding.  For drink
he had nothing but small beer; the water in the wooden
casks was full of green, grassy, slimy things.  But the
fresh sea-air seemed to be a food itself; and though
Desmond became lean and hollow-cheeked, his muscles
developed and hardened.  Little deserving Captain Barker's
ill-tempered abuse, he became handy in many ways on
board, and proved to be the possessor of a remarkably
keen pair of eyes.

When, in obedience to the captain's orders, he was
greasing the mast, his attention was caught by three or
four specks on the horizon.

"Sail ho!" he called to the officer of the watch.

"Where away?" was the reply.

"On the larboard quarter, sir; three or four sail, I
think."

The officer at once mounted the shrouds and took a
long look at the specks Desmond pointed out, while the
crew below crowded to the bulwarks and eagerly strained
their eyes in the same direction.

"What do you make of 'em, Mr. Sunman?" asked the
captain.

"Three or four sail, sir, sure enough.  They are hull
down; there's not a doubt but they're bringing the wind
with 'em."

"Hurray!" shouted the men, overjoyed at the prospect
of moving at last.

In a couple of hours the strangers had become distinctly
visible, and the first faint puffs of the approaching breeze
caused the sails to flap lazily against the yards.  Then
the canvas filled out, and at last, after a fortnight's delay,
the *Good Intent* began to slip through the water at
three or four knots.

The wind freshened during the night, and next morning
the *Good Intent* was bowling along under single-reefed
topsails.  The ships sighted the night before had
disappeared, to the evident relief of Captain Barker.  Whether
they were Company's vessels or privateers he had no wish
to come to close quarters with them.

After breakfast, when the watch on deck were busy
about the rigging or the guns, or the hundred and one
details of a sailor's work, the rest of the crew had the
interval till dinner pretty much to themselves.  Some
slept, some reeled out yarns to their messmates, others
mended their clothes.  It happened one day that Desmond,
sitting in the forecastle among the men of his mess,
was occupied in darning a pair of breeches for Parmiter.
Darning was the one thing he could not do satisfactorily;
and one of the men, quizzically observing his well-meant
but really ludicrous attempts, at last caught up the garment
and held it aloft, calling his mates' attention to it with
a shout of laughter.

Parmiter chanced to be coming along at the moment.
Hearing the laugh, and seeing the pitiable object of it,
he flew into a rage, sprang at Desmond, and knocked
him down.

"What do you mean, you clumsy young lubber you,"
he cried, "by treating my smalls like that?  I'll brain
you, sure as my name's Parmiter!"

Desmond had already suffered not a little at Parmiter's
hands.  His endurance was at an end.  Springing up
with flaming cheeks he leapt towards the bully, and putting
in practice the methods he had learnt in many a
hard-fought mill at Mr. Burslem's school, he began to punish
the offender.  His muscles were in good condition;
Parmiter was too much addicted to grog to make a steady
pugilist; and though he was naturally much the stronger
man, he was totally unable to cope with his agile antagonist.
A few rounds settled the matter; Parmiter had to confess
that he had had enough, and Desmond, flinging his breeches
to him, sat down tingling among his mates, who greeted
the close of the fight with spontaneous and unrestrained
applause.

Next day Parmiter was in the foretop splicing the
forestay.  Desmond was walking along the deck when
suddenly he felt his arm clutched from behind, and he was
pulled aside so violently by Bulger's hook that he stumbled
and fell at full length.  At the same moment something
struck the deck with a heavy thud.

"By thunder! 'twas a narrow shave," said Bulger.
"See that, matey?"

Looking in the direction Bulger pointed, he saw that
the foretopsail sheet block had fallen on deck, within
an inch of where he would have been but for the
intervention of Bulger's hook.  Glancing aloft, he saw
Parmiter grinning down at him.

"Hitch that block to a halyard, youngster," said the man.

Desmond was on the point of refusing; the man, he
thought, might at least have apologised: but reflecting
that a refusal would entail a complaint to the captain,
and subsequent punishment, he bit his lips, fastened the
block, and went on his way.

"'Tis my belief 'twas no accident," said Bulger
afterwards.  "I may be wrong, but Parmiter bears a grudge
against you.  And he and that there Mr. Diggle is too
thick by half.  I never could make out why Diggle diddled
you about that supercargo business; he don't mean you
no kindness, you may be sure; and when you see two
villains like him and Parmiter puttin' their heads together,
look out for squalls, that's what I say."

Desmond was inclined to laugh; the idea seemed preposterous.

"Why are you so suspicious of Mr. Diggle?" he said.
"He has not kept his promise, that's true, and I am sorry
enough I ever listened to him.  But that doesn't prove him
to be an out-and-out villain.  I've noticed that you keep
out of his way.  Do you know anything of him?  Speak
out plainly, man."

"Well, I'll tell you what I knows about him."  He
settled himself against the mast, gave a final polish to his
hook with holy-stone, and, using the hook every now and
then to punctuate his narrative, began: "Let me see,
'twas a matter o' three years ago.  I was bosun on the
*Swallow*, a spanker she was, chartered by the Company,
London to Calcutta.  There was none of the doldrums
that trip, dodged 'em fair an' square; a topsail breeze
to the Cape, and then the fust of the monsoon to the
Hugli.  We lay maybe a couple of months at Calcutta,
when what should I do but take aboard a full dose of the
cramp, just as the *Swallow* was in a manner of speakin'
on the wing.  Not but what it sarved me right, for what
business had I at my time of life to be wastin' shore-leave
by poppin' at little dicky birds in the dirty slimy jheels, as
they call 'em, round about Calcutta!  Well, I was put
ashore, as was on'y natural, and 'twas a marvel I pulled
through--for it en't many as take the cramp in Bengal
and live to tell of it.  The Company, I'll say that for 'em,
was very kind; I had the best o' nussin' and vittles; but
when I found my legs again there I was, as one might
say, high and dry, for there was no Company's ship ready
to sail.  So I got leave to sign on a country ship, bound
for Canton; and we dropped down the Hugli with enough
opium on board to buy up the lord mayor and a baker's
dozen of aldermen.

"Nearly half a mile astern was three small country
ships, such as might creep round the coast to Chittagong,
dodgin' the pirates o' the Sandarbands if they was lucky,
and gettin' their weazands slit if they wasn't.  They
drew less water than us, and was generally handier in the
river, which is uncommon full o' shoals and sandbanks;
but for all that I remember they was still maybe half a mile
astern when we dropped anchor--anchors I should say--for
the night, some way below Diamond Harbour.  But to
us white men the ways o' these Moors[#] is always a bag o'
mystery, and as seamen they en't anyhow of much account.
Well, it might be about seven bells, and my watch below,
when I was woke by a most tremenjous bangin' and
hullabaloo.  We tumbles up mighty sharp, and well we did,
for there was one of these country fellows board and board
with us, and another foulin' our hawser.  Their grapnels
came whizzin' aboard; but the first lot couldn't take a
hold nohow, and she dropped down stream.  That gave
us a chance to be ready for the other.  She got a grip
of us and held on like a shark what grabs you by the legs.
But pistols and pikes had been sarved out, and when they
came bundlin' over into the foc'sle, we bundled 'em back
into the Hugli, and you may be sure they wasn't exactly
seaworthy when they got there.  They was a mixed lot;
that we soon found out by their manner o' swearin' as
they slipped by the board, for although there was Moors
among 'em most of 'em was Frenchies or Dutchmen, and
considerin' they wasn't Englishmen they made a good
fight of it.  But over they went, until only a few was left;
and we was just about to finish 'em off, when another
country ship dropped alongside, and before we knew where
we was a score of yellin' ruffians was into the waist and
rushin' us in the stern-sheets, as you might say.  We had
to fight then, by thunder! we did.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] The natives of India were thus called by Englishmen in the
   18th century.

.. vspace:: 2

"The odds was against us now, and we was catchin' it
from two sides.  But our blood was up, and we knew what
to expect if they beat us.  'Twas the Hugli for every man
Jack of us, and no mistake.  There was no orders, every
man for himself, with just enough room and no more to
see the mounseer in front of him.  Some of us--I was one
of 'em--fixed the flints of the pirates for'ard, while the rest
faced round and kept the others off.  Then we went at 'em,
and as they couldn't all get at us at the same time
owing to the deck being narrow, the odds was not so bad
arter all.  'Twas now hand to hand, fist to fist, one for
you and one for me; you found a Frenchman and stuck
to him till you finished him off, or he finished you, as the
case might be, in a manner of speakin'.  Well, I found
one lanky chap--he was number four that night, and all
in ten minutes as it were; I jabbed a pike at him, and
missed, for it was hard to keep footin' on the wet deck,
though the wet was not Hugli water; thick as it is, this
was thicker--and he fired a pistol at me by way of thank
you.  I saw his figure-head in the flash, and I shan't forget
it either, for he left me this to remember him by, though
I didn't know it at the time."

Here Bulger held up the iron hook that did duty for his
left forearm.  Then, glancing cautiously round, he added
in a whisper:

"'Twas Diggle--or I'm a Dutchman.  That was my
fust meetin' with him.  Of course, I'm in a way helpless
now, being on the ship's books, and he in a manner of
speakin' an officer; but one of these days there'll be a
reckonin', or my name en't Bulger."

The sailor brought down his fist with a resounding whack
on the scuttle butt, threatening to stave in the top of
the barrel.

"And how did the fight end?" asked Desmond.

"We drove 'em back bit by bit, and fairly wore 'em
down.  They warn't all sailormen, or we couldn't have
done it, for they had the numbers; but an Englishman
on his own ship is worth any two furriners--aye, half
a dozen some do say, though I wouldn't go so far as that
myself--and at the last some of them turned tail an'
bolted back.  The ship's boy, what was in the shrouds,
saw 'em on the run and set up a screech:
'Hooray! hooray!'  That was all we wanted.  We hoorayed too;
and went at 'em in such a slap-bang go-to-glory way that
in a brace of shakes there warn't a Frenchman, a
Dutchman, nor a Moor on board.  They cut the grapnels and
floated clear, and next mornin' we saw 'em on their beam
ends on a sandbank a mile down the river.  That's how
I fust come acrost Mr. Diggle; I may be wrong, but I says
it again: look out for squalls."

For some days the wind held fair, and the ship being
now in the main track of the trades, all promised well for
a quick run to the Cape.  But suddenly there was a
change; a squall struck the vessel from the south-west.
Captain Barker, catching sight of Desmond and a seaman
near at hand, shouted:

"Furl the top-gallant sail, you two.  Now show a leg,
or, by thunder, the masts will go by the board."

Springing up the shrouds on the weather side, Desmond
was quickest aloft.  He crawled out on the yard, the wind
threatening every moment to tear him from his dizzy rocking
perch, and began with desperate energy to furl the
straining canvas.  It was hard work, and but for the
development of his muscles during the past few months, and a
naturally cool head, the task would have been beyond his
powers.  But setting his teeth and exerting his utmost
strength, he accomplished his share of it as quickly as the
able seaman on the lee yard.

The sail was half furled when all at once the mast
swung through a huge arc; the canvas came with
tremendous force against the cross-trees; and Desmond,
flung violently outwards, found himself swinging in
mid-air, clinging desperately to the leech of the sail.  With
a convulsive movement he grasped at a loose gasket above
him, and catching a grip wound it twice or thrice round
his arm.  The strain was intense; the gasket was thin and
cut deeply into the flesh; he knew that should it give way
nothing could save him.  So he hung, the wind howling
around him, the yards rattling, the boisterous sea below
heaving as if to clutch him and drag him to destruction.
A few seconds passed, every one of which seemed an
eternity.  Then through the noise he heard shouts on
deck.  The vessel suddenly swung over, and Desmond's
body inclined towards instead of from the mast.  Shooting
out his hand he caught at the yard, seized it, and held
on, though it seemed that his arm must be wrenched from
the socket.  In a few moments he succeeded in clambering
on to the yard, where he clung, endeavouring to regain
his breath and his senses.

Then he completed his job, and with a sense of unutterable
relief slid down to the deck.  A strange sight met
his eyes.  Bulger and Parmiter were lying side by side;
there was blood on the deck; and Captain Barker stood
over them with a martin spike, his eyes blazing, his face
distorted with passion.  In consternation Desmond
slipped out of the way, and asked the first man he met for
an explanation.

It appeared that Parmiter, who was at the wheel when
the squall struck the ship, had put her in stays before the
sail was furled, with the result that she heeled over and
Desmond narrowly escaped being flung into the sea.
Seeing the boy's plight Bulger had sprung forward and,
knocking Parmiter from the wheel, had put the vessel on
the other tack, thus giving Desmond the one chance of
escape which, fortunately, he had been able to seize.  The
captain had been incensed to a blind fury, first with
Parmiter for acting without orders and then with Bulger for
interfering with the man at the wheel.  In a paroxysm
of madness he attacked both men with a spike; the ship
was left without a helmsman, and nothing but the
promptitude of the melancholy mate, who had rushed forward and
taken the abandoned wheel himself, had saved the vessel
from the imminent risk of carrying away her masts.

Later in the day, when the squall and the captain's rage
had subsided, the incident was talked over by a knot of
seamen in the foc's'le.

"You may say what you like," said one, "but I hold to
it that Parmiter meant to knock young Burke into the
sea.  For why else did he put the ship in stays?  He en't
a fool, en't Parmiter."

"Ay," said another, "and arter that there business with
the block, eh?  One and one make two; that's twice
the youngster has nigh gone to Davy Jones through
Parmiter, and it en't in reason that sich-like things should
allers happen to the same party."

"But what's the reason?" asked a third.  "What call
has Parmiter to have such a desperate spite against Burke?
He got a lickin', in course, but what's a lickin' to a
Englishman?  Rot it all, the youngster en't a bad matey.  He've
led a dog's life, that he have, and I've never heard a
grumble, nary one; have you?"

"True," said the first.  "And I tell you what it is.  I
believe Bulger's in the right of it, and 'tis all along o'
that there Diggle, hang him!  He's too perlite by half, with
his smile and his fine lingo and all.  And what's he keep
his hand wropt up in that there velvet mitten thing for?
I'd like to know that.  There's summat mortal queer
about Diggle, mark my words, and we'll find it out if we
live long enough."

"Wasn't it Diggle brought Burke aboard?"

"Course it was; that's what proves it, don't you see?
He stuffs him up as he's to be supercargo; call that number
one.  He brings him aboard and makes him ship's boy:
that's number two.  He looks us all up and down with
those rat's eyes of his, and thinks we're a pretty ugly lot,
and Parmiter the ugliest; how's that for number three?
Then he makes hisself sweet to Parmiter; I've seed him
more'n once; that's number four.  Then there's that
there block: five; and to-day's hanky-panky: six; and it
wants one more to make seven, and that's the perfect
number, I've heard tell, 'cos o' the Seven Champions o'
Christendom."

"I guess you've reasoned that out mighty well," drawled
the melancholy voice of Mr. Toley, who had come up
unseen and heard the last speech.  "Well, I'll give you
number seven."

"Thunder and blazes, sir, he en't bin and gone and
done it already!"

"No, he en't.  Number seven is, be kind o' tender
with young Burke.  Count them words.  He's had enough
kicks.  That's all."

And the melancholy man went away as silently as he
had come.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER THE NINTH`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER THE NINTH

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: bold

In which the *Good Intent* makes a running
fight; and Mr. Toley makes a suggestion.

.. vspace:: 2

Making good sailing, the *Good Intent* reached Saldanhas
Bay, where she put in for a few necessary repairs, then
safely rounded the Cape, and after a short stay at Johanna,
one of the Comoro Islands, taking in fresh provisions
there, set sail for the Malabar coast.  The wind blew
steadily from the south-west, and she ran merrily
before it.

During this part of the voyage Desmond found his
position somewhat improved.  His pluck had won the rough
admiration of the men; Captain Barker was not so
constantly chevying him; and Mr. Toley showed a more active
interest in him, teaching him the use of the sextant and
quadrant, how to take the altitude of the sun, and many
other matters important in navigation.

It was the third week of April, and the monsoon having
begun, Captain Barker expected before long to sight
the Indian coast.  One morning, about two bells, the
look-out reported a small vessel on the larboard bow,
labouring heavily.  The captain took a long look at it
through his perspective glass, anc made out that it was
a two-masted grab; the mainmast was gone.

"Odds bobs," he said to Mr. Toley, "'tis strange to
meet a grab so far out at sea.  We'll run down to it."

"What is a grab?" asked Desmond of Bulger, when the
news had circulated through the ship's company.

"Why, that's a grab, sure enough.  I en't a good
hand at pictur' paintin'; we're runnin' square for the
critter, and then you'll see for yourself.  This I'll say,
that you don't see 'em anywheres in partickler but off
the Malabar coast."

Desmond was soon able to take stock of the vessel.  It
was broad in proportion to its length, narrowing from the
middle to the end, and having a projecting prow like the
old-fashioned galleys of which he had seen pictures.  The
prow was covered with a deck, level with the main deck of
the vessel, but with a bulkhead between this and the forecastle.

"En't she pitchin'!" remarked Bulger, standing by
Desmond's side.  "You couldn't expect nothing else of
a craft built that shape.  Look at the water pourin' off
her; why, I may be wrong, but I'll lay my best breeches
she's a-founderin'."

As usual, Bulger was right.  When the grab was
overhauled, the men on board, dark-skinned Marathas with
very scanty clothing, made signs that they were in
distress.

"Throw her into the wind," shouted the captain.

Mr. Toley at the wheel put the helm down, the
longboat was lowered, and with some difficulty, owing to
the heavy sea, the thirty men on the grab were taken
off.  As they came aboard the *Good Intent*, Diggle, who
was leaning over the bulwarks, suddenly straightened
himself, smiled, and moved towards the taffrail.  One of
the newcomers, a fine muscular fellow, seeing Diggle
approaching, stood for a moment in surprise, then salaamed.
The Englishman said something in the stranger's tongue,
and grasped his hand with the familiarity of old friendship.

"You know the man, Mr. Diggle?" said the captain.

"Yes, truly.  The Gentoos and I are in a sense
comrades in arms.  His name is Hybati; he's a Maratha."

"What's he jabbering about?"

The man was talking rapidly and earnestly.

"He says, captain," returned Diggle with a smile,
"that he hopes you will send and fetch the crew's rice on
board.  They won't eat our food--afraid of losing caste."

"I'll be hanged if I launch the long-boat again.  The
grab won't live another five minutes in this sea, and I
wouldn't risk two of my crew against a hundred of these
dirty Moors."

"They'll starve otherwise, captain."

"Well, let 'em starve.  I won't have any nonsense
aboard my ship.  Beggars mustn't be choosers, and if the
heathen can't eat good honest English vittles they don't
deserve to eat at all."

Diggle smiled and explained to Hybati that his
provisions must be left to their fate.  Even as he spoke a
heavy sea struck the vessel athwart, and amid cries from
the Marathas she heeled over and sank.

When the strangers had dried themselves, Diggle inquired
of Hybati how he came to be in his present predicament.
The Maratha explained that he had been in command
of Angria's fortress of Suvarndrug, which was so strong
that he had believed it able to withstand all attacks.  But
one day a number of vessels of the East India Company's
fleet had appeared between the mainland and the island
on which the fortress was situated, and had begun a
bombardment which soon reduced the parapets to ruins.
The chief damage had been done by an English ship.
Hybati and his men had made the best defence they could,
but the gunners were shot down by musket fire from the
round-tops of the enemy, and when a shell set fire to a
thatched house within the fort, the garrison were too
much alarmed to attempt to extinguish the flames; the
blaze spread, a powder magazine blew up, and the inhabitants,
with the greater part of the soldiers, fled to the
shore, and tried to make their escape in eight large boats.
Hybati had kept up the fight for some time longer, hoping
to receive succour; but under cover of the fire of the
ships the English commodore landed half his seamen, who
rushed up to the gate, and, cutting down the sally-port
with their axes, forced their way in.

Seeing that the game was up, Hybati fled with thirty of
his men, and was lucky in pushing off in the grab
unobserved by the enemy.  The winds, however, proving
contrary, the vessel had been blown northward along the
coast and then driven far out to sea.  With the breaking
of the monsoon a violent squall had dismasted the grab
and shattered her bulkhead; she was continually shipping
water, and, as the sahib saw, was at the point of sinking
when the English ship came up.

Such was the Maratha's story, as by and by it became
common property on board the *Good Intent*.  Of all the
crew Desmond was perhaps the most interested.  To the
others there was nothing novel in the sight of the Indians;
but to him they stood for romance, the embodiment of all
the tales he had heard and all the dreams he had dreamed
of this wonderful country in the East.  He was now
assured that he was actually within reach of his desired
haven; and he hoped shortly to see an end of the
disappointments and hardships, the toils and distresses, of
the long voyage.

He was eager to learn more of these Marathas, and their
fortress, and the circumstances of the recent fight.  Bulger
was willing to tell all he knew; but his information was
not very exact, and Desmond did not hear the full story
till long after.

The Malabar coast had long been the haunt of Maratha
pirates, who interfered greatly with the native trade
between India and Arabia and Persia.  In defence of the
interests of his Mohammedan subjects the Mogul emperor
at length, in the early part of the eighteenth century, fitted
out a fleet, under the command of an admiral known as the
Sidi.  But there happened to be among the Marathas at
that time a warrior of great daring and resource, one
Kunaji Angria.  This man first defeated the Sidi, then, in
the insolence of victory, revolted against his own sovereign,
and set up as an independent ruler.  By means of a
well-equipped fleet of grabs and gallivats he made himself
master of place after place along the coast, including
the Maratha fortress at Suvarndrug and the Portuguese
fort of Gheria.  His successors, who adopted in turn the
dynastic name of Angria, followed up Kunaji's conquest,
until by the year 1750 the ruling Angria was in possession
of a strip of territory on the mainland a hundred and
eighty miles long and about forty broad, together with
many small adjacent islands.

For the defence of this little piratical state Angria's
Marathas constructed a number of forts, choosing
admirable positions and displaying no small measure of
engineering skill.  From these strongholds they made depredations
by sea and land, not only upon their native neighbours,
but also upon the European traders, English, Dutch, and
Portuguese; swooping down on unprotected merchant
vessels and even presuming to attack warships.  Several
expeditions had been directed against them, but always in
vain; and when in 1754 the chief of that date, Tulaji
Angria, known to Europeans as the Pirate, burnt two
large Dutch vessels of fifty and thirty-six guns
respectively, and captured a smaller one of eighteen guns, he
boasted in his elation that he would soon be master of the
Indian seas.

But a term was about to be put to his insolence and his
depredations.  On March 22, 1755, Commodore William
James, commander of the East India Company's marine
force, set sail from Bombay in the *Protector* of forty-four
guns, with the *Swallow* of sixteen guns, and two bomb
vessels.  With the assistance of a Maratha fleet he had
attacked the island fortress of Suvarndrug, and captured
it, as Hybati had related.  A few days afterwards another
of the Pirate's fortresses, the island of Bancoote, six miles
north of Suvarndrug, surrendered.  The Maratha rajah,
Ramaji Punt, delighted with these successes against
fortified places which had for nearly fifty years been
deemed impregnable, offered the English commodore an
immense sum of money to proceed against others of
Angria's forts; but the monsoon approaching, the
commodore was recalled to Bombay.

The spot at which the *Good Intent* had fallen in with the
sinking grab was about eighty miles from the Indian coast,
and Captain Barker expected to sight land next day.  No
one was more delighted at the prospect than Desmond.
Leaving out of account the miseries of the long voyage,
he felt that he was now within reach of the goal of his
hopes.  The future was all uncertain; he was no longer
inclined to trust his fortunes to Diggle, for though he
could not believe that the man had deliberately practised
against his life, he had with good reason lost confidence in
him, and what he had learnt from Bulger threw a new
light on his past career.

One thing puzzled him.  If the Pirate was such a terror
to unprotected ships, and strong enough to attack several
armed vessels at once, why was Captain Barker running
into the very jaws of the enemy?  In her palmy days as an
East Indiaman the *Good Intent* had carried a dozen nine
pounders on her upper deck and six on the quarter-deck;
and Bulger had said that under a stout captain she had
once beaten off near Surat half a dozen three-masted grabs
and a score of gallivats from the pirate stronghold at
Gheria.  But now she had only half a dozen guns all told,
and even had she possessed the full armament there were
not men enough to work them, for her complement of forty
men was only half what it had been when she sailed under
the Company's flag.

Desmond confided his puzzlement to Bulger.  The
seaman laughed.

"Why, bless 'ee, we en't a-goin' to run into no danger.
Trust Cap'n Barker for that.  You en't supercargo, to be
sure; but who do you think them guns and round shots in
the hold be for?  Why, the Pirate himself.  And he'll pay
a good price for 'em too."

"Do you mean to say that English merchants supply
Angria with weapons to fight against their own countrymen?"

"Well, blest if you en't a' innocent.  In course
they do.  The guns en't always fust-class metal, to be
sure; but what's the odds?  The interlopers ha' got to
live."

"I don't call that right.  It's not patriotic."

"Patry what?"

"Patriotic--a right way of thinking of one's own
country.  An Englishman isn't worth the name who helps
England's enemies."

Bulger looked at him in amazement.  The idea of
patriotism was evidently new to him.

"I'll have to put that there notion in my pipe and smoke
it," he said.  "I'd fight any mounseer, or Dutchman, or
Portuguee as soon as look at him, 'tis on'y natural; but if
a mounseer likes to give me twopence for a thing what's
worth a penny--why, I'll say thank 'ee and ax him--leastways
if there's any matey by as knows the lingo--to
buy another."

Shortly after dawn next morning the look-out reported
four vessels to windward.  From their appearance Captain
Barker at once concluded that two were Company's ships,
with an escort of a couple of grabs.  As he was still
scanning them he was joined by Diggle, with whom he entered
into conversation.

"They're making for Bombay, I reckon," said the captain.

"I take it we don't wish to come to close quarters with
them, Barker?"

"By thunder, no!  But if we hold our present course
we're bound to pass within hailing distance.  Better put
'em off the scent."

He altered the vessel's course a point or two with the
object of passing to windward of the strangers, as if
steering for the Portuguese port of Goa.

"They're running up their colours," remarked Diggle
half an hour later.

"British, as I thought.  We'll hoist Portuguese."

A minute or two later a puff of smoke was observed to
sally from the larger of the two grabs, followed in a few
seconds by the boom of the gun.

"A call to us to heave-to," said Bulger in answer to
Desmond's inquiry.  "The unbelievin' critters thinks that
Portuguee rag is all my eye."

But the *Good Intent* was by this time to windward of the
vessels, and Captain Barker, standing on the quarter-deck,
paid no heed to the signal.  After a short interval another
puff came from the deck of the grab, and a round shot
plunged into the sea a cable's length from the *Good Intent's*
bows, the grab at the same time hauling her wind and
preparing to alter her course in pursuit.  This movement
was at once copied by the other three vessels, but being at
least half a mile ahead of the grab that had fired, they were
a long distance astern when the chase--for chase it was to
be--began.

Captain Barker watched the grab with the eyes of a
lynx.  The *Good Intent* had run out of range while the
grab was being put about; but the captain knew very well
that the pursuer could sail much closer to the wind than
his own vessel, and that his only chance was to beat off
the leading boat before the others had time to come up.

It required very little at any time to put Captain Barker
into a rage, and his demeanour was watched now with
different feelings by different members of his crew.  Diggle
alone appeared unconcerned; he was smiling as he lolled
against the mast.

"They'll fire at me, will they?" growled the captain with
a curse.  "And chase me, will they?  By jiminy, they
shall sink me before I surrender!"

"'Degeneres animos timor arguit,'" quoted Diggle,
smiling.

"Argue it?  I'll be hanged if I argue it!  They're not
King's ships to take it on 'emselves to stop me on the high
seas!  If the Company wants to prevent me from honest
trading in these waters let 'em go to law, and be hanged
to 'em!  Talk of arguing!  Lawyer's work.  Humph!"

"You mistake, Barker.  The Roman fellow whose
words slipped out of my mouth almost unawares said
nothing of arguing.  'Fear is the mark only of base minds:'
so it runs in English, captain; which is as much as to say
that Captain Ben Barker is not the man to haul down his
colours in a hurry."

"You're right there.  Another shot!  That's their
argument: well, Ben Barker can talk that way as well as
another."

He called up the boatswain.  Shortly afterwards the
order was piped, "Up all hammocks!"  The men quickly
stowed their bedding, secured it with lashings, and carried
it to the appointed places on the quarter-deck, poop, or
forecastle.  Meanwhile the boatswain and his mates secured
the yards; the ship's carpenter brought up shot plugs for
repairing any breaches made under the water-line; and
the gunners looked to the cannon and prepared charges for
them and the small arms.

Bulger was in charge of the 12-pounder aft, and
Mr. Toley had told off Desmond to assist him.  They stood
side by side watching the progress of the grab, which
gained steadily in spite of the plunging due to its curious
build.  Presently another shot came from her; it shattered
the belfry on the forecastle of the *Good Intent*, and splashed
into the sea a hundred yards ahead.

"They make good practice, for sartin," remarked
Bulger.  "I may be wrong, but I'll lay my life there be old
man-o'-war's men aboard.  I mind me when I was with
Captain Golightly on the *Minotaur*----"

But Bulger's yarn was intercepted.  At that moment
the boatswain piped, "All hands to quarters!"  In a
surprisingly short time all timber was cleared away, the galley
fire was extinguished, the yards slung, the deck strewn
with wet sand, and sails, booms, and boats liberally
drenched with water.  The gun-captains, each with his
crew, cast loose the lashings of their weapons and struck
open the ports.  The tompions were taken out, the sponge,
rammer, crows and handspikes placed in readiness, and all
awaited eagerly the word for the action to begin.

"'Tis about time we opened our mouths at 'em," said
Bulger.  "The next bolus they send us as like as not will
bring the spars a-rattlin' about our ears.  To be sure it
goes against my stummick to fire on old messmates; but
it en't in Englishmen to hold their noses and swaller pills
o' that there size.  We'll load up all ready, mateys."

He stripped to the waist, and tied a handkerchief over
his ears.  Desmond and the men followed his example.
Then one of them sponged the bore, another inserted the
cartridge, containing three pounds of powder, by means of
a long ladle, a third shoved in a wad of rope yarn.  This
having been driven home by the rammer, the round shot
was inserted, and covered like the cartridge with a wad.
Then Bulger took his priming-iron, an instrument like a
long thin corkscrew, and thrust it into the touch-hole to
clear the vent and make an incision in the cartridge.
Removing the priming-iron, he replaced it by the
priming-tube--a thin tapering tube with very narrow bore.  Into
this he poured a quantity of fine mealed powder; then he
laid a train of the same powder in the little groove cut in
the gun from the touch-hole towards the breech.  With
the end of his powder-horn he slightly bruised the train,
and the gun only awaited a spark from the match.

Everything was done very quickly, and Desmond
watched the seamen with admiration.  He himself had
charge of the linstock, about which were wound several
matches, consisting of lengths of twisted cotton wick
steeped in lye.  They had already been lighted, for they
burnt so slowly that they would last for several hours.

"Now we're ship-shape," said Bulger.  "Mind you,
Burke, don't come too far for'ard with your linstock.  I
don't want the train fired with no sparks afore I'm ready.
And 'ware o' the breech; she'll kick like a jumpin' jackass
when the shot flies out of her, an'll knock your teeth out
afore you can say Jack Robinson.--Ah! there's the word
at last; now, mateys, here goes!"

He laid the gun, waited for the ship to rise from a roll,
then took one of the matches, gently blew its smouldering
end, and applied the glowing wick to the bruised
part of the priming.  There was a flash, a roar, and
before Desmond could see the effect of the shot Bulger had
closed the vent, the gun was run in, and the sponger was
at work cleaning the chamber.  As the black smoke cleared
away it was apparent that the seaman had not forgotten
his cunning.  The shot had struck the grab on the deck of
the prow and smashed into the forecastle.  But the
bow-chasers were apparently uninjured, for they replied a few
seconds later.

"Ah!  There's a wunner!" said Bulger admiringly.

A shot had carried away a yard of the gunwale of the
*Good Intent*, scattering splinters far and wide, which inflicted
nasty wounds on the second mate and a seaman on the
quarter-deck.  A jagged end of wood flying high struck
Diggle on the left cheek.  He wiped away the blood
imperturbably; it was evident that lack of courage was not
among his defects.

Captain Barker's ire was now at white heat.  Shouting
an order to Bulger and the next man to make rapid
practice with the two stern-chasers, he prepared to
fall off and bring the *Good Intent's* broadside to bear on
the enemy.  But the next shot was decisive.  Diggle had
quietly strolled down to the gun next to Bulger's.  It
had just been reloaded.  He bade the gun-captain, in
a low tone, to move aside.  Then, with a glance to see
that the priming was in order, he took careful sight, and
waiting until the grab's main, mizzen, and foremasts opened
to view all together, he applied the match.  The shot
sped true, and a second later the grab's mainmast, with
sails and rigging, went by the board.

A wild cheer from the crew of the *Good Intent* acclaimed
the excellent shot.

"By thunder!" said Bulger to Desmond, "Diggle may be
a rogue, but he knows how to train a gun."

Captain Barker signified his approval by a tremendous
mouth-filling oath.  But he was not yet safe.  The second
grab was following hard in the wake of the first; and it
was plain that the two Indiamen were both somewhat
faster than the *Good Intent*; for during the running fight
that had just ended so disastrously for the grab, they had
considerably lessened the gap between them and their
quarry.  Captain Barker watched them with an expression
of fierce determination; but not without anxiety.  If
they should come within striking distance it was
impossible to withstand successfully their heavier armament
and larger crews.  The firing had ceased: each vessel
had crowded on all sail; and the brisk breeze must soon
bring pursuer and pursued to a close engagement which
could have only one result.

"I may be wrong, but seems to me we'd better say
our prayers," Bulger remarked grimly to his gun crew.

But Desmond, gazing up at the shrouds, said suddenly:

"The wind's dropping.  Look!"

It was true.  Before the monsoon sets in in earnest
it not unfrequently happens that the wind veers fitfully;
a squall is succeeded almost instantaneously by a calm.
So it was now.  In less than an hour all five vessels were
becalmed; and when night fell, three miles separated the
*Good Intent* from the second grab; the Indiamen lay a
mile further astern; and the damaged vessel was out of
sight.

Captain Barker took counsel with his officers.  He
expected to be attacked during the night by the united
boats of the pursuing fleet.  Under cover of darkness
they would be able to creep up close and board the vessel;
and the captain knew well that if taken he would be
treated as a pirate.  His papers were made out for
Philadelphia; he had hoisted Portuguese colours, but the
enemy at close quarters could easily see that the *Good
Intent* was British built; he had disabled one of the
Company's vessels; there would be no mercy for him.  He
saw no chance of beating off the enemy; they would
outnumber him by at least five to one.  Even if the wind
sprang up again there was small likelihood of escape.
One or other of the pursuing vessels would almost
certainly overhaul him, and hold him till the others came up.

"'Tis a 'tarnal fix," he said.

"Methinks 'tis a case of 'actum est de nobis'," re
marked Diggle, pleasantly.

"Confound you!" said the captain with a burst of
anger.  "What could I expect with a gallows-bird like
you aboard?  'Tis enough to sink a vessel without shot."

Diggle's face darkened.  But in a moment his smile
returned.

"You are overwrought, captain," he said; "you are
unstrung.  'Twould be ridiculous to take amiss words
said in haste.  In cool blood--well, you know me, Captain
Barker.  I will leave you to recover from your brief madness."

He went below.  The captain was left with Mr. Toley
and the other officers.  Barker and Toley always got on
well together, for the simple reason that the mate never
thwarted his superior, never resented his abuse, but went
quietly his own way.  He listened now for a quarter of
an hour, with fixed sadness of expression, while Captain
Barker poured the vials of his wrath upon everything
under the sun.  When the captain had come to an end,
and sunk into a state of lowering dudgeon, Mr. Toley said
quietly:

"'Tis all you say, sir, and more.  I guess I've never
seen a harder case.  But while you was speaking,
something you said struck a sort of idea into my brain."

"That don't happen often.  What is it?"

"Why, the sort of idea that came to me out o' what
you was saying was just this.  How would it be to take
soundings?"

"So that's your notion, is it?  Hang me, are you a
fool like the rest of 'em!  You're always taking soundings!
What in the name of thunder do you want to take
soundings for?"

"Nothing particular, cap'n.  That was the kind o' notion
that come of what you was saying.  Of course it depends
on the depth hereabouts."

"Deep enough to sink you and your notions and all
that's like to come of 'em.  Darned if I han't got the
most lubberly ship's company ever mortal man was plagued
with.  Officers and men, there en't one of you as is worth
your salt, and you with your long face and your notions--why,
hang me, you're no more good than the dirtiest
waister afloat."

Mr. Toley smiled sadly, and ventured on no rejoinder.
After the captain's outburst none of the group dared to
utter a word.  This pleased him no better; he cursed
them all for standing mum, and spent ten minutes in
reviling them in turn.  Then his passion appeared to
have burnt itself out.  Turning suddenly to the melancholy
mate, he said roughly:

"Go and heave your lead, then, and be hanged to it."

Mr. Toley walked away aft and ordered one of the men
to heave the deep-sea lead.  The plummet, shaped like
the frustum of a cone, and weighing thirty pounds, was
thrown out from the side in the line of the vessel's drift.

"By the mark sixty, less five," sang out the man when
the lead touched the bottom.

"I guess that'll do," said the first mate, returning to
the quarter-deck.

"Well, what about your notion?" said the captain
scornfully.  But he listened quietly and with an intent
look upon his weather-beaten face as Mr. Toley explained.

"You see, sir," he said, "while you was talking just
now, I sort o' saw that if they attack us, 'twon't be for
at least two hours after dark.  The boats won't put off
while there's light enough to see 'em; and won't hurry
anyhow, 'cos if they did the men 'ud have nary much
strength left to 'em.  Well, they'll take our bearings, of
course.  Thinks I, owing to what you said, sir, what if
we could shift 'em by half a mile or so?  The boats 'ud
miss us in the darkness."

"That's so," ejaculated the captain; "and what then?"

"Well, sir, 'tis there my idea of taking soundings comes
in.  The *Good Intent* can't be towed, not with our handful
of men; but why shouldn't she be kedged?  That's the
notion, sir; and I guess you'll think it over."

"By jimmy, Mr. Toley, you en't come out o' Salem
Massachusetts for nothing.  'Tis a notion, a rare one; Ben
Barker en't the man to bear a grudge, and I take back
them words o' mine--leastways some on 'em.  Bo'sun,
get ready to lower the long-boat."

The long-boat was lowered, out of sight of the enemy.
A kedge anchor, fastened to a stout hawser, was put on
board, and as soon as it was sufficiently dark to make
so comparatively small an object as a boat invisible to
the hostile craft, she put off at right angles to the *Good
Intent's* previous course, the hawser attached to the kedge
being paid out as the boat drew away.  When it had
gone about a fifth of a mile from the vessel the kedge
was dropped, and a signal was given by hauling on the rope.

"Clap on, men!" cried Captain Barker.  "Get a good
purchase, and none of your sing-song; avast all jabber."

The crew manned the windlass and began with a will to
haul on the cable in dead silence.  The vessel was slowly
warped ahead.  Meanwhile the long-boat was returning;
when she reached the side of the *Good Intent*, a second
kedge was lowered into her, and again she put off, to
drop the anchor two cables' length beyond the first, so
that when the ship had tripped that, the second was ready
to be hauled on.

When the *Good Intent* had been thus warped a mile
from her position at nightfall, Captain Barker ordered
the operation to be stopped.  To avoid noise the boat
was not hoisted in.  No lights were shown, and the sky
being somewhat overcast, the boat's crew found that the
ship was invisible at the distance of a fourth of a cable's
length.

"I may be wrong," said Bulger to Desmond, "but I
don't believe kedgin' was ever done so far from harbour
afore.  I allers thought there was something in that long
head of Mr. Toley, though, to be sure, there en't no call
for him to pull a long face too."

An hour passed after the kedging had been stopped.
All on board the *Good Intent* remained silent, or spoke
in whispers, if they spoke at all.  There had been no
signs of the expected attack.  Desmond was leaning on
the gunwale, straining his eyes for a glimpse of the
enemy.  But his ears gave him the first intimation of
their approach.  He heard a faint creaking, as of oars
in rowlocks, and stepped back to where Bulger was
leaning against the mast.

"There they come," he said.

The sound had already reached Captain Barker's ears.
It was faint; doubtless the oars were muffled.  The ship
was rolling lazily; save for the creaking nothing was
heard but the lapping of the ripples against the hull.
So still was the night that the slightest sound must travel
far, and the captain remarked in a whisper to Mr. Toley
that he guessed the approaching boats to be at least six
cable-lengths distant.  Officers and men listened intently.
The creaking grew no louder; on the contrary, it gradually
became fainter, and at last died away.  There was a long
silence, broken only by what sounded like a low hail some
considerable distance astern.

"They're musterin' the boats," said Bulger, with a
chuckle.  "I may be wrong, but I'll bet my breeches they
find they've overshot the mark.  Now they'll scatter and
try to nose us out."

Another hour of anxious suspense slowly passed, and
still nothing had happened.  Then suddenly a blue light
flashed for a few moments on the blackness of the sea,
answered almost instantaneously by a rocket from another
quarter.  It was clear that the boats, having signalled
that the search had failed, had been recalled by the rocket
to the fleet.

"By thunder, Mr. Toley, you've done the trick!" said
the captain.

"I guess we don't get our living by making mistakes--not
in Salem, Massachusetts," returned the first mate with
his sad smile.

Through the night the watch was kept with more than
ordinary vigilance, but nothing occurred to give Captain
Barker anxiety.  With morning light the enemy could be
seen far astern.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER THE TENTH`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER THE TENTH

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: bold

In which our hero arrives in the Golden East;
and Mr. Diggle presents him to a native
prince.

.. vspace:: 2

About midday a light breeze sprang up from the north-west.
The two Indiamen and the uninjured grab, being
the first to catch it, gained a full mile before the *Good
Intent*, under topgallant sails, studding sails, royal and
driver, began to slip through the water at her best speed.
But, as the previous day's experience had proved, she was
no match in sailing capacity for the pursuers.  They gained
on her steadily, and the grab had come almost within
cannon-range when the man at the mast-head shouted:

"Sail ho!  About a dozen sail ahead, sir!"

The captain spluttered out a round dozen oaths, and his
dark face grew still darker.  So many vessels in company
must surely mean the King's ships with a convoy.  The
French, so far as Captain Barker knew, had no such fleet
in Indian waters, nor had the Dutch or Portuguese.  If
they were indeed British men-o'-war he would be caught
between two fires, for there was not a doubt that they
would support the Company's vessels.

"We ought to be within twenty miles o' the coast,
Mr. Toley," said Captain Barker.

"Ay, sir, and somewhere in the latitude of Gheria."

"Odds bobs, and now I come to think of it, those there
vessels may be sailing to attack Gheria, seeing as how,
as these niggers told us, they've bust up Suvarndrug."

"Guess I'll get to the foretop myself and take a look,
sir," said Mr. Toley.

He mounted, carrying the only perspective glass the
vessel possessed.  The captain watched him anxiously as
he took a long look.

"What do you make of 'em?" he shouted.

The mate shut up the telescope and came leisurely down.

"I count fifteen in all, sir."

"I don't care how many.  What are they?"

"I calculate they're grabs and gallivats, sir."

The captain gave a hoarse chuckle.

"By thunder, then, we'll soon turn the tables!  Angria's
gallivats--eh, Mr. Toley?  We'll make a haul yet."

But Captain Barker was to be disappointed.  The fleet
had been descried also by the pursuers.  A few minutes
later the grab threw out a signal, hauled her wind and
stood away to the northward, followed closely by the
two larger vessels.  The captain growled his disappointment.
Nearly a dozen of the coast craft, as they were
now clearly seen to be, went in pursuit, but with little
chance of coming up with the chase.  The remaining
vessels of the newly-arrived fleet stood out to meet the
*Good Intent*.

"Fetch up that Maratha fellow," cried the captain,
"and hoist a white flag."

When the Maratha appeared, a pitiable object,
emaciated from want of food, Captain Barker bade him shout
as soon as the newcomers came within hailing distance.
The white flag at the mast-head, and a loud long-drawn
hail from Hybati, apprised the grab that the *Good Intent*
was no enemy, and averted hostilities.  And thus it was,
amid a convoy of Angria's own fleet, that Captain Barker's
vessel, a few hours later, sailed peacefully into the
harbour of Gheria.

Desmond looked with curious eyes on the famous fort
and harbour.  On the right, as the *Good Intent* entered,
he saw a long narrow promontory, at the end of which
was a fortress, constructed, as it appeared, of solid rock.
The promontory was joined to the mainland by a narrow
isthmus of sand, beyond which lay an open town of some
size.  The shore was fringed with palmyras, mangoes and
other tropical trees, and behind the straw huts and stone
buildings of the town leafy groves clothed the sides of a
gentle hill.  The harbour, which formed the mouth of a
river, was studded with Angria's vessels, large and small,
and from the docks situated on the sandy isthmus came
the busy sound of shipwrights at work.  The rocky walls
of the fort were fifty feet high, with round towers, long
curtains, and some fifty embrasures.  The left shore of
the harbour was flat, but to the south of the fort rose a
hill of the same height as the walls of rock.  Such was
the headquarters of the notorious pirate Tulaji Angria, the
last of the line which had for fifty years been the terror of
the Malabar coast.

The *Good Intent* dropped anchor off the jetty running
out from the docks north of the fort.  Captain Barker
had already given orders that no shore leave was to be
allowed to the crew, and as soon as he had stepped
into the long-boat, accompanied by Diggle, the men's
discontent broke forth in angry imprecations, which
Mr. Toley wisely affected not to hear.

No time was lost in unloading the portion of the cargo
intended for Angria.  The goods were carried along the
jetty by stalwart Marathas clad only in loin-cloths, to be
stored in rude cabins with penthouse roofs.  As Desmond
knew, the heavy chests that taxed the strength of the
bearers contained for the most part muskets and
ammunition.  The work went on for the greater part of the
day, and at nightfall neither the captain nor Diggle had
returned to the vessel.

Next day a large quantity of Indian produce was taken
on board.  Desmond noticed that as the bales and casks
reached the deck, some of the crew were told off to remove
all marks from them.

"What's that for?" repeated Bulger, in reply to a
question of Desmond's.  "Why, 'cos if the ship came to be
overhauled by a Company's vessel, it would tell tales if the
cargo had Company's marks on it.  That wouldn't do by
no manner o' means."

"But how should they get Company's marks on them?"

Bulger winked.

"You're raw yet, Burke," he said.  "You'll know quite
as much as is good for you by the time you've made
another voyage or two in the *Good Intent*."

"But I don't intend to make another voyage in her.
Mr. Diggle promised to get me employment in the country."

"What?  You still believes in that there Diggle?  Well,
I don't want to hurt no feelin's, and I may be wrong, but
I'll lay my bottom dollar Diggle won't do a hand's turn for
you."

The second day passed, and in the evening Captain
Barker, who had hitherto left Mr. Toley in charge, came
aboard in high good humour.

"I may be wrong," remarked Bulger, "but judgin' by
cap'n's face, he've been an' choused the Pirate--got twice
the vally o' the goods he's landed."

"I wonder where Mr. Diggle is?" said Desmond.

"You en't no call to mourn for him, I tell you.  He's
an old friend of the Pirate, don't make no mistake; neither
you nor me will be any the worse for not seein' his
grinnin' phiz no more.  Thank your stars he've left you alone
for the last part of the voyage, which I wonder at, all the
same."

Next day all was bustle on board in preparation for
sailing.  In the afternoon a peon[#] came hurrying along the
jetty, boarded the vessel, and handed a note to the captain,
who read it, tore it up, and dismissed the messenger.  He
went down to his cabin, and coming up a few minutes
later, cried:

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Messenger.

.. vspace:: 2

"Where's that boy Burke?"

"Here, sir," cried Desmond, starting up from the
place where, in Bulger's company, he had been splicing a
rope.

"Idling away your time as usual, of course.  Here,
take this chit[#] and run ashore.  'Tis for Mr. Diggle, as
you can see if you can read."

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Note.

.. vspace:: 2

"But how am I to find him, sir?"

"Hang me, that's your concern.  Find him, and give
the chit into his own hand, and be back without any
tomfoolery, or by thunder I'll lay a rope across your
shoulders."

Desmond took the note, left the vessel, and hurried
along the jetty.  After what Bulger had said he was not
very well pleased at the prospect of meeting Diggle again.
At the shore end of the jetty he was accosted by the peon
who had brought Diggle's note on board.  The man
intimated by signs that he would show the way, and
Desmond, wondering why the Indian had not himself waited
to receive Captain Barker's answer, followed him at a
rapid pace on shore, past the docks, through a corner of
the town, where the appearance of a white stranger
attracted the curious attention of the natives, to an open
space in front of the entrance to the fort.  Here they
arrived at a low wall cut by an open gateway, at each side
of which stood a Maratha sentry armed with a matchlock.
A few words were exchanged between Desmond's guide
and one of the sentries; the two entered, crossed a
compound dotted with trees, and passing through the principal
gateway came to a large square building near the centre
of the fort.  The door of this was guarded by a sentry.
Again a few words were spoken.  Desmond fancied he
saw a slight smile curl the lips of the natives; then the
sentry called another peon who stood at hand, and sent
him into the palace.

Desmond felt a strange sinking at heart.  The smile
upon these dark faces awakened a vague uneasiness; it
was so like Diggle's smile.  He supposed that the man
had gone in to report that he had arrived with the
captain's answer.  The note still remained with him; the
Marathas apparently knew that it was to be delivered
personally; yet he was left at the door, and his guide stood by
in an attitude that suggested he was on guard.

How long was he to be kept waiting? he wondered.
Captain Barker had ordered him to return at once; the
penalty for disobedience he knew only too well; yet the
minutes passed, and lengthened into two hours without
any sign of the man who had gone in with the message.
Desmond spoke to his guide, but the man shook his head,
knowing no English.  Becoming more and more uneasy,
he was at length relieved to see the messenger come back
to the door and beckon him to enter.  As he passed the
sentries they made him a salaam in which his anxious
sensitiveness detected a shade of mockery; but before he
could define his feelings he reached a third door guarded
like the others, and was ushered in.

He found himself in a large chamber, its walls dazzling
with barbaric decoration--figures of Ganessa, a favourite
idol of the Marathas, of monstrous elephants, and
peacocks with enormously expanded tails.  The hall was so
crowded that his first confusion was redoubled.  A path
was made through the throng as at a signal, and at the
end of the room he saw two men apart from the rest.
One of them, standing a little back from the other, was
Diggle; the other, a tall, powerful figure in raiment as
gaudy as the painted peacocks around him, his fingers
covered with rings, a diamond blazing in his headdress, was
sitting cross-legged on a dais.  Behind him, against
the wall, was an image of Ganessa, made of solid gold,
with diamonds for eyes, and blazing with jewels.  At one
side was his hookah, at the other a two-edged sword and
an unsheathed dagger.  Below the dais on either hand two
fierce-visaged Marathas stood, their heads and shoulders
covered with a helmet, their bodies cased in a quilted
vest, each holding a straight two-edged sword.  Between
Angria and the idol two fan-bearers lightly swept
the air above their lord's head with broad fans of palm
leaves.

Desmond walked towards the dais, feeling wofully out
of place amid the brilliant costumes of Angria's court.
Scarcely two of the Marathas were dressed alike; some
were in white, some in lilac, others in purple, but each
with ornaments after his own taste.  Desmond had not
had time before leaving the *Good Intent* to smarten himself
up, and he stood there a tall, thin, sunburnt youth in dirty,
tattered garments, doing his best to face the assembly
with British courage.  At the foot of the dais he paused and
held out the captain's note.  Diggle took it in silence,
his face wearing the smile that Desmond knew so well
and now so fully distrusted.  Without reading it, he tore
it in fragments and threw them upon the floor, at the same
time saying a few words to the resplendent figure at his side.

Tulaji Angria was dark, inclined to be fat, and not
unpleasant in feature.  But it was with a scowling brow
that he replied to Diggle.  Desmond was no coward, but
he afterwards confessed that as he stood there watching the
two faces, the dark lowering face of Angria, the smiling,
scarcely less swarthy face of Diggle, he felt his knees
tremble under him.  What was the Pirate saying?  That
he was the subject of their conversation was plain from
the glances thrown at him; that he was at a crisis in his
fate he knew by instinct; but, ignorant of the tongue they
spoke, he could but wait in fearful anxiety and mistrust.

He learnt afterwards the purport of the talk.

"That is your man!" said Angria.  "You have deceived
me.  I looked for a man of large stature and robust make,
like the Englishmen I already have.  What good will this
slim, starved stripling be in my barge?"

"You must not be impatient, huzur[#]," replied Diggle.
"He is a stripling, it is true; slim, certainly; starved--well,
the work on board ship does not tend to fatten a
man.  But give him time; he is but sixteen or seventeen
years old, young in my country.  In a year or two, under
your regimen, he will develop; he comes of a hardy stock,
and already he can make himself useful.  He was one of the
quickest and handiest on board our ship, though this was
his first voyage."

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Lord.

.. vspace:: 2

"But you yourself admit that he is not yet competent
for the oar in my barge.  What is to recompense me for
the food he will eat while he is growing?  No, Diggle
sahib, if I take him I must have some allowance off the
price.  In truth, I will not take him unless you send me
from your vessel a dozen good muskets.  That is my
word."

"Still, huzur----" began Diggle, but Angria cut him
short with a gesture of impatience.

"That is my word, I say.  Shall I, Tulaji Angria,
dispute with you?  I will have twenty muskets, or you may
keep the boy."

Diggle shrugged and smiled.

"Very well, huzur.  You drive a hard bargain; but it
shall be as you say.  I will send a chit to the captain, and
you shall have the muskets before the ship sails."

Angria made a sign to one of his attendants.  The man
approached Desmond, took him by the sleeve, and signed
to him to come away.  Desmond threw a beseeching look
at Diggle, and said hurriedly:

"Mr. Diggle, please tell me----"

But Angria rose to his feet in wrath, and shouted to the
man who had Desmond by the sleeve.  Desmond made no
further resistance.  His head swam as he passed between
the dusky ranks out into the courtyard.

"What does it all mean?" he asked himself.

His guide hurried him along until they came to a barn-like
building under the north-west angle of the fort.  The
Maratha unlocked the door, signed to Desmond to enter,
and locked him in.  He was alone.

He spent three miserable hours.  Bitterly did he now
regret having cast in his lot with the smooth-spoken
stranger who had been so sympathetic with him in his
troubles at home.  He tried to guess what was to be done
with him.  He was in Angria's power, a prisoner, but to
what end?  Had he run from the tyranny at home merely
to fall a victim to a worse tyranny at the hands of an
Oriental?  He knew so little of Angria, and his brain was
in such a turmoil, that he could not give definite shape to
his fears.  He paced up and down the hot, stuffy shed,
awaiting, dreading, he knew not what.  Through the hole
that served for a window he saw men passing to and fro
across the courtyard, but they were all swarthy, all alien;
there was no one from whom he could expect a friendly word.

Towards evening, as he looked through the hole, he
saw Diggle issue from the door of the palace and cross
towards the outer gate.

"Mr. Diggle!  Mr. Diggle!" he called.  "Please!  I am
locked up here."

Diggle looked round, smiled, and leisurely approached
the shed.

"Why have they shut me up here?" demanded Desmond.
"Captain Barker said I was to return at once.
Do get the door unlocked."

"You ask the impossible, my young friend," replied
Diggle through the hole.  "You are here by the orders of
Angria, and 'twould be treason in me to pick his
locks."

"But why? what right has he to lock me up? and you,
why did you let him?  You said you were my friend; you
promised--oh, you know what you promised."

"I promised?  Truly, I promised that, if you were
bent on accompanying me to these shores, I would use
my influence to procure you employment with one of my
friends among the native princes.  Well, I have kept my
word; 'firmavi fidem,' as the Latin hath it.  Angria is my
friend; I have used my influence with him; and you are
now in the service of one of the most potent of Indian
princes.  True, your service is but beginning.  It may be
arduous at first; it may be long 'ab ovo usque ad mala';
the egg may be hard, and the apples, perchance, somewhat
sour; but as you become inured to your duties, you will
learn resignation and patience, and----"

"Don't!" burst out Desmond, unable to endure the
smooth-flowing periods of the man now self-confessed a
villain.  "What does it mean?  Tell me plainly; am I
a slave?"

"'Servulus, non servus,' my dear boy.  What is the odds
whether you serve Dick Burke, a booby farmer, or Tulaji
Angria, a prince and a man of intelligence?  Yet there is
a difference, and I would give you a word of counsel.
Angria is an Oriental, and a despot; it were best to serve
him with all diligence, or----"

He finished the sentence with a meaning grimace.

"Mr. Diggle, you can't mean it," said Desmond.  "Don't
leave me here!  I implore you to release me.  What have
I ever done to you?  Don't leave me in this awful place."

Diggle smiled and began to move away.  At the sight
of his malicious smile the prisoner's despair was swept
away before a tempest of rage.

"You scoundrel!  You shameless scoundrel!"

The words, low spoken and vibrant with contempt,
reached Diggle when he was some distance from the shed.
He turned and sauntered back.

"Heia!  Contumeliosae voces!  'Tis pretty abuse.  My
young friend, I must withdraw my ears from such shocking
language.  But stay! if you have any message for Sir
Willoughby, your squire, whose affections you have so
diligently cultivated to the prejudice of his nearest and
dearest, it were well for you to give it.  'Tis your last
opportunity; for those who enter Angria's service enjoy
a useful but not a long career.  And before I return to
Gheria from a little journey I am about to take, you may
have joined the majority of those who have tempted fate in
this insalubrious clime.  In a moment swift death
cometh--you remember the phrase?"

Diggle leant against the wooden wall, watching with
malicious enjoyment the effect of his words.  Desmond
was very pale; all his strength seemed to have deserted
him.  Finding that his taunts provoked no reply, Diggle
went on:

"Time presses, my young friend.  You will be logged
a deserter from the *Good Intent*.  'Tis my fervent hope
you never fall into the hands of Captain Barker; as you
know, he is a terrible man when roused."

Waving his gloved hand he moved away.  Desmond
did not watch his departure.  Falling back from the
window, he threw himself upon the ground, and gave
way to a long fit of black despair.

How long he lay in this agony he knew not.  But he
was at last roused by the opening of the door.  It was
almost dark.  Rising to his feet, he saw a number of
men hustled into the shed.  Ranged along one of the walls,
they squatted on the floor, and for some minutes
afterwards Desmond heard the clank of irons and the harsh
grating of a key.  Then a big Maratha came to him, searched
him thoroughly, clapped iron bands upon his ankles, and
locked the chains to staples in the wall.  Soon the door
was shut, barred, and locked, and Desmond found himself
a prisoner with eight others.

For a little they spoke among themselves, in the low
tones of men utterly spent and dispirited.  Then all was
silent, and they slept.  But Desmond lay wide awake,
waiting for the morning.

The shed was terribly hot.  Air came only through the
one narrow opening, and before an hour was past the
atmosphere was foul, seeming the more horrible to Desmond
by contrast with the freshness of his life on the ocean.
Mosquitoes nipped him until he could scarcely endure
the intense irritation.  He would have given anything
for a little water; but though he heard a sentry pacing
up and down outside, he did not venture to call to
him, and could only writhe in heat and torture, longing
for the dawn, yet fearing it and what it might bring forth.

Worn and haggard after his sleepless night, Desmond
had scarcely spirit enough to look with curiosity on his
fellow-prisoners when the shed was faintly lit by the
morning sun.  But he saw that the eight men, all natives,
were lying on rude charpoys[#] along the wall, each man
chained to a staple like his own.  One of the men was
awake; and, catching Desmond's lustreless eyes fixed upon
him, he sat up and returned his gaze.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Mat beds.

.. vspace:: 2

"Your honour is an English gentleman?"

The words caused Desmond to start: they were so
unexpected in such a place.  The Indian spoke softly and
carefully, as if anxious not to awaken his companions.

"Yes," replied Desmond.  "Who are you?"

"My name, sir, is Surendra Nath Chuckerbutti.  I was
lately a clerk in the employ of a burra[#] sahib, English
factor, at Calcutta."

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Great.

.. vspace:: 2

"How did you get here?"

"That, sahib, is a moving tale.  While on a visit of
condolence to my respectable uncle and aunt at Chittagong,
I was kidnapped by Sanderband piratical dogs.  Presto!--at
that serious crisis a Dutch ship makes apparition and
rescues me; but my last state is more desperate than the
first.  The Dutch vessel will not stop to replace me on
mother-earth; she is for Bombay across the kala pani[#], as
we say.  I am not a swimmer; besides, what boots it?--we
are ten miles from land, to say nothing of sharks and
crocodiles and the lordly tiger.  So I perforce remain, to
the injury of my caste, which forbids navigation.  But see
the issue.  The Dutch ship is assaulted; grabs and
gallivats galore swarm upon the face of the waters; all is
confusion worse confounded; in a brace of shakes we are in
the toils.  It is now two years since this untoward
catastrophe.  With the crew I am conveyed hither and eat the
bitter crust of servitude.  Some of the Dutchmen are
consigned to other forts in possession of the Pirate, and three
serve here in his state barge."

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Black water--the sea.

.. vspace:: 2

Desmond glanced at the sleeping forms.

"No, sir, they are not here," said the Babu[#], catching
his look.  "They share another apartment with your
countrymen--chained?  Oh yes!  These, my bedfellows
of misfortune, are Indians, not of Bengal, like myself;
two are Biluchis hauled from a country ship; two are
Musalmans from Mysore; one a Gujarati; two Marathas.
We are a motley crew--a miscellany, no less."

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Equivalent to Mr.; generally applied to educated Bengalis.

.. vspace:: 2

"What do they do with you in the daytime?"

"I, sir, adjust accounts of the Pirate's dockyard; for
this I am qualified by prolonged driving of quill in
Calcutta, to expressed satisfaction of Honourable
Company and English merchants.  But my position, sir, is of
Damoclean anxiety.  I am horrified by conviction that one
small error of calculation will entail direst retribution.
Videlicet, sir, this week a fellow-captive is minus a finger
and thumb--and all for oversight of six annas.[#]  But I
hear the step of our jailer; I must bridle my tongue."

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] The anna is the sixteenth part of a rupee.

.. vspace:: 2

The Babu had spoken throughout in a low monotonous
tone that had not disturbed the slumbers of his
fellow-prisoners.  But they were all awakened by the noisy
opening of the door and the entrance of their jailer.  He went
to each in turn, and unlocked their fetters; then they filed
out in dumb submission, to be escorted by armed sentries
to the different sheds where they fed, each caste by itself.
When the eight had disappeared the jailer turned to
Desmond, and, taking him by the sleeve, led him across the
courtyard into the palace.  Here, in a little room, he was
given a meagre breakfast of rice; after which he was
taken to another room where he found Angria in company
with a big Maratha, who had in his hand a long bamboo
cane.  The Pirate was no longer in durbar[#] array, but was
clad in a long yellow robe with a lilac-coloured shawl.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Council, ceremonial.

.. vspace:: 2

Conscious that he made a very poor appearance in his
tatters, Desmond felt that the two men looked at him with
contempt.  A brief conversation passed between them;
then the Maratha salaamed to Angria and went from the
room, beckoning Desmond to follow him.  They went out
of the precincts of the palace, and through a part of the
town, until they arrived at the docks.  There the labourers,
slaves and free, were already at work.  Desmond at the
first glance noticed several Europeans among them, miserable
objects who scarcely lifted their heads to look at this
latest newcomer of their race.  His guide called up one
of the foremen shipwrights, and instructed him to place
the boy among a gang of the workmen.  Then he went
away.  Scarcely a minute had elapsed when Desmond
heard a cry, and looking round, saw the man brutally
belabouring with his rattan the bare shoulders of a
native.  He quivered; the incident seemed of ill augury.
In a few minutes Desmond found himself among a gang
of men who were working at a new gallivat in process of
construction for Angria's own use.  He received his orders
in dumb show from the foreman of the gang.  Miserable
as he was, he would not have been a boy if he had not
been interested in his novel surroundings; and no
intelligent boy could have failed to take an interest in the
construction of a gallivat.  It was a large rowboat of from
thirty to seventy tons, with two masts, the mizzen being
very slight.  The mainmast bore one huge sail, triangular
in form, its peak extending to a considerable height above
the mast.  The smaller gallivats were covered with a spar
deck made of split bamboos, their armament consisting
of pettararoes fixed on swivels in the gunwale.  But the
larger vessels had a fixed deck on which were mounted
six or eight cannon, from two- to four-pounders; and in
addition to their sail they had from forty to fifty oars, so
that, with a stout crew, they attained, even in a calm, a rate
of four or five miles an hour.

One of the first things Desmond learnt was that the
Indian mode of shipbuilding differed fundamentally from
the European.  The timbers were fitted in after the planks
had been put together; and the planks were put together,
not with flat edges, but rabbeted, the parts made to
correspond with the greatest exactness.  When a plank was
set up, its edge was smeared with red lead, and the edge
of the plank to come next was pressed down upon it, the
inequalities in its surface being thus shown by the marks
of the lead.  These being smoothed away, if necessary
several times, and the edges fitting exactly, they were
rubbed with da'ma, a sort of glue that in course of time
became as hard as iron.  The planks were then firmly
riveted with pegs, and by the time the work was finished
the seams were scarcely visible, the whole forming
apparently one entire piece of timber.

The process of building a gallivat was thus a very long
and tedious one; but the vessel when completed was so
strong that it could go to sea for many years before the
hull needed repair.

Desmond learnt all this only gradually; but from the
first day, making a virtue of necessity, he threw himself
into the work and became very useful, winning the good
opinion of the officers of the dockyard.  His feelings were
frequently wrung by the brutal punishments inflicted by
the overseer upon defaulters.  The man had absolute power
over the workers.  He could flog them, starve them, even
cut off their ears and noses.  One of his favourite devices
was to tie a quantity of oiled cotton round each of a man's
fingers and set light to these living torches.  Another, used
with a man whom he considered lazy, was the tank.  Between
the dockyard and the river, separated from the latter
only by a thin wall, was a square cavity about seven feet
deep covered with boarding, in the centre of which was a
circular hole.  In the wall was a small orifice through
which water could be let in from the river, while in the
opposite wall was the pipe and spout of a small
hand-pump.  The man whom the overseer regarded as an idler
was let down into the tank, the covering replaced, and
water allowed to enter from the river.  This was a potent
spur to the defaulter's activity, for if he did not work the
pump fast enough the water would gradually rise in the
tank, and he would drown.  Desmond learnt of one case
where the man, utterly worn out by his life of alternate
toil and punishment, refused to work the pump and stood
in silent indifference while the water mounted inch by inch
until it covered his head and ended his woes.

Desmond's diligence in the dockyard pleased the
overseer, whose name was Govinda, and he was by and by
employed on lighter tasks which took him sometimes into
the town.  Until the novelty wore off he felt a lively
interest in the scenes that met his eye--the bazaars, crowded
with dark-skinned natives, the men moustachioed, clad for
the most part in white garments that covered them from
the crown of the head to the knee, with a touch of red
sometimes in their turbans; the women with bare heads
and arms and feet, garbed in red and blue; the gosains,
mendicants with matted hair and unspeakable filth; the
women who fried chapatis[#] on griddles in the streets,
grinding their meal in handmills; the sword-grinders,
whetting the blades of the Maratha two-edged swords;
the barbers, whose shops had a never-ending succession
of customers; the Brahmans, almost naked and shaved
bald save for a small tuft at the back of the head; the
sellers of madi, a toddy extracted from the cocoanut palm;
the magicians in their shawls, with high stiff red cap,
painted all over with snakes; the humped bullocks that
were employed as beasts of burden, and when not in use
roamed the streets untended; occasionally the hasawa, the
sacred bull of Siva the destroyer, and the rath[#] carrying
the sacred rat of Ganessa.  But with familiarity such
scenes lost their charm; and as the months passed away
Desmond felt more and more the gnawing of care at his
heart, the constant sadness of a slave.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Small flat unleavened cakes.

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Car.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: bold

In which the Babu tells the story of King
Vikramâditya; and the discerning reader
may find more than appears on the surface.

.. vspace:: 2

Day followed day in dreary sameness.  Regularly every
evening Desmond was locked with his eight fellow-prisoners
in the shed, there to spend hours of weariness and
discomfort until morning brought release and the common task.
He had the same rations of rice and ragi,[#] with occasional
doles of more substantial fare.  He was carefully kept from
all communication with the other European prisoners, and
as the Bengali was the only man of his set who knew
English, his only opportunities of using his native tongue
occurred in the evening, before he slept.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] A cereal.

.. vspace:: 2

His fellow-prisoners spoke Urdu among themselves, and
Desmond found some alleviation of the monotony of his
life in learning the lingua franca of India under the Babu's
tuition.  He was encouraged to persevere in the study by
the fact that the Babu proved to be an excellent story-teller,
often beguiling the tedium of wakeful hours in the
shed by relating interminable narratives from the Hindu
mythology, and in particular the exploits of the legendary
hero Vikramâditya.  So accomplished was he in this very
Oriental art that it was not uncommon for one or other of
the sentries to listen to him through the opening in the
shed wall, and the head-warder who locked the prisoners'
fetters would himself sometimes squat down at the door
before leaving them at night, and remain an interested
auditor until the blast of a horn warned all in fort and
town that the hour of sleep had come.  It was some time
before Desmond was sufficiently familiar with the language
to pick up more than a few words of the stories here and
there, but in three months he found himself able to follow
the narrative with ease.

Meanwhile he was growing apace.  The constant work
in the open air, clad, save, during the rains, in nothing but
a thin dhoti[#], developed his physique and, even in that
hot climate, hardened his muscles.  The Babu one day
remarked with envy that he would soon be deemed worthy
of promotion to Angria's own gallivat, whose crew
consisted of picked men of all nationalities.  This was an
honour Desmond by no means coveted.  As a dockyard
workman, earning his food by the sweat of his brow, he
did not come in contact with Angria, and was indeed less
hardly used than he had been on board the *Good Intent*.
But to become a galley-slave seemed to him a different
thing, and the prospect of pulling an oar in the Pirate's
gallivat served to intensify his longing to be free.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] A cloth worn round the waist, passed between the legs
   and tucked in behind the back.

.. vspace:: 2

For, though he proved so willing and docile in the
dockyard, not a day passed but he pondered the idea of escape.
He seized every opportunity of learning the topography of
the fort and town, being aided in this unwittingly by
Govinda, who employed him more and more often, as he
became familiar with the language, in conveying messages
from one part of the settlement to another.  But he was
forced to confess to himself that the chances of escape
were very slight.  Gheria was many miles from the nearest
European settlement where he might find refuge.  To
escape by sea seemed impossible; if he fled through the
town and got clear of Angria's territory he would almost
certainly fall into the hands of the Peshwa's[#] people, and
although the Peshwa was nominally an ally of the Company,
his subjects--a lawless, turbulent, predatory race--were
not likely to be specially friendly to a solitary English lad.
A half-felt hope that he might be able to reach Suvarndrug,
lately captured by Commodore James, was dashed
by the news that that fort had been handed over by him to
the Marathas.  Moreover, such was the rivalry among the
various European nations competing for trade in India
that he was by no means sure of a friendly reception if
he should succeed in gaining a Portuguese or Dutch
settlement.  Dark stories were told of Portuguese
dealings with Englishmen, and the Dutch bore no good repute
for their treatment of prisoners.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] The prime minister and real ruler of the Maratha kingdom.

.. vspace:: 2

It was a matter of wonder to Desmond that none of
his companions ever hinted at escape.  He could not
imagine that any man could be a slave without feeling
a yearning for liberty; yet these men lived through the
unvarying round, eating, toiling, sleeping, without any
apparent mental revolt.  He could only surmise that all
manliness and spirit had been crushed out of them, and
from motives of prudence he forbore to speak of freedom.

But one evening, a sultry October evening when the
shed was like an oven, and, bathed in sweat, he felt
utterly limp and depressed, he asked the Babu in English
whether any one had ever escaped out of Angria's clutches.
Surendra Nath Chuckerbutti glanced anxiously around, as
if fearful that the others might understand.  But they lay
listless on their charpoys; they knew no English, and
there was nothing in Desmond's tone to quicken their
hopelessness.

"No, sahib," said the Bengali; "such escapade, if
successful, is beyond my ken.  There have been attempts:
*cui bono*?  Nobody is an anna the better.  Nay, the
last state of such misguided men is even worse; they
die suffering very ingenious torture."

Desmond had been amazed at the Babu's command of
English until he learnt that the man was an omnivorous
reader, and in his leisure at Calcutta had spent many an
hour in poring over such literature as his master's scanty
library afforded, the works of Mr. Samuel Johnson and
Mr. Henry Fielding in particular.

At this moment Desmond said no more, but in the
dead of night, when all were asleep, he leant over to the
Babu's charpoy and gently nudged him.

"Surendra Nath!" he whispered.

"Who calls?" returned the Babu.

"Listen.  Have you yourself ever thought of escaping?"

"Peace and quietness, sir.  He will hear."

"Who?"

"The Gujarati, sir--Fuzl Khan."

"But he doesn't understand.  And if he did, what then?"

"He was the single man, positively unique, who was
spared among six attempting escape last rains."

"They did make an attempt, then.  Why was he spared?"

"That, sir, deponent knoweth not.  The plot was
carried to Angria."

"How?"

"That also is dark as pitch.  But Fuzl Khan was
spared, that we know.  No man can trust his *vis-à-vis*.
No man is now so bold to discuss such matters."

"Is that why we are all chained up at night?"

"That, sir, is the case.  It is since then our limbs are
shackled."

Desmond thought over this piece of information.  He
had noticed that the Gujarati was left much alone by the
others.  They were outwardly civil enough, but they
rarely spoke to him of their own accord, and sometimes
they would break off in a conversation if he appeared
interested.  Desmond had put this down to the man's
temper; he was a sullen fellow, with a perpetually
hangdog look, occasionally breaking out in paroxysms of
violence which cost him many a scourging from the
overseer's merciless rattan.  But the attitude of his
fellow-prisoner was more easily explained if the Babu's hint was
well founded.  They feared him.  Yet, if he had indeed
betrayed his comrades, he had gained little by his
treachery.  He was no favourite with the officers of the
yard.  They kept him hard at work, and seemed to take
a delight in harrying him.  More than once, unjustly as
it appeared to Desmond, he had made acquaintance with
the punishment tank.  In his dealings with his fellows
he was morose and offensive.  A man of great physical
strength, he was a match for any two of his shed
companions save the Biluchis, who, though individually
weaker, retained something of the spirit of their race and
made common cause against him.  The rest he bullied,
and none more than the Bengali, whose weaklier
constitution spared him the hard manual work of the yard,
but whose timidity invited aggression.

Now that the subject which constantly occupied his
thoughts had been mooted, Desmond found himself more
eagerly striving to find a solution of the problem
presented by the idea of escape.  At all hours of the day,
and often when he lay in sleepless discomfort at night,
his active mind recurred to the one absorbing matter:
how to regain his freedom.  He had already canvassed
the possibilities of escape by land, only to dismiss the idea
as utterly impracticable; for even could he elude the
vigilance of the sentries he could not pass as a native,
and the perils besetting an Englishman were not confined
to Angria's territory.  But how stood the chances of
escape by sea?  Could he stow himself on board a grab
or gallivat, and try to swim ashore when near some
friendly port?  He put the suggestion from him as absurd.
Supposing he succeeded in stowing himself on an
outgoing vessel, how could he know when he was near a
friendly port without risking almost certain discovery?
Besides, except in such rare cases as the visit of an interloper
like the *Good Intent*, the Pirate did little trade.  His
vessels were employed mainly in dashing out on
insufficiently-convoyed merchantmen.

But the train of thought once started could not but be
followed out.  What if he could seize a grab or gallivat
in the harbour?  To navigate such a vessel required a
party, men having some knowledge of the sea.  How
stood his fellow-prisoners in that respect?  The Biluchis,
tall wiry men, were traders, and had several times, he
knew, made the voyage from the Persian Gulf to Surat.
It was on one of these journeys that they had fallen into
Angria's hands.  They might have picked up something
of the simpler details of navigation.  The Mysoreans,
being up-country men and agriculturists, were not likely
even to have seen the sea until they became slaves of
Angria.  The Marathas would be loth to embark; they
belonged to a warrior race which had for centuries lived
by raiding its neighbours; but being forbidden by their
religion to eat or drink at sea they would never make
good sailors.  The Babu was a native of Bengal, and
the Bengalis were physically the weakest of the Indian
peoples, constitutionally timid, and unenterprising in
matters demanding physical courage.  Desmond smiled
as he thought of how his friend Surendra Nath might
comport himself in a storm.

There remained the Gujarati, and of his nautical capacity
Desmond knew nothing.  But, mentioning the matter of
seamanship casually to the Babu one day, he learnt that
Fuzl Khan was a khalasi[#] from Cutch.  He had in him
a strain of negro blood, derived probably from some
Zanzibari ancestor brought to Cutch as a slave.  The
men of the coast of Cutch were the best sailors in India;
and Fuzl Khan himself had spent a considerable portion
of his life at sea.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Sailor.

.. vspace:: 2

Thus reflecting on the qualities of his fellow-captives.
Desmond had ruefully to acknowledge that they would
make a poor crew to navigate a grab or gallivat.  Yet
he could find no other, for Angria's system of mixing
the nationalities was cunningly devised to prevent any
concerted schemes.  If the attempt was to be made at
all, it must be made with the men whom he knew
intimately and with whom he had opportunities of discussing
a plan.

But he was at once faced by the question of the Gujarati's
trustworthiness.  If there was any truth in Surendra
Nath's suspicions, he would be quite ready to betray his
fellows; and if looks and manner were any criterion, the
suspicions were amply justified.  True, the man had
gained nothing by his former treachery, but that might
not prevent him from repeating it, in the hope that a second
betrayal would compel reward.

While Desmond was still pondering and puzzling, it
happened one unfortunate day that Govinda the overseer
was carried off within a few hours by what the Babu called
the cramp--the disease now known as cholera.  His place
was immediately filled.  But his successor was a very
different man.  He was not so capable as Govinda, and
endeavoured to make up for his incapacity by greater
brutality and violence.  The work of the yard fell off; he
tried to mend matters by harrying the men.  The whip
and rattan were in constant use, but the result was less
efficiency than ever, and he sought for the cause
everywhere but in himself.  The lives of the captives, bad
enough before, became a continual torment.  Desmond
fared no better than the rest.  He lost the trifling
privileges he had formerly enjoyed.  The new overseer seemed
to take a delight in bullying him.  Many a night, when he
returned to the shed, his back was raw where the lash had
cut a livid streak through his thin dhoti.  His companions
suffered in common with him, Fuzl Khan more than any.
For days at a time the man was incapacitated from work
by the treatment meted out to him.  Desmond felt that if
the Gujarati had indeed purchased his life by betraying his
comrades, he had made a dear bargain.

One night, when his eight companions were all asleep,
and nothing could be heard but the regular calls of the
sentries, the beating of tom-toms in the town, and the
howls of jackals prowling on the outskirts, Desmond
gently woke the Babu.

"My friend, listen," he whispered, "I have something
to say to you."

Surendra Nath turned over on his charpoy.

"Speak soft, I pray," he said.

"My head is on fire," continued Desmond.  "I cannot
sleep.  I have been thinking.  What is life worth to us?
Can anything be worse than our present lot?  Do you ever
think of escape?"

"What good, sir?  I have said so before.  We are
fettered; what can we do?  There is but one thing that
all men in our plight desire; that is death."

"Nonsense!  I do not desire death.  This life is hateful,
but while we live there is something to hope for, and
I for one am not content to endure life-long misery.  I
mean to escape."

"It is easy to say, but the doing--that is impossible."

"How can we tell that unless we try?  The men who
tried to escape did not think it impossible.  They might
have succeeded--who can say?--if Fuzl Khan had not
betrayed them."

"And he is still with us.  He would betray us again."

"I am not sure of that.  See what he has suffered!
To-day his whole body must have writhed with pain.  But
for the majum[#] he has smoked and the plentiful ghi[#] we
rubbed him with, he would be moaning now.  I think he
will be with us if we can only find out a way.  You have
been here longer than I; cannot you help me to form a
plan?"

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] A preparation of hemp.

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Clarified butter.

.. vspace:: 2

"No, sahib; my brain is like running water.  Besides,
I am afraid.  If we could get rid of our fetters and escape,
we might have to fight.  I cannot fight; I am not a man
of war; I am commercial."

"But you will help me if I can think of a plan?"

"I cannot persuade myself to promise, sahib.  It is
impossible.  Death is the only deliverer."

Desmond was impatient of the man's lack of spirit.  But
he suffered no sign of his feeling to escape him.  He had
grown to have a liking for the Babu.

"Well, I shall not give up the idea," he said.  "Perhaps
I shall speak of it to you again."

Two nights later, in the dark and silent hours, Desmond
reopened the matter.  This time the conversation lasted
much longer, and in the course of it the Babu became so
much interested and indeed excited that he forgot his usual
caution, and spoke in a high-pitched tone that woke the
Biluchi on the other side.  The man hurled abuse at the
disturber of his repose, and Surendra Nath regained his
caution and relapsed into his usual soft murmur.
Desmond and he were still talking when the light of dawn
stole into the shed; but though neither had slept, they
went about their work during the day with unusual
briskness and lightness of heart.

That evening, after the prisoners had eaten their supper
in their respective eating-rooms, they squatted against the
outer wall of the shed for a brief rest before being locked
up for the night.  The Babu had promised to tell a story.
The approaches to the yard were all guarded by the usual
sentries, and in the distance could be heard the clanking
of the warder's keys as he went from shed to shed
performing his nightly office.

"The story! the story!" said one of the Marathas
impatiently.  "Why dost thou tarry, Babu?"

"I have eaten, Gousla, and when the belly is full the
brain is sluggish.  But the balance is adjusting itself, and
in a little I will begin."

Through the further gate came the warder.  Desmond
and his companions were the last with whom he had to
deal.  His keys jangling, he advanced slowly between two
Marathas armed with matchlocks and two-edged swords.

The Babu had his back against the shed, the others
were grouped about him, and at his left there was a vacant
space.  It was growing dusk.

"Hail, worthy jailer!" said Surendra Nath pleasantly.
"I was about to tell the marvellous story of King Bhoya's
golden throne.  But I will even now check the stream at
the source.  Your time is precious.  My comrades must
wait until we get inside."

"Not so, Babu," said the warder gruffly.  "Tell thy
tale.  Barik Allah![#] you nine are the last of my round.  I
will myself wait and hear, for thou hast a ready tongue,
and the learning of a pundit,[#] Babu, and thy stories, after
the day's work, are they not as honey poured on rice?"

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Praise to Allah!

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Learned man, teacher.

.. vspace:: 2

"You honour me beyond my deserts.  If you will deign
to be seated!"

The warder marched to the vacant spot at the Babu's
side, and squatted down, crossing his legs, his heavy
bunch of keys lying on the skirt of his dhoti.  The armed
Marathas stood at a little distance, leaning on their
matchlocks, within hearing of the Babu, and at spots where
they could see any one approaching from either end of the
yard.  It would not do for the warder to be found thus by
the officer of the watch.

"It happened during the reign of the illustrious King
Bhoya," began the Babu; then he caught his breath,
looking strangely nervous.  "It is the heat, good jailer," he
said hurriedly; "--of the illustrious King Bhoya, I said,
that a poor ryot[#] named Yajnadatta, digging one day in
his field, found there buried the divine throne of the
incomparable King Vikramâditya.  When his eyes were
somewhat recovered from the dazzling vision, and he could
gaze unblinking at the wondrous throne, he beheld that
it was resplendent with thirty-two graven images, and
adorned with a multitude of jewels: rubies and diamonds,
pearls and jasper, crystal and coral and sapphires.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Peasant.

.. vspace:: 2

"Now the news of this wondrous discovery coming to
the ears of King Bhoya, he incontinently caused the throne
to be conveyed to his palace, and had it set in the midst
of his hall of counsel that rose on columns of gold and
silver, of coral and crystal.  Then the desire came upon
him to sit on this throne, and calling his wise men, he
bade them choose a moment of good augury, and gave
order to his servitors to make all things ready for his
coronation.  Whereupon his people brought curded milk,
sandalwood, flowers, saffron, umbrellas, parasols, divers
tails--tails of oxen, tails of peacocks; arrows, weapons of
war, mirrors and other objects proper to be held by wedded
women--all things, indeed, meet for a solemn festival, with
a well-striped tiger-skin to represent the seven continents
of the earth; nothing was wanting of all the matters
prescribed in the Shastras[#] for the solemn crowning of kings;
and having thus fulfilled their duty, the servitors humbly
acquainted his majesty therewith.  Then, when the Guru,[#]
the Purohita,[#] the Brahmans, the wise men, the councillors,
the officers, the soldiers, the chief captain, had entered, the
august King Bhoya drew near to the throne, to the end
that he might be anointed.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Holy Books.

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Religious teacher.

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Hereditary priest of the royal house.

.. vspace:: 2

"But lo! the first of the carven figures that surrounded
the throne thus spake and said: 'Hearken, O king.  That
prince who is endowed with sovereign qualities; who
shines before all others in wealth, in liberality, in mercy;
who excels in heroism and in goodness; who is drawn
by his nature to deeds of piety; who is full of might and
majesty; that prince alone is worthy to sit upon this
throne--no other, no meaner sovereign, is worthy.  Hearken, O
king, to the story of the throne.'"

"Go on, Babu," said the jailer, as the narrator paused;
"what said the graven image?"

"'There once lived,'" continued the Babu, "'in the city
of Avanti, a king, Bartrihari by name.  Having come to
recognize the vanity of earthly things, this king one day
left his throne and went as a jogi[#] afar into the desert.
His kingdom, being then without a head--for he had no
sons, and his younger brother, the illustrious
Vikramâditya, was travelling in far lands--fell into sore
disorder, so that thieves and evil-doers increased from day
to day.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Ascetic.

.. vspace:: 2

"'The wise men in their trouble sought diligently for a
child having the signs of royalty, and in due time, having
found one, Xatrya by name, they gave the kingdom into
his charge.  But in that land there dwelt a mighty jin,[#]
Vetâla Agni,[#] who, when he heard of what the wise men
had done, came forth on the night of the same day
the young king had been enthroned and slew him and
departed.  And it befell that each time the councillors
found a new king, lo, the Vetâla Agni came forth and
slew him.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

  [#] Evil spirit.

.. class:: noindent small

  [#] Spirit of fire.

.. vspace:: 2

"'Now upon a certain day, when the wise men, in sore
trouble of heart, were met in council, there appeared
among them the illustrious Vikramâditya, newly returned
from long travel, who, when he had heard what was
toward, said: "O ye wise men and faithful, make me
king without ado."  And the wise men, seeing that
Vikramâditya was worthy of that dignity, thus spake: "From
this day, O excellency, thou art king of the realm of
Avanti."  Having in this fashion become king of Avanti,
Vikramâditya busied himself all that day with the affairs
of his kingdom, tasting the sweets of power; and at the
fall of night he prepared, against the visit of the Vetâla
Agni, great store of heady liquors, all kinds of meat,
fish, bread, confections, rice boiled with milk and honey,
sauces, curded milk, butter refined, sandalwood, bouquets
and garlands, divers sorts of sweet-scented things; and all
these he kept in his palace, and himself remained therein,
reclining in full wakefulness upon his fairest bed.

"'Then into this palace came the Vetâla Agni, sword in
hand, and went about to slay the august Vikramâditya.
But the king said: "Hearken, O Vetâla Agni; seeing
that thy excellency has come for to cause me to perish,
it is not doubtful that thou wilt succeed in thy purpose;
albeit, all these viands thou dost here behold have been
brought together for thy behoof; eat, then, whatsoever
thou dost find worthy; afterwards thou shalt work thy
will."  And the Vetâla Agni, having heard these words,
filled himself with this great store of food, and,
marvellously content with the king, said unto him: "Truly I am
content, and well-disposed towards thee, and I give thee
the realm of Avanti; sit thou in the highest place and
taste its joys; but take heed of one thing: every day
shalt thou prepare for me a repast like unto this."  With
these words, the Vetâla Agni departed from that spot and
betook him unto his own place.

"'Then for a long space did Vikramâditya diligently
fulfil that command; but by and by growing aweary of
feeding the Vetâla Agni, he sought counsel of the jogi
Trilokanatha, who had his dwelling on the mount of
Kanahakrita.  The jogi, perceiving the manifold merits of the
incomparable Vikramâditya, was moved with compassion
towards him, and when he had long meditated and recited
sundry mantras,[#] he thus spake and said: "Hearken, O
king.  From the sacred tank of Shakravatar spring
alleys four times seven, as it were branches from one
trunk, to wit, seven to the north, seven to the east, seven
to the west, and seven to the south.  Of the seven alleys
springing to the north do thou choose the seventh, and in
the seventh alley the seventh tree from the sacred tank,
and on the seventh branch of the seventh tree thou shalt
find the nest of a bulbul.  Within that nest thou shalt
discover a golden key.'"

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Hymns and prayers.

.. vspace:: 2

The Babu was now speaking very slowly, and an
observer watching Desmond would have perceived that his
eyes were fixed with a strange look of mingled eagerness
and anxiety upon the story-teller.  But no one observed
this; every man in the group was intent upon the story,
hanging upon the lips of the eloquent Babu.

"'Having obtained the golden key,'" continued the
narrator, "'thou shalt return forthwith to thy palace,
and the same night, when the Vetâla Agni has eaten and
drunk his fill, thou shalt in his presence lay the key upon the
palm of thy left hand, thus----'" (here the Babu quietly
took up a key hanging from the bunch attached to the
warder's girdle, and laid it upon his left palm).  "'Then shalt
thou say to the Vetâla: "O illustrious Vetâla, tell me, I
pray thee, what doth this golden key unlock?"  Then if
the aspect of the Vetâla be fierce, fear not, for he must
needs reply: such is the virtue of the key; and by his
words thou shalt direct thy course.  Verily it is for such a
trial that the gods have endowed thee with wisdom beyond
the common lot of men.

"'Vikramâditya performed in all points the jogi's
bidding; and having in the presence of the Vetâla laid
the golden key upon the palm of his hand, a voice within
bade him ask the question: "O Vetâla, what art
thou apt to do?  What knowest thou?"  And the Vetâla
answered: "All that I have in my mind, that I am apt
to perform.  I know all things."  And the king said:
"Speak, then; what is the number of my years?"  And
the Vetâla answered: "The years of thy life are a
hundred."  Then said the king: "I am troubled because in
the tale of my years there are two gaps; grant me, then,
one year in excess of a hundred, or from the
hundred take one."  And the Vetâla answered: "O king,
thou art in the highest degree good, liberal, merciful,
just, lord of thyself, and honoured of gods and
Brahmans; the measure of the days that are ordained to fill
thy life is full; to add anything thereto, to take anything
therefrom, are alike impossible."  Having heard these
words the king was satisfied, and the Vetâla departed
unto his own place.

"'Upon the night following the king prepared no feast
against the coming of the Vetâla, but girt himself for
fight.  The Vetâla came, and seeing nothing in readiness
for the repast, but, on the contrary, all things requisite
to a combat, he waxed wroth and said: "O wicked
and perverse king, why hast thou made ready nothing
for my pleasure this night?"  And the king answered:
"Since thou canst neither add to my length of years,
nor take anything therefrom, why should I make ready
a repast for thee continually and without profit?"  The
Vetâla made answer: "Ho!--'tis thus that thou speakest!
Now, truly, come fight with me; this night will I devour
thee."

"'At these words the king rose up in wrath to smite
the Vetâla, and held him in swift and dexterous combat
for a brief space.  And the Vetâla, having thus made
proof of the might and heroism of the king, and being
satisfied, spake and said: "O king, thou art mighty
indeed; I am content with thy valour; now, then, ask
me what thou wilt."  And the king answered: "Seeing
that thou art well-disposed towards me, grant me this
grace, that when I shall call thee, thou wilt in that same
instant stand at my side."  And the Vetâla, having granted
this grace to the king, departed unto his own place.'"

The Babu waved his hands as a sign that the story
was ended.  He was damp with perspiration, and in his
glance at Desmond there was a kind of furtive appeal
for approval.

"Thou speakest well, Babu," said the warder.  "But
what befell King Bhoya when the graven image had thus
ended his saying?"

"That, good jailer, is another story, and if you please
to hear it another night I will do my poor best to satisfy
you."

"Well, the hour is late."  The warder rose to his feet
and resumed his official gruffness.  "Come, rise; it is
time I locked your fetters; and, in good sooth, mine is no
golden key."

He chuckled as he watched the prisoners file one by one
into the shed.  Following them, he quickly locked each in
turn to his staple in the wall and went out, bolting and
double locking the door behind him.

"You did well, my friend," whispered Desmond in
English to the Babu.

"My heart flutters like the wings of a bulbul," answered
the Babu; "but I am content, sahib."

"But say, Surendra Nath," remarked one of the Maratha
captives, "last time you told us that story you said nothing
of the golden key."

"Ah!" replied the Babu, "you are thinking of the story
told by the second graven image in King Vikramâditya's
throne.  I will tell you that to-morrow."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER THE TWELFTH`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER THE TWELFTH

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: bold

In which our hero is offered freedom at the
price of honour; and Mr. Diggle finds
that he has no monopoly of quotations.

.. vspace:: 2

Next morning, when Desmond left the shed with his
fellow-prisoners, he took with him, secreted in a fold of his
dhoti, a small piece of clay.  It had been given him
overnight by the Babu.  An hour or two later, happening to be
for a moment alone in the tool-shop, he took out the clay
and examined it carefully.  It was a moment for which he
had waited and longed with feverish impatience.  The clay
was a thin strip, oval in shape, and slightly curved.  In the
middle of it was the impression, faint but clear, of a key.  A
footstep approaching, he concealed the clay again in his
garment, and, when a workman entered, was busily plying
a chisel upon a deal plank.

Before he left the tool-shop, he secreted with the clay a
scrap of steel and a small file.  That day, and for several
days after, whenever chance gave him a minute or two
apart from his fellow-workmen, he employed the precious
moments in diligently filing the steel to the pattern on the
clay.  It was slow work: all too tedious for his eager
thought.  But he worked at his secret task with unfailing
patience, and at the week's end had filed the steel to the
likeness of the wards of a key.

That night, when his "co-mates in exile" were asleep,
he gently inserted the steel in the lock of his ankle-band
He tried to turn it.  It stuck fast; the wards did not fit.
He was not surprised.  Before he made the experiment he
had felt that it would fail; the key was indeed a clumsy,
ill-shapen instrument.  But next day he began to work on
another piece of steel, and on this he spent every spare
minute he could snatch.  This time he found himself able
to work faster.  Night and morning he looked searchingly
at the key on the warder's bunch, and afterwards tried to
cut the steel to the pattern that was now, as it were, stamped
upon his brain.

He wished he could test his second model in the morning
light before the warder came, and correct it then.  But
to do so would involve discovery by his fellow-captives;
the time to take them into his confidence was not yet.  He
had perforce to wait till dead of night before he could tell
whether the changes, more and more delicate and minute,
made upon his key during the day were effective.  And the
Babu was fretful; having done his part, admirably, as
Desmond told him, in working the key into his story, he
seemed to expect that the rest would be easy, and did not
make account of the long labour of the file.

At length a night came when, inserting the key in the
lock, Desmond felt it turn easily.  Success at last!  As
he heard the click, he felt an extraordinary sense of
elation.  Quietly unclasping the fetter, he removed it from
his ankle and stood free.  If it could be called free--to be
shut up in a locked and barred shed in the heart of one of
the strongest fortresses in Hindustan!  But at least his
limbs were at liberty.  What a world of difference there
was between that and his former state!

Should he inform the Babu?  He felt tempted to do so,
for it was to Surendra Nath's ingenuity in interpolating
the incident of the key into a well-known story that he
owed the clay pattern of the warder's key.  But Surendra
Nath was excitable; he was quite capable of uttering a
yell of delight that would waken the other men and force
a premature disclosure.  Desmond decided to wait for a
quiet moment next day before telling the Babu of his
success.  So he replaced his ankle-band, locked the catch,
and lay down to the soundest and most refreshing sleep he
had enjoyed for many a night.

He had only just reached the workshop next morning
when a peon came with a message that Angria Rao[#]
required his instant attendance at the palace.  He began to
quake in spite of himself.  Could the prince have
discovered already that the lock of his fetters had been
tampered with?  Desmond could scarcely believe it.  He had
made his first test in complete darkness; nothing had
broken the silence save the one momentary click; and the
warder, when he unloosed him, had not examined the lock.
What if he were searched and the precious key were found
upon him?  It was carefully hidden in a fold of his dhoti.
There was no opportunity of finding another hiding-place
for it; he must go as he was and trust that suspicion had
not been aroused.  But it was with a galloping pulse that
he followed the peon out of the dockyard, within the walls
of the fort, and into the hall where he had had his first
interview with the Pirate.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] A chief or prince.

.. vspace:: 2

His uneasiness was hardly allayed when he saw that
Angria was in company with Diggle.  Both were squatting
on the carpeted dais; no other person was in the room.
Having ushered him in, the peon withdrew, and Desmond
was alone with the two men he had most cause to fear.
Diggle was smiling, Angria's eyes were gleaming, his
mobile lips working as with impatience, if not anxiety.

The Pirate spoke quickly, imperiously.

"You have learnt our tongue, Firangi[#] boy?" he said.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Originally applied by the natives to the Portuguese,
   then to any European.

.. vspace:: 2

"I have done my best, huzur," replied Desmond in Urdu.

"That is well.  Now hearken to what I say.  You have
pleased me; my jamadar[#] speaks well of you; but you
are my slave, and, if I will it, you will always be my slave.
You would earn your freedom?"

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Lieutenant.

.. vspace:: 2

"I am in your august hands, huzur," said Desmond
diplomatically.

"You may earn your freedom in one way," continued
Angria in the same rapid impatient tone.  "My scouts
report that an English fleet has passed up the coast
towards Bombay.  My spies tell me that in Bombay a large
force is collected under the command of that soor ka batcha[#]
Clive.  But I cannot learn the purpose of this armament.
The dogs may think, having taken my fortress of Suvarndrug,
to come and attack me here.  Or they may intend
to proceed against the French at Hyderabad.  It is not
convenient for me to remain in this uncertainty.  You will
go to Bombay and learn these things of which I am in
ignorance and come again and tell me.  I will then set
you free."

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Son of a pig.

.. vspace:: 2

"I cannot do it, huzur."

Desmond's reply came without a moment's hesitation.
To act as a spy upon his own countrymen--how could
Angria imagine that an English boy would ever consent
to win his freedom on such terms?  His simple words
roused the Maratha to fury.  He sprang to his feet and
angrily addressed Diggle, who had also risen, and stood
at his side still smiling.  Diggle replied to his vehement
words in a tone too low for Desmond to catch what he
said.  Angria turned to the boy again.

"I will not only set you free; I will give you half a
lakh of rupees; you shall have a place at my court, or,
if you please, I will recommend you to another prince, in
whose service you may rise to wealth and honour.  If you
refuse, I will kill you; no, I will not kill you, for death
is sweet to a slave; I will inflict on you the tortures I
reserve for those who provoke my anger: you shall lose
your ears, your nose, and----"

Diggle again interposed.

"Pardon me, bhai[#]," Desmond heard him say, "that is
hardly the way to deal with a boy of my nation.  If you
will deign to leave him to me, I think that in a little I
shall find means to overcome his hesitation."

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Brother.

.. vspace:: 2

"But even then, how can I trust the boy?  He may
give his word to escape me; then betray me to his
countrymen.  I have no faith in the Firangi."

"Believe me, if he gives his word he will keep it.  That
is the way with us."

"It is not your way."

"I am no longer of them," said Diggle with
consummate aplomb.  "Dismiss him now; I will do my best
with him."

"Then you must hasten.  I give you three days: if
within that time he has not consented, I will do to him
all that I have said, and more also."

"I do not require three days to make up my mind,"
said Desmond quietly.  "I cannot do what----"

"Hush, you young fool!" cried Diggle angrily in
English.  Turning to the Pirate he added: "The boy is as
stiff-necked as a pig; but even a pig can be led if you ring
his snout.  I beg you leave him to me."

"Take him away!" exclaimed Angria, clapping his
hands.  Two attendants came in answer to his summons,
and Desmond was led off and escorted by them to his
workshop.

Angry and disgusted as he was with both the Maratha
and Diggle, he was still more anxious at this unexpected
turn in his affairs.  He had but three days!  If he had not
escaped before the fourth day dawned, his fate would be
the most terrible that could befall a living creature.  The
tender mercies of the wicked are cruel!  He had seen,
among the prisoners, some of the victims of Angria's
cruelty; they had suffered tortures too terrible to be
named, and dragged out a life of unutterable degradation
and misery, longing for death as a blissful end.  With
his quick imagination he already felt the hands of the
torturers upon him; and for all the self-control which
his life in Gheria had induced, he was for some moments
so wholly possessed by terror that he could scarcely endure
the consciousness of existence.

But when the first tremors were past, and he began to
go about his usual tasks, and was able to think calmly,
not for an instant did he waver in his resolve.  Betray his
countrymen!  It was not to be thought of.  Give his word
to Angria and then forswear himself!  Ah!  Even Diggle
knew that he would not do that.  Freedom, wealth, a
high place in some prince's court!  He would buy none of
them at the price of his honour.  Diggle was false,
unspeakably base; let him do Angria's work if he would;
Desmond Burke would never stoop to it.

He scarcely argued the matter explicitly with himself:
it was settled in Angria's presence by his instinctive
repulsion.  But it was not in a boy like Desmond, young,
strong, high-spirited, tamely to fold his hands before
adverse fate.  He had three days: it would go hard with
him if he did not make good use of them.  He felt a glow
of thankfulness that the first step, and that a difficult one,
had been taken, providentially as it seemed, the very night
before this crisis in his fate.  His future plan had already
outlined itself; it was necessary first to gain over his
companions in captivity; that done, he hoped within the short
period allowed him to break prison and turn his back for
ever on this place of horror.

It seemed to his eager impatience that that day would
never end.  It was November, and the beginning of the
cold season, and the work of the dockyard, being urgent,
was carried on all day without the usual break during the
hot middle hours, so that he found no opportunity of
consulting his fellows.  Further, the foremen of the yard
were specially active.  The Pirate had been for some time
fearful lest the capture of Suvarndrug should prove to be
the prelude to an assault upon his stronger fort and
headquarters at Gheria, and to meet the danger he had had nine
new vessels laid down.  Three of them had been finished,
but the work had been much interrupted by the rains, and
the delay in the completion of the remaining six had
irritated him.  He had visited his displeasure upon the
foremen.  After his interview with Desmond he summoned
them to his presence and threatened them with such dire
punishment if the work was not more rapidly pushed or
that they had used the lash more furiously and with even less
discrimination than ever.  Consequently when Desmond
met his companions in the shed at night he found them all
in desperate indignation and rage.  He had seen nothing
more of Diggle; he must strike while the iron was hot.

When they were locked in, and all was quiet outside,
the prisoners gave vent, each in his own way, to their
feelings.  For a time Desmond listened, taking no part in
their lamentation and cursing.  But when the tide of
impotent fury ebbed, and there was a lull, he said quietly:

"Are my brothers dogs that, suffering these things, they
merely whine?"

The quiet level tones, so strangely contrasting with the
tones of fierceness and hate that were still ringing in the
ears of the unhappy prisoners, had an extraordinary effect.
There was dead silence in the shed: it seemed that every
man was afraid to speak.  Then one of the Marathas said
in a whisper:

"What do you mean, sahib?"

"What do I mean?  Surely it must be clear to any
man.  Have we not sat long enough on the carpet of
patience?"

Again the silence remained for a space unbroken.

"You, Gulam Mahomed," continued Desmond, addressing
one of the Biluchis whom he considered the
boldest--"have you never thought of escape?"

"Allah knows!" said the man in an undertone.  "But
he knows that I remember what happened a year ago.
Fuzl Khan can tell the sahib something about that."

A fierce cry broke from the Gujarati, who had been
moaning upon his charpoy in anguish from the lashings he
had undergone that day.  Desmond heard him spring up;
but if he had meant to attack the Biluchi, the clashing of
his fetters reminded him of his helplessness.  He cursed
the man, demanding what he meant.

"Nothing," returned Gulam Mahomed.  "But you
were the only man, Allah knows, who escaped the executioner."

"Pig, and son of a pig!" cried Fuzl Khan, "I knew
nothing of the plot.  If any man says I did he lies.  They
did it without me; some evil jin must have heard their
whisperings.  They failed.  They were swine of Canarese."

"Do not let us quarrel," said Desmond.  "We are all
brothers in misfortune; we ought to be as close-knit as
the strands of a rope.  Here is our brother Fuzl Khan,
the only man of his gang who did not try to escape, and
see how he is treated!  Could he be worse misused?
Would not death be a boon?  Is it not so, Fuzl Khan?"

The Gujarati assented with a passionate cry.

"As for the rest of us, it is only a matter of time.  I am
the youngest of you, and not the hardest worked, yet I
feel that the strain of our toil is wearing me out.  What
must it be with you?  You are dying slowly.  If we make
an attempt to escape and fail we shall die quickly, that is
all the difference.  What is to be is written, is it not so,
Shaik Abdullah?"

"Even so, sahib," replied the second Biluchi, "it is
written.  Who can escape his fate?"

"And what do you say, Surendra Nath?"

"The key, sahib," whispered the Babu in English;
"what of the key?"

"Speak in Urdu, Babu," said Desmond quickly.  "Don't
agree at once."

Surendra Nath was quick-witted; he perceived that
Desmond did not wish the others to suspect that there had
been any confidences between them.

"I am a coward, the sahib knows," he said in Urdu.
"I could not give blows; I should die.  It was told us
to-day that the English are about to attack this fort.  They
will set us free; we need run no risks."

"Wah!" exclaimed one of the Mysoreans.  "If the
Firangi get into the fort we shall all be murdered."

"That is truth," said a Maratha.  "The Rao would
have our throats cut at once."

The Babu groaned.

"You see, Surendra Nath, it is useless to wait in the
hope of help from my countrymen," said Desmond.  "If
there is fighting to be done, we can do all that is needed:
is it not so, my brothers?  As for you, Babu, if you would
sooner die without--well, there is nothing to prevent you."

"If the sahib does not wish me to fight, it is well.  But
has the sahib a plan?"

"Yes, I have a plan."

He paused; there was a sound of hard breathing.

"Tell it us," said the Gujarati eagerly.

"You are one of us, Fuzl Khan?"

"The plan! the plan!  Is not my back mangled?  Have
I not endured the tank?  Is not freedom sweet to me as
to another?  The plan, sahib!  I swear, I Fuzl Khan, to
be true to you and all; only tell me the plan."

"You shall have the plan in good time.  First, I have a
thing to say.  When a battle is to be fought, no soldier
fights only for himself, doing that which seems good to
him alone.  He looks to his captain for orders.  Otherwise
mistakes would be made, and all effort would be
wasted.  We must have a captain: who is he to be?"

"Yourself, sahib," said the Gujarati at once.  "You
have spoken; you have the plan; we take you as leader."

"You hear what Fuzl Khan says.  Do you all agree?"

The others assented eagerly.  Then Desmond told his
wondering hearers the secret of the key, and during several
hours of that quiet night he discussed with them in whispers
the details of the scheme which he had worked out.  At
intervals the sentry passed and flashed his light through
the opening in the wall; but at these moments every man
was lying motionless upon his charpoy, and not a sound
was audible save a snore.

Next day when Desmond, having finished his mid-day
meal of rice and mangoes, had returned to his workshop,
Diggle sauntered in.

"Ah, my young friend," he said in his quiet voice and
with his usual smile, "doubtless you have expected a
visit from me.  Night brings counsel.  I did not visit
you yesterday, thinking that after sleeping over the
amiable and generous proposition made to you by my
friend Angria you would view it in another light.  I trust
that during the nocturnal hours you have come to perceive
the advantages of choosing the discreet part.  Let us
reason together."

There were several natives with them in the workshop,
but none of them understood English, and the two
Englishmen could talk at ease.

"Reason!" said Desmond in reply to Diggle's last
sentence.  "If you are going to talk of what your pirate
friend spoke of yesterday, it is mere waste of time.  I
shall never agree."

"Words, my young friend, mere words!  You will
be one of us yet.  You will never have such a chance
again.  Why, in a few years you will be able to return
to England, if you will, a rich man, a very nawab.[#]  My
friend Angria has his faults; 'nemo est sine culpa': but
he is at least generous.  An instance!  The man who
took the chief part in the capture of the Dutchman
two years ago--what is he now?  A naib,[#] a man of
wealth, of high repute at the Nizam's court.  There
is no reason why you should not follow so worthy an
example; cut out an Indiaman or two, and Desmond
Burke may, if he will, convey a shipload of precious
things to the shores of Albion, and enjoy his leisured
dignity on a landed estate of his own.  He shall drive
a coach while his oaf of a brother perspires behind a
plough."

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Governor.

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Deputy-governor.

.. vspace:: 2

Desmond was silent.  Diggle watched him keenly, and
after a slight pause continued:

"This is no great thing that is asked of you.  You
sail on one of Angria's grabs; you are set upon the shore;
you enter Bombay with a likely story of escape from
the fortress of the Pirate; you are a hero, the boon fellow
of the men, the pet of the ladies--for there are ladies in
Bombay, 'forma praestante puellae.'  In a week you
know everything, all the purposes that Angria's spies
have failed to discover.  One day you disappear; the
ladies wail and tear their hair, a tiger has eaten you! in
a week you will be forgotten.  But you are back in Angria's
fortress, no longer a slave, down-trodden and despised;
but a free man, a rich man, a potentate to be.  Is it not
worth thinking of, my young friend, especially when you
remember the other side of the picture?  It is a dark
side; an unpleasant side; even, let me confess, horrible:
I prefer to keep it to the wall."

He waved his gloved hand deprecatingly, watching
Desmond with the same intentness.  The boy was dumb;
he might also have been deaf.  Diggle drew from his
fob an elaborately chased snuff-box and took a pinch of
fine rappee, Desmond mechanically noticing that the box
bore ornamentation of Dutch design.

"If I were not your friend," continued Diggle, "I
might say that your attitude is one of sheer obstinacy.
Why not trust us?  You see we trust you.  I stand
pledged for you with Angria; but I flatter myself I know
a man when I see one: 'si fractus illabitur orbis'--you
have already shown your mettle.  Of course I understand
your scruples; I was young myself once; I know
the generous impulses that rule the hearts of youth.  But
this is a matter that must be decided, not by feeling, but
by hard fact and cold reason.  Who benefits by your
scruples?  A set of hard-living money-grubbers in
Bombay who fatten on the oppression of the ryot, who tithe
mint and anice and cummin, who hoard up treasure which
they will take back with their jaundiced livers to England,
there to become pests to society with their splenetic and
domineering tempers.  What's the Company to you,
or you to the Company?  Why, Governor Pitt was an
interloper; and your own father: yes, he was an
interloper, and an interloper of the best."

"But not a pirate," said Desmond hotly, his scornful
silence yielding at last.

"True, true," said Diggle suavely; "but in the Indies,
you see, we don't draw fine distinctions.  We are all
buccaneers in a sense; some with the sword, others the
ledger.  Throw in your lot frankly with me; I will stand
your friend----"

"You are wasting your breath and your eloquence,"
interrupted Desmond firmly, "and even if I were tempted
to agree, as I never could be, I should remember who
is talking to me."  Then he added with a whimsical
smile, "Come, Mr. Diggle, you are fond of quotations;
I am not; but there's one I remember--'I fear the Greeks,
even----'"

"You young hound!" cried Diggle, his sallow face
becoming purple.  His anger, it seemed to Desmond
afterwards reflecting on it, was out of proportion to the
cause of offence.  "You talk of my eloquence.  By
Heaven, when I see you again I will use it otherwise.  You
shall hear something of how Angria wreaks his vengeance;
you shall have a foretaste of the sweets in store for an
obstinate recalcitrant pigheaded fool!"

He strode away, leaving Desmond a prey to the gloomiest
anticipations.

That evening, when the prisoners were squatting outside
the shed for the usual hour of talk before being locked
up for the night, a new feature was added to the
entertainment.  One of the Marathas had somehow possessed
himself of a tom-tom, and proved himself an excellent
performer on that weird instrument.  While he tapped
its sides, his fellow Maratha, in a strange hard tuneless
voice, chanted a song, repeating its single stanza again
and again without apparently wearying his hearers, and
clapping his hands to mark the time.  It was a song
about a banya[#] with a beautiful young daughter-in-law,
whom he appointed to deal out the daily handful of flour
expected as alms by every beggar who passed his door.
Her hands being much smaller than his own, he pleased
himself with the idea that, without losing his reputation
for charity, he would give away through her much less
grain than if he himself performed the charitable office.
But it turned out bad thrift, for so beautiful was she that
she attracted to the door not only the genuine beggars,
but also many, both young and old, who had disguised
themselves in mendicant rags for the mere pleasure of
beholding her and getting from her a smile and a gentle
word.  It was a popular song, and the warder himself
was tempted to stay and listen until, the hour for locking
up being past, he at last recollected his duty and bundled
the prisoners into the shed.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Hindu merchant.

.. vspace:: 2

"Sing inside if you must," he said, "but not too loud,
lest the overseer come with the bamboo."

Inside the shed, reclining on their charpoys, the men
continued their performance, changing their song, though
not, as it seemed to Desmond, the tune.  He, however,
was perhaps not sufficiently attentive to the monotonous
strains, for, as soon as the warder had left the yard, he
had unlocked his fetters and begun to work in the
darkness.  Poised on one of the rafters, he held on with one
hand to a joist, and with the other plied a small saw, well
greased with ghi.  The sound of the slow careful
movements of the tool was completely drowned by the singing
and the hollow rat-a-pan of the tom-tom.  Beneath him
stood the Babu, extending his dhoti like an apron, and
catching in it the falling shower of sawdust.

Suddenly the figure on the rafter gave a low whistle.
Through the window he had seen the dim form of the
sentry outside approach the space lighted by the rays
from the lantern, which he had laid down at a corner of
the shed.  Before the soldier had time to lift it and throw
a beam into the shed (which he did as much from curiosity
to see the untiring performers as in the exercise of his
duty) Desmond had swung down from his perch and
stretched himself upon the nearest charpoy.  The Babu
meanwhile had darted with his folded dhoti to the darkest
corner.  When the sentry peered in, the two performing
Marathas were sitting up; the rest were lying prone, to
all appearance soothed to sleep.

"Verily thou wilt rap a hole in the tom-tom," said
the sentry with a grin.  "Better save a little of it for
to-morrow."

"Sleep is far from my eyes," replied the man.  "My
comrades are all at rest; if it does not offend thee----"

"No.  Tap till it burst, for me.  But without sleep
the work will be hard in the morning."

He went away.  Instantly the two figures were again
upon their feet, and the sawing recommenced.  For three
hours the work continued, interrupted at intervals by the
visits of the sentry.  Midnight was past before Desmond,
with cramped limbs and aching head, gave the word for
the song and accompaniment to cease, and the shed was
in silence.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: bold

In which Mr. Diggle illustrates his
argument; and there are strange doings in
Gheria harbour.

.. vspace:: 2

The morning of the third day dawned--the last of the
three allowed Desmond for making up his mind.  When
the other prisoners were loosed from their fetters and
marched off under guard to their usual work, he alone
was left.  Evidently he was to be kept in confinement
with a view to quickening his resolution.  Some hours
passed.  About midday he heard footsteps approaching
the shed.  The door was opened, and in the entrance
Diggle appeared.

"You will excuse me," he said with a sniff, "if I remain
on the threshold of your apartment.  It is, I fear, but
imperfectly aired."

He pulled a charpoy to the door, and sat down upon it,
as much outside as within.  Taking out his snuff-box, he
tapped it, took a pinch, savoured it, and added:

"You will find the apartment prepared for you in my
friend Angria's palace somewhat sweeter than this your
present abode--somewhat more commodious also."

Desmond, reclining at a distance, looked his enemy
calmly and steadily in the face.

"If you have come, Mr. Diggle," he said, "merely to
repeat what you said yesterday, let me say at once that
it is waste of breath.  I have not changed my mind."

"No, not to repeat, my young friend.  'Crambe
repetita'--you know the phrase?  Yesterday I appealed, in
what I had to say, to your reason; either my appeal, or
your reason, was at fault.  To-day I have another purpose.
'Tis pity to come down to a lower plane; to appeal to the
more ignoble part of man; but since you have not yet cut
your wisdom teeth I must e'en accommodate myself.
Angria is my friend; but there are moments, look you,
when the bonds of our friendship are put to a heavy strain.
At those moments Angria is perhaps most himself, and I,
perhaps, am most myself; which might prove to a philosopher
that there is a radical antagonism between the
Oriental and the Occidental character.  Since my picture
of the brighter side has failed to impress you, I propose
to show you the other side--such is the sincerity of my
desire for your welfare.  And 'tis no empty picture--'inanis
imago,' as Ovid might say--no, 'tis sheer reality,
speaking, terrible."

He turned and beckoned.  In a moment Desmond heard
the clank of chains, and by and by, at the entrance of the
shed, stood a figure at sight of whom his blood ran cold.
It was the bent, lean, broken figure of a Hindu, his thin
bare legs weighted with heavy irons.  Ears, nose, upper
lip were gone; his eyes were lit with the glare of madness;
the parched skin of his hollow cheeks was drawn back,
disclosing a grinning mouth and yellow teeth.  His arms
and legs were like sticks; both hands had lost their thumbs;
his feet were twisted; straggling wisps of grey hair escaped
from his turban.  Standing there beside Diggle, he began
to mop and mow, uttering incomprehensible gibberish.

Diggle waved him away.

"That, my dear boy, illustrates the darker side of
Angria's character--the side which forbids me to call
Angria unreservedly my friend.  A year ago that man was
as straight as you; he had all his organs and dimensions;
he was rich, and of importance in his little world.
To-day--but you have seen him: it boots not to attempt in
words to say what the living image has already said.
And within twenty-four hours, unless you come to a
better mind, even as that man is, so will you be."

He rose slowly to his feet, bending upon Desmond a
look of mournful interest and compassion.  Desmond had
stood all but transfixed with horror.  But as Diggle now
prepared to leave him, the boy flushed hot; his fists
clenched; his eyes flashed with indignation.

"You fiend!" was all he said.

Diggle smiled, and sauntered carelessly away.

That night, when the prisoners were brought as usual
to the shed, and warder and sentries were out of earshot,
Desmond told them what he had seen.

"It must be to-night, my brothers," he said in
conclusion.  "We have no longer time.  Before sunrise
to-morrow we must be out of this evil place.  We must
work, work, for life and liberty."

This night again the singer sang untiringly, the
tom-tom accompanying him with its weird hollow notes.  And
in the blackness, Desmond worked as he had never worked
before, plying his saw hour after hour, never forgetting his
caution, running no risks when he had warning of the
sentry's approach.  And hour after hour the shower of
sawdust fell noiselessly into the Babu's outspread dhoti.
Then suddenly the beating of the tom-tom ceased, the
singer's voice died away on a lingering wail, and the
silence of the night was unbroken save by the melancholy
howl of a distant jackal, and the call of sentry to sentry as
at intervals they went their rounds.

At midnight the guard was relieved.  The new-comer--a
tall, thin, lanky Maratha--arriving at Desmond's shed, put
his head in at the little window-space, and flashed his
lantern from left to right more carefully than the man
whom he had just replaced.  The nine forms lay flat or
curled up on their charpoys--all was well.

Coming back an hour later, he fancied he heard a slight
sound within the shed.  He went to the window and peered
in, flashing his lantern as before from left to right.  But as
he did so, he felt upon his throat a grip as of steel.  He
struggled to free himself; his cry was stifled ere it was
uttered; his matchlock fell with a clatter to the ground.
He was like a child in the hands of his captor, and when
the Gujarati in a fierce low whisper said to him: "Yield,
hound, or I choke you!" his struggles ceased and he stood
trembling in sweat.

But now came the sentries' call, passed from man to man
around the circuit of the fort.

"Answer the call!" whispered the Gujarati, with a
significant squeeze of the man's windpipe.

When his turn arrived, the sentry took up the word, but
it was a thin quavering call that barely reached the next
man a hundred yards away.

While this brief struggle had been going on, a light
figure within the shed had mounted to the rafters and,
gently feeling for and twisting round a couple of wooden
pins, handed down to his companions below a section of
the roof some two feet square, which had been kept in
its place only by these temporary supports.  The wood
was placed silently on the floor.  Then the figure above
crawled out upon the roof, and let himself down by the
aid of a rope held by the two Biluchis within.  It was a
pitch-dark night; nothing broke the blackness save the
scattered points of light from the sentries' lanterns.
Stepping to the side of the half-garrotted Maratha, who was
leaning passively against the shed, the sinewy hand of the
Gujarati still pressed upon his windpipe, Desmond thrust
a gag into his mouth and with quick deft movements bound
his hands.  Now he had cause to thank the destiny that
had made him Bulger's shipmate; he had learnt from
Bulger how to tie a sailor's knot.

Scarcely had he bound the sentry's hands when he was
joined by one of his fellow-prisoners, and soon seven of
them stood with him in the shadow of the shed.  The last
man, the Gujarati, had held the rope while the Babu
descended.  There was no one left to hold the rope for
him, but he swung himself up to the roof and climbed
down on the shoulders of one of the Biluchis.  Meanwhile
the sentry, whose lantern had been extinguished and from
the folds of whose garments his flint and tinder-box had
been taken, had now been completely trussed up, and lay
helpless and perforce silent against the wall of the shed.
From the time when the hapless man first felt the grip of
the Gujarati upon his throat scarcely five minutes had
elapsed.

Now the party of nine moved in single file, swiftly and
silently on their bare feet, under the wall of the fort towards
the north-east bastion, gliding like phantoms in the gloom.
Each man bore his burden: the Babu carried the dark
lantern; one of the Marathas the coil of rope; the other
the sentry's matchlock and ammunition; several had
small bundles containing food, secreted during the past
three days from their rations.

Suddenly the leader stopped.  They had reached the
foot of the narrow flight of steps leading up into the bastion.
Just above them was a sentinel.  The pause was but
for a moment.  The plan of action had been thought
out and discussed.  On hands and knees the Gujarati
crept up the steps; at his heels followed Desmond in
equal stealth and silence.  At the top, hardly distinguishable
from the blackness of the sky, the sentinel was
leaning against the parapet, looking out to sea.  Many
a night had he held that post, and seen the stars, and
listened to the rustle of the surf; many a night he had
heard the call of the sentry next below, and passed it
to the man on the bastion beyond; but never a night
had he seen anything but the stars and the dim forms of
vessels in the harbour, heard anything but the hourly
call of his mates and the eternal voice of the sea.  He
was listless, bemused.  What was it, then, that made
him suddenly spring erect?  What gave him that strange
uneasiness?  He had heard nothing, seen nothing, yet
he faced round, and stood at the head of the steps with
his back to the sea.  The figures prone below him felt that
he was looking towards them.  They held their breath.
Both were on the topmost step but one; only a narrow
space separated them from the sentinel; they could hear
the movement of his jaws as he chewed his pan supari.[#]
Thus a few moments passed.  Desmond's pulse beat in a
fever of impatience; every second was precious.  Then the
sentinel moved; his uneasiness seemed to be allayed; he
began to hum a Maratha camp song, and, half turning,
glanced once more out to sea.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Nut of the areca palm wrapped in the leaf of the betel
   plant.

.. vspace:: 2

The moment was come.  Silently Fuzl Khan rose to
his feet; he sprang forward with the lightness, the speed,
the deadly certainty of a Thug[#]; his hand was on the
man's throat.  Desmond, close behind, had a gag ready,
but there was no need to use it.  In the open the Gujarati
could exert his strength more freely than through the
narrow window of the shed.  Almost before Desmond
reached his side the sentinel was dead.  In that desperate
situation there was no time to expostulate.  While the
Gujarati laid the hapless man gently beside the gun that
peeped through the embrasure of the parapet, Desmond
picked up the sentinel's matchlock, ran softly back, and
summoned his companions.  They came silently up the
steps.  To fasten the rope securely to the gun-carriage
was the work of a few instants; then the Gujarati
mounted the parapet, and, swarming down the rope,
sank into the darkness.  One by one the men followed;
it came to the Babu's turn.  Trembling with excitement
and fear he shrank back.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Name of a class of hereditary stranglers.

.. vspace:: 2

"I am afraid, sahib," he said.

Without hesitation Desmond drew up the rope and
looped the end.

"Get into the loop," he whispered.

The Babu trembled but obeyed, and, assisting him to
climb the parapet, Desmond lowered him slowly to the
foot of the wall.  Then he himself descended last of all,
and on the rocks below the little group was complete.
They were free!  But the most difficult part of their
enterprise was yet to come.  Behind them was the curtain of
the fort; before them a short, shelving rocky beach and
the open sea.

No time was wasted.  Walking two by two for mutual
support over the rough ground, the party set off towards
the jetty.  They kept as close as possible to the wall, so
that they would not be seen if a sentinel should happen to
look over the parapet; and being barefooted, the slight
sound they might make would be inaudible through the
never-ceasing swish of the surf.  Their feet were cut by
the sharp edges of the rocks; many a bruise they got; but
they kept on their silent way without a murmur.

Reaching the angle of the wall, they had now perforce
to leave its shelter, for their course led past the outskirts
of the native town across a comparatively open space.
Fortunately the night was very dark, and here and there
on the shore were boats and small huts which afforded
some cover.  The tide was on the ebb; and, when they at
length struck the jetty, it was at a point some twenty
yards from its shoreward end.  Groping beneath it they
halted for a moment, then the two Marathas separated
themselves from the rest, and, with a whispered word of
farewell, disappeared like shadows into the blackness.
The sea was not for them; they would take their chance
on land.

From a point some distance beyond the end of the jetty
shone a faint glimmer of light.  Desmond silently drew
the Gujarati's attention to it.

"They are gambling," whispered the man.

"So much the better for our chances," thought
Desmond.  Turning to the Babu he whispered: "Now,
Surendra Nath, you know what to do?"

"Yes, sahib."

Placing their bundles in the woodwork supporting the
jetty, five members of the party--the Biluchis, the
Mysoreans, and the Babu--stole away in the darkness.  Desmond
and the Gujarati were left alone.  The Babu placed himself
near the end of the jetty to keep guard.  The two Mysoreans
struck off thence obliquely for a few yards until they
came to a rude open shed in which the Pirate's carpenters
were wont to work during the rains.  From a heap of
shavings they drew a small but heavy barrel.  Carrying
this between them they made their way with some
difficulty back towards the jetty, where they rejoined the
Babu.  Meanwhile the Biluchis had returned some
distance along the path by which they had come from the
fort, then turned off to the left, and came to a place where
a number of small boats were drawn up just above high
water.  The boats were the ordinary tonis[#] of the coast,
each propelled by short scull paddles.  Moving quickly
but with great caution the Biluchis collected the paddles
from all these boats save one, carried them noiselessly
down to the water's edge, waded a few yards into the
surf, and setting down their burdens, pushed them gently
seawards.  They then returned to the one boat which they
had not robbed of its paddle, and lay down beside it,
apparently waiting.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Small boats cut out of the solid tree, used for passing
   between the shore and larger vessels.

.. vspace:: 2

By and by they were joined by the Mysoreans.  The
four men lifted the toni, and carrying it down to the
jetty, quietly launched it under the shadow of the
woodwork.  A few yards away the Babu sat upon the barrel.
This was lifted on board, and one of the men, tearing a
long strip from his dhoti, muffled the single paddle.  Then
all five men squatted at the water-side, awaiting with true
Oriental patience the signal for further action.

Not one of them but was aware that the plight of the
two sentries they had left behind them in the fort might
at any moment be discovered.  The hourly call must be
nearly due.  When no response came from the sentry
whose beat ended at their shed the alarm would at once
be given, and in a few seconds the silent form of the
sentinel on the bastion would be found, and the whole
garrison would be sped to their pursuit.  But at this
moment of suspense only the Babu was agitated.  His
natural timidity, and the tincture of European ways of
thought he had gained during his service in Calcutta,
rendered him less subject than his Mohammedan
companions to the fatalism which rules the Oriental mind.
To the Mohammedan what must be must be.  Allah has
appointed to every man his lot; man is but as a cork on
the stream of fate.  Not even when a low, half-strangled
cry came to them across the water, out of the blackness
that brooded upon the harbour, did any of the four give
sign of excitement.  The Babu started, and rose to his
feet shivering; the others still squatted, mute and
motionless as statues of ebony, neither by gesture nor murmur
betraying their consciousness that at any moment, by
tocsin from the fort, a thousand fierce and relentless
warriors might be launched like sleuth-hounds upon their
track.

.. vspace:: 2

Meanwhile, what of Desmond and the Gujarati?

During the months Desmond had spent in Gheria he
had made himself familiar, as far as his opportunities
allowed, with the construction of the harbour and the
manner of mooring the vessels there.  He knew that the
gallivats of the Pirate's fleet, lashed together, lay about
eighty yards from the head of the jetty under the shelter
of the fortress rock, which protected them from the worst
fury of the south-west monsoon.  The grabs lay on the
other side of the jetty, some hundred and twenty yards
towards the river--except three vessels which were held
constantly ready for sea somewhat nearer the harbour
mouth.

He had learnt, moreover, by cautious and apparently
casual inquiries, that the gallivats were under a guard
of ten men, the grabs of twenty.  These men were only
relieved at intervals of three days; they slept on board
when the vessels were in harbour and the crews dispersed
ashore.

In thinking over the difficult problem of escape,
Desmond had found himself in a state of perplexity somewhat
similar to that of the man who had to convey a fox and
a goose and a bag of corn across a river in a boat that
would take but one at a time.  He could not, with his
small party, man a gallivat, which required fifty oarsmen
to propel it at speed; while if he seized one of the lighter
grabs, he would have no chance whatever of outrunning
the gallivats that would be immediately launched in
pursuit.  It was this problem that had occupied him the
whole day during which Diggle had fondly imagined he
was meditating on Angria's offer of freedom.

A few moments after their five companions had left
them, Desmond and the Gujarati climbed with the agility
of seamen along the ties of the framework supporting the
jetty, until they reached a spot a yard or two from the
end.  There, quite invisible from sea or land, they gently
lowered themselves into the water.  Guided by the dim
light which he had noticed, and which he knew must
proceed from one of the moored gallivats, Desmond struck
out towards the farther end of the line of vessels,
swimming a noiseless breast stroke.  Fuzl Khan followed him
in equal silence a length behind.  The water was warm.
A few minutes' steady swimming brought them within
twenty or thirty yards of the light.  The hulls of the
gallivats and their tall raking spars could now be seen
looming up out of the blackness.  Desmond perceived
that the light was on the outermost of the line, and,
treading water for a moment, he caught the low hum of
voices coming from the after part of the gallivat.  Striking
out to the left, still followed by the Gujarati, he swam
along past the sterns of the lashed vessels until he came
under the side of the one nearest the shore.  He caught at
the hempen cable, swarmed up it, and, the gallivat having
but little freeboard, soon reached the bulwark.  There he
paused to recover his breath and to listen.  Hearing
nothing, he quietly slipped over the side and lay on the
maindeck.  In a few seconds he was joined by his
companion.  In the shadow of the bulwarks the two groped
their way cautiously along the deck.  Presently Desmond,
who was in front, struck his foot against some object
invisible to him.  There was a grunt beneath him.  The
two paused, Fuzl Khan nervously fingering the knife he
had taken from the sentinel on the bastion.  The grunt
was repeated; but the intruders remained still as death,
and with a sleepy grumble the man who had been
disturbed turned over on his charpoy, placed transversely
across the deck, and fell asleep.

All was quiet.  Once more the two moved forward.
They came to the ropes by which the vessel was lashed to
the next in the line.  For a moment Desmond stood
irresolute; then he led the way swiftly and silently to the deck
of the adjacent gallivat, crossed it without mishap, and so
across the third.  Fortunately both were sailors,
accustomed to finding their way on ship-board in the night, as
much by sense of touch as by sight.  Being barefooted,
only the sharpest ears, deliberately on the alert, could have
detected them.

They had now reached the fourth of the line of vessels.
It was by far the largest of the fleet, and for this reason
Desmond had guessed that it would have been chosen for
his quarters by the serang[#] in charge of the watch.  If he
could secure this man he felt that his hazardous enterprise
would be half accomplished.  This was indeed the pivot
on which the whole scheme turned, for in no other way
would it be possible to seize the ten men on board the
gallivats without raising such an alarm as must shock
fort, city, and harbour to instant activity.  And it was
necessary to Desmond's plan, not only to secure the
serang, but to secure him alive.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Head of a crew.

.. vspace:: 2

The gallivat was Angria's own vessel, used in his visits
up-river to his country house, and, during calm weather, in
occasional excursions to Suvarndrug and the other forts
on the sea-coast.  As Desmond was aware, it boasted a
large state-cabin aft, and he thought it very probable that
the serang had appropriated this for his watch below.

Pausing a moment as they reached the vessel to make
sure that no one was stirring, Desmond and Fuzl Khan
crept on to its deck and threw themselves down, again
listening intently.  From the last vessel of the line came
the sound of low voices, accompanied at intervals by the
click of the oblong bone dice with which the men were
gambling.  This was a boon, for when the Indian, a born
gambler, is engaged in one of his games of chance, he is
oblivious of all else around him.  But on Angria's gallivat
there was no sound.  Rising to a crouching position, so
that his form could not be seen if any of the gamblers
chanced to look in his direction, Desmond slowly crept
aft, halting at every few steps to listen.  Still there was
no sound.  But all at once he caught sight of a faint glow
ahead; what was it?  For a few seconds he was puzzled.
As he approached, the glow took shape; he saw that it
was the entrance to the cabin, the sliding door being half
open.  Creeping to the darker side, careful not to come
within the radius of the light, he stood erect, and again
listened.  From within came the snores of a sleeper.  Now
he felt sure that his guess had been correct, for none but
the serang would dare to occupy the cabin, and even he
would no doubt have cause to tremble if his presumption
should come to the Pirate's ears.

Keeping his body as much in the shadow as possible,
Desmond craned his head forward and peeped into the
cabin.  He could see little or nothing; the light came
from a small oil lantern with its face turned to the wall.
Made of some vegetable substance, the oil gave off a
pungent smell.  The lantern was no doubt carried by the
serang in his rounds of inspection; probably he kept it
within reach at night; he must be sleeping in the black
shadow cast by it.  To locate a sound is always difficult;
but, as far as Desmond could judge, the snores came from
the neighbourhood of the lantern and as from the floor.

He stepped back again into complete darkness.  The
Gujarati was at his elbow.

"Wait, Fuzl Khan," said Desmond in the lowest of
whispers.  "I must go in and see where the man is and
how the cabin is arranged."

The Gujarati crouched in the shadow of the bulwarks.
Desmond, dropping on hands and knees, crawled slowly
forward into the cabin towards the light.  It was slightly
above him, probably on a raised divan,--the most likely
place for the serang to choose as his bed.  In a few
moments Desmond's outstretched fingers touched the edge
of the little platform; the light was still nearly two yards
away.  Still he was unable to see the sleeper, though
by the sound of his breathing he must be very near.
Desmond feared that every movement might bring him
into contact with the man.  Whatever the risk, it was
necessary to obtain a little more light.  Slightly raising
himself he found that, without actually mounting the
platform, he could just reach the lamp with outstretched
fingers.  Very slowly he pushed it round, so that the light
fell more directly into the room.  Then he was able to see,
about four feet away, curled up on the divan, with his
arms under his head, the form of a man.  There was no
other in the cabin.  Having discovered all that he wished
to know, Desmond crawled backward as carefully as he
had come.

At the moment of the discovery he had felt the eager
boy's impulse to spring upon the sleeper at once, but
although his muscles had been hardened by a year of toil
he doubted whether he had sufficient physical strength to
make absolutely sure of his man; a single cry, the sound
of a scuffle, might be fatal.  The Gujarati, on the other
hand, a man of great bulk, could be trusted to overpower
the victim by sheer weight, and with his iron clutch to
ensure that no sound came from him.  Desmond's only
fear indeed was that the man, as in the case of the sentinel
on the bastion, might overdo his part and give him all too
thorough a quietus.

He came to the entrance of the cabin.  His appearance
brought the Gujarati to his side.

"Remember, Fuzl Khan," he whispered, "we must
keep the serang alive; not even stun him.  You understand?"

"I know, sahib."

Drawing him silently into the apartment and to the edge
of the platform, Desmond again crept to the lantern, and
now turned it gradually still farther inwards until the form
of the sleeper could be distinctly seen.  The light was
still dim; but it occurred to Desmond that the glow,
increased now that the lantern was turned round, might
attract the attention of the gamblers on the gallivat at the
end of the line.  So, while the Gujarati stood at the
platform, ready to pounce on the sleeper as a cat on a mouse
if he made the least movement, Desmond tiptoed to the
door and began to close the sliding panel.  It gave a
slight creak; the sleeper stirred; Desmond quickly pushed
the panel home, and as he did so the serang sat up,
rubbing his eyes and looking in sleepy suspicion towards the
lantern.  While his knuckles were still at his eyes Fuzl
Khan was upon him.  A brief scuffle, almost noiseless, on
the linen covering of the divan; a heavy panting for breath;
then silence.  The Gujarati relaxed his grip on the man's
throat; he made another attempt to cry out; but the firm
fingers tightened their pressure and the incipient cry was
choked in a feeble gurgle.  Once more the hapless serang
tried to rise; Fuzl Khan pressed him down and shook him
vigorously.  He saw that it was useless to resist, and lay
limp and half-throttled in his captor's hands.

By this time Desmond had turned the lantern full upon
the scene.  Coming to the man's head, while the Gujarati
still held him by the throat, he said, in low, rapid, but
determined tones:

"Obey, and your life will be spared.  But if you attempt
to raise an alarm you will be lost.  Answer my questions.
Where is there some loose rope on board?"

The man hesitated to reply, but a squeeze from the
Gujarati decided him.

"There is a coil near the main mast," he said.

Desmond slipped out, and in a few seconds returned
with several yards of thin coir, a strong rope made of
cocoa-nut fibre.  Soon the serang lay bound hand and foot.

"What are the names of the men on the furthest vessel?"

"They are Rama, Sukharam, Ganu, Ganpat, Hari."

"Call Rama gently; bid him come here.  Do not raise
your voice."

The man obeyed.  The clicking of the dice ceased, and
in a few moments a Maratha appeared at the doorway and
entered blinking.  No sooner had he set foot within the
cabin than he was seized by the Gujarati and gagged, and
then, with a rapidity only possible to the practised sailor,
he was roped and laid helpless on the floor.

"Call Sukharam," said Desmond.

The second man answered the summons, only to suffer
the same fate.  A third was dealt with in the same fashion;
then the fourth and fifth came together, wondering why
the serang was so brutally interfering with their game.
By the time they reached the door Desmond had turned
the lantern to the wall, so that they saw only a dim shape
within the cabin.  Ganpat was secured before the last man
became aware of what was happening.  Hari hesitated at
the threshold, hearing the sound of the slight scuffle caused
by the seizure of his companion.

"Tell him to come in," whispered Desmond in the
serang's ear, emphasizing the order by laying the cold
blade of a knife against his collar-bone.  Fuzl Khan had
not yet finished trussing the other; as the last man entered
Desmond threw himself upon him.  He could not prevent
a low startled cry; and struggling together, the two rolled
upon the floor.  The Maratha, not recognizing his assailant,
apparently thought that the serang had suddenly gone
mad, for he merely tried to disengage himself, speaking in
a tone half angry, half soothing.  But finding that the man
grasping him had a determined purpose, he became furious
with alarm, and plucking a knife from his girdle struck
viciously at the form above him.  Desmond, with his back
to the light, saw the blow coming.  He caught the man's
wrist, and in another moment the Gujarati came to his
assistance.  Thus the last of the watchmen was secured
and laid beside his comrades.

Six of the men on board the gallivats had been disposed
of.  But there still remained five, asleep until their turn
for watching and dicing came.  So quietly had the capture
of the six been effected that not one of the sleepers had
been disturbed.  To deal with them was an easier matter.
Leaving the bound men in the cabin, and led by the serang,
whose feet had been released, Desmond and Fuzl Khan
visited each of the gallivats in turn.  The sleeping men
awoke at their approach, but they were reassured by the
voice of the serang, who in terror for his life spoke to them
at Desmond's bidding; and before they realized what was
happening they were in the toils, helpless like the rest.

When the last of the watchmen was thus secured,
Desmond crept to the vessel nearest to the shore and, making
a bell of his hands, sent a low hail across the surface of
the water in the direction of the jetty.  He waited
anxiously, peering into the darkness, straining his ears.  Five
minutes passed, fraught with the pain of uncertainty and
suspense.  Then he caught the faint sound of ripples: he
fancied he descried a dark form on the water; it drew
nearer, became more definite.

"Is that you, sahib?" said a low voice.

"Yes."

He gave a great sigh of relief.  The toni drew alongside,
and soon five men, with bundles, muskets, and the
small heavy barrel, stood with Desmond and the Gujarati
on the deck of the gallivat.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: bold

In which seven bold men light a big bonfire;
and the Pirate finds our hero a bad bargain.

.. vspace:: 2

Desmond's strongest feeling, as his companions stepped
on board, was wonder--wonder at the silence of the fort,
the darkness that covered the whole face of the country,
the safety of himself and the men so lately prisoners.  What
time had passed since they had left the shed he was unable
to guess; the moments had been so crowded that any
reckoning was impossible.  But when, as he waited for the
coming of the boat, his mind ran over the incidents of the
flight--the trussing of the sentry, the wary approach to the
bastion, the tragic fate of the sentinel there, the stealthy
creeping along the shore, the swim to the gallivats and all
that had happened since: as he recalled these things, he
could not but wonder that the alarm he dreaded had not
already been given.  But it was clear that all was as yet
undiscovered; and the plot had worked out so exactly as
planned that he hoped still for a breathing-space to carry
out his enterprise to the end.

There was not a moment to be wasted.  The instant
the men were aboard Desmond rapidly gave his orders.
Fuzl Khan and one of the Mysoreans he sent to carry the
barrel to Angria's gallivat.  It contained da'ma.  They
were to break it open, tear down the hangings in the
cabin, smear them plentifully, and set light to them from
the lantern.  Meanwhile Desmond himself, with the rest of
the men, set about preparing the gallivat in which he was
about to make his next move.

The lightest of the line of vessels was the one in which
the watchmen had been gambling.  It happened that this,
with the gallivat next to it, had come into harbour late in
the evening from a short scouting cruise, and the sweeps
used by their crews had not been carried on shore, as the
custom was.  The larger vessel had fifty of these sweeps,
the smaller thirty.  If pursuit was to be checked it was
essential that none of them should be left in the enemy's
hands, and the work of carrying the fifty from the larger
to the smaller vessel took some time.  There was no
longer the same need for quietness of movement.  So long
as any great noise and bustle was avoided, the sentinels
on the walls of the fort would only suppose, if sounds
reached their ears, that the watch on board were securing
the gallivats at their moorings.

When the sweeps had all been transferred Desmond
ordered the prisoners to be brought from Angria's cabin
to the smaller vessel.  The lashings of their feet were
cut in turn; each man was carefully searched, deprived
of all weapons, and escorted from the one vessel to the
other, his feet being then securely bound as before.

On board the smallest gallivat were now Desmond, five
of his companions, and eleven helpless Marathas.  He had
just directed one of the Biluchis to cast loose the lashings
between the vessels, and was already congratulating
himself that the main difficulties of his venture were past,
when he suddenly heard shouts from the direction of the
fort.  Immediately afterwards the deep notes of the huge
gong kept in Angria's courtyard boomed and reverberated
across the harbour, echoed at brief intervals by the strident
clanging of several smaller gongs in the town.  Barely
had the first sound reached his ears when he saw a light
flash forth from the outermost bastion; to the left of it
appeared a second; and soon, along the whole face of the
fort, in the dockyard, in the town, innumerable lights dotted
the blackness, some stationary, others moving this way
and that.  Now cries were heard from all sides, growing
in volume until the sound was as of some gigantic hornets'
nest awakened into angry activity.  To the clangour of
gongs was added the blare of trumpets, and from the
walls of the fort and palace, from the hill beyond, from
every cliff along the shore, echoed and re-echoed an
immense and furious din.

For a few seconds Desmond stood as if fascinated,
watching the transformation which the hundreds of
twinkling lights had caused.  Then he pulled himself together,
and, with a word to the Biluchi who had loosed the
lashings, bidding him hold on to the next gallivat, he sprang
to the side of this vessel, and hurried towards Angria's.
Fuzl Khan had not returned; Desmond almost feared that
some mishap had befallen the man.  Reaching the centre
vessel, he peered down the hatchway, but started back as
a gust of acrid smoke struck him from below.  He called
to the Gujarati.  There was no response.  For an instant
he stood in hesitation; had the man been overcome by the
suffocating fumes filling the hold?  But just as, with the
instinct of rescue, he was about to lower himself into the
depths, he heard a low hail from the vessel at the end
of the line nearest the shore.  A moment afterwards Fuzl
Khan came stumbling towards him.

"I have fired another gallivat, sahib," he said, his voice
ringing with fierce exultation.

"Well done, Fuzl Khan," said Desmond.  "Now we
must be off.  See, there are torches coming down towards
the jetty."

The two sprang across the intervening vessels, a dense
cloud of smoke following them from the hatchway of
Angria's gallivat.  Reaching the outermost of the line,
Desmond gave the word, the anchor was slipped, the two
Biluchis pressed with all their force against the adjacent
vessel, and the gallivat moved slowly out.  Desmond ran
to the helm, and the Gujarati with his five companions
seizing each upon one of the long sweeps, they dropped
their blades into the water and began to pull.

Desmond was all a-tingle with excitement and
determination.  The shouts from the shore were nearer; the
lights were brighter; for all he knew the whole garrison
and population were gathering.  They had guessed that
an escape was being attempted by sea.  Even now perhaps
boats were setting off, bringing rowers to man the
gallivats, and oars to send them in pursuit.  If they should
reach the vessels before the middle one had burst into
flame, he felt that his chances of getting away were small
indeed.  When would the flame appear?  It might check
the pursuers, throw them into consternation, confuse and
delay the pursuit.  Would the longed-for blaze never show
itself?  And how slowly his gallivat was moving!  The
rowers were bending to their work with a will, but six
men were but a poor crew for so large a vessel, and
the progress it was making was in fact due more to
the still ebbing tide than to the frantic efforts of the
oarsmen.  The wind was contrary; it would be useless to
hoist the sail.  At this rate they would be half an hour
or more in reaching the three grabs anchored nearer the
mouth of the harbour.  The willing rowers on their benches
could not know how slowly the vessel was moving, but it
was painfully clear to Desmond at the helm; relative
to the lights on shore the gallivat seemed scarcely to move
at all.

He called to Fuzl Khan, who left his oar and hurried aft.

"We must make more speed, Fuzl Khan.  Release the
prisoners' hands; keep their feet tied, and place them
among our party.  Don't take an oar yourself: stand over
them ready to strike down any man who mutinies."

The Gujarati grunted and hurried away.  Assisted by
Surendra Nath, who, being his companion on the rowing
bench, had perforce dropped his oar, he soon had the
prisoners in position.  Urging them with terrible threats
and fierce imprecations, he forced them to ply their oars
with long steady strokes.  The way on the gallivat
increased.  There was not a great distance now to be covered,
it was unnecessary to husband their strength, and with
still more furious menaces Fuzl Khan got out of the
sturdy Marathas all the energy of which they were
capable.  The escaped prisoners needed no spur; they
were working with might and main, for dear life.

Desmond had to steer by guesswork and such
landmarks as were afforded by the lights on shore.  He peered
anxiously ahead, hoping to see the dim shapes of the three
grabs; but this was at present impossible, since they
lay between him and the seaward extremity of the fort,
where lights had not yet appeared.  Looking back he
saw a number of torches flitting along the shore; and now
two or three dark objects, no doubt boats, were moving
from the further side of the jetty towards the gallivats.
At the same moment that he caught sight of these he saw
at last, rising from the gallivats, the thin tongue of flame
hi had so long expected.  But now that it had come at
last, showing that the work on board had been thorough,
he almost regretted it, for it was instantly seen from the
shore and greeted by a babel of yells caught up in different
parts of the town and fort.  As at a signal the torches no
longer flickered hither and thither aimlessly, but all took
the same direction towards the jetty.  The hunt was up!

Glancing round, Desmond suddenly gave the order to
cease rowing, and putting the helm hard down just avoided
crashing into a dark object ahead.  The sweeps grated
against the side of what proved to be one of the grabs for
which he had been looking.  A voice from its deck hailed
him.

"Take care!  Where are you going?  Who are you?"

Desmond called up the serang.  He dare not reply
himself, lest his accent should betray him.

"Tell him all is well.  We have a message from the
fort to the *Tremukji*," he said in a whisper.

The serang repeated the words aloud.

"Well, huzur.  But what is the meaning of the noise
and the torches and the blaze on the sea?"

"Tell him we have no time to waste.  Ask him where
the *Tremukji* lies."

The man on the grab replied that she lay outside, a dozen
boat's-lengths.  Desmond knew that this vessel, which
had been launched during his captivity, and in whose
construction he had had a humble part, had proved
the swiftest in the fleet, although much smaller than the
majority of the Pirate's.  Once on board her, and beyond
reach of the guns of the fort, he might fairly hope to get
clear away in spite of his miscellaneous crew.  Giving to
the Gujarati the order to go ahead, he questioned the
serang.

"What is the name of the serang in charge of the *Tremukji*?"

"Pandu, sahib."

"How many men are on board her?"

"Three, sahib."

"Then, when we come alongside and I give the word,
you will tell him to come aboard at once; we have a
message from the fort for him."

Owing to the trend of the shore, the gallivat had been
slowly nearing the walls of the fort, and at this moment
could not be more than a hundred and fifty yards distant
from them.  But for the shouting on shore the noise of the
sweeps must by this time have been heard.  In the glow
of the blazing vessels in mid channel the moving gallivat
had almost certainly been seen.  Desmond grew more
and more anxious.

"Hail the grab," he said to the serang as the vessel
loomed up ahead.

"Eo, eo, *Tremukji*!" cried the man.

There came an answering hail.  Then the serang
hesitated; he was evidently wondering whether even now he
might not defy this foreigner who was bearding his terrible
master.  But his hesitation was short.  At a sign from
Desmond, Gulam the Biluchi, who had brought the serang
forward, applied the point of his knife to the back of the
unfortunate man's neck.

"I have a message from Angria Rao," he cried quickly.
"Come aboard at once."

The rowers at a word from Fuzl Khan shipped their
oars, and the two vessels came together with a sharp
thud.  The serang in charge of the grab vaulted across the
bulwarks and fell into the waiting arms of Fuzl Khan,
who squeezed his throat, muttered a few fierce words in his
ear, and handed him over to Gulam, who bundled him
below.  Then, shouting the order to make fast, the Gujarati
flung a hawser across to the grab.  The two men on board
her obeyed without question; but they were still at
the work when Desmond and Fuzl Khan, followed by the
two Mysoreans, leapt upon them from the deck of the
gallivat.  There was a short sharp scrimmage; then these
guardians of the grab were hauled on to the gallivat and
sent to join the rowers on the main deck.

Desmond and his six companions now had fourteen
prisoners on their hands, and in ordinary circumstances
the disproportion would have been fatal.  But the
captives, besides having been deprived of all means of offence,
had no exact knowledge of the number of men who had
trapped them.  Their fears and the darkness had a
magnifying effect, and, like Falstaff, they would have sworn
that their enemies were ten times as many as they actually
were.

So deeply engrossed had Desmond been in the capture
of the grab that he had forgotten the one serious danger
that threatened to turn the tide of accident, hitherto so
favourable, completely against him.  He had forgotten
the burning gallivats.  But now his attention was recalled
to them in a very unpleasant and forcible way.  There was
a deafening report, as it seemed from a few yards' distance,
followed immediately by a splash in the water just ahead.
The glare of the burning vessels was dimly lighting up
almost the whole harbour mouth, and the runaway
gallivat, now clearly seen from the fort, had become a
target for its guns.  The gunners had been specially
exercised of late in anticipation of an attack from Bombay,
and Desmond knew that in his slow-going vessel he could
not hope to draw out of range in time to escape a battering.

But his gallivat was among the grabs.  At this moment
it must be impossible for the gunners to distinguish
between the runaway and the loyal vessels.  If he could only
cause them to hold their fire for a time!  Knowing that
the Gujarati had a stentorian voice, and that a shout
would carry upwards from the water to the parapet, in
a flash Desmond saw the possibility of a ruse.  He spoke
to Fuzl Khan.  The man at once turned to the fort, and
with the full force of his lungs shouted:

"Comrades, do not fire.  We have caught them!"

Answering shouts came from the walls; the words were
indistinguishable, but the trick had succeeded, at any
rate for the moment.  No second shot was at this time
fired.

Desmond made full use of this period of grace.  He
recognized that the gallivat, while short-handed, was too
slow to make good the escape; the grab, with the wind
contrary, could never be got out of the harbour; the only
course open to him was to make use of the one to tow
the other until they reached the open sea.  As soon as
a hawser could be bent the grab was taken in tow: its
crew was impressed with the other prisoners as rowers,
under the charge of the Biluchis; and with Desmond at
the helm of the grab and the Gujarati steering the gallivat,
the two vessels crept slowly seawards.  They went at
a snail's pace, for it was nearly slack tide; and slow as
the progress of the gallivat had been before it was much
slower now that the men had to move two vessels instead
of one.  To Desmond, turning every now and again to
watch the increasing glare from the burning gallivats, it
seemed that he scarcely advanced at all.  The town and
the townward part of the fort were minute by minute
becoming more brightly illuminated; every detail around
the blazing vessels could be distinctly seen; and mingled
with the myriad noises from the shore was now the crackle
of the flames, and the hiss of burning spars and rigging
as they fell into the water.

The gallivats had separated into two groups; either
they had been cut apart, or, more probably, the lashings
had been burnt through.  Around one of the groups
Desmond saw a number of small boats.  They appeared
to be trying to cut out the middle of the three gallivats,
which seemed to be as yet uninjured, while the vessels
on either side were in full blaze.  Owing to the intense
heat the men's task was a difficult and dangerous one,
and Desmond had good hope that they would not succeed
until the gallivat was too much damaged to be of use
for pursuit.  He wondered, indeed, at the attempt being
made at all; for it kept all the available boats engaged
when they might have dashed upon the grab in tow and
made short work of it.  The true explanation of their
blunder did not at the moment occur to Desmond.  The
fact was that the men trying so earnestly to save the
gallivat knew nothing of what had happened to the grab.
They were aware that a gallivat had been cut loose and
was standing out to sea; but the glare of the fire blinded
them to all that was happening beyond a narrow circle,
and as yet they had had no information from shore of
what was actually occurring.  When they did learn that
two vessels were on their way to the sea, they would no
doubt set out to recapture the fugitives instead of wasting
their efforts in a futile attempt to save the unsavable.

Desmond was still speculating on the point when
another shot from the fort aroused him to the imminent
danger.  The dark shapes of the two vessels must now
certainly be visible from the walls.  The shot flew wide.
Although the grab was well within range it was doubtless
difficult to take aim, the distance being deceptive and
the sights useless in the dark.  But this shot was followed
at intervals of a few seconds by another and another; it
was clear that the fugitives were running the gauntlet of
the whole armament on this side of the fort.  The guns
were being fired as fast as they could be loaded; the gunners
were becoming accustomed to the darkness, and when
Desmond heard the shots plumping into the water, nearer
to him, it seemed, every time, he could not but recognize
that success or failure hung upon a hair.

Crash!  A round shot struck the grab within a few
feet of the wheel.  A shower of splinters flew in all
directions.  Desmond felt a stinging blow on the forehead;
he put up his hand; when he took it away it was wet.
He could not leave the wheel to see what damage had
been done to the ship, still less to examine his own
injury.  He was alone on board.  Every other man was
straining at his oar in the gallivat.  He felt the blood
trickling down his face; from time to time he wiped it
away with the loose end of his dhoti.  Then he forgot
his wound, for two more shots within a few seconds of
each other struck the grab forward.  Clearly the gunners
were aiming at his vessel, which, being larger than the
gallivat, and higher in the water, presented an easier
mark.  Where had she been hit?  If below the
waterline, before many minutes were past she would be
sinking under him.  Yet he could do nothing.  He dared not
order the men in the gallivat to cease rowing; he dared
not leave the helm of the grab; he could but wait and
hold his post.  It would not be long before he knew whether
the vessel had been seriously hit: if it was so, then would
be the time to cast off the tow-rope.

The gallivat, at any rate, appeared not to have suffered.
Desmond was beginning to think he was out of the wood
when he heard a crash in front, followed by a still more
ominous sound.  The motion of the gallivat at once
ceased, and, the grab slowly creeping up to her, Desmond
had to put his helm hard up to avoid a collision.  He
could hear the Gujarati raging and storming on deck,
and cries as of men in pain; then, as the grab came abreast
of the smaller vessel, he became aware of what had
happened.  The mainmast of the gallivat had been struck
by a shot and had gone by the board.

Desmond hailed the Gujarati and told him to get three
or four men to cut away the wreckage.

"Keep an eye on the prisoners," he added, feeling that
this was perhaps the most serious element in a serious
situation; for with round shot flying about the vessel
it might well have seemed to the unhappy men on the
rowing benches that mutiny was the lesser of two risks.
But the rowers were cowed by the presence of the two
Biluchis armed with their terrible knives, and they crowded
in dumb helplessness while the tangled rigging was cut
away.

"Is any one hurt?" asked Desmond.

"One of the rowers has a broken arm, sahib," replied
Shaik Abdullah.

"And I have a contusion of the nose," said the Babu
lugubriously.

It was impossible to do anything for the sufferers at
the moment.  It was still touch-and-go with the whole
party.  The shots from the fort were now beginning to
fall short, but, for all Desmond knew, boats might have
been launched in pursuit, and if he was overtaken it meant
lingering torture and a fearful death.  He was in a fever
of impatience until at length, the tangled shrouds having
been cut away, the rowing was resumed and the two
vessels began again to creep slowly seaward.

Gradually they drew out of range of the guns.  Steering
straight out to sea, Desmond had a clear view of the
whole of the harbour and a long stretch of the river.  The
scene was brightly lit up, and he saw that two of the
gallivats had been towed away from the burning vessels, from
which the flames were now shooting high into the air.  But
even on the two that had been cut loose there were spurts
of flame; and Desmond hoped that they had sustained
enough damage to make them unseaworthy.

Suddenly there were two loud explosions, in quick
succession.  A column of fire rose towards the sky from each
of the gallivats that were blazing most brightly.  The fire
had at length reached the ammunition.  The red sparks
sprang upwards like a fountain, casting a ruddy glow for
many yards around; then they fell back into the sea, and
all was darkness, except for the lesser lights from the
burning vessels whose magazines had as yet escaped.
The explosions could hardly have occurred at a more
opportune moment, for the darkness was now all the more
intense, and favoured the fugitives.

There was a brisk breeze from the south-west outside
the harbour, and when the two vessels lost the shelter of
the headland they crept along even more slowly than before.
Desmond had learnt enough of seamanship on board the
*Good Intent* to know that he must have sea-room before he
cast off the gallivat and made sail northwards; otherwise
he would inevitably be driven on shore.  It was this fact
that had prompted his operations in the harbour.  He knew
that the grabs could not put to sea unless they were towed,
and the gallivats being rendered useless, towing was
impossible.

The sea was choppy, and the rowers had much ado to
control the sweeps.  Only their dread of the Biluchis'
knives kept them at their work.  But the progress, though
slow, was steady; gradually the glow in the sky behind the
headland grew dimmer; though it was as yet impossible to
judge with certainty how much offing had been made,
Desmond, resolving to give away no chances, and being
unacquainted with the trend of the coast, kept the rowers
at work, with short intervals of rest, until dawn.  By this
means he hoped to avoid all risk of being driven on a lee
shore, and to throw Angria off the scent; for it would
naturally be supposed that the fugitives would head at
once for Bombay, and pursuit, if attempted, would be
made in that direction.

When day broke over the hills, Desmond guessed that
the coast must be now five miles off.  As far as he could
see, it ran north by east.  He had now plenty of sea-room;
there was no pursuer in sight; the wind was in his favour,
and if it held, no vessel in Angria's harbour could now
catch him.  He called to the Gujarati, who shouted an
order to the Biluchis; the worn-out men on the benches
ceased rowing, except four, who pulled a few strokes every
now and again to prevent the two vessels from colliding.
Desmond had thought at first of stopping the rowing
altogether and running the grab alongside the gallivat;
but that course, while safe enough in the still water of the
harbour, would have its dangers in the open sea.  So,
lashing the helm of the grab, he dropped into a small boat
which had been bumping throughout the night against
the vessel's side, and in a few minutes was on board the
gallivat.

He first inquired after the men who had been wounded
in the night.  One had a broken arm, which no one on
board knew how to set.  The Babu had certainly a much
discoloured nose, the contusion having been caused no
doubt by a splinter of wood thrown up by the shot.  Two
or three of the rowers had slight bruises and abrasions,
but none had been killed and none dangerously hurt.

Then Desmond had a short and earnest talk with the
Gujarati, who alone of the men had sufficient seamanship
to make him of any value in deciding upon the next move.

"What is to be done with the gallivat?" asked Desmond.

"Scuttle her, sahib, and hoist sail on the grab."

"But the rowers?"

"Fasten them to the benches and let them drown.
They could not help our enemies then, and it would make
up for what you and I and all of us have suffered in Gheria."

"No, I can't do that," said Desmond.

"It must be as I say, sahib.  There is nothing else to
do.  We have killed no one yet, except the sentinel on the
parapet; I did that neatly, the sahib will agree; I would
have a life for every lash of the whip upon my back."

"No," said Desmond decisively, "I will not drown the
men.  We will take on board the grab three or four, who
must be sailors; let us ask who will volunteer.  We will
promise them good pay; we haven't any money, to be sure,
but the grab can be sold when we reach Bombay, and
though we stole her I think everybody would admit that
she is our lawful prize.  I should think they'll be ready
enough to volunteer, for they won't care to return to
Gheria and face Angria's rage.  At the same time we
can't take more than three or four, because in the
daylight they can now see how few we are, and they might
take a fancy to recapture the grab.  What do you think
of that plan?"

The Gujarati sullenly assented.  He did not understand
mercy to an enemy.

"There is no need to pay them, sahib," he said.  "You
can promise pay; a promise is enough."

Desmond was unwilling to start an argument and said
nothing.  Once in Bombay he could ensure that any
pledges given would be strictly kept.

As he expected, there was no difficulty in obtaining
volunteers.  Twice the number required offered their
services.  They had not found their work with the
Pirate so easy and so well rewarded as to have any great
objection to a change of masters.  Moreover, they no
doubt feared the reception they would get from Angria
if they returned.  And it appeared afterwards that during
the night the Biluchis had recounted many fabulous
incidents all tending to show that the sahib was a very
important as well as a very ingenious Firangi, so that this
reputation, coupled with an offer of good pay, overcame
any scruples the men might retain.

Among those who volunteered and whose services were
accepted was the serang of Angria's gallivat.  Unknown
to Desmond, while he was holding this conversation with
the Gujarati, the serang, crouching in apparent apathy on
his bench, had really strained his ears to catch what was
being said.  He, with the three other men selected, was
released from his bonds, and ordered to lower the long
boat of the gallivat and stow in it all the ammunition for
the guns that was to be found in the ship's magazine.
This was then taken on board the grab, and Desmond
ordered one of the Mysoreans to load the grab's stern
chaser, telling the Marathas whom he intended to leave
on the gallivat that, at the first sign of any attempt to
pursue, their vessel would be sunk.

Then in two parties the fugitives went on board the
grab.  Desmond was the last to leave the gallivat, releasing
one of the captive rowers, who in his turn could release
the rest.

As soon as Desmond stepped on board the grab, the
hawser connecting the two vessels was cast off, the
mainsail was run up, and the grab, sailing large, stood up the
coast.  Fuzl Khan, swarming up to the mast-head,
reported two or three sail far behind, apparently at the
mouth of Gheria harbour.  But Desmond, knowing that
if they were in pursuit they had a long beat to windward
before them, felt no anxiety on that score.  Besides, the
grab he was on had been selected precisely because it was
the fastest vessel in Angria's fleet.

Having got fairly under way, he felt that he had leisure
to inspect the damage done to the grab by the shots from
the fort which had given him so much concern in the
darkness.  That she had suffered no serious injury was clear
from the ease with which she answered the helm and the
rapidity of her sailing.  He found that a hole or two had
been made in the forepart of the deck, and a couple of
yards of the bulwarks carried away.  There was nothing
to cause alarm or to demand instant repair.

It was a bright cool morning, and Desmond, after the
excitements and the strain of the last few days, felt an
extraordinary lightness of spirit as the vessel cut through
the water.  For the first time in his life he knew the
meaning of the word freedom; none but a man who has
suffered captivity or duress can know such joy as now
filled his soul.  The long stress of his menial life on board
the *Good Intent*, the weary months of toil, difficulty and
danger as Angria's prisoner, were past; and it was with
whole-hearted joyousness he realized that he was now on
his way to Bombay, whence he might proceed to Madras,
and Clive--Clive, the hero who was as a fixed star in
his mental firmament.

The gallivat, lying all but motionless on the water, a
forlorn object with the jagged stump of her mainmast,
grew smaller and smaller in the distance, and was soon
hull down.  Desmond, turning away from a last look in
her direction, awoke from his reverie to the consciousness
that he was ravenously hungry.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: bold

In which our hero weathers a storm; and
prepares for squalls.

.. vspace:: 2

Hungry as he was, however, Desmond would not eat while
he was, so to speak, still in touch with Gheria.  He ran up
the sail on the mizzen, and the grab was soon cutting her
way through the water at a spanking rate.  He had closely
studied the chart on board the *Good Intent* when that
vessel was approaching the Indian coast--not with any
fixed purpose, but in the curiosity which invested all things
Indian with interest for him.  From his recollection he
believed that Gheria was somewhat more than a hundred
miles from Bombay.  If the grab continued to make such
good sailing, she might hope to cover this distance by
midnight.  But she could hardly run into harbour until
the following day.  There was of course no chart, not even a
compass, on board; the only apparatus he possessed was a
water-clock; naturally he could not venture far out to sea,
but neither dared he hug the shore too closely.  He knew
not what reefs there might be lying in wait for his untaught
keel.  Besides, he might be sighted from one or other of
the coast strongholds still remaining in Angria's hands,
and it was not impossible that swift messengers had
already been sent along the shore from Gheria, prescribing
a keen look-out and the chase of any solitary grab
making northward.  But if he kept too far out he might
run past Bombay, though when he mentioned this to
his fellow-fugitives he was assured by the Biluchis and
Fuzl Khan that they would unfailingly recognize the
landmarks, having more than once in the course of their
trading and pirate voyages touched at that port.

On the whole he thought it best to keep the largest
possible offing that would still leave the coast within sight.
Putting the helm down he ran out some eight or ten miles,
until the coast was visible only from the mast-head as a
purple line on the horizon, with occasional glimpses of
high ghats[#] behind.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Mountains.

.. vspace:: 2

Meanwhile the Gujarati and some of the others had
breakfasted from their bundles.  Leaving the former in
charge of the wheel, Desmond took his well-earned meal
of rice and chapatis, stale, but sweet with the sweetness
of freedom.

In his ignorance of the coast he felt that he must not
venture to run into Bombay in the darkness, and resolved
to heave-to during the night.  At the dawn he could creep
in towards the shore without anxiety, for there was little
chance of falling in with hostile vessels in the immediate
neighbourhood of Bombay.  Knowing that a considerable
British fleet lay there, the Pirate would not allow his
vessels to cruise far from his own strongholds.  But as
there was a prospect of spending at least one night at sea,
it was necessary to establish some system of watches.
The task of steering had to be shared between Desmond
and Fuzl Khan; and the majority of the men being wholly
inexperienced, it was not safe to leave fewer than six of
them on duty at a time.  The only danger likely to arise
was from the weather.  So far it was good; the sea was
calm, the sky was clear; but Desmond was enough of a
seaman to know that, being near the coast, the grab might
at any moment, almost without warning, be struck by a
squall.  He had to consider how best to divide up his
crew.

Including himself there were eleven men on board.  Four
of them were strangers of whom he knew nothing; the six
who had escaped with him were known only as fellow-prisoners.

To minimize any risk, he divided the crew into three
watches.  One consisted of the Babu, the serang, and
one of the Marathas from the gallivat.  Each of the others
comprised a Mysorean, a Biluchi, and a Maratha.  Thus
the strangers were separated as much as possible, and
the number of Marathas on duty was never in excess of
the number of fugitives; the steersman, Desmond or the
Gujarati as the case might be, turned the balance.

The watch was set by means of the water-clock found in
the cabin.  Desmond arranged that he and Fuzl Khan
should take alternate periods of eight hours on and four
off.  The two matchlocks taken from the sentinels of the
fort and brought on board were loaded and placed on deck
near the wheel.  None of the crew were armed save the
Biluchis, who retained their knives.

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.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: bold

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

.. vspace:: 2

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."

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

[#] English.

.. vspace:: 2

"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.

.. figure:: images/img-198.jpg
   :align: center
   :alt: A SHORT WAY WITH MUTINEERS.

   A SHORT WAY WITH MUTINEERS.

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.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: bold

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

.. vspace:: 2

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 habitués of the
shore--crimps, landsharks, badmashes,[#] bunder[#] gangs.
Seeing Desmond hold his nose at the all-prevailing stench
of fish Mr. Johnson laughed.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Cloak.

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Rowdy characters.

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Port.

.. vspace:: 2

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

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

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

.. vspace:: 2

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?"

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

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

.. vspace:: 2

"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.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Doorkeeper.

.. vspace:: 2

"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.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Carriage like a palanquin on wheels.

.. class:: noindent small

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

.. vspace:: 2

"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.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Butler.

.. vspace:: 2

"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.

"By George! 'tis a famous adventure," exclaimed
Admiral Watson, when the story was ended.  "What
about this Pirate's den?  Gheria fort is said to be
impregnable; what are the chances if we attack, eh?  The
approaches to the harbour, now; do you know the depth
of water?"

"Vessels can stand in to three fathoms water, sir.
Seven fathoms is within point-blank shot of the fort.  The
walls are about fifty feet high; there are twenty-seven
bastions, and they mount more than two hundred guns."

"And the opposite shore?"

"A flat tableland, within distance for bombarding.  A
diversion might be made from there while the principal
attack could be carried on in the harbour, or from a hill
south of the fort."

"Is the landing easy?"

"Yes, sir.  There are three sandy bays under the hill,
without any surf to make landing difficult.  One is out
of the line of fire from the fort."

"And what about the land side?  There's a town, is
there not?"

"On a neck of land, sir.  There's a wall, but nothing
to keep out a considerable force.  If an attack were made
from that side the people would, I think, flock into the
fort."

"And is that as strong as rumour says?"

"'Tis pretty strong, sir; there are double walls, and
thick ones; they'd stand a good battering."

"It seems to me, Admiral," said the red-faced
gentleman, with a laugh, "that you've learnt all you sent
Commodore James to find out.  What do you say, Mr. Clive?"

"It seems so, Mr. Merriman.  But I think, Mr. Watson,
in our eagerness to learn something of Gheria, we must
seem somewhat cavalier to this lad, whose interest in our
plans cannot be equal to our own.  You have shown, sir,"
he added, addressing Desmond, "great spirit and courage,
not less ingenuity, in your daring escape from the Pirate.
But I want to go farther back.  How came you to fall into
the Pirate's hands?  You have told us only part of your
story."

"Yes, indeed," said Mr. Bourchier.  "If you are not
tired, we shall be vastly pleased to hear more, Mr. Burke."

"Your name is Burke?" interrupted Clive.  "I had not
before caught it.  May I ask what part of Ireland you
come from, sir?  Pardon me, but your accent smacks
more of Shropshire than of County Dublin."

"'Tis Shropshire, sir; I come from Market Drayton."
("Like yourself!" his glowing cheeks and flashing eyes
seemed to say.  This was the proudest moment in
Desmond's life as yet.)

"I was not mistaken," said Clive.  "I remember a
schoolfellow of mine of your name; let me see----"

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

"Sure I have it now.  I remember him: a tall, fine old
sea-dog whom I saw at times in Market Drayton when I
was a child.  I had a great awe of Captain Burke--i' faith
the only man I was afraid of.  And you are his son!--But
come, I am interrupting your story."

Desmond spoke of his longing for adventure, which had
led him to leave home in search of fortune.  He glossed
over his brother's ill-treatment.  He told how he had been
inveigled on board the *Good Intent*, and handed over to
Angria when the vessel arrived at Gheria.  He mentioned
no names except that of Captain Barker, though he could
not have explained his motive in keeping silence about
Diggle.

"Barker is a villain, ripe for the gallows," said Captain
King.  "But Mr. Burke, I don't understand how you
came to be so hoodwinked in London.  Sure you must
have known that a boy without an ounce of experience
would never be made supercargo.  Had you any enemies
in London?"

"I didn't know that I had, sir, till the *Good Intent*
had sailed.  I was deceived, but the man who promised
me the berth was very friendly, and I didn't suspect him."

"It was not Barker, then?"

"No, sir; it was a man I met at Market Drayton."

"At Market Drayton?" said Clive.  "That's odd.
What was his name?"

"His name was Diggle, and----"

"A stranger?  I remember no one of that name," said Clive.

"I thought he was a stranger, sir; but of late I have
begun to suspect he was not such a stranger as he seemed."

"How did you meet him?"

"Accidentally, sir, the night of your banquet in Market
Drayton."

"Indeed!  'Tis all vastly curious.  Was he lodging in
the town?"

"He came in from Chester that night and lodged at the
*Four Alls*."

"With that disreputable sot Grinsell----" Clive paused.
"Did he tell you anything about himself?

"Very little, sir, except that he'd been unlucky.  I
think he mentioned once that he was a fellow at a
Cambridge college, but he spoke to me most about India."

As he put his questions Clive leant forward, and seemed
to become more keenly interested with every answer.  He
now turned and gave a hard look at the bluff man whom
he had called Mr. Merriman.  The rest of the company
were silent.

"Do you happen to know whether he went up to the
Hall?" asked Clive.

"Sir Willoughby's?  I met him several times walking
in that neighbourhood, but I don't think he went to the
Hall.  He did not appear to know Sir Willoughby.--And
yet, sir, I remember now that I heard Diggle and Grinsell
talking about the Squire the night I first saw them together
at the *Four Alls*."

"And you were with this--Diggle, in London, Mr. Burke?"

"Yes, sir."

Desmond began to feel uncomfortable.  Clive had
evidently not recognized him before, and he was hoping
that the unfortunate incident in Billiter Street would not be
recalled.  Clive's next words made him wish to sink into
the floor.

"Do you remember, Mr. Burke, in London, throwing
yourself in the way of a gentleman that was in pursuit of
your friend Mr. Diggle, and bringing him to the ground?"

"Yes, sir, I did, and I am sorry for it."

Desmond did not like the grim tone of Clive's voice; he
wished he would address him as "my lad" instead of
"Mr. Burke."

"That was a bad start, let me say, Mr. Burke--an
uncommonly bad start."

"Oh come, Mr. Clive!" broke in Mr. Merriman, "say
no more about that.  The boy was in bad company: 'twas
not his fault.  In truth, 'twas my own fault: I am
impetuous; the sight of that scoundrel was too much for me.
I bear you no grudge, my lad, though I had a bump on
my head for a week afterwards.  Had you not tripped me
I should have run my rapier through the villain, and there
would like have been an end of me."

"Shall I tell the boy, Mr. Merriman?" said Clive in
an undertone.

"Not now, not now," said Merriman quickly.

The other gentlemen, during this dialogue, had been
discussing the information they had gained about Gheria.

"Well," said Clive, "you are lucky, let me tell you,
Mr. Burke, to be out of this Diggle's clutches.  By the way,
have you seen him since he sold you to the Pirate?"

"He came a few days before I escaped, and wanted me
to come here as a spy.  Angria promised me my freedom
and a large sum of money."

"What's that?" cried Merriman.  "Wanted you to
come as a spy?"

"Yes, sir."

"And what did you say?"

"I told him he might do it himself."

"A palpable hit!" said Merriman with a grim laugh,
"and a very proper answer.  But he'll have more respect
for his skin."

"Gentlemen," put in Mr. Bourchier, "we have kept
Mr. Burke talking so much that he hasn't had a mouthful
of food.  I think we might go out on the veranda and
smoke our cheroots while he takes some supper.  Mr. Johnson,
you've done most justice to my viands, I think.  Perhaps
you will join us."

The superintendent became purple in the face.  He had
in fact been eating and drinking with great gusto, taking
advantage of the preoccupation of the company to ensure
that the excellent fare should not be wasted.  He rose
hurriedly, and, with a sheepish look that scarcely fitted
his cheerful features, followed his sarcastic host to the
veranda.  All the guests save Mr. Merriman accompanied
Mr. Bourchier.

"They all want to talk shop--this expedition against
the Pirate," said Mr. Merriman.  "You and I can have
a little chat."

Desmond was attracted by the open face of his new
acquaintance, slightly disfigured, as he noticed, by a long
scar on the left temple.

"You're plucky and lucky," continued Merriman, "and
in spite of what Mr. Clive calls your bad start in bowling
me over, you'll do well."

His face clouded as he went on:

"That man Diggle: why should he have sold you to the
Pirate: what had he against you?"

"I cannot imagine, sir."

"You are lucky to have escaped him, as Mr. Clive said.
I think--yes, I will tell you about him.  His name is not
Diggle; it is Simon Peloti.  He is a nephew of Sir
Willoughby.  His mother married a Greek, against her
brother's wish; the man died when the child was a year
old.  As a boy Peloti was as charming a little fellow as
one could wish: handsome, high-spirited, clever.  He did
well at school, and afterwards at Cambridge: won a
fellowship there.  Then he went to the dogs--not all at once;
men never do.  He was absolutely without principle, and
thought of nothing but his own ease and success.  One
thing led to another; at last, in the '45----"

He paused.  After a moment he went on:

"I had a brother, my lad----"

He stopped again, his face expressing poignant grief.

"I know, sir," said Desmond.  "Sir Willoughby told me."

"He told you!  And he did not mention Peloti?"

"No, sir; but I see it all now.  It was Diggle--Peloti,
I mean--who betrayed your brother.  I understand now
why the Squire took no steps against Grinsell.  His
accomplice was Diggle."

He related the incident of the housebreakers.

"Yes," said Merriman, "that throws a light on things.
Peloti, I imagine, had previously seen the Squire, and
tried to get money from him.  Sir Willoughby refused:
he gave him a thousand pounds ten years ago on
condition he left the country and did not return.  So the
villain resolved to rob him.  'Twas fortunate indeed you
appeared in time.  That is the reason for his hating you."

"There was another, sir," said Desmond with some
hesitation.  "He thought I was hankering after the
Squire's property--aiming at becoming his heir.  'Twas
ridiculous, sir; such an idea never entered my head."

"I see.  Peloti came to India and got employment in
the Company's service at Madras.  But he behaved so
badly that he had to be turned out--he said Mr. Clive
hounded him out.  What became of him after that I
don't know.  But let us leave the miserable subject.  Tell
me, what are your ideas?  What are you going to do
now that you are a free man once more?  Get another
berth as supercargo?"

His eyes twinkled as he said this.

"No thank you, sir; once bit twice shy.  I haven't
really thought of anything definite, but what I should like
best of all would be a cadetship under Colonel Clive."

"Soho!  You're a fighter, are you?  But of course you
are; I have reason to know that.  Well, we'll see what
my friend Mr. Clive says.  You've no money, I suppose?"

"Not a halfpenny, sir; but if the Governor will admit
that the grab is my lawful prize, I thought of selling her;
that will bring me a few pounds."

"Capital idea.  Punctilio won't stand in the way of
that, I should think.  Well now, I'll speak to Mr. Clive
for you, but don't build too much on it.  He cannot give
you a commission, I fear, without the authority of the
Governor of Madras; and though no doubt a word from
him would be effectual, he's a very particular man, and
you'll have to prove you're fit for a soldier's life.
Meanwhile, what do you say to this?  I've taken a fancy to
you.  I'm a merchant; trade pays better than soldiering,
in general.  I've got ships of my own, and I daresay I
could find a berth for you on one of them.  You seem
to know something of navigation?"

"Very little, sir; just what I picked up on the *Good
Intent*."

"Well, that's a beginning.  I've no doubt that Admiral
Watson will wish you to go to Gheria with him: your
knowledge of the place will be useful.  He won't start
for a month or two: why not occupy the time in improving
your navigation, so that if there are difficulties about a
cadetship you'll be competent for a mate's berth?  Nothing
like having two strings to your bow.  What do you say
to that?"

"'Tis very good of you, sir; I accept with pleasure."

"That's right.  Now when you've finished that curry
we'll go out on the veranda.  Before you came they were
talking of nothing but their dogs; but I wager 'tis nothing
but the Pirate now."

They soon rejoined the other gentlemen.

"Come, Mr. Burke," said Admiral Watson, "we've
been talking over the information you've given us.  You've
nothing to do, I suppose?"

"I've just suggested that he should read up navigation,
Mr. Watson," said Merriman.

"You're a wizard, Mr. Merriman.  I was proposing to
engage Mr. Burke to accompany us on our expedition
against the Pirate.  He can make himself useful when
we get to Gheria.  We'll see how James's information
tallies with his.  You won't object to serve his Majesty,
Mr. Burke?"

"'Tis what I should like best in the world, sir."

"Very well.  Meanwhile learn all you can; Captain
King here will take charge of you, I've no doubt."

"Certainly, Mr. Watson."

"You will give Mr. Burke quarters for the present,
Mr. Johnson?" said Merriman.

"To be sure.  And as 'tis late we'd better be going.
Good night, your Excellency; good night, gentlemen."

Early next day Admiral Watson himself rode down
to the harbour to inspect the grab.  He was so much
pleased with her that he offered to buy her for the service.
Before the day was out Desmond found himself in possession
of seven thousand rupees.  After paying the Marathas
the wages agreed upon, he proceeded to divide the balance.
He retained two shares for himself, and gave each of the
men who had escaped with him an equal part.  No one
was more surprised than Fuzl Khan when he received
his share in full.  He had expected to get the
punishment he knew he well deserved.  But Desmond, against
the advice of the superintendent, determined to
overlook the man's misconduct.  He went further.  At his
request Admiral Watson gave him a place on the grab.
The Gujarati seemed overwhelmed by this generosity on
the part of a man he had wronged, and for the nonce
breaking through his usual morose reserve, he thanked
Desmond, awkwardly indeed, but with manifest sincerity.

The other men were no less delighted with their good
fortune.  The sum they each received made them rich
men for life.  None was more elated than Surendra Nath.
It happened that Mr. Merriman came on board to see the
grab at the moment when Desmond was distributing
the prize money.  Desmond noticed a curious expression
on the Babu's face, and he was compelled to laugh when
the man, after a moment's hesitation, walked up to
Mr. Merriman, and with a strange mixture of humility and
importance said:

"I wish you a very good morning, your honour."

"Good gad!--Surendra Nath Chuckerbutti!  I'm
uncommonly glad to see you."

He shook hands warmly, a mark of condescension which
made the Babu beam with gratification.

"Why," continued Merriman, "we'd given you up
for dead long ago.  So you're the plucky and ingenious
fellow who did so much to help Mr. Burke in the famous
escape!  Surendra Nath was one of my best clerks,
Mr. Burke.  His father is my head clerk for Company's
business.  He hasn't been the same man since you
disappeared.  You must tell me your story.  Come up to
Mr. Bowman's house on the Green to-night; I am staying
there."

"I shall be most glad to return to my desk in Calcutta,
your honour," said the Babu.  "But I do not like the
sea.  It has no sympathy with me.  I think of
accomplishing the journey by land."

"Good heavens, man! it would take you a year at the
least, if you wasn't swallowed by a tiger or strangled
by a Thug on the way.  You'll have to go by water, as
you came."

The Babu's face fell.

"That is the fly in the ointment, your honour.  But I
will chew majum and bestow myself in the cabin; thus
perhaps I may avoid squeamishness.  By the kindness of
Burke Sahib I have a modicum of money, now a small
capital; and I hope, with your honour's permission, to do
trifling trade for myself."

"Certainly," said Merriman with a laugh.  "You'll
be a rich man yet, Surendra Nath.  Well, don't forget;
you'll find me at Mr. Bowman's on the Green at eight
o'clock."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: bold

In which Angria is astonished; and our hero
begins to pay off old scores.

.. vspace:: 2

Time sped quickly.  Desmond made the best use of his
opportunities of learning navigation under Captain King
and the superintendent, and before two months had
expired was pronounced fit to act as mate on the finest
East Indiaman afloat.  He took this with a grain of salt.
The fact was that his adventures, the modesty with which
he deprecated all allusions to his part in the escape from
Gheria, and the industry with which he worked, won him
the goodwill of all; he was a general favourite with the
little European community of Bombay.

Apart from his study, he found plenty to interest him
in his spare moments.  The strange mixture of people,
the temples and pagodas, the towers of silence on which
the Parsis exposed their dead, the burning ghats of the
Hindus on the beach, the gaunt filthy fakirs[#] and jogis
who whined and told fortunes in the streets for alms, the
exercising of the troops, the refitting and careening of
Admiral Watson's ships--all this provided endless matter
for curiosity and amusement.  One thing disappointed
him.  Not once during the two months did he come in
contact with Clive.  Mr. Merriman remained in Bombay,
awaiting the arrival of a vessel of his from Muscat; but
Desmond was loth to ask him whether he had sounded
Clive about a cadetship.  As a matter of fact Mr. Merriman
had mentioned the matter at once.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Religious mendicants (Mohammedan).

.. vspace:: 2

"Patience, Merriman," was Clive's reply.  "I have
my eye on the youngster."

And with that the merchant, knowing his friend, was
very well content; but he kept his own counsel.

At length, one day in the first week of February 1756,
Desmond received a summons to visit the Admiral.  His
interview was brief.  He was directed to place himself
under the orders of Captain Latham on the *Tyger*; the
fleet was about to sail.

It was a bright, cool February morning, cool, that is,
for Bombay, when the vessels weighed anchor and sailed
slowly out of the harbour.  All Bombay lined the shores:
natives of every hue and every mode of attire; English
merchants; ladies fluttering white handkerchiefs.  Such
an expedition had never been undertaken against the
noted Pirate before, and the report of Commodore James,
confirming the information brought by Desmond, had
given the authorities good hope that this pest of the
Malabar coast was at last to be destroyed.

It was an inspiriting sight as the vessels, rounding the
point, made under full sail to the south.  There were six
line-of-battle ships, six Company's vessels, five
bomb-ketches, four Maratha grabs--one of them Angria's own
grab, the *Tremukji*, on which Desmond had escaped--and
forty gallivats.  The *Tyger* led the van.  Admiral
Watson's flag was hoisted on the *Kent*, Admiral Pocock's on
the *Cumberland*.  On board the fleet were 200 European
soldiers, 300 sepoys, and 300 Topasses--mainly half-caste
Portuguese in the service of the Company, owing their
name to the topi[#] they wore.  To co-operate with this force
a land army of 12,000 Marathas, horse and foot, under the
command of Ramaji Punt, one of the Peshwa's generals,
had been for some time investing the town of Gheria.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Hat.

.. vspace:: 2

At this time of year the winds were so slight and
variable that it was nearly a week before the fleet arrived
off Gheria.  When the bastions of the fort hove into
sight Desmond could not help contrasting his feelings
with those of two months before.

"Like the look of your cage, Mr. Burke?" said Captain
Latham at his elbow.

"I was just thinking of it, sir," said Desmond.  "It
makes a very great difference when you're outside the bars."

"And we'll break those bars before we're much older,
or I'm a Dutchman."

At this moment the signal to heave-to was seen flying
at the masthead of the *Kent*.  Before the vessels had
anchored one of the grabs left the main fleet and ran into
the harbour.  It bore a message from Admiral Watson to
Tulaji Angria, summoning him to surrender.  The answer
returned was that if the Admiral desired to be master of
the fort he must take it by force, as Angria was resolved
to defend it to the last extremity.  The ships remained at
anchor outside the harbour during the night.  Next morning
a boat put off from the town end of the fort conveying
several of Angria's relatives and some officers of Ramaji
Punt's army.  It by and by became known that Tulaji
Angria, leaving his brother in charge of the fort, had
given himself up to Ramaji Punt, and was now a prisoner
in his camp.  The visitors had come ostensibly to view
the squadron, but really to discover what were Admiral
Watson's intentions in regard to the disposal of the fort
supposing it fell into his hands.  The Admiral saw through
the device, which was no doubt to hand the fort over to
the Peshwa's general, and so balk the British of their
legitimate prize.  Admiral Watson made short work of
the visitors.  He told them that if Angria would surrender
his fort peaceably he and his family would be protected;
but that the fort he must have.  They pleaded for a few
days' grace, but the Admiral declined to wait a single day.
If the fort was not immediately given up he would sail in
and attack it.

It was evident that hostilities could not be avoided.
About one in the afternoon Captain Henry Smith of the
*Kingfisher* sloop was ordered to lead the way, and Desmond
was sent to join him.

"What is the depth under the walls, Mr. Burke?" the
Captain asked him.

"Three and a half fathoms, sir--deep enough to float
the biggest of us."

The sloop weighed anchor, and stood in before the afternoon
breeze.  It was an imposing sight as the fleet formed
in two divisions and came slowly in their wake.  Each
ship covered a bomb-ketch, protecting the smaller vessels
from the enemy's fire.  Desmond himself was kept very
busy, going from ship to ship as ordered by signals from
the *Kent*, and assisting each captain in turn to navigate the
unfamiliar harbour.

It was just two o'clock when the engagement began
with a shot from the fort at the *Kingfisher*.  The shot was
returned, and a quarter of an hour later, while the fleet
was still under full sail, the *Kent* flew the signal for a
general action.  One by one the vessels anchored at
various points opposite the fortifications, and soon a
hundred and fifty guns were blazing away at the massive
bastions and curtains, answered vigorously by Angria's
two hundred and fifty.  Desmond was all excitement.
The deafening roar of the guns, the huge columns of
smoke that floated heavily over the fort, and sometimes
enveloped the vessels, the bray of trumpets, the beating of
tom-toms, the shouts of men, set his blood tingling: and
though he afterwards witnessed other stirring scenes, he
never forgot the vivid impression of the fight at Gheria.

About three o'clock a shell set fire to one of the Pirate's
grabs--one that had formerly been taken by him from the
Company.  Leaving its moorings, it drifted among the
main fleet of pirate grabs which still lay lashed together
Where Desmond had last seen them by the blaze of the
burning gallivats.  They were soon alight.  The fire
rapidly spread to the dockyard, caught the unfinished
grabs on the stocks, and before long the whole of Angria's
shipping was a mass of flame.

Meanwhile the bombardment had made little impression
on the fortifications, and it appeared to the Admiral that
time was being wasted.  Accordingly he gave orders to
elevate the guns and fire over the walls into the interior of
the fort.  A shell from one of the bomb-ketches fell plump
into one of the outhouses of the palace and set it on fire.
Fanned by the west wind, the flames spread to the arsenal
and the storehouse, licking up the sheds and smaller
buildings until they reached the outskirts of the city.  The
crackling of flames was now mingled with the din of
artillery, and as dusk drew on, the sky was lit up over a
large space with the red glow of burning.  By half-past
six the guns on the bastions had been silenced, and the
Admiral gave the signal to cease fire.

Some time before this a message reached Captain Smith
ordering him to send Desmond at once on board the *Kent*.
When he stepped on deck he found Admiral Watson in
consultation with Clive.  It appeared that during the
afternoon a cloud of horsemen had been observed hovering
on a hill eastward of the city, and being by no means sure
of the loyalty of the Maratha allies, Clive had come to the
conclusion that it was time to land his troops.  But it was
important that the shore and the neck of land east of the
fort should be reconnoitred before the landing was
attempted.  The groves might, for all he knew, be occupied
by the Pirate's troops or by those of Ramaji Punt, and
Clive had had enough experience of native treachery to be
well on his guard.

"I am going to send you on a somewhat delicate
mission, Mr. Burke," he said.  "You know the ground.  I
want you to go quietly on shore and see first of all
whether there is safe landing for us, and then whether
the ground between the town and the fort is occupied.
Be quick and secret; I need waste no words.  Mr. Watson
has a boat's crew ready."

"I think, sir," said Desmond, "that it will hardly be
necessary, perhaps not advisable, to take a boat's crew
from this ship.  If I might have a couple of natives there
would be a good deal less risk in getting ashore."

"Certainly.  But there is no time to spare; indeed, if
you are not back in a couple of hours I shall land at once.
But I should like to know what we have to expect.  You
had better get a couple of men from the nearest grab."

"The *Tremukji* is only a few cables-lengths away, sir,
and there's a man on board who knows the harbour.  I
will take him, with your permission."

"Very well.  Good luck go with you."

Desmond saluted, and stepping into the boat which had
rowed him to the *Kent*, he was quickly conveyed to the
grab.  In a few minutes he left this in a skiff, accompanied
only by Fuzl Khan and a lascar.  Not till then did he
explain what he required of them.  The Gujarati seemed
overcome by the selection of himself for this mission.

"You are kind to me, sahib," he said.  "I do not
deserve it; but I will serve you to my life's end."

There was in the man's tone a fervency which touched
Desmond at the time, and which he had good cause
afterwards to remember.

A quarter of an hour after Desmond quitted the deck of
the *Kent*, he was put ashore at a sandy bay at the further
extremity of the isthmus, hidden from the fort by a small
clump of mango trees.

"Now, Fuzl Khan," he said, "you will wait here for a
few minutes till it is quite dark, then you will row quickly
along the shore till you come to within a short distance of
the jetty.  I am going across the sand up toward the fort,
and will come round to you."

He stepped over the soft sand towards the trees and was
lost to sight.  The bombardment had now ceased, and
though he heard a confused noise from the direction of the
fort, there was no sound from the town, and he concluded
that the people had fled either into the fort or away into
the country.  It appeared at present that the whole stretch
of land between the town and the fort was deserted.

He had not walked far when he was startled by hearing,
as he fancied, a stealthy footstep following him.  Gripping
in his right hand the pistol he had brought as a precaution,
and with the left loosening his sword in its scabbard, he
faced round with his back to the wall of a shed in which
Angria's ropes were made, and waited, listening intently.
But the sound, slight as it was, had ceased.  Possibly it
had been made by some animal, though that seemed
scarcely likely: the noise and the glare from the burning
buildings must surely have scared away all the animals
in the neighbourhood.  Finding that the sound was not
repeated, he went on again.  Some minutes later, his ears
on the stretch, he fancied he caught the same soft furtive
tread: but when he stopped and listened and heard
nothing, he believed that he must have been mistaken,
and set it down as an echo of his own excitement.

Stepping warily, he picked his way through the darkness,
faintly illumined by the distant glow of the
conflagration.  He skirted the dockyard, and drew nearer to
the walls of the courtyard surrounding the fort,
remembering how, nearly twelve months before, he had come
almost the same way from the jetty with the decoy
message from Captain Barker.  Then he had been a source
of amusement to crowds of natives as he passed on his
way to the palace; now the spot was deserted, and but
for the noises that reached him from distant quarters he
might have thought himself the sole living creature in
that once populous settlement.

He had now reached the outer wall, which was
separated from the fort only by a wide compound dotted
here and there with palm-trees.  It was clear that no
force, whether of the Pirate's men or of Ramaji Punt's,
held the ground between the shore and the fort.  All
the fighting men had without doubt been withdrawn
within the walls.  His mission was accomplished.

It had been his intention to make his way back by a
shorter cut along the outer wall, by the west side of the
dockyard, until he reached the shore near the jetty.
But standing for a moment under the shade of a palm-tree,
he hesitated to carry out his plan, for the path he
meant to follow must be lit up along its whole course
by a double glare: from the blazing buildings inside the
fort, and from the burning gallivats in the dockyard and
harbour.  He was on the point of retracing his steps
when, looking over the low wall towards the fort, he
saw two dark figures approaching, moving swiftly from
tree to tree, as if wishing to escape observation.  It was
too late to move now; if he left the shelter of the
palm-tree he would come distinctly into view of the two men,
and it would be unwise to risk anything that would
delay his return to Clive.  Accordingly he kept well in
the shadow and waited.  The stealthy movements of the
men suggested that they were fugitives, eager to get
away with whole skins before the fort was stormed.

They came to the last of the palm-trees within the
wall, and paused there for a brief space.  A few yards
of open ground separated them from the gate.  Desmond
watched curiously, then with some anxiety, for it
suddenly struck him that the men were making for him, and
that he had actually been shadowed from his landing-place
by some one acting, strange as it seemed, in collusion with
them.  On all accounts it was necessary to keep close.

Suddenly he saw the men leave the shelter of their tree
and run rapidly across the ground to the gate.  Having
reached it, they turned aside into the shadow of the wall
and stood as if to recover breath.  Desmond had kept
his eyes upon them all the time.  Previously, in the
shade of the trees, their faces had not been clearly
distinguishable; but while now invisible from the fort,
they were lit up by the glow from the harbour.  It was
with a shock of surprise that he recognized in the
fugitives the overseer of the dockyard, whose cruelties
he had so good reason to remember, and Marmaduke
Diggle, as he still must call him.  The sight of the
latter set his nerves tingling; his fingers itched to take
some toll for the miseries he had endured through Diggle's
villainy.  But he checked his impulse to rush forward and
confront the man.  Single-handed he could not cope with
both the fugitives; and though, if he had been free, he
might have cast all prudence from him in his longing to
bring the man to book, he recollected his duty to Clive
and remained in silent rage beneath the tree.

All at once he heard a rustle behind him, a low growl
like that of an animal enraged; and almost before he
was aware of what was happening a dark figure sprang
past him, leapt over the ground with the rapidity of a
panther, and threw himself upon the overseer just as
with Diggle he was beginning to move towards the
town.  There was a cry from each man, and the red
light falling upon the face of the assailant, Desmond saw
with amazement that it was the Gujarati, whom he had
supposed to be rowing along the shore to meet him.
He had hardly recognized the man before he saw that
he was at deadly grips with the overseer, both snarling
like wild beasts.  There was no time for thought, for
Diggle, momentarily taken aback by the sudden
onslaught, had recovered himself and was making with
drawn sword towards the two combatants, who in their
struggle had moved away from him.

Desmond no longer stayed to weigh possibilities or
count risks.  It was clear that Fuzl Khan's first
onslaught had failed; had he got home, the overseer,
powerful as he was, must have been killed on the spot.
In the darkness the Gujarati's knife had probably missed
its aim.  He had now two enemies to deal with, and
but for intervention he must soon be overcome and slain.
Drawing his sword, Desmond sprang from the tree and
dashed across the open, reaching the scene of the struggle
just in the nick of time to strike up Diggle's weapon ere
it sheathed itself in the Gujarati's side.  Diggle turned
with a startled oath, and seeing who his assailant was,
he left his companion to take care of himself and faced
Desmond, a smile of anticipated triumph wreathing his lips.

No word was spoken.  Diggle lunged, and Desmond
at that moment knew that he was at a perilous crisis of
his life.  The movements of the practised swordsman
could not be mistaken; he himself had little experience;
all that he could rely on was his quick eye and the
toughness of his muscles.  He gave back, parrying the
lunge, tempted to use his pistol upon his adversary.
But now that the cannonading had ceased, a shot might
be heard by some of the Pirate's men, and before he
could escape he might be beset by a crowd of ruffians
against whom he would have no chance at all.  He
could but defend himself with his sword and hope that
Diggle might overreach himself in his fury and give him
an opportunity to get home a blow.

Steel struck upon steel; the sparks flew; and the evil
smile upon Diggle's face became fixed as he saw that
Desmond was no match for him in swordsmanship.  But
it changed when he found that though his young
opponent's science was at fault, his strength and dexterity,
his wariness in avoiding a close attack, served him in
good stead.  Impatient to finish the fight, he took a step
forward, and lunged so rapidly that Desmond could hardly
have escaped his blade but for an accident.  There was a
choking sob to his right, and just as Diggle's sword was
flashing towards him a heavy form fell against the blade
and upon Desmond.  In the course of their deadly struggle
the Gujarati and the overseer had shifted their ground,
and at this moment, fortunately for Desmond, Fuzl Khan
had driven his knife into his old oppressor's heart.

But the same accident that saved Desmond's life gave
Diggle an opportunity of which he was quick to avail
himself.  Before Desmond could recover his footing,
Diggle shortened his arm and was about to drive his
sword through the lad's heart.  The Gujarati saw the
movement.  Springing in with uplifted knife he attempted
to turn the blade.  He succeeded; he struck it upwards,
but the force with which he had thrown himself between
the two swordsmen was his undoing.  Unable to check
his rush, he received the point of Diggle's sword in his
throat.  With a terrible cry he raised his hands to clutch
his assailant; but his strength failed him; he swayed,
tottered, and fell gasping at Desmond's feet, beside the
lifeless overseer.  Desmond saw that the turn of fortune
had given the opportunity to him.  He sprang forward
as Diggle tried to recover his sword Diggle gave way:
and before he could lift his dripping weapon to parry the
stroke, Desmond's blade was through his forearm.  Panting
with rage he sought with his left hand to draw his
pistol; but Desmond was beforehand with him.  He
caught his arm, wrenched the pistol from him, and,
breathless with his exertions, said:

"You are my prisoner."

"'Tis fate, my young friend," said Diggle, with all his
old blandness; Desmond never ceased to be amazed at the
self-command of this extraordinary man.  "I have let
some blood, I perceive; my sword-arm is for the time
disabled; but my great regret at this moment--you will
understand the feeling--is that this gallant friend of yours
lies low with the wound intended for another.  So Antores
received in his flank the lance hurled at Lausus: 'infelix
alieno volnere'."

"I dare say, Mr. Diggle," interrupted Desmond, "but
I have no time to construe Latin."  Covering Diggle with
his pistol, Desmond stooped over Fuzl Khan's prostrate
body and discovered in a moment that the poor fellow's
heart had ceased to beat.  He rose, and added: "I must
trouble you to come with me; and quickly, for you
perceive you are at my mercy."

"Where do you propose to take me, my friend?"

"We will go this way, and please step out."

Diggle scowled, and stood as though meditating resistance.

"Come, come, Mr. Diggle, you have no choice.  I do
not wish to have to drag you; it might cause you pain."

"Surely you will spare a moment to an old friend!  I
fear you are entirely mistaken.  'Tis pity that with the
natural ebullition of your youthful spirit you should have
set upon a man whom----"

"You can talk as we go, Mr. Diggle, if you talk low
enough.  Must I repeat it?"

"But where are we going?  Really, Mr. Burke, respect
for my years should prompt a more considerate treatment."

"You see yonder point?" said Desmond impatiently--"yonder
on the shore.  You will come with me there."

Diggle looked round as if hoping that even now
something might happen in his favour.  But no one was in
sight; Desmond stood over him with sword still drawn;
and recognizing his helplessness the man at length turned
towards the shore and began to walk slowly along,
Desmond a foot or so in the rear.

"'Twas a most strange chance, surely," he said, "that
brought you to this spot at the very moment when I was
shaking the dust of Gheria from my feet.  How impossible
it is to escape the penalty of one's wrong-doing!  Old
Horace knew it: 'Raro antecedentem scelestum'--you
remember the rest.  Mr. Burslem drubbed our Latin into
us, Mr. Burke.  I am a fellow-townsman of yours, though
you did not know it: ay, a boy in your old school, switched
by your old master.  I have treated you badly.  I admit
it; but what could I do?  Your brother slandered you;
I see now how he deceived me; he wished you out of his
way.  Here I acted under pressure of Angria; he was bent
on sending you to Bombay; I could not defy him;
I was wrong; what you said when I saw you last made a
deep impression on me; I repented, and, as Tully, I think,
puts it, 'a change of plan is the best harbour to a
penitent man.'  I was indeed seeking that refuge of the
repentant, and altering my whole plan of life; and if you will
but tarry a moment----"

"Keep on, Mr. Diggle," said Desmond, as the man,
who had been talking over his shoulder, half-stopped:
"my point is sharp."

"I was leaving the fort, as you saw.  Not from any fear--you
will acquit me of that, and as you know, the fort is
impregnable, and I might have remained there in perfect
safety.  No, I was quitting it because I was wearied,
disgusted with Angria and his ways.  'Twas under a
misapprehension I for a time consorted with him; I am
disabused, and it is by the mere malignity of Fate that at
this turning-point of my career I encounter one whom,
I acknowledge, I have wronged.  I am beaten; I do not
blink that; and by a better man.  But youth is generous;
and you, Mr. Burke, are not the man to press your advantage
against one who all his life has been the sport of evil
circumstance.  I was bound for further India; I know a
little port to the south where I should have taken ship, with
strong hope of getting useful and honourable employment
when my voyage was ended.  Perchance you have heard
of Alivirdi Khan; if you would but pause a moment----"

"Go on, Mr. Diggle," said Desmond inexorably; "and
it will be well to mend your pace."

"Alivirdi Khan," resumed Diggle, speaking more rapidly--the
waters of the harbour, glowing red, were in sight--"Alivirdi
Khan is sick unto death.  He is wealthy beyond
all imaginings.  His likeliest heir, Siraj-uddaula, soon to
be Subah[#] of Bengal, is well known to me, and indeed
beholden to me for services rendered in the past.
Mr. Burke, I make you a proposition--it is worth
considering.  Why not come with me?  Wipe off old scores,
throw in your lot with mine.  Together, what could
we not do--I with my experience, you with your
youthful vigour!  See, here is an earnest of my sincerity."  He
took from his fob a large diamond, which flashed in
the red light of the conflagration.  "Accept this; in the
treasuries of Alivirdi there are thousands like it, each
worth a king's ransom.  Come with me, and I promise
you that within two years you shall be rich beyond your
wildest dreams."

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Viceroy.

.. vspace:: 2

"Put up your diamond, Mr. Peloti.  You may repeat
your offer when we reach Colonel Clive."

Diggle stopped as if shot.  He looked with startled eyes
at the boy, who had known him only as Diggle.

"You are going to Colonel Clive!" he exclaimed.  The
smoothness of his manner was gone; his tone expressed
mortal anxiety.  "But--but--he is a personal enemy;
he will--I beseech you think again; I----"

He broke off, and with a suddenness that took Desmond
by surprise he sprang away, making towards the grove of
mangoes that stood between him and the shore.  Desmond
was instantly in pursuit.  If Diggle gained the
shelter of the trees he might escape in the darkness.  But
the race was short.  Weak from fear and loss of blood,
the elder was no match in speed for the younger.  In less
than a hundred yards he was overtaken, and stood
panting, quivering, unnerved.  Desmond gripped his
uninjured arm, and with quickened footsteps hurried him
towards the shore.  There was the boat, the lascar resting
motionless on his oar.  Ten minutes later Diggle was
assisted up the side of the *Kent*, and handed over to the
officer of the watch.  Then Desmond made his report to
Clive.

"All the enemy are withdrawn within the fort, sir.  The
whole ground between the fort and the shore is clear.
There is nothing to obstruct your landing."

"I thank you.  You have exceeded your time by ten
minutes.  Who is that man who came aboard with you?"

"It was he who delayed me, sir.  It is Mr. Diggle, or
Peloti, I should say."

"The deuce he is!"

"He was stealing out of the fort; it came to a scuffle,
and he was wounded--so I brought him along."

"Mr. Speke," said Clive turning to the captain, "may
I ask you to see this man safe bestowed?  I will deal with
him when our business here is concluded.  Mr. Burke, you
will come with me."

By nine o'clock Clive had landed his troops.  They
bivouacked on the shore, in expectation of storming the fort
next day.  At daybreak an officer was sent into the
fort with a flag of truce to demand its surrender.  This
being refused, the Admiral ordered his ships to warp within
a cable's length of the walls in three fathoms and a
quarter of water, and the attack was renewed by sea and
land, Clive gradually advancing and worrying the enemy
with his cannon.  At two o'clock a magazine in the fort
blew up, and not long after, just as Clive was about to
give the order to storm, a white flag was seen fluttering
at one of the bastions.  A messenger was sent to the
governor to arrange the capitulation, but when he was met
by prevarication and pleas for delay the bombardment
was once more resumed.  A few minutes of this sufficed
to bring the defenders to reason, and by five o'clock the
English flag flew upon the walls.

Clive postponed his entry until dawn on the following
morning.

"By Jove, Mr. Burke," he said to Desmond, who showed
him the way to the palace, "if we had been within
these walls I think we could have held out till doomsday."

All the English officers were impressed by the strength
of the fortifications.  Besides Angria's 250 cannon, an
immense quantity of stores and ammunition fell into the
hands of the captors.  In the vaults of the palace were
found silver rupees to the value of £100,000, and treasure
worth £30,000 more.  The capture had been effected with
the loss of only twenty killed and wounded.

Desmond took the earliest opportunity of seeking the
body of Fuzl Khan.  Fortunately the fires and the noises
of the night had preserved it from mangling by wild beasts.
The poor man lay where he had fallen, near the body of
the overseer.

"Poor fellow!" thought Desmond, looking at the strong,
fierce face and the gigantic frame now stiff and cold.
"Little he knew, when he said he'd serve me to his life's
end, that the end was so near."

He had the body carried into the town, and reverently
buried according to Mohammedan rites.  From the lascar
he had learnt all that he ever knew of the motives of the
Gujarati's action.  Desmond had hardly left the boat when
the man sprang quickly after him, saying briefly: "I
go to guard the sahib."  It was like the instinctive impulse
of a faithful dog; and Desmond often regretted the loss
of the man who had shown himself so capable of devotion.

That evening Clive summoned Desmond to attend him
in the palace.  When he entered the durbar hall, he saw
a small group seated on the dais, consisting of Clive,
Admiral Watson, and two or three subordinate officers.
Standing in front of them was Diggle, in the charge of two
marines.

"How many European prisoners have been released,
Mr. Ward?" the Admiral was saying.

"Thirteen, sir; ten English and three Dutch."

"Is that correct, Mr. Burke?  Was that the number
when you were here?"

"Yes, sir, that is correct."

"Then you may go, Mr. Ward, and see that the poor
fellows are taken on board the *Tyger* and well looked
after."  As the officer saluted and withdrew the Admiral
turned to Clive.

"Now for this white pirate," he said: "a most unpleasant
matter, truly."

Signing to the marines to bring forward their prisoner,
he threw himself back upon the divan, leaving the matter
in Clive's hands.  Clive was gazing hard at Diggle, who
had lost the look of terror he had worn two nights before,
and stood before them in his usual attitude of careless
ease.

"You captured this man," said Clive, turning to
Desmond, "within the precincts of the fort?"

His hard level tone contrasted strongly with the urbaner
manner of the Admiral.

"Yes, sir," replied Desmond.

"He is the same man who inveigled you on board the
interloper *Good Intent* and delivered you to the Pirate?"

"Yes, sir."

"And he was to your knowledge associated with the
Pirate, and offered you inducements to spy upon His
Majesty's forces in Bombay?"

"Yes, sir."

"Have you anything to say for yourself, Mr. Peloti?"

"Pardon me, Mr. Clive; Diggle--Marmaduke Diggle."

"Diggle if you like," said Clive with a shrug.  "You
will hang as well in that name as another."

One of the officers smiled at the grim jest, but there was
no smile on Clive's stern, set face.

"You asked me had I anything to say for myself," said
Diggle quietly.  "Assuredly; but it seems your honours
have condemned me already.  Why should I waste your
time, and my breath?  I bethink me 'twas not even in
Rome the custom to judge a matter before learning the
facts--'prius rem dijudicare'; but it is a long time,
Mr. Clive, since we conned our Terence together."

Desmond could not but admire the superb insouciance
and the easy smile with which Diggle played his card.
Seeing that Clive for an instant hesitated, the intrepid
prisoner continued:

"But there, Mr. Clive, you never excelled in the Latin.
'Twas a sore point with poor Mr. Burslem."

"Come, come," cried Clive, visibly nettled, "this is no
time for quips.  You fail to appreciate your position.  You
are caught red-handed.  If you have no defence to make
you will meet the fate of other pirates before you.  Have
you anything to say?"

"Yes.  You accuse me of piracy; I have a complete
answer to that charge; but as an Englishman I claim an
Englishman's right--a fair trial before a jury of my
countrymen.  In any case, Mr. Clive, it would be invidious
to give me worse treatment than Monaji Angria and his
officers.  As for the rest, it depends on the evidence of this
single witness."

Here Admiral Watson bent forward and said to Clive in
an undertone, inaudible to the others:

"I think we had better defer this.  If, as you suppose,
the fellow has knowledge of the French plans, it would be
only politic to give Mr. Bourchier an opportunity of
inquiring into the matter.  No doubt he richly deserves hanging,
but *dead* men tell no tales."

Clive frowned, and, drumming upon the divan impatiently
with his fingers, seemed for the moment to be lost
in thought.  Then he said:

"Yes, Mr. Watson, I think you are right."

"Take the prisoner back to your ship," said the Admiral,
"and put him under double guard.  Thank you, Mr. Burke;
we shall require your evidence in Bombay.  One
word before you go.  I am vastly indebted to you for
your services; you have been of the greatest use to myself
and my captains.  Your name will frequently appear in
our ships' logs, and I shall take care to show your work
in the proper light when I make my report.  Meanwhile,
when the division of prize-money is made, you will receive
a lieutenant's share.  Good-night, sir."

And Desmond's face, as he left the room, bore a flush of
happiness and pride.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: bold

In which the scene changes; the dramatis
personæ remaining the same.

.. vspace:: 2

A few days after the capture, the *Tyger* left Gheria, having
on board the men wounded in the attack and the European
prisoners who had been rescued.  Desmond also sailed in
her, with an official report from Admiral Watson to
Governor Bourchier.

The arrival of the *Tyger* at Bombay, with the first news
of the success of the expedition and the fall of the fortress
so long deemed impregnable, was the occasion of a great
demonstration of rejoicing.  The trading community,
whether European or native, was enthusiastic over the
ruin of the notorious Pirate; and Desmond, as one who had
had a share in the operations, came in for a good deal of
congratulation which he laughingly protested ought to have
been reserved for better men.

Mr. Merriman was among the crowd that welcomed the
*Tyger*, and as soon as Desmond had delivered his report
to Mr. Bourchier, the genial merchant carried him off to
the house on the Green where he was staying and insisted
on having a full account of his experiences.  When he
learnt that Diggle had been captured and would shortly
reach Bombay as a prisoner, his jolly face assumed as
intense a look of vindictive satisfaction as it was capable
of expressing.

"By thunder! that's the best of your news for me.  The
villain will get his deserts at last.  I'm only sorry that I
shall not be here to serve on the jury."

"Are you leaving Bombay then?"

"Yes, and I wanted you to come with me.  My ship the
*Hormuzzeer* came to port two days ago, and I had to
dismiss the second mate, who was continually at odds with
the lascars.  I hoped you would accept his berth, and sail
with me.  I want to get back to Calcutta.  We had
advices the other day that things are not looking well
in Bengal.  Alivirdi Khan is dying; and there is sure to
be some bother about the succession.  All Bengal may be
aflame.  My wife and daughter are in Calcutta, and
I don't care about being away from them if danger is
threatening.  I want to get away as soon as possible, and
thought of taking passage in an Indiaman; but the
*Hormuzzeer* being here I'll sail in that; she'll make direct for
the Hugli; an Indiaman would put in at Madras, and
goodness knows how long I might be delayed."

"'Tis a pity," said Desmond.  "I should have liked of
all things to accept your offer, but I'm bound to stay for
Diggle's trial, and that can't be held until the fleet return."

"How long will that be?"

"I heard the Admiral say he expected it would take a
month to settle everything at Gheria.  He wants to keep
the place in our hands, but Ramaji Punt claims it for the
Peshwa, and Captain Speke of the *Kent* told me that it'll
be very lucky if they come to an arrangement within a
month."

"It's uncommonly vexatious.  I can't wait a month.
It'll take a week or more to clean the *Hormuzzeer's* hull,
and another to load her; in a fortnight at the outside I
hope to be on my way.  Well, it can't be helped.  What
will you do when the trial is over?"

"I don't know."

"Did Mr. Clive say anything about a cadetship?"

"Not a word.  He only said that I should get a share
of the Gheria prize-money."

"That's something to the good.  Use it wisely.  I came
out to Calcutta twenty years ago with next to nothing, and
I've done well.  There's no reason why you should not
make your fortune too if your health will stand the climate.
We'll have a talk over things before I sail."

A week later the *Bridgewater* arrived from Gheria, with
Diggle on board.  He was imprisoned in the Fort, being
allotted far too comfortable quarters to please Mr. Merriman.
But Merriman's indignation at what he considered
the Governor's leniency was changed to hot rage three days
later when it became known that the prisoner had
disappeared.  Not a trace of him could be discovered.  He had
been locked in as usual one night, and next morning his
room was empty.  Imprisonment was much less stringent
in those days than now; the prisoner was allowed to see
visitors and to live more or less at ease.  The only clue to
Diggle's escape was afforded by the discovery that, at the
same time that he disappeared, there vanished also a black
boy, who had been brought among the prisoners from
Gheria and was employed in doing odd jobs about the
harbour.  Desmond had no doubt that this was Diggle's
boy Scipio Africanus.  And when he mentioned the
connexion between the two, it was supposed that the negro
had acted as go-between for his master with the friends in
the town by whose aid the escape had been arranged.
Among the large native population of Bombay there were
many who were suspected of being secret agents of the
French, and as Diggle was well provided with funds it
was not at all unlikely that his jailer had been tampered
with.  Merriman's wrath was very bitter.  He had been
waiting for years, as he told Desmond, for the punishment
of Peloti.  It was gall and wormwood to him that the
villain should have cheated the gallows.

Diggle's escape, however, gave Merriman an opportunity
to secure Desmond's services.  The culprit being
gone, the evidence was no longer required.  Finding that
Desmond was still ready to accept the position of mate on
the *Hormuzzeer*, Merriman consulted Mr. Bourchier, who
admitted that he saw no reason for detaining the lad.
Accordingly, at the end of the first week in March, when
the vessel stood out of Bombay harbour, Desmond sailed
with her.

The weather was calm, but the winds not wholly favourable,
and the *Hormuzzeer* made a somewhat slow passage.
Mr. Merriman was impatient to reach Calcutta, and
Desmond was surprised at his increasing uneasiness.  He
had believed that the French and Dutch were the only
people in Bengal who gave the Company trouble, and
as England was then at peace with both France and the
Netherlands, there was nothing, he thought, to fear from
them.

"You are mistaken," said Mr. Merriman, in the course
of a conversation one day.  "The natives are a terrible
thorn in our side.  At best we are in Bengal on sufferance;
we are a very small community--only a hundred or two
Europeans in Calcutta: and since the Marathas overran
the country some years ago we have felt as though sitting
on the brink of a volcano.  Alivirdi wants to keep us
down; he has forbidden us to fight the French even if
war does break out between us at home; and though the
Mogul has granted us charters--they call them firmans
here--Alivirdi doesn't care a rap for things of that sort,
and won't be satisfied until he has us under his heel.
Only his trading profits and his fear of the Mogul have
kept him civil."

"But you said he was dying."

"So he is, and that makes matters worse, for his
grandson, Siraj-uddaula, who'll probably succeed him, is no
better than a tiger.  He lives at Murshidabad, about
100 miles up the river.  He's a vain, peacocky,
empty-headed youth, and as soon as the breath is out of his
grandad's body he'll want to try his wings and take a
peck or two at us.  He may do it slyly, or go so far as
to attack us openly."

"But if he did that, sure Calcutta is defended; and,
as Mr. Clive said to me in Gheria, British soldiers behind
walls might hold out for ever."

"Clive doesn't know Calcutta then! That's the
mischief!  At the Maratha invasion the Bengalis on our
territory took fright, and at their own expense began a
great ditch round Calcutta--we call it the Maratha ditch;
but the Nawab bought the Marathas off, the work was
stopped, the walls of the fort are now crumbling to ruins,
and the cannon lie about unmounted and useless.  Worst
of all, our governor, Mr. Drake, is a quiet soul, an excellent
worthy man, who wouldn't hurt a fly.  We call him the
Quaker.  Quakers are all very well at home, where they
can 'thee' and 'thou' and get rich and pocket affronts
without any harm; but they won't do in India.  Might
is right with the natives; they don't understand anything
else; and as sure as they see any sign of weakness in
us they'll take advantage of it and send us all to kingdom
come.  And I'm thinking of the women folk: India's
no place for them at the best; and I did all I could to
persuade my wife and daughter to remain at home.  But
they would come out with me when I returned last year;
and glad as I am to have them with me I sometimes get
very anxious; I can't bear them out of my sight, and
that's a fact."

Mr. Merriman showed his relief when, on the 30th of
April, he noticed the yellow tinge in the water which
indicated that the vessel was approaching the mouth of
the Hugli.  Next day the vessel arrived at Balasore,
where a pilot was taken on board, and entered the river.
Mr. Merriman pointed out to Desmond the island of
Sagar, whither in the late autumn the jogis came down
in crowds to purify themselves in the salt water, "and
provide a meal for the tigers," he added.  At Kalpi a large
barge, rowed by a number of men dressed in white, with
pink sashes, came to meet the *Hormuzzeer*.

"That's my budgero," said Merriman.  "We'll get
into it and row up to Calcutta in half the time it would
take the ship.  Each of us merchants has his own budgero,
and instead of putting our men in buttons with our arms
and all that nonsense, we give them coloured sashes--and
don't our women squabble about the colours, my boy,
just don't they!"

In the budgero they passed the Dutch factory at Fulta,
and the Subah's forts at Budge Budge and Tanna.  At
Gobindpur's reach, Merriman pointed out the pyramid of
stone that marked the limit of the Company's jurisdiction.
Soon the gardens of the British merchants came in sight,
then the Company's docks, and at last the town of
Calcutta, where the Company's landing-stage was thronged
with people awaiting the arrival of the budgero in the hope
of getting news from home.

"There's Surendra Nath and his father," said Mr. Merriman,
as they came near the steps.  His jolly face beamed
when he stepped on to the ghat.[#]  "Hullo, Babu!" he
said.  "Glad to see you again."  He shook hands with
both the men; the elder was much like his son, a slightly-built
Bengali, with white hair and very bright eyes.  Both
were clad in dhotis of pure white; their legs were bare
from the knee, their feet shod with sandals.  When the
greeting had passed between them and their master, the
old man moved towards Desmond, put his hands together,
and made a deep salaam.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

[#] Landing-stage.

.. vspace:: 2

"I have heard what the sahib did for my son.  I thank
the sahib," he said.

"Yes, 'twas excellent good fortune for Surendra Nath,"
said Mr. Merriman.  "I knew you would be overjoyed
to see your son again.  But how is the bibi,[#] and the
chota[#] bibi?"

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Lady: *mem-sahib* was not yet in use.

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Young.

.. vspace:: 2

"They were well, sahib, when last I heard.  They are
on a visit to Watts Sahib, at Cossimbazar."

Merriman's face fell, but he had no time to say more,
for he was accosted by a friend.

"Glad to see you back, Mr. Merriman.  I've wanted
your voice on the Council for some time past."

"Is anything wrong, Mr. Holwell?" asked Merriman
anxiously.

"Everything is wrong.  Alivirdi died a fortnight ago;
Siraj-uddaula has stepped into his shoes; and Drake has
made a mess of everything, with Manningham's and
Frankland's assistance.  I want you to come and dine
with me this evening; we must have a serious talk; I've
asked two or three men of our sort in anticipation of your
consent."

"Very well.  Let me present my friend Mr. Burke.
He escaped from Gheria; you've heard that Colonel Clive
captured the place?"

"Yes; we had despatches from Admiral Watson some
days ago.  I have heard of Mr. Burke's adventures; your
servant, sir; I am delighted to meet you.  Well, Merriman,
three o'clock; I will not detain you now; you'll want
to get home."

Mr. Merriman's bearers were at hand with his
palanquin; he got into it; the men set off at a swinging
pace, warning the bystanders with their cry of
"Tok! Tok!" and Desmond walked by the side of the chair,
amused to watch the self-important airs of the peon
who went in front.  They passed the Fort and the
Company's house, and arrived at length at a two-storey
flat-roofed house with a veranda, the windows filled, not
with oyster shells as at Bombay, but with thin screens
of reeds.

"Here we are," said Merriman with a sigh of relief
"Now I'll hand you over to the baniya[#]; he'll show you
to your room.  I'm vexed that my wife is not here; of
course she didn't know when to expect me; and Mrs. Watts
is an old friend of hers.  'Tis a relief in one way;
for Mr. Watts is a shrewd fellow--he's head of our
factory at Cossimbazar, and senior member of Council
here--and he would have sent the ladies away if he scented
danger.  Sorry I shall have to leave you; I must dine
with Mr. Holwell; he's our zamindar--judge of the Cutcheri
court and collector of taxes: a fine fellow, the most
cool-headed man on the Council.  But the khansaman will
give you something to eat: and I'll be back as soon as
I can.  You can take it easy on the veranda, and you'll
find a hookah if you care to try it."

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Factotum.

.. vspace:: 2

"No, thanks," said Desmond with a smile; "I've
no fancy that way."

Shortly afterwards Mr. Merriman left the house in his
palanquin, wearing the short white calico jacket that was
then *de rigueur* at dinner parties.  It was late before he
returned.  There was an anxious and worried look on
his face, but he said cheerily:

"Well, how have you been getting on?"

"I've been reading, sir: I found a volume of Mr. Fielding's
*Amelia*, and 'twas a change to read after eighteen
months without setting eyes on a book.  I hope you had
a good dinner."

"'Pon my soul I don't know.  None of us know.  I
warrant.  We had too much to talk about to think about
our appetites.  Two or three members of Council were
there, and Captain Minchin, the military commandant.
Things are looking black, Desmond.  Alivirdi is dead,
and, as I expected, his scoundrel of a grandson,
Siraj-uddaula, is the new Subah.  He has imprisoned one of
his rivals, his aunt, and is marching against another, his
cousin Shaukat Jung; and 'tis the common talk that our
turn will come next."

"But why should he be at odds with us?"

"Why, to begin with, he's a native and hates us; thinks
we're too rich; and though he's rich enough he would like
to get what we have and turn us out.  Then our president
Mr. Drake has acted in the weakest possible way; the
very way to encourage the Subah.  Instead of siding
with Siraj-uddaula from the first, as he might well have
done, because the rivals never had the ghost of a chance,
he shilly-shallied.  Then he offended him by giving shelter
to a fellow named Krishna Das, who came in a month ago
with fifty sacks of treasure from Murshidabad; it really
belonged to the Subah's aunt, but the Subah had an eye
on it and he's furious at losing it.  That wasn't enough.
Mr. Watts at Cossimbazar had warned the Council here of
the new Subah's unfriendliness; they talk at Murshidabad
of our weak defences and how easy it would be to
overcome us.  He advised Mr. Drake to keep on good terms
with the Subah; but what must he do but turn out of the
place a man named Narayan Das, the brother of the new
Nawab's chief spy."

"Sure you don't allow the enemy's spies to live in Calcutta?"

"Sure we can't help ourselves.  The place is full of
them--spies of the Subah, and of the French too.  We
can't do anything.  We may suspect, but if we raised a
hand we should stir up a hornets' nest, as indeed
Mr. Drake appears to be doing.  But that isn't all.  The
Company's ship *Delaware* came in a fortnight ago with the
news that a French fleet is fitting out under Count Lally,
at Brest; 'tis supposed war will break out again and the
fleet is intended to attack us here.  So that we may have
the Subah making common cause with the French to
crush us.  He'll turn against the French then, but that
won't save us.  On top of that comes a fakir from
Murshidabad demanding in the Subah's name that we should
stop work on our fortifications; the insolence of the wretch
passes all bounds.  Mr. Drake properly refused the
demand; he said we were repairing our defences in case we
needed 'em against the French; but he undertook not
to start any new works, which was a mistake.  Altogether,
Desmond, things are in a pretty mess.  I'm afraid
Mr. Drake is not the man to cope with a grave situation;
but he has the majority of the Council with him, and we
can't alter it.  Now I think we had better turn in;
perhaps I shall feel better after a good sleep; I am certainly
far from easy in mind."

Desmond slept like a top on his light mattress,
enveloped in his mosquito curtains.  In the morning he
accompanied Mr. Merriman to his daftarkhanah,[#] where
he found a large staff under the superintendence of the
muhri,[#] Surendra Nath's father.  He returned to the house
for tiffin, spent the afternoon indoors over his novel, and
after the three o'clock dinner accompanied his host in a
walk through the English quarter.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Office.

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Chief clerk.

.. vspace:: 2

As they returned, Mr. Merriman suggested that they
should walk down to Mr. Watts' house near the river
to see if any news had arrived from Cossimbazar.  On the
way they passed a large pakka[#] house, surrounded by a
compound and a low wall.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Substantial.

.. vspace:: 2

"We were talking yesterday about spies," said Merriman.
"In that house lives a man who in my belief is
a spy, and a treacherous scoundrel--actually living next
door to Mr. Eyre, the keeper of our military stores.  He's
a Sikh named Omichand, and the richest merchant in the
city.  He owns half of it; he's my landlord, confound
him!  For forty years he was the contractor for supplying
the Company with cloth, but we found out that he was
cheating us right and left, and dismissed him.  Yet he's
very friendly to us, which is a bad sign.  'Twas he who
brought Krishna Das with his treasure into the place,
and my belief is, he did it merely to embroil us with the
Subah.  Mr. Drake is disposed to pooh-pooh the idea,
but I incline to Mr. Holwell's opinion, that Omichand's
a schemer and a villain, ready to betray us to French,
Dutch, or Gentoos as it suits him."

"Why don't you turn him out, then?" asked Desmond.

"My dear boy, he's far too powerful.  And we'd rather
keep him in sight.  While he's here we can tell something
of what is going on; his house is pretty well watched;
but if he were away he might try all manner of tricks
and we should never learn anything about them.  Our
policy is to be very sweet to him--to make friends of the
mammon of unrighteousness, as Mr. Bellamy, our padre,
puts it.  You're bound to see him one of these days, the
hoary-headed old villain."

Though Mr. Merriman fully relied on Mr. Watts' discretion
to send his visitors back to Calcutta if there were
the least sign of danger, he was so anxious to have his
wife and daughter with him that next day he sent a special
messenger up the river asking them to return as soon as
they could.  He could not fetch them, public affairs not
allowing him to leave Calcutta at once, but he promised to
meet them somewhere on the way.  He spent the day in
making himself acquainted with the business that had
been done during his absence.  A valuable consignment
of silks, muslins, and taffeties was expected from Cossimbazar,
he learnt, and as soon as it arrived the *Hormuzzeer*
would be able to sail for Penang.

"A private venture," he said to Desmond, "nothing to
do with the Company."

Desmond expressed his surprise that the Company's
officials were at liberty to engage in private trading.

"Why, bless you, how could we live otherwise?  Do
you imagine I got rich on the Company?  What do you
suppose my salary is as member of Council?  'Tis just
forty pounds.  The factors get fifteen and the writers five:
Colonel Clive began at five pounds a year: so you may
guess that we have to do something to keep flesh on our
bones.  And that reminds me of a proposal I wished
to make to you.  You have a little money from the sale of
the Pirate's grab, and you'll have more by and by when
the Gheria prize-money is distributed.  Why not put some
of it into the *Hormuzzeer*?  Let me buy some goods for
you, and send 'em to Penang: they'll fetch top prices
there in the present state of trade.  'Twill be an excellent
investment."

"Thank you, sir, I'll be glad to follow your advice."

"That's right.  I'll see about it at once, and the sooner
these things come from Cossimbazar the better.  The
delay is vexing, and I fear I'll have to change my agent
there."

Mr. Merriman being so much occupied with business
and public affairs, Desmond had much time to himself.
He soon made friends among the junior merchants and
factors, and in their company went about Calcutta.  Fort
William was built near the river, the factory house in the
centre of the enclosure.  Around it on three sides were the
houses of individual merchants and officers.  A wide avenue
known as the Lai Bazar led from the ravelin of the fort
past the court-house to the native part of the town.  On one
side of the avenue was the Park or Lai Bagh, with a great
tank by which a band played in the evening.  Around the
town was the incomplete Maratha ditch.

Desmond became the object of much kindly attention
from the Company's servants and their families.  Every
one was eager to hear from his own lips the story of his
adventures, and invitations to dinners and routs and
card parties poured upon him.  He accepted a few and
politely excused himself from the rest, not from any
want of sociability, but from motives of prudence.  His
kind host had already given him a friendly warning; some
of the writers and younger servants of the Company were
wild spirits, and spent more time than was good for them
in cards and revels.

On the evening of the third day after landing he went
down to the river to watch the arrival of some country
vessels.  There was the usual crowd at the ghat, and as
Desmond gradually worked his way through it he suddenly
saw, just in front of him, two men whose backs were very
familiar.  They were in the dress of seamen: one was tall
and thin, the other broad and brawny, and Desmond did
not need his glimpse of the iron hook to be sure that the
men were none other than his old friend Bulger and
Mr. Toley, the melancholy mate.  They were standing side by
side, watching in silence the arrival of the boats.

Desmond edged his way to them until he was within
arm's length of Bulger's hook.  He stood for a moment
looking at them, imagining their surprise when they saw
him, wondering if their pleasure would be as keen as his
own.  Both appeared rather battered; Mr. Toley's
expression was never merry, and he was neither more nor
less melancholy than usual; but Bulger's habitual
cheerfulness seemed to have left him; his air was moody and
downcast.  How came they here?  The *Good Intent* being
an interloper, it was not at all likely that she had ventured
to put in at Calcutta.

By and by Bulger seemed to become aware that some one
was gazing at him, for he turned round slowly.  Desmond
could not but smile at his extraordinary change of
expression.  His first look of blank amazement quickly gave
place to one of almost boyish delight, and taking an eager
step forward he exclaimed:

"By thunder, 'tis Mr. Burke or his ghost!  Bless my
heart!  Ho! shake hands, matey; this is a sight for sad
eyes!"

"Glad to see you, Bulger," said Desmond quietly; "and
you too, Mr. Toley."

Mr. Toley had shown no surprise; but then, nothing
ever surprised Mr. Toley.

"Sure I'm rejoiced," he said.  "We had given you up
for lost."

His hearty hand-grip was more convincing than his
words, though, indeed, Desmond had good reason to
know the real kindliness that always lay behind his
outward solemnity of manner.

"You're better in togs than when I seed you last, sir,"
said Bulger, gripping his hand again.  "Which you look
quite the gentleman; got a berth as supercargo, sir?"

"Not yet, Bulger," replied Desmond, laughing.  "How's
Captain Barker?"

Bulger spat out a quid of tobacco and hitched up his
breeches.

"I don't know how Captain Barker is, and what's more,
I don't care," he said.  "Me and Barker en't friends:
leastways, not on speakin' terms; which I will say, hang
Captain Barker, topsy-versy, any way you like; and I
don't care who hears me."

"What has happened?"

"Happened!  Why, sir, Mr. Toley'll tell you what
happened.  He knows the thus, therefore, and whereupon
of it."

The good fellow was itching to tell, but in duty bound
deferred to his superior officer.

"Go on, Bulger," said the American, "you've got a
looser tongue than me."

"Which I don't deny, sir.  Two days ago--'twas at
Chandernagore, where the *Good Intent's* been laid up for
a matter o' weeks--the captain he went an' forgot hisself,
sir; clean forgot hisself, an' lifted his hand to Mr. Toley;
ay, hit him, sir.  Wunst it was, sir, on'y wunst; then
'twas Mr. Toley his turn.  Ah, an' I warrant Captain
Barker's in his bunk to-day.  Never did I see sich a sight
all the years I've been afloat, an' that's sayin' something.
There was captain spread out on deck, sir, with his eyes
bunged up an' a tooth or two that had lost their bearin's,
and all his bones wonderin' if they was ever goin' to get
joined again.  That's the why and wherefore of it, sir.
Well, in course, 'twas no kiss-an'-be-friends arter that; so,
bein' in a mounseer's place, Mr. Toley took French leave,
which I did the same, and here we are a-lookin' for a job.

"But Lor' bless me! what's happened to you,
Mr. Burke?  When you didn't come aboard at that there
Gheria, Captain Barker he says, 'Log that there knave
Burke a deserter,' says he.  But I says to Mr. Toley, 'I
may be wrong, sir,' says I, 'but I lay my whiskers that
Diggle has been an' sold him to the Pirate, an' that's the
last we shall ever see of as nice a young fellow as ever
hauled on a hawser.'  How did you get out of the Pirate's
den, sir?"

"That's a long story, Bulger.  I'll tell you all in good
time.  You're looking for a job, are you?  Well, I happen
to know of a skipper here--a good man: maybe he'll have
a berth for a seasoned salt like you.  I'll present you to
him, and I know he'll do what he can for you."

Before he left the men, Desmond took Mr. Toley aside.

"Mr. Toley," he said, "my friend Mr. Merriman wants
a mate for one of his vessels, as I happen to know.  You
would be willing to sign on?"

"I would, sir.  I'm a man of few words."

"Very well; come up to Mr. Merriman's house by the
Rope Walk and we'll see what he says."

That same day Mr. Merriman invited the American to
dinner, and engaged him, to Desmond's surprise, as first
mate for the *Hormuzzeer*, with Bulger as bo'sun.

"Don't look so blue," he said to Desmond when
Mr. Toley had gone.  "He will, of course, take your place.
The fact is, I've taken a fancy to you, and I think you
can do better than by serving as mate on a country vessel.
Look in at the daftarkhanah sometimes, and get
Surendra Nath to explain something of our business
methods."

He said no more at that time, and Desmond felt no little
curiosity about his host's intentions.

One evening Desmond was sitting alone on the veranda,
reading, awaiting Mr. Merriman's return from a meeting
of the Council to which he had been hastily summoned.
Hearing a footstep he looked up, and was surprised to see,
instead of Mr. Merriman, as he expected, Bulger hastening
up with an air of excitement.

"Mr. Burke, sir, what d'you think I've seed?  I could
hardly believe my own eyes.  I was walkin' down towards
the fort when I seed two men goin' into a big house.
They was Englishmen, leastways white men, and I may
be wrong, but I bet my boots one on 'em was that there
soft-speakin' villain Diggle."

"Diggle!" exclaimed Desmond, springing up.  "You
must be mistaken, Bulger."

"I may be wrong, sir, but I never remembers any time
when I was."

"What house did he go into?"

"That I can't tell you, sir, not bein' sure o' my bearin's."

"But you could point it out?"

"'Course I could.  Rather.  Just so."

"Then I'll come along with you, and you can show me.
If it is Diggle we must have him arrested."

"True, an' I'll knot the rope for his neck."

"How long ago was this?"

"Not a quarter of an hour, sir.  I comed up at once."

The two set off together.  They quickly reached the
house; Desmond recognized it as Omichand's.  The evening
was closing in, but no lights were visible through the
chiks[#] that covered the windows.  While Desmond was
considering, two figures stepped down from the veranda
and walked rapidly across the compound towards the gate
in the wall.  At the first glance Desmond saw that Bulger
had not been mistaken.  The taller of the two figures
was disguised, but it was impassible to mistake the gloved
right hand.  It was Diggle to a certainty.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Hanging screens made of thin strips of bamboo.

.. vspace:: 2

"Are you game to capture them?" said Desmond.

Bulger grunted and gave a twist to his hook.

"I'll take Diggle," added Desmond: "you go for the
other man."

They waited in the shadow of the wall.  The gate
opened, the two men came out, and in an instant
Desmond and his companion dashed forward.  Taken by
surprise, the men had no time to defend themselves.
With his left hand Desmond caught at Diggle's
sword-arm, and pointing his rapier at his heart, said:

"You are my prisoner, Mr. Diggle."

At the same moment Bulger had caught the second man
by the throat, and raising his formidable hook, cried:

"Heave to, matey, or I'll spoil your mug for you."

The man uttered an exclamation in French, which ended
in a wheeze as Bulger's strong fingers clutched his
windpipe.  But the next moment an unlooked-for diversion
occurred.  Attracted by the sound of the rapid scuffle, a
number of natives armed with lathis[#] rushed across the
compound into the street, and came swiftly to the rescue.
Desmond and his companion had perforce to release their
prisoners and turn to defend themselves.  With their
backs against the wall they met the assailants;
Desmond with his rapier, Bulger with his hook, dexterously
warding off the furious blows of the excited natives.
Diggle and the Frenchman took instant advantage of
the opportunity to slip away, and the Englishmen had
already got home more than one shrewd thrust, provoking
yells of pain from the attackers, when the onslaught
suddenly ceased, and the natives stood rigid, as if under
a spell.  Looking round, Desmond saw at the gate a
bent old figure with dusky wrinkled face and prominent
eyes.  He wore a turban in which a jewel sparkled, and
his white garment was girt with a yellow sash.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Bludgeons.

.. vspace:: 2

"What is this, sahib?" he said severely in careful
English, addressing Desmond.

"'Tis pretty plain what it is," said Desmond somewhat
hotly; "we have been set upon by these six ruffians----"

The new-comer motioned with his hand, and the men
slunk away.

"I regret, sahib.  The men are badmashes; Calcutta is
unhappily in a disturbed state."

"Badmashes or not, they came from your house--if this
is your house."

"It is my house, sahib.  My name is Omichand.  I
must inquire how the badmashes came to be in my
compound.  I fear my darwan is at fault."

"And what about the two men?"

"The two men, sahib?"

"Yes, the two Europeans who came first from the
house, and were protected by these ruffians?"

"You must be mistaken, sahib.  English sahibs do not
visit at the houses of Indian gentlemen.  If the sahib had
been longer in Calcutta he would know that."

A smile flickered on the Indian's face, but it was gone
instantly.  Desmond was nonplussed.  It was useless to
contradict the merchant; he was clearly not disposed to
give any information; Diggle was gone.  All he could do
was to return and report the matter to Mr. Merriman.

"Come along, Bulger," he said, with an unceremonious
gesture to Omichand.  "We can do no good here."

"The old Ananias!" growled Bulger, as they walked
away.  "What in thunder is Diggle's game here?  I'd
give a year's baccy to have a chanst o' usin' my hook on
him."

Mr. Merriman looked grave when he heard what had
happened.

"To think of that villain once more escaping our
clutches!  The other fellow was a Frenchman, you say?
There's mischief brewing.  Sure if I was president I'd
be tempted to arrest that wily old Omichand.  Not that
it would be of much use probably.  Peloti is a bold fellow
to venture here.  You are sure 'twas he?"

"Absolutely.  His disguise was good; he has altered
his face in some way, and his dress is altogether changed;
but I couldn't mistake the covered hand."

"'Tis an odd thing, that mitten.  Probably it conceals
some defect; the man's as vain as a peacock.  The
mitten is a thing by which he may be traced, and I'll
send my peons to start inquiries to-morrow.  But I've
something to say to you; something to propose.  The
*Hormuzzeer* is ready to sail, save for that consignment at
Cossimbazar I mentioned.  My agent there is an Armenian
named Coja Solomon; I've employed him for some years
and found him trustworthy; but I can't get delivery of
these goods.  I've sent two or three messengers to him,
asking him to hurry, but he replies that there is some
difficulty about the dastaks--papers authorizing the
despatch of goods free from customs duty.  Now, will you
go up the river and see what is causing the delay?  I'll
give you an introduction to Mr. Watts; he will do all
he can for you, though no doubt his hands are full.  You
can take Surendra Nath with you to interpret; and
you had better have some armed peons as an escort,
and perhaps a number of men we can trust to work the
boats if you can release the goods.  Are you willing?"

"I will gladly do anything I can, sir.  Indeed, I wished
for an opportunity to see something of the country."

"You may see too much!  I'd say beware of tigers, but
Surendra Nath is so desperately timid that you can depend
on him not to lead you into danger."

"The *Hormuzzeer* will not sail until I return?"

"Not till the goods arrive.  Why do you ask?"

"I should like to take Bulger with me.  He's a good
companion, with a shrewd head----"

"And a useful hook.  I have no objection.  You will be
ready to start to-morrow, then.  You must be up early:
travelling will be impossible in the heat of the day."

"At dawn, sir."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: bold

In which there are recognitions and
explanations; and our hero meets one Coja
Solomon, of Cossimbazar

.. vspace:: 2

At sunrise next morning Desmond found his party
awaiting him at the Causeway beyond the Maratha ditch.  The
natives salaamed when he came up in company with
Mr. Merriman, and Bulger pulled his forelock.

"Mornin,' sir; mornin'; I may be wrong, but 'tis my
belief we're goin' to have a bilin' hot day, and I've come
accordin'."

He was clad in nothing but shirt and breeches, with his
coat strapped to his back, and a hat apparently
improvised out of cabbage leaves.  The natives were all in
white, with their employer's pink ribands.  Some were
armed with matchlocks and pikes; others carried light
cooking utensils; others groceries for the Englishmen's
use; for their own food they depended on the villages
through which they would pass.

"Well, I wish you a good journey," said Mr. Merriman,
who appeared to be in better spirits than for many a day.
"I'm glad to tell you, Burke, that I got a letter from
Mr. Watts this morning, saying that my wife and daughter
are on their way down the river with Mrs. Watts and her
children.  They've got Mr. Warren Hastings to escort
them; trust 'em to find a handsome man!  The road
follows the river, and if you look out I dare say you will see
them.  You'll recognize our livery.  Introduce yourself if
you meet 'em.  You have your letter for Mr. Watts?
That's all right.  Good-bye, and good luck to you."

The party set off.  The old road by which they were to
travel ran at a short distance from the left bank of the
Hugli, passing through an undulating country,
interspersed with patches of low wood and scattered trees.
The scenery was full of charm for Desmond: the rich
vegetation; antelopes darting among the trees; flamingoes
and pelicans standing motionless at the edge of the
slow-gliding stream; white-clad figures coming down the broad
steps of the riverside ghats to bathe; occasionally the
dusky corpse of some devotee consigned by his relations
to the bosom of the holy river.

The first halt was called at Barrakpur, where, amid
a luxuriant grove of palms and bamboos, stood some
beautiful pagodas, built of the unburnt brick of the
country, and faced with a fine stucco that gleamed in the
sunlight like polished marble.  Here, under the shade of
the palms, Desmond lay through the hot afternoon, watching
the boats of all shapes and sizes that floated lazily
down the broad-bosomed stream.  In the evening the
march was resumed, the party crossed the river by a
ford at Pulta Ghat, and following the road on the other
bank came at sundown to the outskirts of the French
settlement at Chandernagore.  There they camped for the
night.  Desmond was for some time tormented by the
doleful yells of packs of jackals roaming abroad in search
of food.  Their cries so much resembled those of human
beings in dire agony that he shivered on his mattress;
but falling asleep at length, he slept soundly and woke
with the dawn.

He started again soon after sunrise.  Just beyond
Chandernagore Bulger pointed out the stripped spars of
the *Good Intent*, lying far up a narrow creek.

"Wouldn't I just like to cut her out?" said Bulger.
"But 'spose we can't stop for that, sir?"

"Certainly not.  And you'd have the French about our ears."

Passing the Dutch settlement at Chinsura, he came into
a country of paddy fields, now bare, broken by numerous
nullahs worn by the torrents in the rainy season, but now
nearly dry.  Here and there the party had to ford a jhil,--an
extensive shallow lake formed by the rains.  Desmond
tried a shot or two at the flights of teal that floated on
these ponds; but they were so wild that he could never
approach within range.  Towards evening, after passing
the little village of Amboa, they came to a grove of peepuls
filled with green parrots and monkeys screaming
and jabbering as though engaged in a competition.  A
few miles farther on they arrived at the larger village of
Khulna, where they tied up for the night.

Next morning Desmond was wakened by Surendra Nath.

"Sahib," he said, "the bibi and the chota bibi are here."

"Mrs. Merriman?"

"Yes.  They arrived last night by boat, and are
pursuing their journey to-day."

"I should like to see them before they go.  But I'm
afraid I am hardly presentable."

"Believe me, sahib, you will not offend the bibi's punctilio."

"Well, send one of the peons to say that I shall have
the pleasure of waiting on Mrs. Merriman in half an hour,
if she will permit me."

Having shaved and bathed, and donned a change of
clothes, Desmond set off accompanied by Surendra Nath to
visit the ladies.  He found them on a long shallow boat, in
a cabin constructed of laths and mats filling one end of the
light craft.  The Babu made the introduction, then effaced
himself.  A lady, whose voice seemed to waken an echo in
Desmond's memory, said:

"How do you do, Mr. Burke?  I have heard of you in
my husband's letters.  Is the dear man well?"

"He is in good health, ma'am, but somewhat anxious
to have you back again."

"Dear man!  What is he anxious about?  Mr. Watts
seemed anxious also to get rid of us.  He was vexed that
Mrs. Watts is too much indisposed to accompany us.
And Mr. Warren Hastings, who was to escort us, was
quite angry because he had to go to one of the out-factories
instead.  I do not understand why these gentlemen are
so much disturbed."

Desmond saw that Mrs. Merriman had been deliberately
kept in ignorance of the grounds of the Englishmen's
anxiety, and was seeking on the spur of the moment for
a means to divert her from the subject, when he was
spared the necessity.  Miss Merriman had been looking at
him curiously, and she now turned to her mother and said
something in a tone inaudible to Desmond.

"La! you don't say so, my dear," exclaimed the lady.
"Why, Mr. Burke, my daughter tells me that we have
met you before."

His vague recollection of Mrs. Merriman's voice being
thus so suddenly confirmed, he recalled, as from a far
distant past, a scene upon Hounslow Heath; a coach that
stood perilously near the ditch, a girl at the horses' heads,
a lady stamping her foot at two servants wrestling in
drunken stupidity on the ground.

"You never gave us an opportunity of thanking you,"
continued Mrs. Merriman.  "'Twas not kind of you,
Mr. Burke, to slip away thus without a word after doing two
poor lone women such a service."

"Indeed, ma'am, 'twas with no discourteous intention,
but seeing you were safe with your friends I--I--in short,
ma'am----"

Desmond stopped in confusion, at a loss for a satisfactory
explanation.  The ladies were smiling.

"You thought to flee our acknowledgments," said
Mrs. Merriman.  "La, la, I know; I have a young brother of
my own.  But you shall not escape them now, and what
is more, I shall see that Merriman, poor man, adds his,
for I am sure he has forgiven you your exploit."

The younger lady laughed outright, while Desmond
looked from one to the other.  What did they mean?

"Indeed, ma'am," he said, "I had no idea----"

"That there was need for forgiveness?" said the lady,
taking him up.  "But indeed there was--eh, Phyllis?
Mr. Burke," she added, with a sudden solemnity, "a few
minutes after you left us at Soho Square Merriman rode
up, and I assure you I nearly swooned, poor man! and
hardly had strength to send for the surgeon.  It needed
three stitches--and he such a handsome man, too."

A horrid suspicion flashed through Desmond's mind.
He remembered the scar on Mr. Merriman's brow, and
that it was a scarcely healed wound when he met him with
Clive on that unfortunate occasion in Billiter Street.

"Surely, ma'am, you don't mean--the highwayman?"

"Indeed I do.  That is just it.  Your highwayman
was--Mr. Merriman.  Fancy the hurt to his feelings, to say
nothing of his good looks.  Fie, fie, Mr. Burke!"

For a moment Desmond did not know whether
embarrassment or amazement was uppermost with him.  It
was bad enough to have tripped Mr. Merriman up in
the muddy street; but to have also dealt him a blow of
which he would retain the mark to his dying day--"This
is terrible!" he thought.  Still there was an element of
absurdity in the adventure that appealed to his sense of
the ridiculous.  But he felt the propriety of being apologetic,
and was about to express his regret for his mistake when
Mrs. Merriman interrupted him with a smile:

"But there, Mr. Burke, he bears you no grudge, I am
sure.  He is the essence of good temper.  It was a
mistake; he saw that when I explained; and when he had
vented his spleen on the coachman next day he owned
that it was a plucky deed in you to take charge of us,
and indeed he said that you was a mighty good whip;
although," she added laughing, "you was a trifle heavy
in hand."

Desmond felt bound to make a full confession.  He
related the incident of his encounter with Merriman in
London--how he had toppled him over in the mud--wondering
how the ladies would take it.  He was relieved
when they received his story with a peal of laughter.

"Oh, mamma; and it was his new frock!" said Phyllis.

"La, so it was, just fresh from Mr. Small's in Wigmore
Street--forty guineas and no less!"

"Well ma'am, I'm already forgiven for that; I trust
that with your good favour my earlier indiscretion will
be forgiven."

"Indeed it shall be, Mr. Burke, I promise you.  Now
tell me: what brings you here?"

Desmond explained his errand in a few words.  The
ladies wished him a prosperous journey, and said they
would hope to see him in a few days on his return.  He
left them, feeling that he had gained friends, and with
a new motive, of which he was only vaguely conscious,
to a speedy accomplishment of his business.

On the evening of the sixth day after leaving Calcutta
there came into sight a church of considerable size, which
Surendra Nath explained was the temple of the Armenian
colony of Cossimbazar.  Passing this, and leaving a
maze of native dwellings and the French factory on the
left, the travellers reached the Dutch factory, and beyond
this the English settlement and fort.  Leaving the Babu
to arrange quarters for the peons in the native part of
the town, Desmond hastened on past the stables and the
hospital to the factory.  It was a rough oblong in shape,
defended at each corner by a bastion mounted with ten
guns, the bastions being connected by massive curtains.
In the south curtain, windowed for the greater part of
its length, was the gateway.  Desmond was admitted by a
native servant, and in a few minutes found himself in
the presence of the chief, Mr. William Watts.

Mr. Watts was a tall man of near forty years--of
striking presence, with firm chin, pleasant mouth, and eyes
of peculiar depth and brilliance.  He was clad in a long
purple laced coat, with ruffles at the wrists and a high
stock, and wore the short curled wig of the period.  He
welcomed Desmond with great cordiality, and, glancing
over Mr. Merriman's letter, said:

"My friend Mr. Merriman needlessly disturbs himself,
I think.  I apprehend no immediate difficulty with the
new Subah, although 'tis true there have been little
vexations.  As to the goods, they are in Coja Solomon's godown;
they were delivered some time ago and paid for; what
the reason of the delay is I cannot tell.  One thing I
may mention--it appears that Mr. Merriman is ignorant
of it: Coja Solomon has lately become the agent of
Omichand, whose peons have been seen to visit him, then
passing on to Murshidabad.  I happen to know also that
he has communicated with Coja Wajid: do you know
anything of him?"

"No, sir, I have never heard his name."

"He's a rich Armenian trader in Hugli, and acts as
agent between the Nawab and the French and Dutch.
We suspect him of encouraging Siraj-uddaula against us;
but of course we can't prove anything.  My advice to
you is, be wary and be quick; don't trust any of these
fellows further than you can see them.  But you can't
do anything to-night.  You will allow me to give you
a bed: in the morning you can make a call on Coja
Solomon.  What has become of your peons?"

"A Babu I brought with me is looking after them.
But I have an English seaman also: can you tell me what
to do with him?"

"Sure he can lodge with Sergeant Bowler close by--near
the south-east bastion.  The sergeant will be glad
of the company of a fellow-countryman; your man will
be a change after the Dutchmen and topasses he has to
do with."

Early next morning Desmond, accompanied by Surendra
Nath, went to find Coja Solomon.  He lived in a house not
far from the Armenian Church, between it and the river.
The Armenian was at home.  He received Desmond
with great politeness, assuring him with much volubility
that he had but one interest in life, and that was the
business of his honourable employer Mr. Merriman.  He
invited Desmond to accompany him to the godown near
the river where the goods were stored--muslins of Dacca,
both plain and flowered, Bengal raw silk, and taffeties
manufactured in Cossimbazar.

"You have not been long in the country, sir," said
Coja Solomon, with a shrewd look at Desmond, "and
therefore you will find it hard to believe, perhaps, that
these goods, so insignificant in bulk, are worth over two
lakhs of rupees.  A precious load indeed, sir.  This delay is
naturally a cause of vexation to my distinguished superior,
but it is not due to any idleness or inattention on my part.
It is caused by the surprising difficulty of getting the
dastaks countersigned by the Faujdar.[#]  Without his
signature, as you know, the goods cannot be removed.
I dare not venture."

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Officer in command of troops, and also a magistrate.

.. vspace:: 2

"But why didn't the Faujdar sign the papers?"

"That I cannot tell.  I send messengers to him: they
come back: the Faujdar is much occupied with the Nawab's
business, but he will attend to this little matter as soon
as he has leisure.  He calls it a little matter; and so it
is, perhaps, if we remember that the Nawab's wealth is
reckoned by millions; but it is not a little matter to
Mr. Merriman, and I deeply deplore the unfortunate delay."

"Well, be good enough to send another message at
once.  Represent to the Faujdar that Mr. Merriman's
ship is prevented from sailing until the goods reach
Calcutta, and that this causes great inconvenience and
loss."  Here the Babu whispered in his ear.  "Yes, and
add--you will know how to put it--that if the dastaks are
sent off immediately, the Faujdar will receive from
Mr. Merriman a suitable gratification."

The Armenian rubbed his hands and smilingly assented;
but Desmond, who had had some practice in reading
faces since he left Market Drayton eighteen months before,
felt an uneasy suspicion that Coja Solomon was a scamp.
Returning to the factory he acquainted Mr. Watts with
the result of his interview and his opinion of the agent.
The chief's eye twinkled.

"You haven't been long reckoning him up, Mr. Burke.
I'm afraid you're right.  I'll see what I can do for you."

Calling "Qui hai!"[#] he ordered the peon who appeared
in answer to his summons to go to the black merchants'
houses, a row of two-storey buildings some forty yards
from the south-west bastion, and bring back with him
Babu Joti Lai Chatterji.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] "Is there any one?"--used as a summons.

.. vspace:: 2

In less than ten minutes the man returned with an
intelligent-looking young Bengali.  Mr. Watts addressed
the latter in Hindustani, bidding him hasten to Murshidabad
and find out quietly what the Faujdar was doing with
the dastaks.  When he had gone, Mr. Watts showed
Desmond over the fort, introduced him to his wife, and
then took him round the English settlement.

Next day Joti Lai Chatterji returned from Murshidabad
with the news that the dastaks, duly signed by the Faujdar,
had been delivered to Coja Solomon a fortnight before.

"'Tis rather worse than I expected," said Mr. Watts
gravely.  "There is something in this that I do not
understand.  We will send for Coja Solomon."

No one could have seemed more genuinely surprised
than the Armenian when informed of what had been learnt.
He had received no dastaks, he declared; either a mistake
had been made, or the papers had been intercepted, possibly
by some enemy who had a grudge against him and
wished to embroil him with his employer.  It was
annoying, he agreed; and he offered to go to Murshidabad
himself and, if necessary, get other dastaks signed.

"Very well," said Mr. Watts, from whose manner no
one could have guessed that he suspected his visitor.
"We will look for you to-morrow."

The man departed.  Nothing was heard of him for two
days.  Then a letter arrived, saying that he remained in
Murshidabad, awaiting the return of the Faujdar, who
had been summoned to Rajmahal by the Nawab Siraj-uddaula.
Three more days slipped by, and nothing
further was heard from Coja Solomon.  Desmond became
more and more impatient.  Bulger suggested that they
should break into the godown and remove the goods
without any ceremony--a course that Desmond himself was
not disinclined to adopt; but when he hinted at it to
Mr. Watts that gentleman's look of horror could not have
been more expressive if his consent had been asked to
a crime.

"Why, Mr. Burke, if we acted in that impetuous way
we'd have all Bengal at our throats.  Trade must pass
through the usual channels; to convey goods from here
to Calcutta without a dastak would be a grave
misdemeanour, if not high treason; and it would get us into
very hot water with the Nawab.  I can only advise
patience."

One morning, Desmond had just finished breakfast with
Mr. Watts and his wife, when Lieutenant Elliott, in
command of the garrison, came unceremoniously into the room.

"Mr. Watts," he said, "the fat's in the fire.  A lot of
the Nawab's Persian cavalry have come into the town
during the night.  They have surrounded the French and
Dutch factories and are coming on here."

"Don't be alarmed, my dear," said the chief, as his wife
started up in a state of panic; "'tis only one of the Nawab's
tricks.  He has used that means of extorting money before.
We'll buy them off, never fear."

But it was soon seen that the troops had come with
a more serious purpose.  They completely invested the
factory, and next day withdrew the guards that had been
placed around the French and Dutch forts, and confined
their whole attention to the British.  Mr. Watts withdrew
all the garrison and officials behind the bastioned walls of
the fort, and fearing that an attack in force would be made
upon him, despatched a kasid[#] to Calcutta with an urgent
request for reinforcements.  While waiting anxiously for
the reply, he took stock of his position.  His garrison
numbered only fifty men all told, half of them being Dutch
deserters and the remainder half-caste topasses, with only
two English officers, Lieutenant Elliott and Sergeant
Bowler.  The guns of the fort were old; and within a
few yards of the walls were houses that would afford
excellent cover to the enemy.  Without help resistance
for any length of time was impossible, and to resist at all
meant a declaration of war against the Nawab, and would
entail serious consequences--possibly involve the total ruin
of the Company in Bengal.  In this difficult position
Mr. Watts hoped that an opportunity of making an
arrangement with the besiegers would offer itself.  Meanwhile,
pending the arrival of instructions from Calcutta, he gave
orders that any attempt to force an entrance to the fort
was to be repelled.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Courier.

.. vspace:: 2

But no letters came from Calcutta.  Though several were
despatched, none of them reached Cossimbazar.  On
June 1 Rai Durlabh, in command of the besiegers, received
orders from the Nawab, now at Murshidabad, to take the
fort.  He came to the gate and tried to force an entrance, but
hurriedly withdrew when he met Sergeant Bowler's gleaming
bayonet and saw the gunners standing by with lighted
matches in their hands.  By and by he sent a messenger
asking Mr. Watts to come out and parley, and offering a
betel, the usual native pledge of safe-conduct.  Against
the advice of Lieutenant Elliott, Mr. Watts decided to
leave the fort and visit the Nawab himself.  Next day,
therefore, with Mr. Forth the surgeon and two servants,
he departed, cheerfully declaring that he would make all
right with Siraj-uddaula.  Mr. Forth returned a day later
with the news that on reaching the Nawab's tent both he
and Mr. Watts had had their arms bound behind their
backs and been led as prisoners into Siraj-uddaula's
presence.  The Nawab had demanded their signatures to a
document binding the English at Calcutta to demolish
their fortifications.  Mr. Watts explained that the
signatures of two other members of his Council were required,
hoping that the delay would allow time for help to reach
him from Calcutta.  After some hesitation two gentlemen
left the fort with the surgeon.  The same evening
Mr. Forth once more returned to inform the garrison that the
members of Council had likewise been imprisoned, and that
Mr. Watts recommended Lieutenant Elliott to deliver up
the fort and ammunition.

The merchants in the factory were aghast; Lieutenant
Elliott fumed with indignation; but they saw that they
had no alternative.  Their chief had been removed by
treachery; to resist was hopeless; and though such
submission to a native was galling they could but recognize
their helplessness and make the best of a bad situation.
Desmond, besides sharing in their anger, had a further
cause for concern in the almost certain loss of Mr. Merriman's
goods.  But the fort would not be given up till
next day, and before he retired to rest he received a message
that turned his thoughts into another channel and made
him set his wits to work.

During the siege natives had been allowed to go freely
in and out between the fort and the settlement; Rai
Durlabh was confident in his superior numbers and could
afford to regard with indifference the despatch of messages
to Calcutta.  A messenger came to Desmond in the
evening from Surendra Nath, to say that Coja Solomon had
returned to Cossimbazar, and was now loading up
Mr. Merriman's goods in petalas,[#] their destination being
Murshidabad.  Desmond saw at once that the Armenian was
taking advantage of the disturbance to make away with
the goods for his own behoof.  He could always pretend
afterwards that his godown had been plundered.  It was
pretty clear, too, that his long detention of the goods must
be due to his having had a hint of the Nawab's plans.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Cargo boats.

.. vspace:: 2

This news reached Desmond just after Mr. Forth had
brought orders for the surrender of the fort.  He kept
his own counsel.  After his experience at Gheria he was
resolved not to be made a prisoner again; but he would
not be content with merely saving his own skin.
Mr. Merriman's goods were valuable; it touched Desmond's
self-esteem to think he should be bested by a rascally
Armenian.  If there had been any prospect of a fight in
defence of the fort he would have stayed to take his part
in it; but as the factory was to be given up without a
struggle he saw no reason for considering anything except
the interests of Mr. Merriman and himself.

Only one thing gave him a slight qualm.  The equities
of the case were perfectly clear; but he had some doubt as
to the issue if it should become known that he had forcibly
made off with the goods.  The relations between the
Nawab and the Company were so strained, and the
circumstances of the moment so dangerous, that such action
on his part might prove the spark to a train of gunpowder.
But he could not help thinking that the Nawab was in any
case bent on picking a quarrel with the Company;
anything that Desmond might do would be but one petty
incident in a possible campaign; meanwhile the goods
were worth two lakhs of rupees, a serious loss to
Mr. Merriman if Coja Solomon's plans succeeded; an effort to
save them was surely worth the risk, and they could only
be saved if he could secure them before the Armenian's
boats had started for Murshidabad.

He did not take long to decide upon a plan.  Calling
the native who had attended him in the fort, he sent him
out to Surendra Nath with instructions to prepare his
peons for instant action.  Bulger was with them; he had
been absent from Bowler's house when the order came to
retire to the fort, and only just succeeded in joining
Surendra Nath before the investment began.  From Joti Lai
Chatterji, the man whom Mr. Watts had employed to
make inquiries in Murshidabad, the servant was to get
a dress such as would be worn by a khitmatgar,[#] and some
material for staining the skin.  In the darkness Desmond
hoped that he might pass without question for a native so
long as disguise was necessary.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Table servant.

.. vspace:: 2

Within an hour the man returned, bringing the articles
required.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIRST`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIRST

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: bold

In which Coja Solomon finds dishonesty the
worse policy; and a journey down the
Hugli little to his liking.

.. vspace:: 2

The short twilight was thickening into darkness when
Desmond, with face, legs, and arms stained brown, slipped
out of the fort in native dress and walked slowly towards
the houses of the native merchants.  In his hand he carried
a small bundle.  Reaching the house where his party was
staying, kept by one Abdul Kader, he almost betrayed
himself by forgetting to slip off his sandals as he entered.
But he bethought himself in time and was admitted without
question.

He found that he was not a moment too soon.  Bulger
had taken up his quarters there with a very bad grace, the
arrival of the Nawab's army having aroused in him the
fighting spirit of the sturdy British tar.  But when the
news ran through the settlement that the fort was to be
given up, his feelings overcame him, and it was only with
the greatest difficulty that Surendra Nath had persuaded
him to wait patiently for orders from Desmond.  Then
the Babu himself had quitted the house, and Bulger was
left without the restraint of any one who could speak
English.  He was on the point of casting off all prudence
and stalking out like Achilles from his tent, when Desmond
arrived.

"By thunder, sir!" he said, when he had recovered from
his astonishment at seeing Desmond in native dress, "I
en't a-goin' to surrender to no Moors, sure as my name's
Bulger.  'Tis a downright scandalous shame; that's what
I call it."

"Well, you can tell Mr. Watts so if you ever see him.
At present we have no time to waste in talk.  Where is
Surendra Nath?"

"Gone to keep his weather-eye on the codger's godown, sir."

"Which shows he's a man of sense.  Are all the men here?"

"So far as I know, sir.  I may be wrong."

"Well, they'll make their way in small parties down to
the river.  'Tis dark enough now; they will not be noticed,
and they can steal along the bank under the trees until
they come near Coja Solomon's ghat.  You must come
with me."

"Very good, sir," replied Bulger, hitching up his breeches
and drawing his hanger.

"But not like that.  You'll have to get those black
whiskers of yours shaved, my man.  If they grew all
over you'd pass perhaps for a Moor; but not with a fringe
like that.  And you must stain your face; I have the stuff
in this bundle; and we'll borrow a dhoti and sandals from
Abdul Kader.  We'll dress you up between us."

Bulger looked aghast.

"Dash my buttons, sir, I'll look like a November guy!
What would my mates say, a-seein' me dressed up like a
stuffed Moor at Smithfield fair--a penny a shy, sir?"

"Your mates are not here to see you, and if you hold
your tongue they'll never know it."

"But what about this little corkscrew o' mine, sir?  I
don't see any ways o' dressin' that up."

"You can stick it into your dhoti.  Now here are soap
and a razor; I give you ten minutes to shave and get your
face stained; Abdul Kader will help.  Quick's the word,
man."

A quarter of an hour later Desmond left the house with
Bulger, the latter, in spite of the darkness, looking very
much ashamed of himself.  The other members of the
party had already gone towards the river.  Walking very
slowly until they had safely cleared the lines of the
investing troops, the two hurried their pace and about
half-past eight reached the Armenian's godown.  The three
boats containing Mr. Merriman's goods were moored at
the ghat.  A number of men were on board, and bales
were still being carried down by the light of torches.  It
appeared that Coja Solomon had no intention of leaving
until the factory was actually in Rai Durlabh's hands.

Desmond had already decided that, to legalize his
position, he must gain possession of the dastaks.  Not
that they would help him much if, as was only too
probable, Coja Solomon should be backed up by the Nawab.
As soon as it was discovered that the goods had been
carried off, kasids would undoubtedly be sent along the
banks, possibly swift boats would set off down the river in
pursuit, and, dastaks or no dastaks, the goods would be
impounded at Khulna or Hugli and himself arrested.  It
was therefore of the first importance that the loss of the
boats should not be discovered until he was well on his
way, and to ensure this he must secure the person of Coja
Solomon.  If that could be done there was a chance of
delaying the pursuit, or preventing it altogether.

Desmond kept well in the shelter of the palm trees as he
made his observation of the ghat.  He wondered where
Surendra Nath was, but could not waste time in looking
for him.  Retracing his steps with Bulger for some little
distance, he came to a spot on the river bank where the
rest of his party were waiting in a boat, moored to an
overhanging tree.  He ordered the men to land; then,
leaving Bulger in charge of them, he selected three of the
armed peons and with them made his way across paddy[#]
fields towards the Armenian's house, a hundred yards or
so from the bank.  Light came through the reed-screened
window.  Bidding the men remain outside and rush in
if he called them, he left the shelter of the trees and,
approaching the door, stumbled over the darwan lying
across the threshold.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Rice.

.. vspace:: 2

"Uthao,[#] Marwan!" he said, with the bluntness of servant
addressing servant; "sleeping again!  Go and tell your
master I'm here to see him: a khitmatgar from the fort."

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Get up.

.. vspace:: 2

The man rose sleepily and preceded him into the house.
He made the announcement, salaamed and retired.
Desmond went in.

In a little room on the ground floor Coja Solomon
reclined on a divan, smoking his hubble-bubble.  A small
oil-lamp burnt in a pendant above his head.  He looked
up as Desmond entered; if he thought that his visitor was
somewhat better set-up than the average khitmatgar, he
did not suspect any disguise.  The light was dim, and
Coja Solomon was growing old.

"Good evening, Khwaja," said Desmond quietly.

The man jumped as if shot.

"No, don't get up, and don't make a noise.  My business
with you will not take long.  I will ask you to hand
over Mr. Merriman's dastaks.  I know that they are in
your possession.  I have come to get them, and to take
away the goods--Mr. Merriman's goods."

The Armenian had meanwhile removed the mouthpiece
of his hubble-bubble, and was bending over as if to replace
it by one of several that lay on a shelf at his right hand.
But Desmond noticed that beneath the shelf stood a small
gong.  He whipped out a pistol, and pointed it full at the
merchant.

"Don't touch that," he said curtly.  "I have not come
unprepared, as you see.  Your plans are known to me.
If you value your life you will do as I wish without delay
or disturbance.  My men are outside; a word from me
will bring them swarming in.  Now, the dastaks!"

Coja Solomon was an Armenian and a merchant; in
neither capacity a fighting man.  In a contest of wits he
could be as cool and as ready as any man in Bengal; but
he had no skill in arms and no physical courage.  There
was an air of determination about his visitor that
impressed him; and he felt by no means comfortable within
point-blank range of the pistol covering him so
completely.  If his thoughts had been read, they would have
run somewhat thus: "Pistols have been known to go off
accidentally.  What will the goods profit me if such an
accident happen now?  Besides, even if I yield there may
still be a chance of saving them.  It is a long way to
Calcutta: the river is low: God be praised the rains have
not begun!  There are shallows and rocks along its course:
the boats must go slowly: and the Nawab's horsemen
can soon outstrip them on the banks.  The dog of an
Englishman thinks he has outwitted me: we shall see.
And he is only a youth: let us see if Coja Solomon is not
a match for him."

Rising to his feet, he smiled and shrugged, and spread
out his hands deprecatingly.

"It is true the dastaks are here," he said suavely, "but
they only reached me yesterday, and indeed, as soon as
I received them, I had the goods put on board the boats
for transit to Calcutta."

"That is very fortunate," said Desmond.  "It will save
my time.  As Mr. Merriman's representative I will take
over the goods--with the dastaks."

"If you will excuse me, I will fetch them."

"Stay!" said Desmond, as the man moved towards the
door.  He had not lowered the pistol.  "Where are they?"

"They are in my office beside the godown."

"Very well.  It would be a pity to trouble you to bring
them here.  I will go with you.  Will you lead the way?"

He knew it was a lie.  Valuable papers would not be
left in a hut of an office, and he had already noticed a
curiously wrought almara[#] at one end of the room--just
the place to keep documents.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Cabinet.

.. vspace:: 2

There was a shadow of a scowl on the Armenian's face.
The man hesitated; then walked towards the door:
stopped as if at a sudden recollection; and turned to
Desmond with a bland smile.

"I was forgetting," he said; "I brought the papers
here for safety sake."

He went to the almara, searched for a moment, and
handed two papers to Desmond.

"There, sir," he said, with a quite paternal smile;
"you take the responsibility.  In these unfortunate
circumstances"--he waved his hand in the direction of the
factory--"it is, believe me, a relief to me to see the last
of these papers."

"That is well."

But Desmond, as he took the papers, felt himself in a
quandary.  Though he could speak, he could not read,
Hindustani!  The papers might not be the dastaks after
all.  What was he to do?  The peons were not likely to
be able to read.  He scanned the papers.  There was
the name Merriman in English characters, but all the
rest was in native script.  The smile hovering on the
Armenian's face annoyed Desmond, and he was still
undecided what to do when a voice at his elbow gave him
welcome relief.

"Babu Surendra Nath Chuckerbutti," announced the darwan.

The Babu entered.

"Come and tell me if these are our dastaks," said Desmond.

The Babu ran his eye over the papers, and declared:

"Yes, sir, they are the identical papers, and I perceive
the signature of the Faujdar is dated three weeks ago."

"Thank you," said Desmond.  "Now, Coja Solomon,
I must ask you to come with me."

"Why, sir----" began the Armenian, no longer smiling.

"I will explain to you by and by.--What is it, Surendra
Nath?"

The Babu whispered a word or two in his ear.

"A happy thought!" said Desmond.  "Surendra Nath
suggests that I should borrow that excellent robe I see
yonder, Khwaja; and your turban also.  They will become
me better than this khitmatgar's garb, I doubt not."

Coja Solomon looked on helplessly as Desmond exchanged
his meaner garments for the richer clothes of
his unwilling host.

"Now we will go.  You will tell the darwan that you
have gone down to the ghat, so that if a question is asked
he will be at no loss for an answer."

In the faint light of the rising moon the barrel of the
pistol gleamed as they came into the open.  The Armenian
marched between Desmond and the Babu.  Behind came
the three peons, moving as silently as ghosts.

"The Khwaja," said Desmond to them in the Armenian's
hearing, as they reached the ghat, "is coming a little way
with us down the river.  You, Kristodas Das, will go and
tell Bulger Sahib that I wish him to follow the Khwaja's
boats at a few yards' distance, and to be prepared to board
at any moment.  You," turning to the other two peons,
"will come with me.  The Khwaja will send word to his
darwan that he is going to Murshidabad by river and will
not return to-night; his house is to be locked up.  The
Khwaja will, I am sure, give these orders correctly, for
Surendra Nath will understand better than I what he says."

With the Babu, the two peons, and Coja Solomon, who
was now obviously ill at ease, Desmond went down the
ghat to the place where the crews of the petalas were
squatting, and bade the Armenian carry out the part
assigned to him.  The man durst not depart by a jot
from the words put into his mouth.  One of his coolies
left with the message, the rest followed their employer
on board with Desmond and his companions, and in a
few minutes the three boats were cast off and stood up
stream.  As they started Desmond saw the boat containing
Bulger and his men slip from the shade of the trees
and begin to creep after them.

The boats had not gone for more than a couple of
hundred yards up stream when Coja Solomon, at Desmond's
orders, bade the men row towards the opposite shore
and turn the boats' heads round, explaining that he had
decided after all to convey the goods to Hugli.  There
was some grumbling among the crew, who had expected
to go to Murshidabad, and did not relish the prospect
of the longer voyage.  But the Armenian, knowing that
every word was overheard by Desmond's men, made
haste to pacify the boatmen.

It was by no means easy work getting down the river.
The boats were flat-bottomed and drew very little water;
but the stream being very low, they stuck fast time after
time in the shallows.  By day the boatmen might have
picked their way more carefully, but the moon was new
and shed too little light for river navigation.  More than
once they had to leap overboard and, wading, shove and
haul until the boats came off the mud banks into
practicable water again.  They rowed hard when the course
was clear, encouraged by promises of liberal bakshish
made by their employer at Desmond's prompting.  But
the interruptions were so frequent that the dawn found the
boats only some thirty miles from their starting-point.
The river being here a little deeper, Desmond could afford
to let the rowers take a much needed rest, while the boats
floated down with the stream.

But as the day wore on the river again played them
false, and progress was at times reduced to scarcely more
than two miles an hour.  Things had been uncomfortable
in the night, but the discomforts were increased tenfold in
the day.  It was the hottest season of the year; out of the
clear sky the sun's rays beat down with pitiless ferocity;
the whole landscape was a-quiver with heat; all things
seemed to swoon under the oppression.  The petalas, being
cargo boats, were not provided with any accommodation
or conveniences for passengers; and Desmond's thoughts,
as he lay panting on his mat, haggard from want of sleep,
faint from want of food--for though there was rice on
board, and the men ate freely, he had no appetite for
that--reverted to the worst period of his imprisonment in
Gheria, and he recalled the sufferings he had endured
there.  Here at least he was free.  His journey had so
far been unmolested, and he hoped that the happy chance
that had favoured him at Cossimbazar would not fail him now.

He was in a fever of impatience; yet the men were doing
their best.  They passed the mud walls of Cutwa; another
stage of the journey was safely completed; but twelve
miles lower down there was a post at Patli, and with
every mile the danger grew.  Desmond talked over the
situation with the Babu.  Surendra Nath agreed that by
nightfall, if no unforeseen delay occurred, they might hope
to be in the neighbourhood of Khulna, and arrive there
before any messenger carrying news of the escape.  But
there was little or no chance of the same good fortune at
Hugli.  The prize was so valuable that every effort would
certainly be made to stop them.  A whole day or more
might pass before the reason of Coja Solomon's absence
was discovered.  But when the discovery was made, fast
runners would be sent to Khulna and Hugli, and by
relays the distance between Cossimbazar and Hugli could be
covered in twenty-two hours.  Supposing such a
messenger started at nightfall on June 5, nearly twenty-four
hours after Coja Solomon's disappearance, he might well
get to Hugli long before the fugitive boats, even if they
were rowed all night without cessation; and the men were
already so much fatigued that such continuous exertion
could hardly be expected of them.

There was a further danger.  If the news of the
capture of Cossimbazar Fort had preceded him, he might be
stopped at any of the riverside places without any
reference to Coja Solomon's abduction, pending orders from
the Nawab.  Desmond's anxiety would have been largely
increased had he known that Siraj-uddaula, before his men
had actually marched into the fort, had already started
with the bulk of his forces on his fateful march to
Calcutta.

Desmond was still in conversation with the Babu when
the little flotilla came in sight of Patli.  Its approach was
observed.  A boat put off from the ghat, and awaited the
arrival of Desmond's boat in mid-stream.  As it came
alongside an official ordered the men to cease rowing and
demanded to know who was the owner of the goods on
board and to see the dastaks.  The Babu, to whom
Desmond had entrusted the papers, showed them to the
man; he scanned them, said that he was satisfied, and
rowed back to the ghat.  Evidently he had no suspicions.
During the short colloquy Desmond kept close beside the
Armenian, who was well known to the riverside official; but
Coja Solomon was thoroughly scared, and had not the
presence of mind to do anything more than
acknowledge the customary salaam.

Desmond breathed freely once more now that Patli was
passed.  But two-thirds of the journey still remained to be
completed, and he could not dare hope that at his slow
rate of progress he would be able always to keep ahead of
information from Cossimbazar.  Seeing that he could
not hasten his journey, he wondered whether it was
possible to put pursuers off the scent.  After thinking
for a while he said to the Babu, out of hearing of the
Armenian:

"I have an idea, Surendra Nath: tell me what you think
of it.  Did you not tell me as we came up that there is a
gumashta[#] of the Company at Santipur?"

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Agent.

.. vspace:: 2

"Certainly I did, sir."

"Well, as we are, I fear, sure to be cut off by water,
may we not take to the land?  Could not the gumashta
get us a dozen hackeris[#]?  We could transfer the goods to
them and elude our pursuers perhaps long enough for help
to arrive from Calcutta."

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Bullock-carts.

.. vspace:: 2

"That is good counsel, sir; why should we not do so?"

Accordingly, when they came to the spot where the high
road crossed the river by a ford, Desmond ordered his men
to row in to the left bank.  Selecting two men who knew
the country, he bade them land and make the best speed
in carrying out instructions which he proceeded to give
them.

"You, Mohun Lai," he said, "will go to Santipur,
quickly, avoiding observation, and request the gumashta
in Merriman Sahib's name to have twelve hackeris, or as
many as he can collect, ready to receive loads two or three
hours before to-morrow's dawn.  He must get them from
the villages, not from Khulna or Amboa, and he must not
tell any one why he requires the carts.  You, Ishan, will
go on to Calcutta, find Merriman Sahib, and ask him
to send a body of armed men along the Barrakpur road
towards Santipur.  You will tell him what we have done,
and also that Cossimbazar Fort is in the hands of the
Nawab, and Watts Sahib a prisoner.  He may know this
already.  You both understand?"

The men salaamed and started on their journey.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SECOND`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SECOND

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: bold

In which is given a full, true, and particular
account of the Battle of the Carts.

.. vspace:: 2

Desmond expected that Mohun Lai would reach Santipur
shortly after nightfall.  He himself might hope to arrive
there, if not intercepted at Khulna or Amboa, at any time
between midnight and three o'clock, according to the state
of the river.  It was approaching dusk when he drew near
to Khulna.  The boats having been tied up to the bank, as
the custom was, Desmond sent the Babu to find out from
the Company's gumashta whether news of the capture
of Cossimbazar Fort had reached the bazar, and if any
runner had come in from the north.  In an hour the Babu
returned.  He said that there was great excitement in the
bazar; no official messenger had arrived, but everybody
was saying that the Nawab had captured the English
factory at Cossimbazar, and was going to drive all the
Firangi out of Bengal.

Desmond decided to take a bold course.  Official news
not having arrived, he might seize the moment to present
his dastaks and get away before the customs officers found
any pretext for stopping him.  Everything happened as he
hoped.  He met with no more difficulty than at Patli, and
informing the official who examined the dastaks that he
would drop down to Amboa before tying up for the night,
he drew out again into the stream.

He spent some time in consultation with the serang.  In
a rather desolate reach of the Hugli, he learnt, and in the
middle of the stream, there was a small island, uninhabited
save by teal and other water-fowl, and not known to be
the haunt of tigers or other beasts of prey.  Reaching this
islet about ten o'clock at night, when all river traffic had
ceased, he rowed in, and landed the Armenian with his
crews.

"I thank you for your company, Coja Solomon," he
said blandly.  "We must here part, to my regret, for I
should like to have the pleasure of witnessing your
meeting with Mr. Merriman.  The nights are warm, and you
will, I am sure, be quite comfortable till the morning,
when no doubt a passing boat will take you off and
convey you back to your business at Cossimbazar."

"I will not stay here," protested the Armenian, his face
livid with anger.

"Believe me, you have no choice.  Let me remind you
that had you behaved honestly there would have been no
reason for putting you to the inconvenience of this tiring
journey.  You have brought it on yourself."

Coja Solomon sullenly went up the shore.  Desmond
then paid the men handsomely: they had indeed worked
well, and they were abundantly satisfied with the hire they
received.

Leaving Coja Solomon to his bitter reflections, Desmond
dropped down to Santipur, arriving there about two
o'clock in the morning.  Just before dawn ten hackeris,
each yoked with two oxen, drew up near the Company's
ghat.  They were accompanied by a crowd of the inhabitants,
lively with curiosity about the engagement of so
many vehicles.  The gumashta came up with the first
cart, his face clouded with anxiety.  He recognized the
Babu at once, and said that while he had fulfilled the order
he had received on Mr. Merriman's behalf, he had done it
in fear and trembling.  The whole country knew that
Cossimbazar Fort was in possession of the Nawab, and, more
than that, the Nawab had on the previous day set out
with an immense army for Calcutta.  Santipur was not on
the high road, and the Company was respected there; yet
the gumashta feared the people would make an attack on
the party if they suspected that they carried goods
belonging to an Englishman.

Hitherto Desmond had kept himself in the background.
But now he had an idea inspired by confidence in his
costume.  Introducing himself to the gumashta, he asked
him to give out that the party was in command of a
Firangi in the service of the Nawab, and was conveying
part of the Nawab's private equipage in advance to
Baraset, a few miles north of Calcutta, there to await the
arrival of the main army.  To make the imposition more
effective, he called for the lambadar[#] of the village and
ordered him in the Nawab's name to despatch a flotilla of
twenty-five wollacks[#] to Cutwa to convey the official
baggage.  The plan proved successful.  Desmond found
himself regarded as a person of importance; the natives
humbly salaamed to him; and, taking matters with a high
hand, he impressed a score of the village idlers into the
work of transferring his precious bales from the boats to
the hackeris.  The work was accomplished in half an hour.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Headman.

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Barges.

.. vspace:: 2

"Bulger," said Desmond, when the loading was done,
"you will consider yourself in charge of this convoy.  The
Babu will interpret for you.  You will hurry on as fast as
possible towards Calcutta.  I shall overtake you by and
by.  The people here believe that I am a Frenchman, so
you had better pass as that too, for of course your
disguise will deceive no native in the daylight."

"Well I knows it," said Bulger.  "They've been starin'
at me like as if I was a prize pig this half-hour and more,
and lookin' most uncommon curious at my little button-hook.
But, sir, I don't see any call for me to make out
I'm a mounseer.  'T'ud make me uneasy inside, sir, the
very thought of eatin' what they mounseers eat."

"My good man, there's no need to carry it too far.  Do
as you please, only take care of the goods."

Except Desmond and four men whom he retained, the
whole party moved off with the hackeris towards Calcutta.
The road was an unmade track, heavy with dust, rough,
execrably bad; and at the gumashta's suggestion
Desmond had arranged for three extra teams of oxen to
accompany the carts, to extricate them in case of necessity
from holes or soft places.  Fortunately the weather was
dry: had the rains begun--and they were overdue--the
road would have been a slough of mud and ooze, and the
journey would have been impossible.

When the convoy had set off, Desmond with three men,
including the serang, returned to the empty boats.  The
lookers-on stared to see the craft put off and drop down
the river with a crew of one man each: Desmond in the
first, and the smaller boat that had contained Bulger and
his party trailing behind.  Floating down some four or
five miles with the stream, Desmond gave the order to
scuttle the three petalas, and rowed ashore in the smaller
boat.  On reaching land he got the serang to knock a hole
in the bottom of the boat, and shoved it off towards mid
stream, where it rapidly filled and sank.

It was full daylight when Desmond and his party of
three struck off inland in a direction that would bring
them upon the track of the carts.  He had a presentiment
that his difficulties were only beginning.  By this
time, no doubt, the news of his escapade had been carried
through the country by the swift kasids of the Nawab.
His passing at Khulna and Amboa would be reported, and
a watch would be kept for him at Hugli.  If perchance a
kasid or a chance traveller entered Santipur, the trick
he had practised there would be immediately discovered;
but if the messenger only touched at the places on the
direct route on the other bank, he might hope that some
time would elapse before the authorities there suspected
that he had left the river.  They must soon learn that three
petalas lay wrecked in the stream below Amboa; but they
could not satisfy themselves without examination that
these were the vessels of which they were in search.

Tramping across two miles of fields newly sown with
maize and sorghum, he at length descried the trail of
his convoy and soon came up with it.  If pursuers were
indeed upon his track, only by the greatest good fortune
could he escape them.  The carts creaked along with
painful slowness; the wheels half-way to the axles in
dust; now stopping altogether, now rocking like ships
in a stormy sea.  With his arrival and the promise of
liberal bakshish the hackeriwallahs urged the labouring
oxen with their cruel goads till Desmond, always tender
with animals, could hardly endure the sight.  By nine
o'clock the morning had become stiflingly hot.  There
was little or no breeze, and Desmond, unused of late to
active exercise, found the heat terribly trying.  But
Bulger suffered still more.  A stout, florid man, he toiled
along, panting, streaming with sweat, in difficulties so
manifest that Desmond, eyeing him anxiously, feared lest
a stroke of apoplexy should bring him to an untimely end.

The country was so flat that a string of carts could not
fail to be seen from a long distance.  If noticed from
the towers of Hugli across the river, curiosity, if not
suspicion, would be aroused, and it would not take long
to send over by a ford a force sufficient to arrest and
capture the party.  To escape observation it was necessary
to make wide detours.  At several small hamlets on the
route Desmond managed to get fresh oxen, but not enough
for complete changes of team.  So, through all the
broiling heat of the day, at hours when no other Europeans in
all Bengal were out of doors, the convoy struggled on,
making its own road, crossing the dry beds of pools,
skirting or labouring over rugged nullahs.

At nightfall Desmond learnt from one of the drivers
that they were still six miles short of being opposite to
Hugli.  The patient Bengalis could endure no more; the
oxen were done up, the men refused to go further
without a rest.  Halting at a hamlet some five miles from
the river, they rested and fed till midnight, then set off
again.  It was not so insufferably hot at night, but on
the other hand they were less able to avoid obstructions:
and the rest had not been long enough to make up for
the terrible exertions of the day.

By daybreak they were some distance past Hugli, still
keeping about five miles from the river.  Desmond was
beginning to congratulate himself that the worst was
over; Barrakpur was only about twelve miles away.
But a little after dawn he caught sight of a European
on horseback crossing their track towards the river.  He
was going at a walking pace, attended by two syces.[#]
Attracted, apparently, by the sight, unusual at this time
of year, of a string of hackeris, he wheeled his horse
and cantered towards the tail of the convoy, which was
under Bulger's charge.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Grooms.

.. vspace:: 2

"Eo, hackeriwallah," he said in Urdu to the rearmost
driver, "to whom do these hackeris belong?"

"To the great Company, huzur.  The sahib will tell you."

"The sahib!--what sahib?" asked the rider in astonishment.

"The sahib yonder," replied the man, pointing to Bulger.
Bulger had been staring at the horseman, and growing
more and more red in the face.  Catching the rider's
surprised look, he could contain himself no longer.

"By thunder! 'tis that villain Diggle!" he shouted, and
rushed forward to drag him from his horse.

But Diggle was not taken unawares.  Setting spurs to
his steed, he caused it to spring away.  Bulger raised
his musket, but ere he could fire Diggle was out of
range.  Keeping a careful distance he rode leisurely
along the whole convoy, and a smile of malignant
pleasure shone upon his face as he took stock of its contents.
Meanwhile Bulger, already repenting of his hasty action,
hurried forward to acquaint Desmond with what had
happened.  Diggle's smile broadened; he halted and took
a long look at the tall figure in native dress to whom
Bulger was so excitedly speaking.  Then, turning his
horse in the direction of the river, he spoke over his
shoulder to his syces and galloped away, followed by
them at a run.

"You were a fool, Bulger," said Desmond testily.
"This may lead to no end of trouble."

Bulger looked penitent, and wrathful, and overwhelmed.

"We must try to hurry," added Desmond to Surendra
Nath.  "Promise the men more bakshish: don't stint."

For two hours longer they pushed on with all the speed
of which the jaded beasts were capable.  Every now and
again Desmond looked anxiously back, hoping against
hope that they would not be pursued.  But he knew
that Diggle had recognized him, and being prepared for
the worst, he began to rack his brains for some means
of defence.  Misfortune seemed to dog him.  Two of the
oxen collapsed.  It was necessary to distribute the loads
of their hackeris among the others.  The march was
delayed, and when the convoy was again under way, its
progress was slower than ever.

It had, indeed, barely started, when in the distance
Desmond spied a horseman cantering towards them.  A
few minutes revealed him as Diggle.  He rode up almost
within musket-shot, then turned and trotted back.  What
was the meaning of his action?  Desmond, from his
position near the foremost hackeri, could see nothing
more.  But, a few yards ahead of him, to the right of
the track, there was a low artificial mound, possibly the
site of an ancient temple, standing at the edge of a
nullah, its top some ten or twelve feet above the
surrounding plain.  Hastening to this he gained the summit,
and, looking back, saw a numerous body of men on foot
advancing rapidly from the quarter whence the horseman
had ridden.  In twenty minutes they would have come
up with the convoy.  He must turn at bay.

He glanced anxiously around.  He was in the midst
of a dry, slightly undulating plain, the new-sown fields
awaiting the rains to spring into verdure.  Here and
there were clumps of trees--the towering palmyra with
its fan-shaped foliage, the bamboo with its feathery
branches, the plantain, throwing its immense leaves of
vivid green into every fantastic form.  There was no
safety on the plain.  But below him was the nullah,
thirty feet deep, eighty yards wide, soon to be a swollen
torrent dashing towards the Hugli, but now dry.  Its
sides were in parts steep, and unscalable in face of
determined resistance.  In a moment Desmond saw the utmost
of possibility.

Running back to the convoy, he turned its head towards
the mound, and, calling every man to the help of the oxen,
he dragged the carts one by one to the top.  There he
caused the beasts to be unyoked, and placed the hackeris,
their poles interlocked, so as to form a rough semicircular
breastwork around the summit of the mound.  For a
moment he hesitated in deciding what to do with the cattle.
Should he keep them within his little entrenchment?  If
they took fright they might stampede and do mischief;
in any case they would be in the way, and he resolved
to send them all off under charge of such of the drivers
as were too timid to remain.  He noticed that the Babu
was quivering with alarm.

"Surendra Nath," he said, "this is no place for you.
Slip away quietly; go towards Calcutta; and if you meet
Mr. Merriman coming in response to my message, tell him
the plight we are in and ask him to hasten to our help."

"I do not like to show the white feather, sir," said the
Babu.

"Not at all, Babu, we must have a trustworthy
messenger: you are the man.  Now get away as fast as you
can."

The Babu departed on his errand with the speed of
gladness and relief.

The ground sloped sharply outwards from the carts, and
the rear of the position was formed by the nullah.  The
last two hackeris were being placed in position when the
vanguard of the pursuers, with Diggle at their head, came
to a point just out of range.  The party was larger than
Desmond had estimated it to be at his first hasty glance.
There were some twenty men armed with matchlocks, and
forty with swords and lathis.  All were natives.  His heart
sank as he measured the odds against him.  What was
his dismay when he saw, half a mile off, another body
following up.  And these were white men!  Was Diggle
bringing the French of Chandernagore into the fray?

Desmond posted his twelve armed peons behind the
hackeris.  He gave them strict orders to fire only at the
word of command, and as they had undergone some discipline
in Calcutta he hoped that, if only in self-preservation,
they would maintain a certain steadiness.  Behind
them he placed twelve sturdy boatmen armed with half
pikes, instructing them to take the place of the peons
when they had fired.  Bulger stood at the midpoint of the
semicircle; his rough square face was a deep purple with
a rim of black; his dhoti had become loosened, leaving his
great shoulders and brawny chest bare; his turban was
awry; his eyes, bloodshot with the heat, were as the eyes
of Mars himself, burning with the fire of battle.

The pursuers had halted.  Diggle came forward,
trotting his horse up to the base of the mound.  The peons
fingered their matchlocks and looked expectant; Bulger
growled; but Desmond gazed serenely at his enemy.

"Your disguise is excellent," said Diggle in his smoothest
tones; "but I believe I speak to Mr. Desmond Burke."

"Yes, Mr. Diggle," said Desmond, stepping forward.

"I am glad to have overtaken you.  Sure you have
encamped early.  I have a message from my friend the
Faujdar of Hugli.  By some mistake a consignment of
merchandise has been illegally removed from Cossimbazar,
and the Faujdar, understanding that the goods are
contained in these carts, bids me ask you to deliver them up
to his men, whom you see here with me."

Desmond was anxious to gain time.  He thought out
his plan of action while Diggle was speaking.  His
impulsiveness prompted a flat defiance in few words; policy
counselled a formality of utterance equal to Diggle's.

"These carts certainly contain merchandise, Mr. Diggle,"
he said.  "It is the property of Mr. Edward Merriman, of
Calcutta; I think you know him?  It was removed from
Cossimbazar; but not, I assure you, illegally.  I have the
dastaks authorizing its removal to Calcutta; they are
signed by the Faujdar of Murshidabad.  Has the Faujdar
of--where did you say?"

"Of Hugli."

"Has the Faujdar of Hugli power to countermand what
the Faujdar of the capital has done?"

"Why discuss that point?" said Diggle with a smile.
"The Faujdar of Hugli is an officer of the Nawab; 'hoc
sat est tibi'--blunt language, but the phrase is Tully's."

"Well, I waive that.  But I am not satisfied that you,
an Englishman, have authority to act for the Faujdar of
Hugli.  The crowd I see before me--a rabble of
lathi-wallahs--clearly cannot be the Faujdar's men."  At this
point he heard an exclamation from Bulger.  The second
body of men had come up and ranked themselves behind
the first.  "And may I ask," added Desmond, with a
slight gesture to Bulger to restrain himself; he too had
recognized the new-comers; "since when the Nawab has
taken into his service the crew of an interloping English
merchantman?"

"I will give you full information, Mr. Burke," said
Diggle suavely, "when we stand together before my friend
the Faujdar.  In the meantime you will, if I may venture
to advise, consult your interest best in yielding to superior
numbers and delivering up the goods."

"And what about myself, Mr. Diggle?"

"You, of course, will accompany me to the Faujdar.
He will be incensed, I make no doubt, at your temerity,
and not unjustly; but I will intercede for you, and you will
be treated with the most delicate attentions."

"You speak fair, Mr. Diggle," said Desmond, still bent
upon gaining time; "but that is your way.  What
assurance have I that you will, this time, keep your word?"

"You persist in misjudging me," said Diggle regretfully.
"As Cicero says in the play, you construe things
after your fashion, clean from the purpose of the things
themselves.  My interest in you is undiminished; nay
rather, it is increased and mixed with admiration.  My
offers still hold good: join hands with me, and I promise
you that you shall soon be a *persona grata* at the court of
Murshidabad, with wealth and honours in your grasp."

"Your offer is tempting, Mr. Diggle, to a poor adventurer
like me, and if only my own interests were involved,
I might strike a bargain with you.  I have had such
excellent reasons to trust you in the past!  But the goods are
not mine; they are Mr. Merriman's; and the utmost I can
do at present is to ask you to draw your men off and wait
while I send a messenger to Calcutta.  When he returns
with Mr. Merriman's consent to the delivery of the goods,
then----"

The sentence remained unfinished.  Diggle's expression
had become blacker and blacker as Desmond spoke,
and seeing with fury that he was being played with he
suddenly wheeled round, and, cantering back to his men,
gave the order to fire.  At the same moment Desmond
called to his men to lie flat on the ground and aim at the
enemy from behind the thick wooden wheels of the
hackeris.  Being on the flat top of the mound, they were to
some extent below the line of fire from the plain, and when
the first volley was delivered no harm was done to them
save for a few scratches made by flying splinters from
the carts.  But the crack of the matchlocks struck
terror into the pale hearts of some of the hackeriwallahs.
Several sprang over the breastwork and scuttled away like
scared rabbits.  The remainder stood firm, grasping their
lathis in a manner that showed the fighting instinct to be
strong, even in the Bengali.

Many anxious looks were bent upon Desmond, his men
expecting the order to fire.  But he bade them remain still,
and through the interval between two carts he watched for
the rush that was coming.  The crew of the *Good Intent*,
headed by Sunman the cross-eyed mate and Parmiter, had
come up behind the natives.  These having emptied their
matchlocks were now retiring to reload.  Diggle had
dismounted, and was talking earnestly with the mate.  They
walked together to the edge of the nullah, and looked up
and down it, doubtless canvassing the chances of an attack
in the rear; but the sides were steep; there was no hope of
success in this direction; and they rejoined the main body.

Evidently they had decided on making a vigorous direct
attack over the carts.  Dividing his troop into two portions,
Diggle put himself at the head of the one, Sunman at the
head of the other.  Arranged in a semicircle concentric
with the breastwork, at the word of command all the men
with firearms discharged their pieces; then, with shrill cries
from the natives, and a hoarse cheer from the crew of the
*Good Intent*, they charged in a close line up the slope.
Behind the barricade the men's impatience had only been
curbed by the quiet imperturbable manner of their young
leader.  But their self-restraint was on the point of
breaking down when, short, sharp, and clear, the long-awaited
command was given.  Their matchlocks flashed; the volley
told with deadly effect at the short range of thirty paces;
four or five men dropped; as many more staggered down
the slope; the rest halted indecisively, in doubt whether to
push forward or turn tail.

"Blockheads! cowards!" shouted Diggle in a fury.
"Push on, you dogs; we are four to one!"

He was now a very different Diggle from the man
Desmond had known hitherto.  His smile was gone; all
languor and indolence was lost; his eyes flashed, his lips met
in a hard cruel line; his voice rang out strong and metallic.
That he was no coward Desmond already knew.  He
put himself in the forefront of the line, and, as always
happens, a brave leader never lacks followers.  The whole
of the seamen and many of the Bengalis surged forward
after him.  Behind the breastwork all the men were now
mixed up--musketeers with pikemen and lathiwallahs.
Upon these came the swarming enemy, some clambering
over the carts, others wriggling between the wheels.
There was a babel of cries; the exultant bellow of the
born fighter, British or native; a few pistol-shots; the
scream of the men mortally hit; the "Wah! wah!" of
the Bengalis applauding their own prowess.

As Diggle had said, the odds were four to one.  But the
defenders had the advantage of position, and for a few
moments they held the yelling mob at bay.  The
half-pikes of the boatmen were terrible weapons at close
quarters, more formidable than the cutlasses of the
seamen balked by the breastwork, or the loaded bamboo
clubs of the lathiwallahs.

Sunman the mate was one of the first victims; he fell to
a shot from Bulger.  But Parmiter and Diggle, followed
by half a dozen of the sailors, and a score of the more
determined lathiwallahs and musketeers with clubbed
muskets, succeeded in clambering to the top of the carts
and prepared to jump down among the defenders, most
of whom were busily engaged in jabbing at the men
swarming in between the wheels.  Desmond saw that if
his barricade was once broken through the issue of the
fight must be decided by mere weight of numbers.

"Bulger, here!" he cried, "and you, Hossain."

The men sprang to him, and, following his example,
leapt on to the cart next to that occupied by Diggle and
Parmiter.  Desmond's intention was to take them in flank.
Jumping over the bales of silk, he swung over his head
a matchlock he had seized from one of his peons, and
brought it down with a horizontal sweep.  Two of the
Bengalis among the crowd of lathiwallahs, who were
hanging back out of reach of the boatmen's pikes, were
swept off the cart.  But the violence of his blow
disturbed Desmond's own balance; he fell on one knee;
his matchlock was seized and jerked out of his hand; and
in a second three men were upon him.  Bulger and the
serang, although a little late owing to want of agility
in scaling the cart, were close behind.

"Belay there!" roared Bulger, as he flung himself upon
the combatants.

The bullet head of one sturdy badmash cracked like an
egg-shell under the butt of the bold tar's musket; a second
received the terrible hook square in the teeth; and a third,
no other than Parmiter himself, was caught round the
neck at the next lunge of the hook, and flung, with a
mighty heave, full into the midst of the defenders.  Bulger
drew a long breath.

At the same moment Diggle, attacked by the serang,
was thrown from his perch on the hackeri and fell among
his followers outside the barricade.  There was a moment's
lull while both parties recovered their wind.  Firing had
ceased; to load a matchlock was a long affair, and though
the attackers might have divided and come forward in
relays with loaded weapons, they would have run the risk
of hitting their own friends.  It was to be again a
hand-to-hand fight.  Diggle was not to be denied.  Desmond,
who had jumped down inside the barricade when the
pressure was relieved by Bulger, could not but admire
the spirit and determination of his old enemy, though it
boded ill for his own chance of escape.  He was weary;
worn out by want of rest and food; almost prostrated
by the terrible heat.  Looking round his little fort, he felt
a tremor as he saw that five out of his twenty-four men
were more or less disabled.  True, there were now more
than a dozen of the enemy in the same or a worse plight;
but they could afford their losses, and Desmond indeed
wondered why Diggle did not sacrifice a few men in one
fierce overwhelming onslaught.

.. figure:: images/img-290.jpg
   :align: center
   :alt: THE BATTLE OF THE CARTS.

   THE BATTLE OF THE CARTS.

"A hundred rupees to the man who kills the young
sahib, two hundred to the man who takes him alive!"
cried Diggle to his dusky followers, as though in answer
to Desmond's thought.  Then, turning to the discomfited
crew of the *Good Intent*, he said: "Sure, my men, you
will not be beat by a boy and a one-armed man.  There's
a fortune for all of you in those carts.  At them again,
my men; I'll show you the way."

He was as good as his word.  He snatched a long lathi
from one of the Bengalis and rushed up the slope to the
hacked nearest the nullah.  Finding a purchase for one
end of his club in the woodwork of the wagon, he put
forth all his strength in the effort to push it over the edge.
Owing to the length of the lathi he was out of reach of
the half-pikes in the hands of the boatmen, who had to
lunge either over or under the carts.  His unaided strength
would have been unequal to the task of moving the hackeri,
heavily laden as it was, resting on soft soil, and
interlocked with the next.  But as soon as his followers saw
the aim of his movements, and especially when they found
that the defenders could not touch him without exposing
themselves, he gained as many eager helpers as could
brine their lathis to bear upon the two carts.

Meanwhile the defence at this spot was weak, for the
men of the *Good Intent* had swarmed up to the adjoining
carts and were threatening at any moment to force a way
over the barricade.  They were more formidable enemies
than the Bengalis.  Slowly the two hackeris began to
move, till the wheels of one hung over the edge of the
nullah.  One more united heave, and it rolled over, dragging
the other cart with it and splitting itself into a hundred
fragments on the rocky bottom.  Through the gap thus
formed in the barricade sprang Diggle, with half a dozen
men of the *Good Intent* and a score of Bengalis.

Desmond gathered his little band into a knot in the
centre of the enclosure.  Then the brazen sun looked
down upon a Homeric struggle.  Bulger, brawny warrior
of the iron hook, swung his musket like a flail, every
now and again shooting forth his more sinister weapon
with terrible effect.  Desmond, slim and athletic, dashed
in upon the enemy with his half-pike as they recoiled
before Bulger's whirling musket.  The rest, now a bare
dozen, Bengalis though they were, presented still an
undaunted front to the swarm that surged into the narrow
space.  The hot air grew hotter with the fight.

To avoid being surrounded, the little band instinctively
backed towards the edge of the nullah.  Diggle exulted
as they were pressed remorselessly to the rear.  Not a
man dreamt of surrender; the temper of the assailants
was indeed so savage that nothing but the annihilation
of their victims would now satisfy them.  Yet Diggle
once again bethought himself that Desmond might be
worth to him more alive than dead, and in the midst of
the clamour Desmond heard him repeat his offer of reward
to the man who should capture him.

Diggle himself resolved to make the attempt.  Venturing
too near, he received an ugly gash from Desmond's
pike, promising a permanent mark from brow to chin.
This was too much for him.  Beside himself with fury,
he yelled a command to his men to sweep the pigs over
the brink, and, one side of his face livid with rage, the
other streaming with blood, he dashed forward at Bulger,
who had come up panting to engage him.  He had well
timed his rush, for Bulger's musket was at the far end
of its pendulum swing; but the old seaman saw his danger
in time.  With a movement of extraordinary agility in
a man of his bulk, he swung on his heel, presenting his
side to the rapier that flashed in Diggle's hand.  Parrying
the thrust with his hook, he shortened his stump and
lunged at Diggle below the belt.  His enemy collapsed
as if shot; but his followers swept forward over his
prostrate body, and it seemed as if, in one brief half-minute,
the knot of defenders would be hurled to the bottom of
the nullah.

But, at this critical moment, assailants and defenders
were stricken into quietude by a tumultuous cheer, the
cheer of Europeans, from the direction of the gap in the
barricade.  Weapons remained poised in mid-air; every
man stood motionless, wondering whether the interruption
came from friend or foe.  The question was answered on
the instant.

"Now, men, have at them!"

With a thrill Desmond recognized the voice.  It was
the voice of Silas Toley.  There was nothing of melancholy
in it, nor in the expression of the New Englander as he
sprang, cutlass in hand, through the gap.  Slow to take
fire, when Toley's anger was kindled it blazed with a
devouring flame.  The crowd of assailants dissolved as
if by magic.  Before the last of the crew of the
*Hormuzzeer*, lascars and Europeans, had passed into the
enclosure, the men of the *Good Intent* and their Bengali
allies were streaming over and under the carts towards
the open.  Diggle at the first shock had staggered to
his feet and stumbled towards the barricade.  As he
reached it, a black boy, springing as it were out of the
earth, hastened to him and helped him to crawl between
the wheels of a cart and down the slope.  On the boy's
arm he limped towards his horse, tethered to a tree.  A
wounded wretch was clumsily attempting to mount.  Him
Diggle felled; then he climbed painfully into the saddle
and galloped away, Scipio Africanus leaping up behind.

By this time his followers were dispersing in all
directions--all but eight luckless men who would never more
wield cutlass or lathi, and a dozen who lay on one side
or other of the barricade, too hard hit to move.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER THE TWENTY-THIRD`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER THE TWENTY-THIRD

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: bold

In which there are many moving events; and
our hero finds himself a cadet of John
Company.

.. vspace:: 2

Diggle's escape passed unnoticed until it was too late to
pursue him.  At the sight of Toley and his messmates of
the *Hormuzzeer*, Bulger had let fall his musket and dropped
to the ground, where he sat mopping his face and crying
"Go it, mateys!"  Desmond felt a strange faintness, and
leant dizzily against one of the hackeris.  But, revived by
a draught from Mr. Toley's flask, he thanked the mate
warmly, and wanted to hear how he had contrived to come
up in time.

When Desmond's messenger arrived in Calcutta, Mr. Merriman
was away up the river, engaged in very serious
business.  The messenger had applied to the Governor, to
members of the Council, to Captain Minchin and other
officers, and the reply of one and all was the same: they could
do nothing; it was more important that every man should
be employed in strengthening the defences of Calcutta than
in going up-country on what might prove a vain and
useless errand.  But Toley happened to be in the town, and
hearing of the difficulties and perils of his friend Burke,
with the captain's consent he had hastily collected the
crew of the *Hormuzzeer*, that still lay off the Fort, and
led them, under the guidance of the messenger, to support
him.  Meeting Surendra Nath, and learning from him
that a fight was imminent, he had pushed on with all
speed, the Babu leading the way.

"It was well done," said Desmond warmly.  "We owe
our lives to you, and Mr. Merriman his goods.  But what
was the business that took Mr. Merriman from Calcutta at
this time of trouble?"

"Trouble of his own, Burke," said Mr. Toley.  "I
guess he'd better have let the Nawab keep his goods and
sent you to look after his women-folk."

"What do you mean?  I left the ladies at Khulna;
what has happened to them?"

"'Tis what Mr. Merriman would fain know.  They've
disappeared, gone clean out of sight."

"But the peons?"

"Gone too.  Nothing heard or seen of them."

This serious news came as a shock to Desmond.  If he
had only known!  How willingly he would have let Coja
Solomon do what he pleased with the goods, and hastened
to the help of the wife and daughter Mr. Merriman held so
dear!  While in Cossimbazar, he had heard from Mr. Watts
terrible stories of the Nawab's villainy, which no
respect of persons held in check.  He feared that if
Mrs. Merriman and Phyllis had indeed fallen into Siraj-uddaula's
hands, they were lost to their family and friends for ever.

But, eager as he was to get back to Calcutta and join
Mr. Merriman in searching for them, he had a strange
certainty that it was not to be.  The faintness that he
had already felt returned.  His head was burning and
throbbing; his ears buzzed; his limbs ached; his whole
frame was seized at moments with paroxysms of
shivering which no effort could control.  Unknown to himself
the seeds of malarial fever had found a lodgment in his
system.  While listening to Toley's story, he had reclined
on the ground.  When he tried to rise, he was overcome
by giddiness and nausea.

"I am done up," he continued.  "Mr. Toley, you must
take charge and get these goods conveyed to Calcutta.
Lose no time."

Surendra Nath recognized the symptoms of the disease,
and immediately had a litter improvised for Desmond out
of the linen covering of one of the carts and a couple of
muskets.  Mr. Toley at once made preparations for moving
on with the convoy.  The hackeriwallahs who had driven
off the cattle had not gone far; they had waited in the
hope of getting the bakshish promised them--if not from
the young sahib, at least from the leader of the attacking
party, which from its numbers they believed would gain
the day.  The oxen were soon yoked up.  Mr. Toley
would not wait to recover the loads of the carts that had
toppled into the nullah, nor would he leave men for that
purpose, lest another attack should be made on them from
Hugli.  He set off as soon as the teams were ready.  Half
an hour after they started, Bulger, walking beside the
litter, saw to his dismay that Desmond had lost consciousness.

.. vspace:: 2

It was nearly a fortnight later when Desmond came to
himself in his old bunk on board the *Hormuzzeer*.  He
was alone.  Lying on his back, feebly trying to adjust his
thoughts to his surroundings, he heard the faint boom of
guns.  What was happening?  He tried to rise, but all
power was gone from him; he could hardly lift an arm.
Even the slight effort was too much for him, and he
swooned again.

When he once more recovered consciousness, he saw
a figure by his side.  It was Mr. Toley.  Again the
distant thunder of artillery fell upon his ears.

"What is happening?" he asked, feebly.

"Almighty be praised!" said Toley fervently, "you're
coming safe to port.  Hush!  Lie you still.  You'll want
nussin' like a babby.  Never you heed the pop-guns; I'll
tell you all about them when you're stronger.  Food, sleep,
and air; that's my catechism, larned from the surgeon.
Bless you, Burke, I feared you was a done man."

With this Desmond had to be for the time content.
But every day he heard firing, and every day, as he
slowly regained strength, he became more and more
anxious to know what it meant.  Toley seemed to have
left the ship; Desmond was tended only by natives.  From
them he learned that the Nawab was attacking Calcutta.
How were the defenders faring?  They could not tell.  He
knew how small was the garrison, how weak the fortifications;
but, with an English lad's unconquerable faith in
his countrymen's valour, he could not believe that they
could fail to hold their own.

One day, however, he heard no more firing.  In the
afternoon Mr. Toley came to his bunk, bringing with him
Mr. Merriman himself.  The merchant had his head bound
up, and wore his left arm in a sling.  He was pale,
haggard, the shadow of his former self.

"What has happened, sir?" cried Desmond the instant
he saw him.  "Are the ladies safe?"

"God pity us, Desmond!  I shall never see them again.
My poor Dora! my sweet Phyllis!  They are lost!  All is
lost!  The Nawab has taken the Fort.  We are beaten,
shamed, ruined!"

"How did it happen?  I heard the firing.  Tell me; it
cannot be so bad as that.  Sure something can be done!"

"Nothing, nothing; we did all we could.  'Twas little;
would that Drake had heeded our advice!  But I am
rejoiced to see you on the road to recovery, dear boy;
'twould have been another nail in my coffin to know that
you had lost your life in doing a service for me.  I thank
God for that, from the bottom of my heart."

He pressed Desmond's hand affectionately.

"But tell me, sir; I want to know what has happened.
How came you to be wounded?  Sure I am strong enough
to hear now; it will do me no harm."

"It cuts me to the heart, Desmond, but you shall know.
I was absent when you were carried to my house--searching
for my dear ones.  But Dr. Gray tended you; alas! the
good man is now a prisoner.  I returned three days
after, driven back from up the river by the advance of the
Nawab's army.  I was worn out, distraught; not a trace
had I found of my dear wife; she had vanished; nor of my
daughter; nor even of my peons; all had gone.  And there
was trouble enough in Calcutta, for me and for all.  'Twas
the very day I returned that news came of Siraj-uddaula's
approach.  And a letter from his chief spy was intercepted,
addressed to Omichand, bidding him escape while there
was yet time and join the Subah.  That seemed to
Mr. Drake clear proof that Omichand was in league with our
enemies, and he had him arrested and thrown into the
Fort prison.  But Mr. Drake never acts till 'tis too late.
He gave orders next to arrest Krishna Das.  The man
barricaded himself in his house and beat our peons off, till
Lieutenant Blagg and thirty Europeans drove in his gates.
They found a vast quantity of arms collected there.  They
stormed Omichand's house also, where three hundred
armed domestics made a stout fight against 'em.  When
our men got in--'tis a horrid story--the head jamadar with
his own hands stabbed all his master's women and children,
to prevent 'em falling into our hands, and then set
fire to the place.

"Our men had already been driven out of Tanna fort by
Manik Chand, who had come up with two thousand men
and a couple of field-pieces.  Then came up Mir Jafar, the
Nawab's bakshi,[#] and began firing from the Chitpur gate.
We got all our women into the Fort; the poor creatures
left all they had but their clothes and their bedding.  You
may guess the confusion.  The natives were flocking out
of the town; most of our servants fled with them; all our
cooks were gone, so that though we had a great stock
of food we were like to starve in the midst of plenty.  But
we filled their places with some of the Portuguese who
came crowding into the Fort.  Two thousand of 'em, men,
women, and children, filled the courtyard, sitting among
their bundles of goods, so that we could scarce move for
'em.  The enemy was in the town; they had set light
to the Great Bazar, and were burning and plundering in
the native parts.  We fired the bastis[#] to the east and
south, to deprive 'em of cover; and you may imagine
the scene, Desmond--the blazing sky, the tears and
screams of the women, the din of guns.  We wrote to
the French at Chandernagore begging 'em to lend us some
ammunition, for the most of ours was useless; but they
sent us a genteel reply saying they'd no more than
sufficient for their own needs; yet the wretches made the
Nawab a present of two hundred chests of powder, 'tis
said.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Commander-in-chief.

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Blocks of huts.

.. vspace:: 2

"Next day we were besieged in earnest.  The Nawab
had, we learnt, nigh 50,000 men, with 150 elephants and
camels, and 250 Frenchmen working his artillery.  Against
'em we had about 500 in all, only half of 'em Europeans.
What could so few do against so many?  Our officers
were all brave enough, but they've had a slack time, and
few of 'em are fit for their work.  Ensign Picard, sure,
did wonders, and Lieutenant Smyth defended the North
battery with exceeding skill; but we had not men enough
to hold our positions, and step by step we were driven
back.  'Twas clear we could not hold out long, and on
Friday night we held a council of war, and decided to
send the women on board the ships in the river, to get 'em
out of harm's way.  Then by heaven!  Desmond, two of
the Council shamed 'emselves for ever.  Mr. Manningham
and Mr. Frankland, special friends of Mr. Drake, attended
the ladies to the ship--'twas the *Dodalay*, of which they
are owners--and they stayed on board with 'em--the
cowards, to set such an infamous example!  And well
'twas followed.  'Tis scarce credible, but Captain Minchin,
our gallant commander, and Mr. Drake, our noble
president, went down to the ghat and had 'emselves rowed off
to the shipping and deserted us: good God! do they
deserve the name of Englishmen?  One of our gentlemen
standing on the steps was so enraged that he sent a bullet
after the cravens; others did the same, and I would to
heaven that one of their shots had took effect on the
wretches!  We made Mr. Holwell governor in the Quaker's
place; and I tell you, Desmond, had we done so before,
there would have been a different story to tell this day.

"Mr. Holwell saw 'twas impossible to withstand the
Nawab's hordes much longer, and spoke for an orderly
retreat; but he was overrid by some of the military
officers; and besides, retreat was cut off, for the ships
that had lain in the river moved away, and though we
hung out signals from the Fort asking 'em to come back
and take us off, they paid no heed; nay, they stood further
off, leaving us to our fate.  What could we do?  Mr. Holwell
sent to Omichand in his prison and offered to
release him if he would treat with the Nawab for us.  But
the Gentoo refused.  All he would do was to write a letter
to Manik Chand asking him to intercede for us.  Mr. Holwell
threw the letter over the wall among the enemy, and
by heaven!  Desmond, never did I suppose Englishmen
would be reduced to such a point of humiliation.  But
'twas of no effect.  The enemy came on with the more
determination, and brought bamboos to scale the walls.
We drove 'em off again, but with frightful loss;
twenty-five of our bravest men were killed outright and sixty
wounded.  'Twas there I got my wounds, and 'twould
have been all over with me but for that fine fellow Bulger;
he turned aside with his hook a slashing blow from a
scimitar and gave my assailant his quietus.  Bulger fought
like a hero, and the very look of him, black with powder
and stained with blood, seemed to drive all the fight out
of the Moors that came his way.

"All this time the shots of the Nawab's cannon annoyed
us, not to much harm, for they were most villainously
served; their fire-arrows did us more mischief, flying into
the thick of the crowds of screaming women and children.
It made my heart sick to think of the poor innocent people
suffering through the weakness and incompetence and the
guilty neglect of our Council.  The heat and the glare,
the want of food, the uproar and commotion--may I never
see or hear the like again!

"Yesterday there was a lull in the fighting about
mid-day.  The enemy were still outside the Fort, though they
had possession of all the houses around.  They showed a
flag of truce, whereupon Mr. Holwell writ a letter asking
'em for terms.  But 'twas a trick to deceive us.  While
we were resting, waiting the result of the parley, the
Moors poured out of their hiding-places and swarmed
upon the eastern gate of the Fort and the pallisadoes on the
south-west.  In the interval many of our common men
had fallen asleep, some, alas! were drunk, so that we had
no force to resist the invaders, who scaled the roof of the
godowns on the north wall with the aid of their bamboos
and swept over into the Fort.

"Most of us Europeans who were left collected in the
veranda in front of the barracks--you know, between the
great gate and the south-east bastion.  Scarce a man of
us but was wounded.  There we were unmolested, for the
enemy, as soon as they burst into our private rooms,
made busy with their spoil; and, as it appeared, the
Nawab had given orders that we were to be spared.  At
five o'clock he came into the Fort in a gay litter and held a
durbar in our Council room, Mir Jafar salaaming before
him and making fulsome compliments on his great victory.
Then the wretch sent for Mr. Holwell.  We bade him
farewell; sure we thought we should never see him more.
But he returned to us presently, and told us the Nawab
was vastly enraged at the smallness of the treasure he had
found; the stories of the French had led him to expect
untold wealth.  Omichand and Krishna Das had been
took out of prison, and treated with great affability, and
presented by the Nawab with siropas--robes of honour,
a precious token of his favour.  But the Nawab, Mr. Holwell
told us, had promised no harm should befall us.  A
guard of 500 gun-men was set over us with matches
lighted, and the sun being now nigh setting, men came
with torches, though sure they were not needed, a great
part of the factory being in flames, so that indeed we
feared we should be suffocated.  But we were shortly
afterwards told to go into the barracks, nigh the veranda
where we stood.  Then it was that I, by the mercy of
God, was enabled to escape.  I was at the end of the
veranda, farthest from the barracks.  Just as I was about
to move off after the rest, one of the guards came in front
of me, and whispered me to hide behind the last of the
thick pillars till he came for me.  I recognized the man:
'twas an old peon of mine.  Thank God for a faithful
servant!  More dead than alive I did what he said.  For
hours I lay there, fearing I know not what, not daring to
stir lest some eye should see me, and suffering agonies
from my untended wounds.  At last the man came to me.
'Sahib,' he said, 'you were good to me.  I will save you.
Come quickly.'  I got up and stumbled after him.  He
led me by dark ways out of the Fort, past the new godown,
across the burying-ground, down to Chandpal ghat.  There
I found Mr. Toley awaiting me with a boat, and 'tis thanks
to my old peon and him I now find myself safe."

"And do you know what became of Bulger?" asked Desmond.

"He is with the rest, sorely battered, poor man."

"What will happen to the prisoners?  How many are there?"

"There are nigh a hundred and fifty.  The Nawab has
promised they shall suffer no harm, and after a night in
barracks I suppose he will let 'em go.  We shall drop
down the river till we reach the other vessels at Surman's,
and then, by heaven!  I shall see what I can do to bring
Mr. Drake to a sense of his duty, and persuade him to
come back and take off the Europeans.  Sure this action
of Siraj-uddaula's will not go unavenged.  We have
already sent letters to Madras, and within two months,
I hope, succour will reach us from thence, and we shall
chastise this insolent young Nawab."

"Do you think he will keep his word?--I mean, to do
the prisoners no harm."

"I think so.  He has done no harm to Mr. Watts,
whom he brought with him from Cossimbazar; and our
people will be more valuable to him alive than dead.  Yes;
by this time to-morrow I trust Mr. Holwell and the others
will be safe on board the ships, and I do not envy
Mr. Drake his bitter experience when the men he has deserted
confront him."

While Mr. Merriman was telling his story, the *Hormuzzeer*
was slowly drifting down the river.  At Surman's
garden, about five miles south of Calcutta, it joined the
other vessels belonging to British owners, and dropped
anchor.  Several gentlemen came on board, eager to learn
what had been the last scene in the tragic drama.
Mr. Merriman told them all he knew, and every one drew a
long breath of relief when they learnt that, though prisoners,
Mr. Holwell and the gallant few who had stuck to
their posts had been assured of good treatment.  During
the day the vessel dropped still lower down the river
to Budge Budge, running the gauntlet of a brisk but
ineffective fire from Tanna Fort, now in the hands of the
Nawab's troops.

When the *Hormuzzeer* lay at anchor at Budge Budge,
Mr. Merriman explained to Desmond the plans he had
formed for him.  The vessel now had her full cargo, and
would sail immediately for Penang.  Mr. Merriman
proposed that Desmond should make the voyage.  In his
weak state the climate of Fulta, where the Europeans
intended to stay until help reached them from Madras,
might prove fatal to him; while the sea air would
complete his cure.

His share of the sale-price of the *Tremukji*, together
with the Gheria prize-money, amounted to more than a
thousand pounds, and this had been invested for him by
his friend.

"For myself," added Merriman, "I shall remain.  My
wounds are not severe; I am accustomed to the climate;
and though India is now odious to me, I shall not leave
Indian soil until I find traces of my dear wife and daughter.
God grant that by the time you return I shall have some
news of them."

Desmond would have liked to remain with the merchant,
but he knew that in his weakness he could have done him
no service, and he acquiesced in the arrangement.

That same evening the fugitives received news that
made their blood run cold.  Two Englishmen, Messrs. Cooke
and Lushington, who had remained staunchly by
Mr. Holwell's side, came from the shore in a small boat and
boarded the *Dodalay*.  Their appearance struck every one
with amazement and horror.  Mr. Cooke was a merchant,
aged thirty-one; Mr. Lushington a writer in the
Company's service, his age eighteen; but the events of one
night had altered them almost beyond recognition.  They
said that when the order had been given to confine them in
the barracks, the prisoners had all expected to pass the
night in comparative comfort.  What was their amazement
when they were escorted to the Black Hole, a little
chamber no more than eighteen feet square, which was
only used as a rule for the confinement of one or two
unruly prisoners.  In vain they protested; their brutal
guards forced them, a hundred and forty-six in number,
into the narrow space, and locked the door upon them.
It was one of the hottest nights of the year; there was but
one small opening in the wall, and before long the want of
air and the intense heat drove the poor people to fury.
They trampled each other down in their mad attempts to
get near the opening for air and the water which one of
their jailers, less brutal than the rest, handed in to them.
The horror of the scenes that passed in that small room
baffles description.  In the agonies of thirst and
suffocation the prisoners fought like tigers.  Many prayed
their guards to shoot them and end their sufferings, only
to meet with jeers and laughter.  Some of the native
officers took pity on them and would have opened the
door; but none durst move without the Nawab's permission,
or brave his fury if they roused him from his sleep.
From seven in the evening till six in the morning the
agony continued, and when at length the order came for
their release, only twenty-three of the hundred and
forty-six tottered forth, the ghastliest wrecks of human beings.
Mr. Holwell and three others were then conveyed as
prisoners in a bullock-cart to Omichand's garden, and
thence to Murshidabad; the rest were bidden to go where
they pleased.

The news was kept from Desmond.  It was not till
weeks after that he heard of the terrible tragedy.  Then,
with the horror and pity he felt, there was mingled a fear
that Bulger had been among those who perished.  The
seaman, he knew, had taken a stout part in the defence of
the Fort; Mr. Merriman had not mentioned him as being
among the prisoners; it was possible that he had escaped;
but the thought that the brave fellow had perhaps died in
that awful hole made Desmond sick at heart.

Though the season was now at its hottest, the fresh
sea air proved a wonderful tonic to him, and he rapidly
regained his strength.  The voyage was slow.  The
*Hormuzzeer* beat down the Bay of Bengal against the monsoon
now beginning, and it was nearly two months before she
made Penang.  She unloaded there: her cargo was sold
at great profit, she being the only vessel that had for some
time left the Hugli; and Desmond found his capital
increased by nearly a hundred per cent.  She then took
on a cargo for Madras, where she arrived in the first
week of September.

Desmond took the earliest opportunity of going on
shore.  The roads were studded with Admiral Watson's
fleet, and he learnt that Clive was in the town preparing
an expedition to avenge the wrong suffered by the English
in Calcutta.  He hastened to obtain an interview with the
colonel.

"'Tis no conventional speech when I say I am glad to
see you alive and well, Mr. Burke," said Clive.  "Have
you come direct from Calcutta?"

"No, sir.  I left there some ten weeks ago for Penang."

"Then I have later news of my friend Merriman than
you.  Poor fellow!  He is distraught at the loss of his
wife and girl.  I have received several letters from him.
He spoke of you; told me of what you had done at
Cossimbazar.  Gad, sir, you did right well in defending his
goods; and I promise myself if ever I lay hands on that
villain Peloti he shall smart for that piece of rascaldom
and many more.  Are you still minded to take service
with me?"

"I should like nothing better, sir, but I doubt whether
I can think of it until I see Mr. Merriman."

"Tut, man, that is unnecessary.  'Twas arranged
between Mr. Merriman and me in Bombay that he would
release you as soon as a vacancy occurred in the
Company's military establishment.  There are several such
vacancies now, and I shall be glad to have a Shropshire
man as a lieutenant.  I trow you are not averse to taking
a hand in this expedition?"

"No one who knows what happened in Calcutta can be
that, sir."

"That is settled, then.  I appoint you a cadet in the
Company's service."

"Thank you indeed, sir," said Desmond, flushing with
pleasure.  "I have longed all my life to serve under you."

"You may find me a hard task-master," said Clive,
setting his lips in the grim way that so many had cause
to fear.

"When do we start, sir?"

"That I can't say.  'Tis not by my wish we have
delayed so long.  I will let you know when I require your
services.  Meanwhile, make yourself acquainted with the
officers."

Desmond learnt from his new comrades that there was
some disagreement among the Madras Council about the
command of the expedition.  Clive had volunteered to
lead it as soon as the news of the fall of Calcutta arrived;
but he was inferior in rank to Colonel Adlercron of the 39th
Regiment, and that officer was a great stickler for military
etiquette.  The Council had some reason for anxiety.
They might hear, at any moment, of the outbreak
of war between France and England; and as the
French were strong in Southern India, it required much
moral courage to weaken the force disposable for the
defence of Madras.

One day, before the matter of the command had been
definitely settled, Desmond received a summons from
Clive.  He found the great soldier alone.

"You have heard of the discussions in the Council,
Mr. Burke," began Clive without ceremony.  "I tell you this:
I and no other will command this expedition.  In that
confidence I have sent for you.  What I have heard of you
speaks well for your readiness and resource, and I think
you could be more useful to me in the Hugli than waiting
here until our respected Council can make up their minds.
The men here are not acquainted with Bengal.  You are:
you know the country, from Calcutta to Murshidabad, at
all events, and you speak Hindustani with some fluency.
You can serve me best by picking up any information
you can get regarding the enemy's movements.  You are
willing, I take it, to run some risks?"

"I'll do anything you wish, sir."

"As I expected.  Well, you will go at once to Fulta.
Not to Mr. Drake: I've no confidence in him and the other
old women who are conducting the Company's affairs in
Bengal.  Major Killpatrick, an excellent officer, left here
in June with a small reinforcement.  He is now at Fulta.
You will join him.  I will ask him to give you a free hand
in going and coming and collecting information.  You
understand that in a sense you are on secret service.  I
want you to keep an eye particularly on the movements of
the French.  'Tis reported that they are in league with
Siraj-uddaula: find out whether that's the case: and gad,
sir, if it is, I'll not be satisfied till I've turned 'em neck and
crop out of Bengal.  You'll want money: here are 5,000
rupees; if you want more, ask Major Killpatrick.  Now,
when can you start?"

"The *Hormuzzeer* is sailing in ballast to-morrow, sir.
She'll go light, and aboard her I should get to Fulta as
quickly as on any other vessel."

"Very well.  I trust you: much depends on your work;
go on as you have begun and I promise you Robert Clive
won't forget it.  Good-bye.--By the way, your duties will
take you through the parts where Mrs. Merriman
disappeared.  Your first duty is to me, and through me to your
King and country, remember that.  But if you can get any
news of the missing ladies, so much the better.
Mrs. Merriman is a cousin of my wife, and I am deeply
concerned about her fate."

Next day the *Hormuzzeer* sailed, and by the middle of
September Desmond had reached Fulta, and reported
himself both to Major Killpatrick and to Mr. Merriman there.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FOURTH`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FOURTH

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: bold

In which the danger of judging by appearance
is notably exemplified.

.. vspace:: 2

"Sure 'tis a most pleasant engaging young man," said
Mrs. Merriman, as her boat dropped down the river towards
Chandernagore.  "Don't you think so, Phyllis?"

"Why, mamma, it does seem so.  But 'tis too soon to
make up my mind in ten minutes."

"Indeed, miss!  Let me tell you I made up my mind
about your father in five.  La, how Merriman will laugh
when he hears 'twas Mr. Burke gave him that scar!--What
is the matter, Munnoo Khan?"

The boat had stopped with a jerk, and the boatmen were
looking at one another with some anxiety.  The serang
explained that ill luck had caused the boat to strike a snag
in the river, and she was taking in water.

"You clumsy man!  The Sahib will be angry with you.
Make haste, then; row harder."

"Mamma, 'tis impossible!" cried Phyllis in alarm,
"See, the water is coming in fast; we shall be swamped
in a few minutes!"

"Mercy me, 'tis as you say!  Munnoo Khan, row to the
nearest ghat: you see it there!  Sure 'tis a private ghat,
belonging to the house of one of the French merchants.
He will lend us a boat.  'Twill be vastly annoying if we
do not reach home to-night."

The men just succeeded in reaching the ghat, on the left
bank of the river about a mile below Chandernagore, before
the boat sank.  When the party had landed, Mrs. Merriman
sent her jamadar up to the house to ask for the loan
of a boat, or for shelter while one was being obtained from
Chandernagore.

"Tell the Sahib 'tis the bibi of an English sahib," she
said.  "He will not refuse to do English ladies a service."

The jamadar shortly returned, followed by a tall
dark-featured European in white clothes.  He bowed and smiled
pleasantly when he came down to the ghat, and addressed
Mrs. Merriman in French.

"I am happy to be of service, madam.  Alas!  I have no
boat at hand, but I will send instantly to Chandernagore
for one.  Meanwhile, if you will have the goodness to come
to my house, my wife will be proud to offer you refreshments,
and we will do our best to entertain you until the
boat arrives.  Permit me, madam."

He offered his left hand to assist the lady up the steps.

"I had the mischance to injure my right hand the other
day," he explained.  "It is needful to keep it from the air."

It was thrust into the pocket of his coat.

"The Frenchman is vastly polite," said Mrs. Merriman
to her daughter, as they preceded him up the path to the
house.  "But there, that is the way with their nation."

"Hush, mamma!" said Phyllis, "he may understand
English.  I do not like his smile," she added in a whisper.

"La, my dear, it means nothing; it comes natural to a
Frenchman.  He looks quite genteel, you must confess;
I should not be surprised if he were a somebody in his
own land."

As if in response to the implied question, the man moved
to her side, and, in a manner of great deference, said--

"Your jamadar named you to me, madam; I feel that
I ought to explain who I am.  My name is Jacques de
Bonnefon--a name, I may say it without boasting, once
even better known at the court of His Majesty King Louis
the Fifteenth than in Chandernagore.  Alas, madam! fortune
is a fickle jade.  Here I am now, in Bengal, slowly
retrieving by honest commerce a patrimony of which my
lamented father was not too careful."

"There!  What did I say?" whispered Mrs. Merriman
to her daughter as Monsieur de Bonnefon went forward
to meet them on the threshold of his veranda.  "A noble
in misfortune!  I only hope his wife is presentable."

They entered the house and were shown into a room
opening on the veranda.

"You will pardon my leaving you for a few moments,
mesdames," said their obliging host.  "I will bring my
wife to welcome you, and send to Chandernagore for a boat."

With a bow he left them, closing the door behind him.

"Madame de Bonnefon was taken by surprise, I
suppose," said Mrs. Merriman, "and is making her toilet.
The vanity of these French people, my dear!"

Minutes passed.  Evening was coming on apace; little
light filtered through the jhilmils.  The ladies sat,
wondering why their hostess did not appear.

"Madame takes a long time, my dear," said Mrs. Merriman.

"I don't like it, mamma.  I wish we hadn't come into
the stranger's house."

"Why, my love, what nonsense!  The man is not a
savage.  The French are not at war with us, and if they
were, they do not war with women.  Something has
happened to delay Monsieur de Bonnefon."

"I can't help it, mamma; I don't like his looks; I fear
something, I don't know what.  Oh, I wish father were
here!"

She got up and walked to and fro restlessly.  Then, as
by a sudden impulse, she went quickly to the door and
turned the handle.  She gave a low cry under her breath,
and sprang round.

"Mamma! mamma!" she cried.  "I knew it!  The
door is locked."

Mrs. Merriman rose immediately.

"Nonsense, my dear!  He would not dare do such a thing!"

But the door did not yield to her hand, though she
pulled and shook it violently.

"The insolent villain!" she exclaimed.  She had plenty
of courage, and if her voice shook, it was with anger, not
fear.  She went to the window opening on the veranda,
loosed the bars, and looked out.

"We can get out here," she said.  "We will go
instantly to Chandernagore, and demand assistance from
the Governor."

But the next moment she shrank back into the room.
Two armed peons stood in the veranda, one on each side
of the window.  Recovering herself Mrs. Merriman went
to the window again.

"They will not dare to stop us," she said.  "Let me
pass, you men; I will not be kept here."

But the natives did not budge from their post.  Only,
as the angry lady flung open one of the folding doors,
they closed together and barred the way with their pikes.
Accustomed to absolute subservience from her own peons,
Mrs. Merriman saw at once that insistence was useless.
If these men did not obey instantly they would not obey
at all.

"I cannot fight them," she said, again turning back.
"The wretches!  If only your father were here!"

"Or Mr. Burke," said Phyllis.  "Oh, how I wish he
had come with us!"

"Wishing is no use, my dear.  I vow the Frenchman
shall pay dearly for this insolence.  We must make the
best of it."

Meanwhile Monsieur de Bonnefon had gone down to the
ghat.  But he did not send a messenger to Chandernagore
as he had promised.  He told the jamadar, in Urdu, that
his mistress and the chota bibi would remain at his house
for the night.  They feared another accident if they should
proceed in the darkness.  He bade the man bring his
party to the house, where they would all find accommodation
until the morning.

In the small hours of that night there was a short sharp
scuffle in the servants' quarters.  The Merriman boatmen
and peons were set upon by a score of sturdy men who
promptly roped them together and, hauling them down
to the ghat and into a boat, rowed them up to Hugli.

There they were thrown into the common prison.  In
the morning a charge of dacoity[#] was laid against them.
The story was that they had been apprehended in the
act of breaking into the house of Monsieur Sinfray.  Plenty
of witnesses were forthcoming to give evidence against
them; such can be purchased outside any cutcherry[#] in
India for a few rupees.  The men were convicted.  Some
were given a choice between execution and service in the
Nawab's army; others were sentenced off-hand to a term
of imprisonment, and these considered themselves lucky
in escaping with their lives.  In vain they protested their
innocence and pleaded that a messenger might be sent to
Calcutta; the Nawab was known to be so much incensed
against the English that the fact of their being Company's
servants availed them nothing.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Gang robbery.

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Court-house.

.. vspace:: 2

About the same time that the men were being
condemned, a two-ox hackeri, such as was used for the
conveyance of pardahnishin[#] women, left the house of
Monsieur de Bonnefon and drove inland for some five miles.
The curtains were closely drawn, and the people who met
it on the road wondered from what zenana the ladies thus
screened from the public gaze had come.  The team halted
at a lonely house surrounded by a high wall, once the
residence of a zamindar, now owned by Coja Solomon
of Cossimbazar, and leased to a fellow Armenian of
Chandernagore.  It had been hired more than once by Monsieur
Sinfray, the Secretary to the Council at Chandernagore and
a *persona grata* with the Nawab, for *al fresco* entertainments
got up in imitation of the fêtes at Versailles.  But
of late Monsieur Sinfray had had too much important
business on hand to spare time for such delights.  He was
believed to be with Siraj-uddaula at Murshidabad, and the
house had remained untenanted.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Literally, sitting behind screens.

.. vspace:: 2

The hackeri pulled up at the gate in the wall.  The
curtains were drawn aside; a group of peons surrounded
the cart to fend off prying eyes; and the passengers
descended--two ladies clad in long white saris[#] and
closely veiled.  A sleek Bengali had already got out
from a palanquin which had accompanied the hackeri; in
a second palanquin sat Monsieur de Bonnefon, who did
not take the trouble to alight.  With many salaams the
Bengali led the ladies through the gate and across the
compound towards the house.  They both walked proudly
erect, with a gait very different from that of the native
ladies who time and again had followed the same path.
They entered the house; the heavy door was shut; and
from behind the screens of the room to which they were
led they heard the hackeri rumbling away.


[#] Garment in one piece, covering the body from head to
foot.


Monsieur de Bonnefon, as his palanquin was borne off,
soliloquized, ticking off imaginary accounts on the fingers
of his left hand; the right hand was partly hidden by a
black velvet mitten.  His reckoning ran somewhat as
follows--

"In account with Edward Merriman--

"Credit--to the hounding out of the Company by his
friend Clive: nominal: I made more outside; to scurrilous
abuse in public and private: mere words--say fifty
rupees; to threat to hang me: mere words again--say
fifty rupees.  Total credit, say a hundred rupees.

"Debit--to ransom for wife and daughter: two lakhs.

"Balance in my favour, say a hundred and ninety-nine
thousand nine hundred rupees.

"In a few weeks, Mr. Edward Merriman, I shall trouble
you for a settlement."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIFTH`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIFTH

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: bold

In which our hero embarks on a hazardous
mission; and Monsieur Sinfray's
khansaman makes a confession.

.. vspace:: 2

On arriving at Fulta Desmond found that the European
fugitives from Calcutta were living for the most part on
board the country ships in the river, while the military
were cantoned in huts ashore, on a plain eastward of
the town.  The avenues leading to their camp were
occupied by sepoys.  Desmond lost no time in making his
way to Major Killpatrick's hut and presenting his
credentials.

"Very glad to make your acquaintance," said the
major heartily.  "Oh yes, I know all about you.
Mr. Merriman has told me of the way you brought his cargo
through from Cossimbazar, and the plucky stand you
made against odds.  By Jove, sir, 'twas an amazing
good piece of work.  You deserved a commission if any
youngster ever did, and I'm glad Mr. Clive has done the
right thing.  Let me tell you, Mr. Clive don't make
mistakes--in military matters, that is to say.  And Gheria,
now: egad, sir, you must have a head on your shoulders;
and that en't flattery; we soldiers en't in the habit of
laying on the butter.  You did well; and sure you'll be
of the greatest use to us here.  We need a few men as
are able to keep their heads in a warm place: and, begad,
if they'd had such men in Bengal these last months we
wouldn't be rotting here in this fever-haunted place.
Why, I've lost thirty-two officers and men in less than
a couple of months, and I'll be lucky if I've fifty fit for
service by the time Mr. Clive arrives.  When may we
expect him, sir?"

"He couldn't tell me, sir.  The Madras Council can't
make up their minds who is to command the expedition,
and they're waiting for ships from home."

Major Killpatrick laughed.

"Why, I know how that will end.  With Mr. Stringer
Lawrence laid up there is only one man fit to do this
job, and that's Mr. Clive, and the sooner the gentlemen
on their office stools at Madras see that, the better in the
end for everybody.  Now you're strong again, eh?  Got
rid of that touch of fever?"

"Yes, sir; I'm as well as ever."

"And want to be doing something, I'll be bound.
Well, 'twill need some thinking, what you're to do.  We're
badly served with news.  We've got spies, of course;
but I don't set much store by native spies in this country.
We've information by the bushel, but when you come
to sift it out there's precious little of it you can trust.
And the enemy has got spies too--hundreds of 'em.  I'll
bet my boots there's a regular system of kasids for
carrying news of us to Manik Chand and from him to the Nawab.
If the truth was known, I daresay that rascal knows
how many hairs I have on my bald crown under my
wig--if that's any interest to him.  Well, I suppose
you'll join Mr. Merriman on board one of the ships.  Better
chance of escaping the fever there.  I'll turn over a thing
or two I have in my mind and send for you when I've
done turning."

On the way back to the shore Desmond met the serang
who had accompanied him down the river from Cossimbazar.
The man explained that after the capture of
Calcutta his brother Hubbo, the Company's syr serang,[#]
had been impressed into the service of the Nawab, and
he himself had been sent by Hubbo to Fulta to assist
the Council and merchants of the Company.  He had
there met Mr. Merriman, whom in common with many
others he had believed to be dead.  Mr. Merriman, having
no immediate need for his services, had willingly
permitted him to take his brother's place in the
employment of the Company.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Head boatman.

.. vspace:: 2

Mr. Merriman welcomed Desmond with quite fatherly
affection, and congratulated him heartily on his
appointment.  The *Hormuzzeer* being unlikely, owing to the
complete cessation of trade, to make another voyage for
some months to come, he decided to take up his quarters
on board, and Desmond lived with him as a matter of
course.  Desmond was shocked to see the change wrought
on his friend by the loss of his wife and daughter.  All
his gay spirits had left him; he had thinned perceptibly,
and his eyes had that strained look which only a great
sorrow can cause.

"I have been thinking it over, Desmond," he said as
they sat in the cabin, "and I can only conclude that
this is one more of Peloti's villainies.  Good God! had
he not done me and mine harm enough?  Who else
would be so dead to all sense of right, of decency, as to
seize upon two helpless women?  My brother was hanged,
Desmond; hanging is too good for that scoundrel; but
we cannot touch him; he laughs at us; and I am
helpless--helpless!"

"Like you, sir, I have come to believe that you owe
this terrible sorrow to Diggle--I must always call him
that.  Don't give up heart, sir.  What his motive is, if
he has indeed captured the ladies, I cannot tell.  It may
be to use them as hostages in case he gets into trouble
with us; it is impossible to see into the black depths of
his mind.  But I believe the ladies are safe, and, please
God, I will learn something about them and maybe bring
them back to you."

Desmond waited a couple of days in the hope of receiving
a definite task from Major Killpatrick.  But that officer,
while an excellent soldier, was not fertile in expedients.
The process of "turning things over in his mind" did
not furnish him with an inspiration.  He came on board
the *Hormuzzeer* one afternoon, and confessed that he
didn't see how Desmond could possibly get up and down
the river.  Mr. Merriman reminded him that in the early
days of the stay at Fulta, Mr. Robert Gregory had gone
up with requests to the French and Dutch for assistance.
Under cover of a storm he passed Tanna and Calcutta
unnoticed by the Nawab's men.

"The French were very polite, but wouldn't move a
finger for us," added Mr. Merriman.  "The Dutch were
more neighbourly, and sent us some provisions--badly
needed, I assure you.  Mr. Gregory is still with them at
Chinsura."

"If he got through, why shouldn't I?" asked Desmond.

"My dear boy," said Killpatrick, "the river is narrowly
watched.  The Moors know that Gregory outwitted them;
sure no other Englishman could repeat the trick.  And
if you were caught, there's no saying how Manik Chand
might serve you.  He seems disposed to be friendly, to
be sure: he's made governor of Calcutta now, and wants
to feel his feet.  But he's a weak man, by all accounts;
and weak men, when they are afraid, are always cruel.
If he caught an Englishman spying out the land he'd most
probably treat him after Oriental methods.  In fact, the
situation between him and us is such," concluded the
major with a laugh, "that he'd be quite justified in
stringing you up."

Major Killpatrick left without offering any suggestion.
When he had gone Desmond spent an hour or two in
"turning things over in his mind."  He felt that the
major was well disposed and would probably jump at any
reasonable scheme that was put before him.  After a
period of quiet reflection he sought out Hossain the serang
and had a long talk with him.  At the conclusion of the
interview he went to see Mr. Merriman.  He explained
that Hossain wished to return to the service of a former
employer, a native grain merchant in Calcutta, who did
a large trade along the Hugli from the Sanderbands to
Murshidabad.  The consent of the Council was required,
and Desmond wished Mr. Merriman to arrange the matter
without giving any explanation.  The merchant was
naturally anxious to know why Desmond interested
himself in the man, and what he learnt drew from him an
instant promise to obtain the Council's consent without
delay.  Then Desmond made his way to Major Killpatrick's
hut, and remained closeted with that genial officer till a
late hour.


Six weeks later a heavily laden petala, with a dinghy
trailing behind, was dropping down the river above Hugli.
Its crew numbered four.  One was Hossain the serang,
who had left Fulta with Desmond on the day after his
interview with Major Killpatrick.  Two were dark-skinned
boatmen, Bengalis somewhat stupid in appearance.  The
fourth, who was steering, was rather lighter in hue,
as well as more alert and energetic in mien: a lascar, as
Hossain explained in answer to inquiries along the river.
He had lately been employed on one of the Company's
vessels, but it had been sunk in the Hugli during the
siege of Calcutta.  He was a handy man in a boat, and
very glad to earn a few pice in this time of stagnant trade.
Things were not looking bright for boatmen on the Hugli;
as only a few vessels had left the river from Chandernagore
and Chinsura since the troubles began, there was
little or no opening for men of the shipwrecked crew.

The petala made fast for the night near the bank, at
a spot a little below Hugli, between that place and
Chinsura.  When the two Bengalis had eaten their evening
rice, Hossain told them that they might, if they pleased,
take the dinghy and attend a tamasha[#] that was being held
in Chinsura that night in honour of the wedding of one of
the Dutch Company's principal gumashtas.  The Bengalis,
always ready for an entertainment of this kind, slipped
overboard and were soon rowing down to Chinsura.  Their
orders were to be back immediately after the second
watch of the night.  Only the lascar and Hossain were
left in the boat.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Entertainment.

.. vspace:: 2

Ten minutes after the men had disappeared from view,
the serang lit a small oil-lamp in the tiny cabin.  He then
made his way to the helm, whispered a word in the lascar's
ear, and took his place.  The latter nodded and went
into the cabin.  Drawing the curtains, he squatted on
a mattress, took from a hiding-place in the cabin a few
sheets of paper and a pencil, and, resting the paper on
the back of a tray, began to write.  As he did so he
frequently consulted a scrap of paper he kept at his left
hand; it was closely covered with letters and figures,
these latter not Hindustani characters, but the Arabic
figures employed by Europeans.  The first line of what
he wrote himself ran thus--

29 19 28 19 36 38 32 20 31 39 23 34 19 29 29 35 32 38 24 38 23 32

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Constructed from the cipher used by Mr. Watts at Murshidabad.
   [Transcriber's note: there was no footnote reference in the source
   book for this footnote.]

.. vspace:: 2

The letter or message upon which he was engaged was
not a lengthy one, but it took a long time to compose.
When it was finished the lascar went over it line by line,
comparing it with the paper at his left hand.  Then he
folded it very small, sealed it with a wafer, and, returning
to the serang, said a few words.  Hossain made a
trumpet of his hands, and, looking towards the left bank,
sounded a few notes in imitation of a bird's warble.
The shore was fringed here with low bushes.  As if in
answer to the call a small boat darted out from the
shelter of a bush; a few strokes brought it alongside of the
petala; and the serang, bending over, handed the folded
paper to the boatman, and whispered a few words in his
ear.  The man pushed off, and the lascar watched the boat
float silently down the stream until it was lost to sight.

Dawn was hardly breaking when Major Killpatrick,
awakened by his servant, received from his hands a folded
paper which by the aid of a candle he began to pore over,
laboriously comparing it with a small code similar to that
used by the lascar.  One by one he pencilled on a scrap
of paper certain letters, every now and then whistling
between his teeth as he spelt out the words they made.
The result appeared thus--

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: small

   Magazines for ammunition and stores of grain being prepared
   Tribeni and Hugli.  Bazar rumour Nawab about to march with
   army to Calcutta.  Orders issued Hugli traffic to be strictly
   watched.  Dutch phataks[#] closed.  Forth unable leave Chinsura.
   Tanna Fort 9 guns; opposite Tanna 6 guns; Holwell's garden 5
   guns; 4 each Surman's and Ganj; 2 each Mr. Watts' house, Seth's
   ghat, Maryas ghat, carpenter's yard.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Gate or barrier.

.. vspace:: 2

"Egad!" he exclaimed, on a second reading of the
message, "the boy's a conjurer.  This is important enough
to send to Mr. Clive at once.  But I'll make a copy of
it first in case of accident."

Having made his copy and sealed the original and his
first transcription, he summoned his servant and bade him
send for the kasid.  To him he entrusted the papers,
directing him to convey them without loss of time to Clive
Sahib, whom he might expect to find at Kalpi.

It was December 13.  Two months before, the fleet
containing Colonel Clive and the troops destined for the
Bengal expedition had sailed from Madras.  The force
consisted of 276 King's troops, 676 of the Company's,
about a thousand sepoys, and 260 lascars.  They were
embarked on five of the King's ships, with Admiral Watson
in the *Kent*, and as many Company's vessels.  Baffling
winds, various mishaps, and the calms usual at this
time of the year had protracted the voyage, so seriously
that the men had to be put on a two-thirds allowance of
rations.  Many of the European soldiers were down with
scurvy, many of the sepoys actually died of starvation,
having consumed all their rice, and refusing to touch
the meat provided for the British soldiers, for fear of
losing caste.  When the Admiral at length arrived at
Fulta, he had only six of the ten ships with which he
started, two that had parted company arriving some ten
days later, and two being forced to put back to Madras,
under stress of weather.

While the *Kent* lay at Kalpi, Clive received the message
sent him by Major Killpatrick, and was visited by
Mr. Drake and other members of the Council, from whom he
heard of the sickness among the troops.  On arriving
at Fulta he at once went on shore and visited the Major.

"Sorry to hear of your sad case, Mr. Killpatrick," he
said.  "We're very little better off.  But we must make
the best of it.  I got your note.  'Twas an excellent
greeting.  Young Burke is a capital fellow; I have not
mistook his capacity."

"Faith, 'twas what I told him, sir.  I said Colonel
Clive never mistook his men."

"Well, if that's true, what you said won't make him
vain.  This information is valuable: you see that.  Have
you heard anything more from the lad?"

"Nothing, sir."

"And you can't communicate with him?"

"No, 'twas his scheme only to send messages; to
receive them would double the risk."

"So: 'twas his scheme, not yours?"

"Egad, sir, I've no head for that sort of thing," said
Killpatrick with a laugh.  "Give me a company, and a
wall to scale or a regiment to charge, and----"

"My dear fellow," interrupted Clive, "we all know
the King has no better officer.  Credit where credit is due,
major, and you're not the man to grudge this youngster
his full credit for an uncommonly daring and clever scheme.
Did you see him in his disguise?"

"I did, sir, and at a distance he took in both Mr. Merriman
and myself."

"Well, he's a boy to keep an eye on, and I only hope
that tigers or dacoits or the Nawab's Moors won't get
hold of him; he's the kind of lad we can't spare.  Now,
let me know the state of your troops."

.. vspace:: 2

When he had sent off his note to Major Killpatrick,
Desmond enjoyed a short spell on deck preparatory to
turning in.  Hossain was placidly smoking his hubble-bubble;
from the far bank of the Hugli came the mingled sounds
of tom-toms and other instruments; near the boat all was
quiet, the wavelets of the stream lapping idly against the
sides, the stillness broken only by the occasional howl of
a jackal prowling near the bank in quest of the corpses
of pious Hindus consigned to the sacred waters of the
Ganges.

Desmond was half dozing when he was startled into
wakefulness by a sudden clamour from the native town.
He heard shots, loud cries, the hideous blare of the Bengal
trumpets.  For half an hour the shouts continued
intermittently; then they gradually died away.  Wondering
whether the tamasha had ended in a tumult, Desmond
was about to seek his couch when, just beneath him, as
it seemed, he heard a voice--a feeble cry for help.  He
sprang up and looked over the side.  Soon a dark head
appeared on the water.  With a cry to the serang to cast
loose and row after him, Desmond took a header into
the stream, and in a few strokes gained the drowning
man's side.  He was clearly exhausted.  Supporting him
with one arm, Desmond struck out with the other, and
being a strong swimmer he reached the stern of the boat
even before the serang had slipped his moorings.  With
Hossain's aid he lifted the man into the boat, and carried
him to the cabin.  He was all but unconscious.  A mouthful
of arrack[#] from the serang's jar revived him.  No sooner
was he in command of his breath than he implored his
rescuers for their help and protection.  He had escaped,
he said, from Hugli Fort, not without a gun-shot wound
behind his shoulder.  He spoke in Bengali.  Seeing that
he was too much exhausted and agitated to tell his story
that night, Desmond bade the serang assure him of his
safety.  Then they made shift to tend his wound, and,
comforting him with food and drink, left him to sleep and
recover.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] A fermented liquor made from rice or the juice of the
   palm.

.. vspace:: 2

The two Bengalis who had been to Chinsura returned
before they were expected.  They had been alarmed by
the uproar.  As soon as they were aboard Desmond
decided to drop a mile or two farther down the river.  The
boat coming to a ghat below Chandernagore, the serang
ordered the men to pull in, and tied up for the rest of the
night.

In the morning the Bengalis were despatched on some
errand along the bank, and the coast being clear Desmond
went with the serang to the wounded man to learn
particulars of his escape.  The Bengali had now almost
wholly recovered, and was very voluble in his gratitude
for his rescue.  While he was speaking the boat slightly
shifted her position, and the Bengali suddenly caught sight,
through the matting, of a large house beyond the ghat.
He uttered an exclamation of fear, and begged the
serang with frantic waving of the hands to leave the
spot at once.

"Why, O brother, this fear?" asked Hossain.

"I will tell you.  It is a great fear.  Just before the
coming of the rains I was at Khulna.  There I was hired
by the head serang of a lady travelling to Calcutta.  She
was the wife of a burra sahib of the great Company, and
with her was her daughter.  All went well until we came
near Chandernagore; we struck a snag; the boat sprang a
leak; we feared the bibis would be drowned.  We rowed
to this very ghat; a sahib welcomed the ladies; they went
into his house yonder.  Presently he sent for us; we
lodged with his servants; but in the night we were set
upon, bound, and carried to Hugli.  False witnesses
accused us of being dacoits; we were condemned; and I
was confined with others in the prison.

"Always since then have I looked for a chance of
escape.  It came at last.  Some of the jailers went last
night to the tamasha at Chinsura.  I stole out and got
away.  A sentry fired upon me, and hit me; but I am a
good swimmer and I plunged into the river.  You know
all that happened then, O serang, and I beseech you leave
this place; it is a dreadful place; some harm will come to
us all."

Desmond's knowledge of Bengali was as yet slight, and
he caught only portions of the man's narrative.  But he
understood enough to convince him that he was at last on
the track of the missing ladies; and when, shortly
afterwards, Hossain gave him in Urdu the whole of the story,
he determined at once to act on the information.  On the
return of the two Bengalis, he arranged with the serang
to set them at work on some imaginary repairs to the
boat: that pretext for delay was as good as another.
Then, Hossain having reassured the fugitive, he himself
landed and made his way up to the house.

It was closed.  There was no sign of its being inhabited.
But about a hundred yards from the gate Desmond saw
a basti, and from one of the huts smoke was issuing.
He sauntered up.  Before the door, lolling in unstudied
deshabille, squatted a bearded Mohammedan, whom from
his rotundity Desmond guessed to be the khansaman of
the big house.

"Salaam aleikam,[#] khansaman!" said Desmond suavely.
"Pardon the curiosity of an ignorant sailor from Gujarat.
What nawab owns the great house yonder?"

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Peace be with you!

.. vspace:: 2

The khansaman, beaming in acknowledgment of the
implied compliment to his own importance, replied:

"To Sinfray Sahib, worthy khalasi."

"The great Sinfray Sahib of Chandernagore?  Surely
that is a strange thing!"

"Strange!  What is strange?  That Sinfray Sahib
should own so fine a house?  You should see his other
house in Chandernagore: then indeed you might lift your
eyes in wonder."

"Nay, indeed, I marvelled not at that, for Sinfray Sahib
is indeed a great man.  We who dwell upon the kala pani
know well his name.  Is it not known in the bazars in
Pondicherry and Surat?  But I marvel at this, khansaman:
that on one day, this day of my speaking to you, I should
meet the sahib's most trusty servant, as I doubt not you
are, and also the man who has sworn revenge upon the
owner of this house--ay, and on all the household."

"Bismillah!"[#] exclaimed the khansaman, spitting out
his supari.  He was thoroughly interested, but as yet
unconcerned.  "What do you mean, khalasi?"

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] "In the name of Allah!"--a common exclamation.

.. vspace:: 2

"I parted but now, on the river, from a fellow-boatman
who of late has lain in prison at Hugli, put there, they say,
by order of Sinfray Sahib.  He is not a dacoit; no man
less so; but false witnesses rose up against him.  And,
I bethink me, he said that the sahib's khansaman was one
of these men with lying lips.  Surely he was in error; for
your face, O khansaman, is open as the sun, your lips are
fragrant with the very attar of truth.  But he is filled with
rage and fury; in his madness he will not tarry to inquire.
If he should meet you--well, it is the will of Allah: no
man can escape his fate."

The khansaman, as Desmond spoke, looked more and
more distressed; and at the last words his face was livid.

"It is not true," he said.  "But I know the blind fury
of revenge.  Do thou entreat him for me.  I will pay thee
well.  I have saved a few pice.[#]  It will be worth five
rupees to thee; and to make amends to the madman, I
will give him fifty rupees, even if it strips me of all I
have.  Allah knows it was not my doing; it was forced
upon me."

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Coin, value one-eighth of a penny.

.. vspace:: 2

"How could that be, khansaman?" said Desmond,
letting pass the man's contradictory statements.

"It is not necessary to explain; my word is my word."

"No doubt; but so enraged is the khalasi I speak of
that unless I can explain to him fully he will not heed me.
Never shall I dissuade him from his purpose."

"It is the will of Allah!" said the khansaman resignedly.
"I will tell you.  It was not Sinfray Sahib at all.  He was
at the Nawab's court at Murshidabad.  He had lent his
house to a friend while he was absent.  The friend had a
spite against Merriman Sahib, the merchant at Calcutta;
and when the bibi and the chota bibi came down the river
he seized them.  Sinfray Sahib believes there was an attack
by dacoits; but the bibi's peons were carried away by the
sahib's friend: it was he that brought the evidence against
them.  The Angrezi sahib induced me to swear falsely by
avouching that Sinfray Sahib was also an enemy of
Merriman Sahib; but when the judge had said his word the
sahib bade me keep silence with my master, for he was
ignorant of it all.  The Angrezi sahib is a terrible man:
what could I do?  I was afraid to speak."

"And what was the name of the Angrezi sahib?"

"His name?--It was Higli--no, Digli Sahib--accursed
be the day I first saw him!"

Desmond drew a long breath.

"And what became of the bibi and the chota bibi?"

"They were taken away."

"Whither?"

"I do not know."

The answer was glib; Desmond thought a little too glib.

"Why then, khansaman," he said, "I fear it would be
vain for me to reason with the man I spoke of.  He has
eaten the salt of Merriman Sahib; his lord's injury is his
also.  But you acted for the best.  Allah hafiz! that will
be a morsel of comfort even if this man's knife should find
its way between your ribs.  Not every dying man has such
consolation.  Live in peace, good khansaman."

Desmond, who had been squatting in the Oriental
manner--an accomplishment he had learnt with some
pains at Gheria--rose to leave.  The khansaman's florid
cheeks again put on a sickly hue, and when the seeming
lascar had gone a few paces he called him back.

"Ahi, excellent khalasi!  I think--I remember--I am
almost sure I can discover where the two bibis are
concealed."

"Inshallah![#]  That is indeed fortunate," said Desmond,
turning back.  "There lies the best chance of averting the
wrath of this much-wronged man."

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] "Please God!"--a common exclamation.

.. vspace:: 2

"Wait but a little till I have clad myself duly; I will
then go to a friend yonder and inquire."

He went into his hut and soon returned clothed in the
garments that befitted his position.  Walking to a hut at
the end of the block, he made pretence, Desmond
suspected, of inquiring.  He was soon back.

"Allah is good!" he said.  "The khitmatgar yonder
tells me they were taken to a house three coss[#] distant,
belonging to the great faujdar Manik Chand.  It is rented
from him by Digli Sahib, who is a great friend of his
excellency."

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] The coss is nearly two miles.

.. vspace:: 2

"Well, khansaman, you will show me the way to the house."

But the khansaman appeared to have donned, with his
clothes, a sense of his own importance.  The authoritative
tone of the lascar offended his dignity.

"Who are you, scum of the sea, that you tell a
khansaman of Bengal what he shall do?  Hold your tongue,
piece of seaweed, or by the beard of the Prophet----"

The threat was never completed, for Desmond, stepping
up close to the man, caught him by the back of the neck
and shook him till his teeth rattled in his head.

"Quick!  Lead the way!  Foolish khansaman, do you
want your fat body shaken to a jelly?  That is the way
with us khalasis from Gujarat.  Quick, I say!"

"Hold, khalasi!" panted the khansaman; "I will do
what you wish.  Believe me, you are the first khalasi from
Gujarat I have seen----"

"Or you would not have delayed so long.  Quick, man!"

With a downcast air the man set off.  The sun was
getting high; being fat and soft, the khansaman was soon
in distress.  But Desmond allowed him no respite.  In
about two hours they arrived at the house he had
mentioned.  The gate was ajar; the door broken open.  Hastily
entering, Desmond knew instinctively by the appearance of
the place that it was deserted.

He went through the house from bottom to top.  Not a
living person was to be seen.  But in one of the rooms his
quick eye caught sight of a small hair-pin such as only a
European woman would use.  He picked it up.  In another
room a cooking-pot had been left, and it was evident that
it had but lately been used.  The simple furniture was in
some disorder.

The khansaman had with much labour managed to
mount the stairs.

"Inshallah!" he said.  "They are gone!"





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SIXTH`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SIXTH

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: bold

In which presence of mind is shown to be
next best to absence of body.

.. vspace:: 2

The khansaman's surprise was clearly genuine, and
Desmond refrained from visiting on him his disappointment.
Bitter as that was, his alarm was still more keen.  What
had become of the ladies!  With all his old impulsiveness
he had come to rescue them, never pausing to think of what
risks he might himself run.  And now they were gone!
Could Diggle have suspected that his carefully hidden
tracks were being followed up, and have removed his
prisoners to some spot remoter from the river?  It was idle
to speculate; they were gone; and there was no obvious
clue to their whereabouts.

The khansaman, limp and damp after his unwonted
exercise, had squatted on the floor and was fanning himself,
groaning deeply.  Desmond went to the window of the
room and looked out over the country, wondering,
longing, fearing.  As he gazed disconsolately before him, he
caught sight of a party of horsemen rapidly approaching.
Bidding the khansaman stifle his groans, he watched them
eagerly through the chiks of the window.  Soon a dozen
native horsemen cantered up to the front gate and drew
rein.  One of them, clad in turban of gold tissue, short blue
jacket lavishly decorated with gold, and crimson trousers,
bade the rest dismount.  He was a tall man, a handsome
figure in his fine array.  He wore a sword with hilt inlaid
with gold, the scabbard covered with crimson velvet; and
in his girdle was stuck a knife with agate handle, and a
small Moorish dagger ornamented with gold and silver.

He stood for a time gazing as in perplexity at the broken
gateway.  His face was concealed by his turban from
Desmond, looking from above.  But when he directed his
glance upward, Desmond, peering through the chiks,
could scarcely believe his eyes.  The features were those
of Marmaduke Diggle.  His heart thumped against his
ribs.  Never, perhaps, in the whole course of his
adventures, had he been in such deadly peril.  The appearance
of the party had been so sudden, and he had been so deeply
engrossed with his musings, that he had not had time to
think of his own situation.

"Come, son of a pig," said Diggle at length, throwing
himself from his horse and beckoning to his syce, "we will
search the place.  There must be something to show who
the dacoits were."

He strode into the compound, followed by his trembling
servant.

"Indeed, huzur," said the man in shrill tones of excuse,
"we did our best.  But they were many: our livers were
as water."

"Chup[#], pig!  Wait till you are spoken to," exclaimed
Diggle, turning angrily upon him.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Shut up.

.. vspace:: 2

"Achchha, sahib! bahut achchha, sahib![#]----"

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Good, sahib--very good, sahib.

.. vspace:: 2

A vicious kick cut short his protestations, and the two
passed out of hearing of the two watchers above, the
khansaman having brought his quivering flabbiness to
Desmond's side.  Diggle passed into the entrance-hall, the
native horsemen waiting like statues at the gate.

"It is the sahib!" whispered the shaking khansaman to
Desmond: "Digli Sahib.  He will kill me.  He is a
tiger."

"Silence, fool!" said Desmond sternly: "there must be
a way out.  Jaldi jao![#] we shall be too late."

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Go quickly.

.. vspace:: 2

The man seemed glued to the spot with fear.  The
footsteps of Diggle could be heard in the rooms below.  In a
few minutes he would reach the upper story; then it would
indeed be too late to flee.  If they could gain the back
staircase they might slip down and hide in the garden.
But fright appeared to have bereft the khansaman of all
power of movement.  Yet Desmond, for more than one
reason, was unwilling to leave him.  He knew what
Diggle's tender mercies were; but he also knew that the
khansaman, if discovered, would certainly try to purchase
his safety by betraying his companion.  So, without more
ado, seizing him by the neck, Desmond shook him vigorously.

"Come!" he said in a fierce whisper, "or I will leave
you to face the sahib alone."

This summary treatment shocked the man from his
stupor.  Stepping on tiptoe he darted across the room,
through the door communicating with a room beyond,
into a narrow passage-way at the rear of the house.  Here
was a second staircase leading downwards to the servants'
quarters.

"Wait there," said Desmond when they were half-way
down.  "If you hear any one coming up, rejoin me above."

He himself crept noiselessly back to the upper floor.  No
sooner had he reached the top than he heard Diggle
moving in the room he had recently left.  He darted to a
khaskhas[#] curtain, through the meshes of which he could
see into the two intercommunicating rooms.  Diggle was
carefully searching the apartment; he clearly knew it was
the one lately occupied by the ladies.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] A fragrant grass whose roots are used for making screens.

.. vspace:: 2

As he stooped to pick up a cushion that lay on the floor
beside a divan, his eye was caught by a scrap of crumpled
paper.  He snatched at it like a hawk and with quick
fingers straightened it out--the fingers of the mittened
hand that Desmond knew so well.  On the paper was
writing; the characters were English, but Diggle appeared
to have some difficulty in making them out.

"'Your servant Surendra Nath Chuckerbutti,'" he said
slowly aloud.  "Who is Surendra Nath Chuckerbutti?"
he asked his man, standing behind.

"Truly, huzur, I know not.  It is a common name in
Bengal--a vile Hindu; an unbeliever----"

"How did this paper come here?" cried Diggle impatiently.

"How should I know, sahib?  I am a poor man, an
ignorant man; I do not read----"

"Come with me and search the back of the house," said
Diggle, turning away with an oath.

Desmond stepped noiselessly across the floor and joined
the khansaman.  They made their way out stealthily down
the stairs, through the garden at the back, into a mango
grove.  There they remained hidden until Diggle, finding
his search fruitless, remounted with his men and galloped
away.

Desmond felt in a maze of bewilderment.  It was clear
that Diggle was ignorant of the whereabouts of the ladies;
where had they been spirited to, and by whom?  Apparently
there had been an attack on the house, and they
had been carried away: was it by friends or foes?  What
was the meaning of the paper found by Diggle?  Had the
Babu had any hand in the latest disappearance, or was it
his letter that had put some one else on their track?
Desmond had heard nothing of Surendra Nath or his father
since the sack of Calcutta.

There was no clue to the solution of the problem.
Meanwhile it was necessary to get back to Calcutta.  The
journey had been delayed too long already, and Hossain's
employer the grain merchant would have good reason
for complaint if he felt that his business was being
neglected.

"We must go, khansaman," said Desmond.

The man was nothing loth.  They returned by the way
they had come.  Desmond left the man some distance
short of Sinfray's house, promising, in return for his
assistance, to use his best offices with the irate manjhi[#] on his
behalf.  Then he struck off for the point lower down the
river where his boat was moored.  As soon as he arrived
they got under way, and late that evening reached Tanna
Fort, where they had to deliver their cargo of rice for the
use of the Nawab's garrison.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Steersman.

.. vspace:: 2

In the dead of night they were surprised by a visit from
Hubbo, the serang's brother.  He had seen them, as they
passed, from one of the sloops that lay in the river opposite
to the fort.  Though in chief command of the Nawab's
boats at that point, he was still secretly loyal to the
Company, and was anxious to serve their interests to
the best of his power.  He had now brought important
news.  The three sloops and two brigantines that lay off
the fort were, he said, filled with earth.  On the approach
of Admiral Watson's fleet they were to be scuttled and
sunk in the fairway.  A subahdar[#] of Manik Chand's force
was at present on board one of the sloops to superintend
the work of scuttling.  The signal would be given by the
subahdar himself from his sloop.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Equivalent to captain of infantry.

.. vspace:: 2

"Very well, Hubbo," said Desmond, "that signal must
not be given."

"But how prevent it, sahib?  I wish well to the
Company; have I not eaten their salt?  But what can one man
do against many?  The subahdar is a very fierce man; very
zabburdasti.[#]   When he gives the word it will be death to
disobey."

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Masterful.

.. vspace:: 2

Desmond sat for some time with his chin on his hands,
thinking.  Then he asked:

"Do you know where the British fleet is at present?"

"Yes, sahib.  I was in the bazar to-day; it was said
that this morning the ships were still at Fulta.  The
sepoys are recovering from their privations during the
voyage."

"We will drop down the river to-morrow as soon as
we have unloaded our cargo.  You may expect us back
ahead of the fleet, so keep a good look-out for us.  I will
take care that Mr. Drake is informed of your fidelity, and
you will certainly be well rewarded."

Early in the morning the cargo was unloaded; then,
under pretence of taking in goods at Mayapur, the petala
dropped down the river and gained Fulta under cover
of night.

Next morning Desmond, having resumed his ordinary
attire, sought an interview with Clive.

"The very man I wished to see," said Clive, shaking
hands.  "Your scouting is the one ray of light in the
darkness that covers the enemy's arrangements.  You have
done remarkably well, and I take it you would not be
here unless you had something to tell me."

Desmond gave briefly the information he had learnt
from Hubbo.

"That's the game, is it?" said Clive.  "A pretty
scheme, egad!  'Twill be fatal to us if carried out.
'Twould put a spoke in the admiral's wheel and throw all
the work on the land force.  That's weak enough, what
with Mr. Killpatrick's men dying off every day--he has
only thirty left--and my own sepoys mostly skeletons.
And we haven't proved ourselves against the Nawab's
troops; I suppose they outnumber us thirty to one, and
after their success at Calcutta they'll be very cock-a-hoop.
Yet 'tis so easy to sink a few ships, especially if preparations
have been made long in advance, as appears to be
the case."

"I think sir, it might be prevented."

Clive, who had been pacing up and down in some
perturbation of mind, his head bent, his hands clasped behind
him, halted, looked up sharply, and said:

"Indeed!  How?"

"If we could get hold of the subahdar."

"By bribing him?  He might not be open to bribery.
Most of these native officials are, but there are some
honest men among them, and he may be one.  He
wouldn't have been selected for his job unless Manik
Chand thought him trustworthy.  Besides, how are we
going to get into communication with him?  And even
if we did, and filled him to the brim with rupees, how are
we to know he wouldn't sell us in turn to the enemy?"

"But there are other ways, sir.  We can depend on
Hubbo, and if I might suggest, it would pay to promise
him a rich reward if he managed to keep the passage
clear."

"Yes, I agree.  What reward would be most effective?"

"A few hundred rupees and the post of syr serang in
the Company's service when Calcutta is retaken."

"Not too extravagant!  Well, I will see Mr. Drake;
the offer had better come from him and reach Hubbo
through his brother."

"And then, sir, it ought not to be impossible to secure
the subahdar himself when the moment arrives."

Clive looked at the bright eager countenance of the boy
before him.

"Upon my word, my lad," he said, "I believe you
can do it.  How, I don't know; but you have shown so
much resource already that you may be able to help us
in this fix--for fix it is, and a bad one.  'Tis the will that
counts; if one is only determined enough no difficulty is
insuperable--a lesson that our friends from Calcutta might
take to heart.  But have you a plan?"

"Not at present, sir.  I should like to think it over;
and if I can hit on anything that seems feasible I should
be glad of your leave to try."

"By all means, my lad.  If you fail--well, no one will
be more sorry than I, for your sake.  If you succeed, you
will find that I shall not forget.  There's one thing I want
to ask you before you go.  Have you heard anything of
my friend Merriman's ladies?"

"Yes, sir: and, as I suspected, Diggle is at the bottom
of their disappearance."

He related the series of incidents up the river.

"Dressed like a native, was he?  And looked like a
risaldar?[#]  There's no end to that fellow's villainy.  But
his day of reckoning will come I am sure of it, and the
world will be none the worse for the loss of so vile a
creature.  If you take my advice, you'll say nothing to
Mr. Merriman of this discovery.  'Twould only unsettle
the poor man.  He had better know nothing until we can
either restore the ladies to him or tell him that there is no
hope."

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Officer commanding a troop of horse.

.. vspace:: 2

"I don't give up hope, sir.  They're alive, at any rate;
and Diggle has lost them.  I feel sure we shall find them."

"God grant it, my lad."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SEVENTH`:

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   CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SEVENTH

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In which an officer of the Nawab disappears;
and Bulger reappears.

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"This will be my last trip, sahib, for my present master.
He says I waste too much time on the river.  He also
complains that I go to places without leave and without reason.
He heard we were at Mayapur, and wanted to know
why.  I made excuses, sahib; I said whatever came into
my head; but he was not satisfied, and I leave his service
in a week."

"That is a pity, Hossain.  Unless we are in the service
of some well-known banya we cannot go up and down the
river without exciting suspicion.  However, let us hope
that before the week is out the fleet will be here."

Desmond looked a little anxious.  The success of his
project for preventing the fouling of the passage at Tanna
Fort was more than eyer doubtful.  The petala was
moored opposite the Crane ghat at Calcutta, taking in a
cargo of jawar[#] for Chandernagore.  The work of loading
had been protracted to the utmost by the serang; for
Desmond did not wish to leave the neighbourhood of
Calcutta at the present juncture, when everything turned
upon their being on the spot at the critical moment.

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   [#] Millet.

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While they were talking, a man who had every appearance
of a respectable banya approached the plank over
which the coolies were carrying the jawar on board.  He
stood idly watching the work, then moved away, and
squatted on a low pile of bags which had been emptied
of their contents.  For a time the serang paid no apparent
heed to him; but presently, while the coolies were still
busy, he sauntered across the plank, and strolling to the
onlooker, exchanged a salaam and squatted beside him.
Passers-by might have caught a word or two about the
grain-market; the high prices; the difficulties of transit;
the deplorable slackness of trade; the infamous duplicity
of the Greek merchants.  At last the banya rose, salaamed,
and walked away.

As he did so the serang carelessly lifted the bag upon
which the banya had been sitting, and, making sure that
he was not observed, picked up a tiny ball of paper
scarcely bigger than a pea.  Waiting a few moments, he
rose and sauntered back on board.  A minute or two later
the lascar in the after part of the boat was unobtrusively
examining the scrap of paper.  It contained three words
and an initial:

*To-morrow about ten.--C.*

A change had been made in the composition of Hossain's
crew since the incident at Sinfray's house.  One day
Desmond had found one of the Bengalis rummaging in
the corner of the cabin where he was accustomed to keep
his few personal belongings.  Hossain had dismissed the
man on the spot.  The man saved from the river had been
kept on the boat and proved a good worker, eager, and
willing to be of use.  He was an excellent boatman, a
handy man generally, and, for a Bengali, possessed of
exceptional physical strength.  At Desmond's suggestion
Hossain offered him the vacant place, and he at once
accepted it.

Since his rescue he had shown much gratitude to
Desmond.  He was quick-witted, and had not been long
on board before he felt that the khalasi was not quite what
he appeared to be.  His suspicion was strengthened by the
deference, slight but unmistakable, paid by the serang to
the lascar; for though Desmond had warned Hossain to
be on his guard, the man had been unable to preserve
thoroughly the attitude of a superior to an inferior.

On receiving the short message from Clive, Desmond
had a consultation with Hossain.  The coolies had finished
their work and received their pay, and there was nothing
unusual in the sight of the boatmen squatting on deck
before loosing their craft from its moorings.

"If we are to do what we wish to do, Hossain," said
Desmond, "we shall require a third man to help us.  Shall
we take Karim into our confidence?"

"That is as you please, sahib.  He is a good man, and
will, I think, be faithful."

"Well, send the other fellow on shore; I will speak to
the man."

The serang gave the second of the two Bengalis who
had formed his original crew an errand on shore.
Desmond beckoned up the new man.

"Are you willing to undertake a service of risk, for a
big reward, Karim?" he asked.

The man hesitated.

"It will be worth a hundred rupees to you."

Karim's eyes sparkled; a hundred rupees represented a
fortune to a man of his class; but he still hesitated.

"Am I to be alone?" he asked at length.

"No," said Desmond; "we shall be with you."

"Ji!  Han!  If the sahib"--the word slipped out
unawares--"is to be there it is fixed.  He is my father and
mother: did he not save me from the river?  I would
serve him without reward."

"That is very well.  All the same the reward shall be
yours--to be paid to you if we succeed, to your family if
we fail.  For if we fail it will be our last day: they will
certainly shoot us.  There is time to draw back."

"If the sahib is to be there I am not afraid."

"Good.  You can go aft.  We will tell you later what
is to be done.  And, remember, on this boat I am no sahib.
I am a khalasi from Gujarat."

"I will remember--sahib."

Desmond told the serang that the help of the man was
assured, and discussed with him the enterprise upon which
he was bent.  He had given his word to Clive that the
blocking of the river should be prevented, and though the
task bade fair to be difficult he was resolved not to fail.
The vessels that were to be sunk in the fairway were
moored opposite the fort at a distance of about a ship's
length from one another.  The subahdar was on the sloop
farthest down the river, Hubbo on the next.  With the
subahdar there were three men.  The signal for the
scuttling of the vessels was to be the waving of a green flag
by the subahdar; this was to be repeated by Hubbo, then
by the serang on the sloop above him, and so on to the
end.  The vessels were in echelon, the one highest up the
river lying well over to the left bank and nearest to the
fort, the rest studding the fairway so that if they sank at
their moorings it would be impossible for a ship of any
size to thread its way between them.  It did not appear
that anything had been done to ensure their sinking
broadside to the current, the reason being probably that,
whatever might be attempted with this design, the river would
have its will with the vessels as soon as they sank.

"Our only chance," said Desmond, "is to get hold of
the subahdar.  If we can only capture him the rest should
be easy--especially as Hubbo is on the next sloop, which
screens the subahdar's from the rest.  It is out of
speaking distance from the fort, too--another piece of luck for
us.  I will think things over in the night, Hossain; be
sure to wake me, if I am not awake, at least a gharri[#]
before dawn."

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   [#] A 60th part of a day: *i.e.* 24 minutes.

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It was the first of January, 1757.  At half-past seven in
the morning a heavily-laden petala was making its way
slowly against the tide down the Hugli.  Four men were
on board; two were rowing, one was at the helm, the
fourth stood looking intently before him.  The boat had
passed several vessels lying opposite Tanna Fort, at
various distances from the bank, and came abreast of the
last but one.  There the rowers ceased pulling at an order
from the man standing, who put his hand to his mouth
and hailed the sloop.  An answer came from a man on
deck inviting the caller to come on board.  With a few
strokes of the oars the petala was run alongside, and
Hossain joined his brother.

"Is it well, brother?" he said.

"It is well," replied Hubbo.

Desmond at the helm of the petala looked eagerly ahead
at the last sloop of the line.  He could see the subahdar
on deck, a somewhat portly figure in resplendent costume.
A small dinghy was passing between his vessel and the
shore.  It contained a number of servants, who had
brought him his breakfast from the fort.  The crews of
the other vessels had prepared their food on board.

After a time a dinghy was let down from Hubbo's sloop.
Hubbo himself stepped into it with one of his crew, and
was rowed to the subahdar's vessel.  Desmond, watching
him narrowly, saw him salaam deeply as he went on
board.

"Salaam, huzur!" said Hubbo.  "Your excellency will
pardon me, but bismillah!  I have just discovered a matter
of importance.  Our task, huzur, has lain much on my
mind; we have never done anything of the sort before,
and seeing on yonder petala a man I know well, who has
spent many years on the kala pani, I ventured to ask if he
knew what time would be needed to sink a ship with
several holes drilled in the hull."

"That depends on the size of the holes, fool!" said the
subahdar with a snort.

"True, huzur; that is what the serang said.  But he
went on to tell me of a case like your excellency's.  His
ship was once captured by the pirates of the Sanderbands.
They drilled several holes in the hull, and rowed away,
leaving my friend and several of the crew to sink with the
vessel.  But the holes were not big enough.  When the
pirates had disappeared, the men on the ship, using all
their strength, managed to run her ashore, filled up the
holes at low tide, and floated her off when the tide came in
again."

A look of concern crept over the subahdar's face as he
listened.  He was a man without experience of ships, and
became uneasy at the suggestion that anything might mar
the execution of his task.  Manik Chand would not lightly
overlook a failure.

"Hearing this, huzur," Hubbo continued, "I venture
to mention the matter to your excellency, especially as it
seemed to me, from what the serang said, that the holes
drilled by the pirates were even larger than those made by
the mistris[#] sent from the fort."

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   [#] Head workmen.

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The subahdar looked still more concerned.

"Wai!" he exclaimed, "it is very disturbing.  And
there is no time to do anything; the Firangi's ships
are reported to be on their way up the river; the dogs of
Kafirs[#] may be here soon."

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   [#] Unbelievers.

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He bit his fingers, frowned, looked anxiously down the
river, then across to the brick fort at Tanna, then to the
new mud fort at Aligarh on the other bank, as if
wondering whether he should send or signal a message to one or
the other.  Hubbo was silent for a moment, then he said:

"Have I the huzur's leave to speak?"

"By the twelve imáms[#], yes! but quickly."

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   [#] High priests descending from Ali, the son-in-law of
   Mahomet.

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"There is a mistri on board the serang's boat who is
used to working in ships--a khalasi from Gujarat.  He
might do something on board your excellency's ship.  If
this vessel sank, according to the plan, the Firangi would
not be able to get aboard the others, and they would have
time to sink slowly."

"Barik allah![#]  It is a good idea.  Bid the mistri come
aboard at once."

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   [#] "Bravo!"

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Hubbo sent a long hail over the water.  The serang
cast off the rope by which he had made fast to the sloop,
and the petala came slowly down until it was abreast of
the subahdar's vessel.  Hossain, Desmond, and Karim
stepped aboard, the last carrying a small box of tools.
Only the Bengali was left in the boat.  All salaamed low
to the subahdar.

"This, huzur, is my friend," said Hubbo, presenting
his brother.  "This is the mistri, and this his assistant."

"Good!" said the subahdar.  "Go down into the hold,
mistri: look to the holes; if they are not large enough,
make them larger, and as quickly as you can."

Desmond with Karim dived down into the hold.  It was
filled with earth, except where a gangway shored up with
balks of timber had been left to give access to the holes
that had been drilled and temporarily stopped.  After a
few words from the subahdar, Hubbo and his brother
followed Desmond below.

Half an hour later, Hubbo climbed up through the
hatchway and approached the subahdar, who was pacing
the deck, giving many an anxious glance down the river.

"The mistri has bored another hole, huzur.  He said
the more holes the better.  Perhaps your excellency will
deign to see whether you regard it as sufficient."

"Nay, I should defile my clothes," said the subahdar,
not relishing the thought of descending into the
malodorous depths.

"As your excellency pleases," said Hubbo salaaming.

Then the gravity of his charge appeared to overcome
the subahdar's scruples.  Gathering his robes close about
him, he stepped to the hatchway and lowered himself into
the hold.

"We must hasten," he said.  "The ships of the
Firangi may appear at any moment, and I must be on
the look-out.  Meantime," he added to Hubbo, "you
keep watch."

For a man of his build he was fairly active.  Dropping
on to the loose earth, he scrambled over it towards the
oil-lamp by whose light the mistri and his assistant were
working.

"This, huzur," said Hossain, pointing to a circular cut
in the planking of the vessel, "is the new hole.  It is
not yet driven through, but if your excellency thinks it
sufficient----"

The subahdar craned forward to examine it.  "Khubbar
dar!"[#] said Desmond in a low voice.

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   [#] Look out!

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Hossain had only waited for this signal.  He threw
himself on the stooping subahdar and bore him to the
floor, at the same time stuffing a gag between his teeth.
In a couple of minutes he was lying bound and helpless.
His ornate garment was but little sullied.  It had been
stripped from him by the mistri, who hastily donned it
over his own scanty raiment, together with the subahdar's
turban.

"How will that do, Hossain?" asked Desmond with a smile.

The serang held up the oil-lamp to inspect him.  With
his other hand he slightly altered the set of the turban and
rearranged the folds of the robe.

"That is excellent, sahib," he said.  "A little more
girth would perhaps have been better, but in the distance
no one will notice."

Then calling to Hubbo he said that all was ready.
Hossain clambered through the hatchway, leaving
Desmond concealed behind a large timber upright
supporting the deck.  As soon as the serang had reached his
side Hubbo called to the men on watch and said--

"Eo!  Ali, Chedi, come here!"

"Jo hukm!"[#] replied one of the men.  Two of the
three hurried aft, and at Hubbo's bidding swung down
into the hold.  The serang ordered them to go towards
the lamp.  They groped their way in that direction;
Desmond sprang up through the hatchway; it was
clapped down and firmly secured, and the subahdar with
two-thirds of his crew was a prisoner in the hold.  The
third man at the far end of the boat had not seen or
heard anything of what had happened.

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   [#] Whatever is ordered (I will obey)

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So far the plot had succeeded admirably.  Whatever
order might reach the waiting vessels, it would not be
given by the subahdar.  The question now was, how to
prevent the men in charge of the vessels and the
authorities in Tanna Fort from becoming suspicious.  The
latter would not be difficult.  Manik Chand would gain
nothing by blocking the fairway unless it were absolutely
necessary to do so, and, in common with other of the
Nawab's lieutenants, he had an overweening confidence
in the power of the forts to repel an attack from the
English ships.  For this reason it was advisable to make
the minds of the other men easy, and Desmond soon hit
on a plan.

"You had better return to your sloop, Hubbo," he
said.  "Send a message to the men on the other vessels
that I--the subahdar, you know--have made up my mind
to allow one of the enemy's ships to pass me before
giving the signal.  I shall thus capture one at least, and
it may be the admiral's."

Hubbo set off, and when he reached his own vessel he
sent a boat with a message to each of the ships in turn.
Meanwhile, thinking the appearance of a petala alongside
of the subahdar's sloop might awaken suspicion or
at least curiosity in the fort, Desmond decided to send
it down the river in charge of Hossain.  He was thus
left alone on deck with the subahdar's third man.

For a time the man, standing far forward, was unaware
of the striking change in the personality garbed in the
subahdar's clothes.  But glancing back at length, he
started, looked a second time, and after a moment's
hesitation walked down the deck.

"Go back to your post," said Desmond sternly, "and
see that you keep a good look-out for the Firangi's
ships."

The man salaamed and returned to the prow in
manifest bewilderment.  More than once he looked back as
he heard strange knockings from below.  Desmond only
smiled.  If the sound was heard from the forts, it would
be regarded merely as a sign that the preparations for
sinking the vessel were not yet completed.

Time passed on, and ever and anon Desmond looked
eagerly down the river for a sign of the oncoming fleet.
At last, somewhere about midday, he observed signs of
excitement in Tanna Fort, and almost simultaneously saw
a puff of smoke and heard a report from one of its guns.
Shortly afterwards he observed the spars of a British-built
ship slowly approaching up-stream.  In full confidence
that the scheme for blocking the river was now
frustrated, he awaited with patience the arrival of the
fleet, wondering whether the forts would make a
determined resistance.

Slowly the vessel drew nearer.  Another shot was fired
from the fort, with what result Desmond could not tell.
But immediately afterwards he heard the distant report
of a heavy gun, followed by a crash near at hand, and
a babel of yells.  A shot from the British ship had
plumped right in the centre of Tanna Fort.  At the same
moment Desmond recognized the figure-head.

"'Tis the *Tyger*!" he said to himself with a smile.
"Won't Captain Latham grin when he sees me in this rig!"

Then he laughed aloud, for the valiant defenders of
Tanna Fort had not waited for a second shot.  They
were swarming helter-skelter out of harm's way, rushing
at the top of their speed up the river and leaving their
fortress to its fate.  On the other bank the garrison of
Aligarh Fort had also taken flight, and were streaming
along with excited cries in the direction of Calcutta.
The man in the bows of the sloop looked amazedly at
the new subahdar.  Why did he laugh?  Why did he not
wave the green flag that lay at his hand?  When were
the men who had gone below going to knock out the
stoppings of the holes and take to the boat with himself
and their commander?  But the subahdar still stood
laughing.

All at once Desmond, remembering the real subahdar
below, asked himself: what if he drove out the bungs
and scuttled the vessel?  But the question brought a
smile to his lips.  He could not conceive of the Bengali
playing such a heroic part, and he possessed his soul in
peace.

Now the *Tyger* was full in sight, and behind her
Desmond saw the well-remembered *Kent*, Admiral Watson's
flagship.  The stampede from the forts had evidently
been observed on board, for firing had ceased, and boats
were already being lowered and filled with men.
Desmond waited.  The *Tyger's* boats, he saw, were making
for Tanna Fort: the *Kent's* for Aligarh.  But one of the
latter was heading straight for the sloop.  Desmond
could not resist the temptation to a joke.  Making
himself look as important as he could, he stood by the
gunwale watching with an air of dignity the oncoming of the
boat.  It was in command of a young lieutenant.  The
men bent to their oars with a will, and Desmond could
soon hear the voice of the officer as he called to his crew.

But his amusement was mingled with amazement and
delight when, in the big form sitting in the bow of the
boat, he recognized no other than his old messmate, his
old comrade in the Battle of the Carts--William Bulger.
The joke would be even better than he had expected.
The boat drew closer: it was level with the nose of the
sloop; and the lieutenant sang out the command, "Ship
oars!"  It came alongside.

"Bulger," cried the lieutenant, "skip aboard and
announce us to that old peacock on deck."

"Ay, ay, sir," replied Bulger, "which his feathers will
be plucked, or my name en't Bulger."

At the side of the sloop lay the dinghy intended to
convey the subahdar and his men ashore when the work
of sinking had been started.  It was made fast to the
vessel by a rope.  Bulger sprang into the dinghy and
then began an ascent so clever, and at the same time
so comical, that Desmond had much ado not to spoil
his joke by a premature explosion of laughter.  The burly
seaman swarmed up the rope like a monkey, clasping it
with his legs as he took each upward grip.  But the
comedy of his actions was provided by his hook.  Having
only one arm--an arm, it is true, with the biceps of a
giant--he could not clutch the rope in the ordinary way.
But at each successive spring he dug his hook into the
side of the vessel, and mounted with amazing rapidity,
talking to himself all the time.

"Avast, there!" he shouted, as with a final heave upon
the hook dug into the gunwale he hoisted himself on deck.
"Haul down your colours, matey, which they make a
pretty pictur', they do."

He came overpoweringly towards Desmond, his arm
and stump spread wide as if to embrace him.

"I may be wrong," said Desmond, "but have I not
the pleasure of addressing Mr. William Bulger?"

Bulger started as if shot.  His broad face spelt first
blank amazement, then incredulity, then surprised belief.
Spreading his legs wide and bending his knees, he
rested his hand on one and his hook on the other, shut
one eye, and stuck his tongue out at the corner of his
mouth.

"By the Dutchman!" he exclaimed, "if it don't beat
cock-fighting!  Sure, 'tis Mr. Burke himself!  Anna Maria!
But for why did you go for to make yourself sich a Guy
Faux guy, sir?"

"How are you, old fellow?" said Desmond heartily.
"I am a bit of a scarecrow, no doubt, but we've won
the trick, man.  The real guy is down below, dead from
fright by this time, I expect.  Sorry to give you the
trouble of boarding, sir," he added, as the lieutenant
came over the side.  "If you'll take me into your boat,
I'll be glad to report to the admiral or to Colonel Clive."

"By jiminy, Mr. Burke!" said the lieutenant, laughing,
"you've got a way of your own of popping up at odd
times and in odd places.  Come with me by all means--just
as you are, if you please.  The admiral wouldn't
miss the look of you for anything.  By George! 'tis a
rare bit of play-acting.  Did I hear you say you've got
some natives under hatchways?"

"Yes; the owner of this finery is below with two of
his men.  You can hear him now."  There was a violent
and sustained knocking below deck.  "I'll send my
man to release him.  The fleet are all coming up, sir?"

"Yes; the *Bridgewater* and *Kingfisher* are close in our
wake.  Come along; we'll catch the admiral before he
goes ashore."





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.. _`CHAPTER THE TWENTY-EIGHTH`:

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   CHAPTER THE TWENTY-EIGHTH

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In which Captain Barker has cause to rue the
day when he met Mr. Diggle; and our
hero continues to wipe off old scores.

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Desmond received a warm welcome both from Admiral
Watson and Colonel Clive.  His account of the manner in
which he had defeated Manik Chand's scheme for blocking
the river was received with shouts of laughter, while his
ingenuity and courage were warmly commended by both
officers.  Indeed, the admiral, always more impulsive
than Clive, offered him on the spot a lieutenancy in the
fleet, and was not very well pleased when Desmond
politely declined the honour.  Desmond caught a gleam
of approval in Clive's eyes, and later in the day, when
he saw his hero alone, he felt well rewarded.

"A naval lieutenant ranks higher than a lieutenant in
the army--I suppose you know that, Burke?" said Clive.

"Yes, sir."

"And you're only a cadet.  From to-day you are a
lieutenant, my lad.  I am pleased with you, and whatever
his enemies say of Bob Clive, no one ever said of him that
he forgot a friend."

The forces proceeded to Calcutta next day, and retook
the town with surprising ease.  Manik Chand was so
much alarmed by seeing the effect of the big guns of
the fleet that he abandoned the place almost without
striking a blow, and when the British troops entered they
were too late even to make any prisoners save a few of
the rag-tag and bobtail in the rear.

Mr. Merriman returned to Calcutta a few days later.
Desmond was grieved to observe how rapidly he was
aging.  In spite of Clive's recommendation to keep silence
he could not refrain from telling his friend what he had
discovered about the missing ladies; and he did not regret
it, for the knowledge that they were alive and, when last
heard of, out of Peloti's clutches, acted like a tonic.
Merriman was all eagerness to set off and search for them
himself; but, Desmond pointing out the danger of such
a course, he reluctantly agreed to wait a little longer, and
see whether any news could be obtained during the
operations which Clive was planning against the Nawab.

Meanwhile, Desmond learnt from Bulger what had
happened to him since the fall of Calcutta.  He was one of
the hundred and forty-six thrown into the Black Hole.

"'Tis only by the mercy of the Almighty I'm here
to-day," he said solemnly.  "I saw what 'twould be as
soon as the door of that Black Hole was locked, and me
and some others tried to force it.  'Twern't no good.
Mr. Holwell--he's a brave man, an' no mistake--begged
an' prayed of us all to be quiet; but lor' bless you, he
might ha' saved his breath.  'Twas a hot night; we soon
began to sweat most horrible an' feel a ragin' thirst.  We
took off most of our clothes, an' waved our hats to set the
air a-movin'; which 'twas hard enough work, 'cos we
was packed so tight.  I en't a-going' to tell you all the
horrors o' that night, sir; I'd like uncommon to forget
'em, though I don't believe I never shall.  'Twas so awful
that many a poor wretch begged of the Moors outside
to fire on 'em.  Worst was when the old jamadar put
skins o' water in at the window.  My God! them about
me fought like demons, which if I hadn't flattened myself
against the wall I should ha' been crushed or trodden to
death, like most on 'em.  For me, I couldn't get near the
water; I sucked my shirt sleeves, an' 'tis my belief 'twas
on'y that saved me from goin' mad.  A man what was
next me took out his knife an' slit a vein, 'cos he couldn't
bear the agony no longer.  Soon arter, I fell in a dead
faint, an' knowed no more till I found myself on my
back outside, with a Moor chuckin' water at me.  They
let me go, along with some others; and a rotten old hulk
I was, there en't no mistake about that.  Why, bless you,
my skin come out all boils as thick as barnacles on a hull
arter a twelve months' voyage, all 'cos o' being in sich bad
air without water.  And then the fever came aboard, an'
somehow or other I got shipped to the mounseers' hospital
at Chandernagore, which they was very kind to me, sir;
there en't no denyin' that.  I may be wrong, but I could
take my oath, haffidavy, an' solemn will an' testament
that a mounseer's got a heart inside of his body arter all,
which makes him all the better chap to have a slap at
if you come to think of the why an' wherefore of it."

"But how came you on board the *Tyger*?"

"Well, when my boils was gone an' the fever slung
overboard, I got down to Fulta an' held on the slack
there; an' when the ships come up, they sent for me, 'cos
havin' sailed up an' down the river many a time, they
thought as how I could do a bit o' pilotin', there not bein'
enough Dutch pilots to go round.  An' I ha' had some
fun, too, which I wonder I can laugh arter that Black
Hole and all.  By thunder! 'tis a merry sight to see the
Moors run.  The very look of a cutlass a'most turns 'em
white, and they well-nigh drops down dead if they see
a sailor man.  Why, t'other day at Budge-Budge--they
ought to call it Fudge-Fudge now, seems to me--the
Jack-tars went ashore about nightfall to help the lobsters
storm the fort in the dark.  But Colonel Clive he was
dog-tired an' went to his bed, sayin' as how he'd lead a
boardin' party in the mornin'.  That warn't exactly beans
an' bacon; nary a man but would ha' took a big dose
o' fever if they'd laid out on the fields all night.  Anyways,
somewhere about eleven, an' pitch dark, a Jack which his
name is Strahan--a Scotchman, by what they say--went
off all alone by himself to have a sort of private peep at
that there fort.  He was pretty well filled up wi' grog,
or pr'aps he wouldn't ha' been quite so venturesome.
Well, he waded up to his chin in a ditch o' mud what
goes round the fort, with his pistols above his head.
When he gets over, bang goes one pistol, an' he sets up
a shout: 'One and all, my boys! one and all, hurray!'
a-dreamin' I s'pose as he was captain of a boardin' party
an' a crew o' swabs behind him.  Up he goes, up the
bastion; bang goes t'other pistol; then he outs with his
cutlass, a-roarin' hurray with a voice like a twelve-pounder;
down goes three o' them Moors; another breaks Jack's
cutlass with his scimitar; bless you, what's he care? don't
care a straw, which his name is Strahan; he've got a
fist, he have, an' he dashes it in the Moor's face, collars
his scimitar, cuts his throat and sings out 'Ho, mateys! this
'ere fort's mine!'  Up comes three or four of his
mates what heard his voice; they swings round the cannon
on the bastion an' turns it on the enemy; bang! bang! and
bless your heart, the Moors cut and run, an' the fort
was ourn."

At the moment Desmond thought that Bulger was
drawing the long bow.  But meeting Captain Speke of
the *Kent* a little later, he asked how much truth there was
in the story.

"'Tis all true," said the captain, laughing, "but not
the whole truth.  The day after Strahan's mad
performance the admiral sends for him: discipline must be
maintained, you know.  'What's this I hear about you?'
says Mr. Watson, with a face of thunder.  Strahan bobbed,
and scratched his head, and twirled his hat in his hand,
and says: 'Why to be sure, sir, 'twas I took the fort,
and I hope there en't no harm in it!'  By George! 'twas
as much as the admiral could do to keep a straight face.
He got the fellow to tell us about it: we had our faces in
our handkerchiefs all the time.  Then Mr. Watson gave
him a pretty rough wigging, and wound up by saying
that he'd consult me as to the number of lashes to be laid
on.  You should have seen the fellow's face!  As he
went out of the cabin I heard him mutter: 'Well, if I'm
to be flogged for this 'ere action, be hanged if I ever take
another fort alone by myself as long as I live!'"

"Surely he wasn't flogged?" said Desmond, laughing
heartily.

"Oh no!  Mr. Watson told us as a matter of form
to put in a plea for the fellow, and then condescended to
let him off.  Pity he's such a loose fish!"

For two months Desmond remained with Clive.  He
was with him at the capture of Hugli, and in that brisk
fight at Calcutta on February 5 which gave the
Nawab his first taste of British quality.  Siraj-uddaula
was encamped to the north-east of the town with a huge
army.  In a heavy fog, about daybreak, Clive came up
at the head of a mixed force of King's troops, sepoys and
sailors, some 2,000 men in all.  Hordes of Persian cavalry
charged him through the mist, but they were beaten off,
and Clive forced his way through the enemy's camp until
he came near the Nawab's own tents, pitched in
Omichand's garden.  Siraj-uddaula himself was within an
ace of being captured.  His troops made but a poor stand
against the British, and by midday the battle was over.

Scared by this defeat, the Nawab was ready to conclude
with the Company the treaty which long negotiations had
failed to effect.  By this treaty the trading privileges
granted to the Company by the Emperor of Delhi were
confirmed; the Nawab agreed to pay full compensation
for the losses sustained by the Company and its servants;
and the right to fortify Calcutta was conceded.  The
long-standing grievances of the Company were thus, on paper,
redressed.

A day or two after the battle a ship arrived with the
news that war had been declared in Europe between
England and France.  Efforts to maintain neutrality between
the English and French in Bengal having failed, Clive
wished the Nawab to join him in an attack on the French
settlements in Bengal.  This the Nawab refused to do,
though he wrote promising that he would hold as enemies
all who were enemies of Clive--a promise that bore bitter
fruit before many months had passed.

The French were keen rivals of the Company in the trade
of India, and constantly took advantage of native troubles
to score a point in the game.  Clive had come to Bengal
with the full intention of making the Company, whose
servant he was, supreme; and having secured the treaty
with Siraj-uddaula he resolved to turn his arms against
the French.  They were suspected of helping the Nawab
in his expedition against Calcutta: it was known that the
Nawab, treating his engagements with reckless levity and
faithlessness, was trying to persuade Bussy, the French
commander in the Dekkan, to help him to expel the British
from Bengal.  There was excuse enough for an attack on
Chandernagore.

But before Clive could open hostilities, he was required,
by an old arrangement with the Mogul, to obtain
permission from the Nawab.  This permission was at length
got from him by Omichand.  The sack of Calcutta by the
Nawab had caused Omichand great loss, and, hoping in
part to retrieve it, he made his peace with Clive and the
Council, and was then selected to accompany Mr. Watts
when he went as British representative to Murshidabad.
The wily Sikh, working always for his own ends, contrived
to make the unstable young despot believe that the French
were tricking him, and in a fit of passion he sealed a letter
allowing Admiral Watson to make war upon them.  He
repented of it immediately, but the letter was gone.  On
the day after it reached the Admiral, March 12, 1757, Clive
sent a summons to Monsieur Renault, the governor of
Chandernagore, to surrender the fort.  No reply was
received that day, and Clive resolved, failing a satisfactory
answer within twenty-four hours, to read King George's
declaration of war and attack the French.

Desmond was breakfasting among a number of his
fellow-officers next morning when up came Hossain, the
serang who had accompanied him in his eventful journeys
up and down the Hugli.  Lately he had been employed,
on Desmond's recommendation, in bringing supplies up
the river for the troops.  The man salaamed and said that
he wished to say a few words privately to the sahib.
Desmond rose, and went apart with him.  At sunrise, said
the man, a vessel flying Dutch colours had dropped down
the river past the English fleet.  Her name was Dutch,
and her destination Rotterdam; but Hossain was certain
that she was really the *Good Intent*, which Desmond had
pointed out to him as they passed Chandernagore, and
which they had more than once seen since in the course of
their journeys.  Her appearance had attracted some attention
on the fleet; and the *Tyger* had sent a shot after her,
ordering her to heave to; but having a strong north-east
wind behind her, she took no notice of the signal and held
on her course.  Desmond thanked Hossain for the information,
and, leaving his breakfast unfinished, went off at once
to see Clive, whom he was to join that morning on a tour of
inspection of the north-west part of the French settlement.

"Well, I don't see what we can do," said Clive, when
Desmond repeated the news to him.  "Mr. Watson no
doubt suspected her when it was too late.  Nothing but
a regular chase could have captured her after she had
passed.  Ships can't be spared for that; they've much
more important work on hand."

"Still, 'tis a pity, sir," said Desmond.  "'Tis not only
that Captain Barker is an interloper; he has been in league
with pirates, and his being at Chandernagore all these
months means no good."

"It means at any rate that he hasn't been able to get a
cargo.  Trade's at a standstill.  Well, I'd give
something to lay Mr. Barker and his crew by the heels--on
behalf of the Company, Burke, for don't forget, as some
of our friends of the Calcutta Council do, that I am here to
save the Company, not their private property.  'Tis too
late to stop the vessel now."

"I'd like to try, sir."

"I daresay you would.  You're as ready to take risks as
I am," he added, with his characteristic pursing of the
lips; "and 'pon my word, you're just as lucky!  For I'm
lucky, Burke; there's no doubt of it.  That affair at
Calcutta might have done for us but for the morning mist.
I'd like to try myself.  It would punish a set of rogues,
and discourage interloping, to the benefit of the Company.
But I can't spare men for the job.  Barker has no doubt a
large crew; they'll be on the look-out for attack; no, I
can't touch it."

Desmond hesitated for a moment.  He did not wish to
lose the fighting at Chandernagore, but he had the strongest
personal reasons for desiring the arrest of the *Good Intent*.

"Do you think, sir, we shall capture this place
to-morrow?" he asked suddenly.

"Scarcely, my boy," said Clive, "nor by to-morrow
week unless the French have forgotten how to fight.
Why do you ask?"

"Because if you'd give me leave I'd like to have a shot
at the *Good Intent*--provided I got back in time to be with
you in the fighting line, sir."

"Well, I can't keep things waiting, even for you," said
Clive with a smile; "and it seems a wild-goose
chase--rather a hazardous one."

"I'd risk that, sir.  I could get together some men in
Calcutta, and I'd hope to be back here in a couple of days."

"Well, well, Burke, you'd wheedle the Mogul himself.
Any one could tell you're an Irishman.  Get along then;
do your best, and if you don't come back I'll try to take
Chandernagore without you."

He smiled as he slapped Desmond on the shoulder.
Well pleased with his ready consent, Desmond hurried away,
got a horse, and, riding hard, reached Calcutta by eight
o'clock and went straight to Mr. Merriman.  Explaining
what was afoot he asked for the loan of the men of the
*Hormuzzeer*.  Merriman at once agreed; Captain Barker
was a friend of Peloti; and he needed no stronger
inducement.  Desmond hurried down to the river; the *Hormuzzeer*
was lying off Cruttenden Ghat, and Mr. Toley for once
broke through his settled sadness of demeanour when he
learnt of the expedition proposed.

While Toley collected the crew and made his preparations,
Desmond consulted a pilot.  The *Good Intent* had
passed Calcutta an hour before; but the man said that,
though favoured by the wind, she would scarcely get past
the bar at Mayapur on the evening tide.  She might do
so if exceptionally lucky; in that case there would be very
little chance of overtaking her.

Less than two hours after Desmond reached Calcutta
two budgeros left Cruttenden Ghat.  Each was provided
with a double complement of men, and although the sails
filled with a strong following wind, their oars were kept
constantly in play.  The passengers on board were for the
most part unaccustomed to this luxurious mode of
travelling.  There were a dozen lascars; Hossain the serang;
Karim, the man saved by Desmond at Chandernagore;
Bulger and the second mate of the *Hormuzzeer*, and
Mr. Toley, who, like Desmond and the serang, was clothed,
much to Bulger's amusement, as a fairly well-to-do ryot.

For some hours the tide was contrary, but when it
turned, the budgeros, under the combined impulse of sail,
oar and current, made swift progress, arousing some
curiosity among the crews of riverside craft, little accustomed
to the sight of budgeros moving so rapidly.  Approaching
Mayapur, Desmond descried the spars of the *Good Intent*
a long way ahead.  Was there enough water to allow her
to pass the bar? he wondered.  Apparently there was,
for she kept straight on her course under full sail.
Desmond bit his lips with vexation, and had almost given up
hope, though he did not permit any slackening of speed,
when to his joy he saw the vessel strike her topsails, then
the rest of her canvas.  He at once ran his boats to the
shore at Mayapur.  There were a number of river craft
at the place, so that the movements of his budgeros, if
observed from the *Good Intent*, were not likely to awaken
suspicion.  On landing, he went to the house of a native
merchant, Babu Aghor Nath Bose, to whom he had a
letter from Mr. Merriman.

"Can you arrange for us," he said, when civilities had
been exchanged, "to-night, the loan of two shabby old
country boats?"

The native considered.

"I think I can, sahib," he said at length.  "I would
do much for Merriman Sahib.  A man I frequently employ
is now anchored off my ghat.  No doubt, for fair pay, he
and another might be persuaded to lend their craft."

"Very well, be good enough to arrange it.  I only
require the boats for a few hours to-morrow morning.  Do
you think twenty rupees would suffice?"

The native opened his eyes.  He himself would not have
offered so much.  But he said--

"Doubtless that will suffice, sahib.  The matter is
settled."

"I will meet you in an hour.  Thank you."

Returning to the budgeros, Desmond instructed Hossain
to go into the bazar and buy up all the fresh fruit he could
find.  The sales for the day were over, but Hossain hunted
up the fruit sellers and bargained so successfully that when
he returned he was accompanied by a whole gang of coolies,
bearing what seemed to Desmond an appalling quantity
of melons, all for thirty rupees.

Before this, however, Aghor Nath Bose had reported
that the hire of the two boats was duly arranged.  They
were open boats, little more than barges, with a small cabin
or shelter aft.  Their crews had been dismissed and had
taken their belongings ashore; both were empty of cargo.
Desmond went with Bulger on board and arranged a
number of bamboos crosswise on the boats, covering up
the empty spaces which would usually be occupied by
merchandise.  Over the bamboos he placed a layer of thin
matting, and on this, when Hossain returned, he ordered
the coolies to put the melons.  To a casual observer it
would have appeared that the boats were laden with a
particularly heavy cargo of the golden fruit.

An hour before dawn the lascars and others from the
*Hormuzzeer* slipped quietly from the budgeros on board
the country boats, and bestowed themselves as best they
could under the bamboo deck supporting the melons.  It
was cool in the early morning, although the hot season was
approaching; but Desmond did not envy the men their
close quarters.  They were so much excited, however, at
the adventure before them, and so eager to earn the liberal
reward promised them if it succeeded, that not a man
murmured.  The Europeans had cooler quarters in the rude
cabins, where they were hidden from prying eyes under
miscellaneous native wraps.

Desmond had learnt from the pilot that it would be
nearly eight o'clock before the depth of water over the bar
was sufficient to allow a ship like the *Good Intent* to proceed
with safety.  A little before daybreak the two boats crept
out from the ghat.  It was well to avoid curiosity before
Mayapur woke up.  Desmond steered the first, Hossain the
second; and besides the steersman there were two men
visible on the deck of each.  The tide was running up, but
the wind still held from the north-east, and, though
moderated in force since the evening, it was strong enough to
take them slowly down towards the *Good Intent*.  The
sky was lightening, but a slight mist hung over the river.
Desmond kept a close look-out ahead, and in a quarter
of an hour he caught sight of the hull of the *Good Intent*,
looming before him out of the mist.  Allowing the second
boat to come alongside, he turned and spoke to the serang.

"Now, Hossain, there she is.  Hail her."

"Eo, eo!" shouted the man.  "Do the sahibs want
to buy any fresh fruit?"

An oath floated down from the stern.  Captain Barker
was there, peering intently through the mist up the river.

"Good melons, sahib, all fresh, and not too ripe.  Cheap
as ragi, sahib."

The mate had joined the captain; the Dutch pilot stood
by smoking a pipe.  The fruit boats had by this time come
under the stern of the vessel, and Desmond heard the mate
say--

"We came away in such a hurry, sir, that we hadn't time
to take in a supply of vegetables.  Melons'll keep, sir, if
they en't over-ripe."

Barker growled, then bent over and called to the serang.
"How much?"

"Very cheap, sahib, very cheap.  I will come aboard."

"Then be quick about it: we're going to trip the anchor,
melons or no melons.  D'ye hear?"

Hossain ran down the sail and clambered up the chains,
while the other boatmen made fast to a rope thrown from
the deck.  Desmond also lowered his sail, steering so as
to approach the port quarter of the *Good Intent*, the serang's
boat being on the starboard.  No rope was thrown to him,
but he found that the tide was now only strong enough to
neutralize the wind, and a stroke every now and again
with the paddle at the stern kept his boat stationary.

Meanwhile there came from the deck the sing-song of
men heaving up the anchor.  When the serang stepped
on board the greater part of the crew of the *Good Intent*
were forward.  Little time was spent in haggling.  A
melon was thrown up as a sample, and the price asked was
so extraordinarily low that Captain Barker evidently
thought he had got a bargain.

"Heave 'em up," he said, "and if they en't all up to
sample----"

He broke off, no doubt believing that his fierce scowl
was sufficient to point his threat.  The serang hailed
Desmond to come alongside.  A few sweeps of the paddle
brought the boat close underneath the *Good Intent's* side,
and a second rope enabled him to make fast.

He swarmed up the rope, followed by one of the
boatmen.  The other on the boat began to fill a basket with
melons, as if preparing to send them on board.  At the
same time Karim joined Hossain from the other side, so
that there were now four of the party on deck.  At a sign
from Desmond, the two natives, carrying out instructions
previously given, strolled towards the companion way.
Hossain had started a conversation with the captain and
mate, telling them about the British fleet he had passed as he
came down the river.  The Dutch pilot looked on, stolidly
puffing his pipe.

Desmond stepped to the side of the vessel as though to
hoist the basket with the running tackle.  Making a sign
to the men below, he called in a loud voice--

"Tano!"

Instantly the men swarmed up the rope.  At the signal,
misleading to the crew of the *Good Intent*, man after man
crawled from beneath the matting on the boat below, and
clambered up the ropes, led by Bulger on one side and
Mr. Toley on the other.  They made little noise, and that was
drowned by the sing-song of the sailors and the grinding of
the cables; the pilot with his back to the bulwarks saw
nothing, and before Captain Barker knew that anything
unusual was occurring both Bulger and Toley were
tumbling over the sides.  The captain stood almost petrified
with amazement as he saw Bulger's red face rising like
the morning sun.  He stepped back a pace.

"What the----"

The exclamation was never completed.  Desmond stepped
up to him, and in a low voice said--

"In the name of His Majesty King George I call upon
you, Captain Barker, to surrender this ship."

He had a levelled pistol in his hand.  Bulger with a
cutlass sprang to one side, and Toley ranged himself on the
other.  Hossain had joined the two boatmen at the
companion way; all had brought out pistols from the folds
of their clothing, and the companion way commanded
access to the ship's armoury.

Barker, who had grown purple at the sight of Bulger,
now turned a sickly white.  The mate dashed forward,
calling to the crew, who, seeing that something was amiss,
came along with a rush, arming themselves with belaying
pins and any other weapons that came handy.  Toley,
however, leaving the cowed and speechless captain to
Desmond, stepped towards the men.  They recognized
him at once and paused doubtfully.

"You know me," he said.  "I'm a man of few words.
You won't go further this voyage.  Captain Barker has
surrendered the ship.  You'll drop those desperate things
in your hands and go for'ard.  Show a leg, now!"

The men looked from one to another, then at the captain,
who was at that moment handing over his sword to
Desmond.  If Captain Barker was too badly beaten to swear,
he was in poor case indeed.  The crew's hesitation was but
momentary: under Toley's sad gaze they sullenly flung
down their weapons and went forward.  Only then did the
captain find speech.  But it was to utter a fearful curse,
ending with the name--

"Diggle."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER THE TWENTY-NINTH`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER THE TWENTY-NINTH

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: bold

In which our hero does not win the Battle of
Plassey; but, where all do well, gains
as much glory as the rest.

.. vspace:: 2

Leaving Mr. Toley to bring the *Good Intent* up to Calcutta,
Desmond hurried back in advance and remained in the town
just long enough to inform Mr. Merriman of the happy result
of his adventure and to change into his own clothes, and then
returned to Chandernagore on horseback as he had come.
He found Clive encamped two miles to the west of the fort.
No reply having reached him from Monsieur Renault, Clive
had read the Declaration of War as he had threatened,
and opened hostilities by an attack on an outpost.

"You've no need to tell me you've succeeded, Burke,"
he said, when Desmond presented himself.  "I see it in
your eyes.  But I've no time to hear your story now.  It
must wait until we have seen the result of the day's fighting.
Not that I expect much of it in this quarter.  We can't
take the place with the land force only, and I won't throw
away life till the Admiral has tried the effect of his guns."

The French in Chandernagore were not well prepared to
stand a determined siege.  The Governor, Monsieur Renault,
had none of the military genius of a Dupleix or a Bussy.
With him were only some eight hundred fighting men, of
whom perhaps half were Europeans.  Instead of concentrating
his defence on the fort he scattered his men about
the town, leaving the weakest part of his defences, the
eastern curtain, insufficiently manned.  He believed that
Admiral Watson would find it impossible to bring his
biggest ships within gunshot, and fancied that by sinking
some vessels at the narrowest part of the river he would
keep the whole British fleet unemployed--a mistake that
was to cost him dear.

By the night of March 14 Clive had driven in the
outposts.  The immediate effect of this was the desertion of
2,000 natives sent to Renault's assistance by Nandkumar
the faujdar of Hugli.  A continuous bombardment was
kept up until the 19th, when Admiral Watson arrived from
Calcutta with the *Kent*, the *Tyger*, and the *Salisbury*.

Next morning an officer was despatched in a boat to
summon Renault once more to surrender.  Rowing between
the sunken vessels, whose masts showed above water, he
took soundings and found that with careful handling
the men-o'-war might safely pass.  Once more Renault
refused to surrender.  His offer to ransom the fort was
declined by the Admiral, who the same night sent the master
of the *Kent* to buoy the Channel.  Two nights later, in pitch
darkness, several English boats were rowed with muffled
oars to the sunken vessels.  Their crews fixed lanterns to
the masts of these in such a way that the lights, while guiding
the warships, would be invisible from the fort.

Early next morning Clive captured the battery commanding
the river passage, and the three British ships ran up
with the tide.  The *Kent* and *Tyger* opened fire on the
south-east and north-east bastions, and these two vessels bore
the brunt of a tremendous cannonade from the fort.  The
French artillery was well served, doing fearful damage on
board the British vessels.  On the *Kent*, save the Admiral
himself and one lieutenant, every officer was killed or
wounded.  One shot struck down Captain Speke and shattered
the leg of his son, a brave boy of sixteen, who refused
to allow his wound to be examined until his father had
been attended to, and then bore the pain of the rough
amputation of those days without a murmur.  Meanwhile
Clive's men had climbed to the roofs of houses near the
fort, which commanded the French batteries; and his
musketeers poured in a galling fire and shot down the gunners at
their work.  As the walls of the barracks and fort were
shattered by the guns from the ships, the sepoys crept closer
and closer, awaiting the word to storm.

The morning drew on.  Admiral Watson began to fear
that when the tide fell his big guns would be at too low a
level to do further execution.  There was always considerable
rivalry between himself and Clive, fed by the stupid
jealousy of some of the Calcutta Council.  While Clive,
foreseeing even more serious work later, was anxious to
spare his men, Watson was equally eager to reap all possible
credit for a victory over the French.  As it happened, neither
had to go to the last extremity, for about half-past nine a
white flag was seen flying from the fort.  Lieutenant Brereton
of the *Kent* and Captain Eyre Coote from the land force
were sent to arrange the surrender, and a little later the
articles of capitulation were signed by Admirals Watson
and Pocock, and by Clive.

Desmond was by no means satisfied with the part he
played in the fight.  In command of a company of
sepoys, he was one of the first to rush the shore battery and
take post under the walls of the barracks in readiness to
lead a storming party.  But, as he complained afterwards
to his friend Captain Latham of the *Tyger*, the fleet had
the honours of the day.

"After all, you're better off than I am," grumbled the
captain; "how would you like to have your laurels snatched
away?  Admiral Pocock ought to have remained on the
*Cumberland* down the river and left the *Tyger* to me.  But
he didn't see the fun of being out of the fighting; and up
he came post-haste and hoisted his flag on my ship, putting
my nose badly out of joint, I can tell you.  Still, one
oughtn't to grumble.  It doesn't matter much who gets
the credit so long as we've done our job.  'Tis all in the
day's work."

The victory at Chandernagore destroyed the French
power in Bengal.  But it turned out to be only the prelude
to a greater event--an event which must be reckoned as
the foundation stone of the British Empire in India.  It
sprang from the character of Siraj-uddaula.  That prince
was a cruel despot, but weak-willed, vacillating, and
totally unable to keep a friend.  One day he would strut in
some vainglorious semblance of dignity; the next he would
engage in drunken revels with the meanest and most dissolute
of his subjects.  He insulted his commander-in-chief,
Mir Jafar: he offended the Seths, wealthy bankers of
Murshidabad who had helped him to his throne: he played
fast and loose with every one with whom he had dealings.
His own people were weary of him, and at length a plot
was hatched to dethrone him and set Mir Jafar in his
place.

Mr. Watts, the British agent in Murshidabad, communicated
this design to Clive and the Council of Calcutta, suggesting
that they should co-operate in deposing the vicious
Nawab.  They agreed, on the grounds that his dishonesty
and insolence showed that he had no real intention of abiding
by the terms of his treaty, and that he was constantly
intriguing with the French.  A treaty was accordingly drawn
up with Mir Jafar, in which the prospective Subah agreed
to all the terms formerly granted by Siraj-uddaula.  But
Omichand, who was on bad terms with Mir Jafar and the
Seths, threatened to reveal the whole plot to the Nawab
and have Mr. Watts put to death, unless he were guaranteed
in the treaty the payment of a sum of money equivalent to
nearly £400,000.  Clive was so much disgusted with
Omichand's double-dealing that, though he was ready to make
him fair compensation for his losses in Calcutta, he was not
inclined to accede to his impudent demand.  Yet it would
be dangerous to refuse him point-blank.  He therefore
descended to a trick which, whatever may be urged in its
defence--the proved treachery of Omichand, the customs
of the country, the utter want of scruple shown by the
natives in their dealings--must ever remain a blot on a great
man's fame.  Two treaties with Mir Jafar were drawn up;
one on red paper, known as *lal kagaz*, containing a clause
embodying Omichand's demand; the other on white,
containing no such clause.  Admiral Watson, with bluff
honesty, refused to have anything to do with the sham
treaty; it was dishonourable, he said, and to ask his signature
was an affront.  But his signature was necessary to satisfy
Omichand.  At Clive's request it was forged by Mr. Lushington,
a young writer of the Company's.  The red treaty
was shown to Omichand; it bought his silence; he
suspected nothing.

The plot was now ripe.  Omichand left Murshidabad;
Mr. Watts slipped away; and the Nawab, on being
informed of his flight, wrote to Clive and Watson, upbraiding
them with breaking their treaty with him, and set out
to join his army.

Clive left Chandernagore on June 13, his guns, stores
and European soldiers being towed up the river in 200 boats,
the sepoys marching along the highway parallel with the
right bank.  Palti and Katwa were successively occupied
by his advance guard under Eyre Coote.  But a terrible
rainstorm on the 18th delayed his march, and next day
he received from Mir Jafar a letter that gave him no
little uneasiness.  Mir Jafar announced that he had
pretended to patch up his quarrel with the Nawab and
sworn to be loyal to him; but he added that the measures
arranged with Clive were still to be carried out.  This
strange message suggested that Mir Jafar was playing off
one against the other, or at best temporising until he
was sure of the victor.  It was serious enough to give
pause to Clive.  He was 150 miles from his base at
Calcutta; before him was an unfordable river watched by a
vast hostile force.  If Mir Jafar should elect to remain
faithful to his master the English Army would in all
likelihood be annihilated.  In these circumstances Clive wrote
to the Committee of Council in Calcutta that he would
not cross the river until he was definitely assured that Mir
Jafar would join him.

His decision seemed to be justified next day when he
received a letter from Mr. Watts at Kalna.  On the day he
left Murshidabad, said Mr. Watts, Mir Jafar had denounced
him as a spy and sworn to repel any attempt of the English
to cross the river.  On receipt of this news Clive adopted
a course unusual with him.  He called a Council of War,
for the first and last time in his career.  Desmond was in
Major Killpatrick's tent when the summons to attend the
Council reached that officer.

"Burke, my boy," he said, "'tis a mighty odd thing.
Mr. Clive is not partial to Councils; has had enough of 'em at
Madras first, and lately at Calcutta.  D'you know, I don't
understand Mr. Clive; I don't believe any one does.  In
the field he is as bold as a lion, fearless, quick to see what to
do at the moment, never losing a chance.  Yet more than
once I've noticed, beforehand, a strange hesitation.  He
gets fits of the dumps, broods, wonders whether he is doing
the right thing, and is as touchy as a bear with a sore head.
Well, 'tis almost noon; I must be off; we'll see what the
Council has to say."

Desmond watched the Major almost with envy as he
went off to this momentous meeting.  How he wished he
was a little older, a little higher in rank, so that he too might
have the right to attend!  He lay back in the tent wondering
what the result of the Council would be.  "If they asked
for my vote," he thought, "I'd say fight;" and then he
laughed at himself for venturing to have an opinion.

By and by Major Killpatrick returned.

"Well, my boy," he said, "we've carried our point--twelve
against seven!"

"For fighting?"

"No, my young firebrand; against fighting.  You
needn't look so chopfallen.  There'll be a fight before long;
but we're going to run no risks.  We'll wait till the
monsoon is over and we can collect enough men to smash the
Subah."

"Was that Colonel Clive's decision?"

"'Twas indeed.  But let me tell you.  There was a comical
thing to start with.  Lieutenant Hayter, one of Watson's
men, was bid to the Council, but the nincompoop was
huffed because he wasn't allowed precedence of the
Company's captains.  These naval men's airs are vastly
amusing.  He took himself off.  Then Mr. Clive put the
case; fight at once, or wait.  Against the custom, he
voted himself first--against immediate action.  Then he
asked me and Grant in turn; we voted with him.
'Twas Eyre Coote's turn next; he voted t'other way,
and gave his reasons--uncommonly well, I must admit.
He said our men were in good spirits, and had been
damped enough by the rains.  The Frenchman Law
might come up and join the Nawab, and then every froggy
who entered our service after Chandernagore would
desert and fight against us.  We're so far from Calcutta
that 'twould be difficult to protect our communications.
Those were his reasons.  I watched Clive while Coote was
speaking; he stuck his lips together and stared at him;
and, have you noticed? he squints a trifle when he looks
hard.  Well, the voting went on, and ended as I
said--twelve against immediate action, seven for."

"How did the Bengal men vote?"

"I'm bound to say, for--except Le Beaume.  'Twas
the Madras men who outvoted 'em."

"Well, with all respect, sir, I think the opinion of the
Bengal men, who know the people and the country, ought
to have outweighed the opinion of strangers.  Still, it
would be difficult to oppose Colonel Clive."

Further conversation was cut short by the arrival
of a messenger summoning Desmond to attend the
colonel.

"Where is he?" he asked.

"Under a clump of trees beyond the camp, sir.  He's
been there by himself an hour or more."

Desmond hurried off.  On the way he met Major Coote.

"Hullo, Burke," cried the major; "you've heard the news?"

"Yes, and I'm sorry for it."

"All smoke, my dear boy, all smoke.  Colonel Clive has
been thinking it over, and has decided to disregard the
decision of the Council and cross the river at sunrise to-morrow."

Desmond could not refrain from flinging up his hat and
performing other antics expressive of delight; he was
caught in the act by Clive himself, who was returning to his
tent.

"You're a madcap, Burke," he said.  "Come to my tent."

He employed Desmond during the next hour in writing
orders to the officers of his force.  This consisted of about
900 Europeans, 200 topasses, a few lascars, and some 2,000
sepoys.  Eight six-pounders and two howitzers formed
the whole of the artillery.  Among the Europeans were
about fifty sailors, some from the King's ships, some from
merchantmen.  Among the latter were Mr. Toley and
Bulger, whose excellent service in capturing the *Good Intent*
had enforced their request to be allowed to accompany
the little army.

Shortly before dawn on June 22 Clive's men began to
cross the river.  The passage being made in safety, they
rested during the hot hours, and resumed their march in the
evening amid a heavy storm of rain, often having to wade
waist-high the flooded fields.  Soon after midnight the
men, drenched to the skin, reached a mango-grove somewhat
north of the village of Plassey: and there, as they
lay down in discomfort to snatch a brief sleep before dawn,
they heard the sound of tom-toms and trumpets from the
Nawab's camp three miles away.

"'Tis a real comfort, that there noise," remarked Bulger,
as he stirred the camp-fire with his hook.  Desmond had come
to bid him good-night.  "Ay, true comfort to a sea-goin'
man like me.  For why?  'Cos it makes me feel at home.
Why, I don't sleep easy if there en't some sort o'
hullabaloo--wind or wave, or, if ashore, cats a-caterwaulin'.  No,
Mr. Subah, Nawab, or whatsomdever you call yourself, you
won't frighten Bill Bulger with your tum-tum-tumin'.  I
may be wrong, Mr. Burke, which I never am, but there'll
be tum-tum-tum of another sort to-morrer."

The grove held by Clive's troops was known as the
Laksha Bagh--the grove of a hundred thousand trees.  It was
nearly half a mile long and three hundred yards broad.  A
high embankment ran all round it, and beyond this a weedy
ditch formed an additional protection against assault.  A
little north of the grove, on the bank of the river Cossimbazar,
stood a stone hunting-box belonging to Siraj-uddaula.
Still farther north, near the river, was a quadrangular tank,
and beyond this a redoubt and a mound of earth.  The
river there makes a loop somewhat like a horseshoe in shape,
and in the neck of land between the curves of the stream
the Nawab had placed his intrenched camp.

His army numbered nearly 70,000 men, of whom 50,000
were infantry, armed with matchlocks, bows and arrows,
pikes and swords.  He had in all fifty-three guns, mounted
on platforms drawn by elephants and oxen.  The most
efficient part of his artillery was commanded by Monsieur
Sinfray, who had under him some fifty Frenchmen from
Chandernagore.  The Nawab's vanguard consisted of 15,000
men under his most trusty lieutenants, including Manik
Chand and Mir Madan.  Rai Durlabh, the captor of Cossimbazar,
and two other officers commanded separate divisions.

Dawn had hardly broken on June 23, King George's
birthday, when Mir Madan, with a body of picked troops,
7,000 foot, 5,000 horse, and Sinfray's artillery, moved out
to the attack with great clamour of trumpets and drums.
The remainder of the Nawab's army formed a wide arc
about the north and east of the English position.  Nearest
to the grove was Mir Jafar's detachment.  The English
were arranged in four divisions, under Majors Killpatrick,
Grant, and Coote, and Captain Gaupp.  These had taken
position in front of the embankment, the guns on the left, the
Europeans in the centre, the sepoys on the right.  Sinfray's
gunners occupied an eminence near the tank, about two
hundred yards in advance of the grove, and made such good
play that Clive, directing operations from the Nawab's
hunting-box, deemed it prudent to withdraw his men into
the grove, where they were sheltered from the enemy's fire.
The Nawab's troops hailed this movement with loud shouts,
of exultation, and, throwing their guns forward, opened
a still more vigorous cannonade, which, however, did
little damage.

If Mir Madan had had the courage and dash to order a
combined assault, there is very little doubt that he must
have overwhelmed Clive's army by sheer weight of
numbers.  But he let the opportunity slip.  Meanwhile Clive
had sent forward his two howitzers and two large guns to
check Sinfray's fire.

Midday came, and save for the cannonading no fighting
had taken place.  Clive left the hunting-box, called his
officers together, and gave orders that they were to hold their
positions during the rest of the day and prepare to storm the
Nawab's camp at midnight.  He was still talking to them
when a heavy shower descended, the rain falling in torrents
for an hour.  Wet through, Clive hastened to the hunting-lodge
to change his clothes.  Scarcely had he departed when
the enemy's fire slackened.  Their ammunition, having
been left exposed, had been rendered almost entirely useless
by the rain.  Fancying that the English gunners had been
equally careless, Mir Madan ordered his horse to charge;
but the Englishmen had kept their powder dry, and received
the cavalry with a deadly fire that sent them headlong
back.  At this moment Mir Madan himself was killed by a
cannon-ball, and his followers, dismayed at his loss, began
a precipitate retreat to their entrenchments.

Clive was still absent.  The sight of the enemy retreating
was too much for Major Killpatrick.  Forgetting the order
to maintain his position, he thought the moment opportune
for a general advance.  He turned to Desmond, who had
remained at his side all the morning, and said:

"Burke, run off to Mr. Clive, and tell him the Moors are
retreating, and I am following up."

Desmond hurried away, and reached the hunting-box
just as Clive had completed his change of clothes.  He
delivered his message.  Then for the first time he saw
Clive's temper at full blaze.  With a passionate
imprecation he rushed from the lodge, and came upon the
gallant major just as he was about to lead his men to the
assault.

"What the deuce do you mean, sir, by disobeying my
orders?  Take your men back to the grove, and be quick
about it."

His tone stung like a whip.  But Killpatrick had the
courage of his opinions, and Desmond admired the frank
manner in which he replied.

"I beg a thousand pardons, Mr. Clive, for my breach of
orders, but I thought 'twas what you yourself, sir, would
have done had you been on the spot.  If we can drive the
Frenchmen from that eminence yonder, we command the
field, sir, and----"

"You're right, sir," said Clive, his rage subsiding as
easily as it had arisen.  "You're too far forward to retire
now.  I'll lead your companies.  Bring up the rest of the
men from the grove."

Placing himself at the head of two companies of grenadiers
he continued the advance.  Sinfray did not wait the
assault.  He hastily evacuated his position, retiring on the
redoubt near the Nawab's entrenchments.  It was apparent
to Clive that the main body of the enemy was by this time
much demoralized, and he was eager to make a vigorous
attack upon them while in this state.  But two circumstances
gave him pause.  To advance upon the entrenchments
would bring him under a cross fire from the redoubt, and
he had sufficient respect for the Frenchmen to hesitate to
risk losses among his small body of men.  Further, the
movements of the enemy's detachments on his right caused
him some uneasiness.  He suspected that they were the
troops of Mir Jafar and Rai Durlabh, but he had no certain
information on that point, nor had he received a message
from them.  He knew that Mir Jafar was untrustworthy,
therefore he was unwilling to risk a general assault until
assured that the troops on his flank were not hostile to him.
The doubt was suddenly resolved when he saw them check
their movement, retire, and draw apart from the remainder
of the Nawab's army.  Giving the word at once to advance,
he led his men to storm the redoubt and the mound on
its right.  For a short time Sinfray and his gallant
Frenchmen showed a bold front; but the vigorous onslaught of
the English struck fear into the hearts of his native allies;
the news that the Nawab had decamped completed their
panic, and then began a wild and disorderly flight:
horsemen galloping from the field; infantry scampering this
way and that; elephants trumpeting; camels screaming,
as they charged through the rabble.  With British
cheers and native yells Clive's men poured into the Nawab's
camp, some dashing on in pursuit of the enemy, others
delaying to plunder the baggage and stores, of which
immense quantities lay open to their hand.  By half-past
five on that memorable 23rd of June the battle was over--the
battle that gave Britain immediately the wealthiest
province of India and, indirectly, the mastery of the whole
of that vast Empire.  The loss to the British was only
twenty-three killed and fifty wounded.

Clive rested for a while in Siraj-uddaula's tent, where he
found on his inkstand a list of thirteen courtiers whom, even
in that moment of dire extremity, the tyrant had condemned
to death.  From a prisoner it was learnt that the Nawab
had escaped on a camel with two thousand horsemen,
fleeing towards Murshidabad.  All day he had been in a
state of terror and agitation.  Deprived of his bravest
officer, Mir Madan; betrayed by his own relatives; the
wretched youth had not waited for the critical
moment.  Himself carried to his capital the news of his
defeat.

Orders were given to push on that night to Daudpur,
six miles north of Plassey.  But some little time was
occupied by Clive's commissariat in replacing their
exhausted bullocks with teams captured in the Nawab's
camp.  Meanwhile Clive sent Eyre Coote forward with a
small detachment to keep the enemy on the run.  Among
those who accompanied him was Desmond, with Bulger
and Mr. Toley.  Desmond hoped that he would overtake
and capture Monsieur Sinfray, from whom he thought it
likely he might wrest information about Mrs. Merriman
and her daughter.  Diggle had made use of Sinfray's house;
it was not improbable that the Frenchman knew
something about the ladies.  As for the seamen, they were so
much disgusted at the tameness of the enemy's resistance
that they were eager for anything that promised
activity and adventure.  Their eagerness was no whit
diminished when Desmond mentioned what he had in his mind.

"By thunder, sir," said Bulger, "give me the chanst, and
I'll larn the mounseer the why and wherefore of it.  And as
for Diggle--well, I maybe wrong, but I'll lay my share o'
the prize money out o' the *Good Intent* that he's hatchin'
mischief, and not far off neither.  Show a leg, mateys."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER THE THIRTIETH`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER THE THIRTIETH

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: bold

In which Coja Solomon reappears; and gives
our hero valuable information.

.. vspace:: 2

Before Major Coote reached Daudpur he was overtaken
by a horseman bearing a message from Clive.

"A job for you, Burke," said the major, after reading
the note.  "Mr. Clive is annoyed at the Nawab's escape,
and thinks he may give us trouble yet if he can join hands
with Law and his Frenchmen.  I am to send you ahead
to reconnoitre.  You've been to Murshidabad, I think?"

"No, only to Cossimbazar; but that is not far off."

"Well, you know best part of the road, at any rate.
The colonel wants you to go with a small party to
Murshidabad and find out whether the Frenchmen have come
within reach.  You'll have to go on foot; take care you
don't get into trouble.  Pick your own men, of course.
You must have a rest first."

"Two or three hours will be enough for me.  If we start
soon, we shall reach Murshidabad before dawn, and with
little risk.  I'm to come back and report, sir?"

"Of course.  No doubt you will meet us on the way."

On reaching Daudpur Desmond selected twenty sepoys
who knew the country, and ordered them to be ready to
start with him at midnight.  Bulger and Mr. Toley he had
already informed of his mission, and he found them more
than eager to share in it.  Just after midnight the little
party set out.  A march of some four hours brought them
to the outskirts of Murshidabad.  Desmond called a halt,
encamped for the remainder of the night in a grove of
palmyras, and at dawn sent forward one of the sepoys,
disguised as a ryot, to make inquiries as to what was
happening in the town.

It was near midday when the man returned.  He
reported that the Nawab had gone to his palace, while the
chiefs who had accompanied or followed him from the
field of battle had shown their recognition that his cause
was lost by deserting him and going to their own houses.
He had heard nothing of the French.  The Nawab, in
order to ingratiate himself with the people, had thrown open
his Treasury, from which all and sundry were carrying off
what they pleased.  The city was in such a disturbed state
that it would be exceedingly unsafe for any stranger to
enter.

Desmond decided to remain where he was until nightfall,
and then to skirt the city and move northwards, in
the hope of learning something definite of the movements
of the French.  Meanwhile he sent the man back to learn
if anything happened during the day.

In the evening the man returned again.  This time he
reported that Mir Jafar had arrived with a large force and
taken possession of the Nawab's palace of Mansurganj.
Immediately after the traitor's arrival Siraj-uddaula had
collected all the gold and jewels on which he could lay
hands and fled with his women.  Suspecting that the
luckless Nawab was making for Rajmahal in the hope of
meeting Law there, Desmond made up his mind to follow.  He
struck his camp, marched all night, and soon after
daybreak reached a village near the river some miles south of
Rajmahal.

He was surprised to find the village deserted.  But
passing a small house, he heard cries of distress, and going in
he found the place full of smoke from some straw that had
been kindled, and a man tied by his thumbs to a staple in
the wall.  He recognized the man in a moment.  It was
Coja Solomon, Mr. Merriman's rascally agent of Cossimbazar.
He was half dead with pain and fright.  Desmond
cut him loose and hurried him out of the stifling room into
the open, where Bulger revived him with copious douches of
water until he was sufficiently recovered to explain his
unhappy plight.

"God be praised!" exclaimed the Armenian fervently.
"You were in time, sir.  I was seeking safety.  The
Faujdar of Murshidabad villainously ill-used me.  He
owes me much, but there is no gratitude in him.  I saw
that neither my life nor my goods were safe, so I packed
up what valuables I could and left with my servants,
intending to go to Patna, where I have a house.  I had just
reached this village when I saw a band of some fifty
horsemen approaching from the other end, and fearing that I
might be set upon and plundered, I hastily concealed my
goods at the edge of the tank hard by.  Alas! it availed
me nothing.  My servants were dispersed, and the risaldar
of the horsemen, a European, seized me and thrust me into
this house, abandoned like all the rest, for the people fled
before his approach, fearing he would burn and destroy.
Then I was tied up as you saw, until I confessed where my
valuables were hidden: one of my servants must have
betrayed me.  The risaldar promised to release me as soon
as I should confess; but instead of that he set fire to the
straw out of pure villainy, for what could I do to him?
I have been a good friend to the English.  Sir, pursue that
man: he must be a Frenchman.  I will give you a quarter,
nay, a third of my goods, if you recover them."

"That is impossible, Khwaja.  I've only twenty men
on foot: what is the use of pursuing fifty on horseback?
Your friendship for the British has come, I fear, a little
too late."

The Armenian wrung his hands in despair, whining that
he was a ruined man.  Then his tone changed; was there
not still a chance?  He explained that, some hours before
his capture, he had met a man who recognized him as the
agent of Mr. Merriman.  The man said that he was a
servant of Surendra Nath Chuckerbutti, and was on his way
to meet Clive Sahib, carrying a letter to him from his master.
But he was worn out, having come many miles through the
heat without rest.  Coja Solomon unblushingly confessed
that, while the man slept at midday, he had taken the
letter from him and read it.

"Why did you do that?"

"I thought it would be safer with me, for every one
knows----"

"Yes, that'll do, Khwaja; go on with your story."

"The letter was written at Manda, a village on the other
side of the river, and the writer, Surendra Nath, informed
Mr. Clive that the wife and daughter of Mr. Merriman were
in his house there, and asked him to send a party to bring
them away.  Naturally, sir, I was pleased to find----"

"Go on with your story," cried Desmond impatiently,
all excitement at coming upon the track of the ladies at
last.

"It was while I was reading the letter that the horsemen
came up.  The risaldar took it from me, read it, and
questioned me.  His face changed; he smiled evilly, and from
the questions he asked me, and from what I heard him say
to his followers, he has gone to Manda, with a design to take
these ladies."

"Stay, Khwaja; what was he like?"

"He was a tall man, with scars on his face, and on his
right hand he wore a black glove."

"The scoundrel!" exclaimed Desmond.  His look of
trouble and anxiety did not escape the Armenian.

"It is but a little since he left me," he said.  "If you
make your way to the village--it is three coss on the other
side of the river--you may capture him, sir, as well as
regain my property, a third of which is yours."

"But how--how, man?" cried Desmond impatiently.
"How can we overtake him on foot?"

"He will have to ride near to Rajmahal to find a ford,
sir.  He will cross there, and ride back down the river
some five coss before he comes to Manda."

"But could he not swim the river?"

"He could, sir, but it is a feat he is not likely to attempt,
seeing that there is no need for haste.  I implore you, sir,
start at once.  Otherwise I am a ruined man; my old age
will be spent in poverty and distress."

"If he cannot cross, how can I?" said Desmond.

"There is sure to be a boat on the bank, sir, unless they
have all been seized by the Nawab, who, rumour says, is
coming from Bhagwangola by river to Rajmahal."

Desmond felt uneasy and perplexed.  He doubted
whether his duty to Clive did not forbid him to go in search
of the ladies, and there was no possibility of communicating
in time with either Clive or Coote.  Then it suddenly
occurred to him that pursuit of Diggle might well come
within his duty.  Diggle was in the service of the Nawab;
it was possible that he was even leading an advance
guard of Law's Frenchmen.

"Were there any other Europeans besides the risaldar
among the horsemen?" he asked.

"Two, sahib, and they were French.  I suspect they
were from the force of Law Sahib; he was, I know, at
Patna a few days ago."

Desmond hesitated no longer.  His affection for
Mr. Merriman prompted an attempt to save the ladies: his
mission from Clive was to discover the movements of the
French.  If he set off on Diggle's track he might succeed in
both.  It was a risky adventure--to pursue fifty men under
such a leader as Diggle, with only a score.  But twice
before he had tried conclusions with Diggle and come off
best: why should fortune fail him the third time?

Hurriedly explaining the situation to Mr. Toley and
Bulger, he hastened with his men down to the river.  There
was no boat at the village ghat.  He looked anxiously up
and down.  On the opposite side he saw a long river-boat
moored in a narrow backwater.  He could only get it by
swimming, and here the current ran so swiftly that to swim
would be dangerous.  Yet, on the spur of the moment, he
was preparing to take to the water himself when one of his
men, a slim and active sepoy, volunteered to go.

"Good!  I will give you ten rupees if you bring the
boat across.  You are a good swimmer?"

"The sahib will see," replied the man, with a salaam
and a smile.

He took a kedgeree pot, an earthen vessel used for cooking,
and firmly tied to it a stout bamboo some six feet long,
so that the thicker end of the pole was even with the mouth
of the vessel.  The boat was slightly down the stream.
The man ran a little way up stream to a point where a spit
of land jutted out into the river, his companions following
quickly with the pot.  This they placed mouth downwards
in the water.  Then the sepoy mounted on top, launched
himself on this novel buoy, and, holding on to the pole,
floated breast high in the water down with the current,
dexterously steering himself with his legs to the point
where the boat was moored.  He clambered into it, and
with rapid movements of the stern oar brought it to the
other side, receiving with beaming face the promised
reward.

While this was going on the sky had been darkening.  A
north-wester was coming up, and after his experience on the
eve of Plassey, Desmond knew what that meant.  He
hastily embarked his men, and the boat started; but it
had scarcely covered a third of the distance across the
river when the wind struck it.  Fortunately the sail was
not up: as it was, the flat-bottomed boat was nearly
swamped.  Drenching rain began to fall.  The river was
lashed to fury: for three crowded minutes it seemed to
Desmond a miracle that the boat was still afloat.  The
waves dashed over its sides; the men, blinded by the rain,
were too much cowed to attempt to bale out.  Desmond
was at the helm; Bulger and Toley had an oar each;
although only a few yards distant, Desmond could scarcely
see them through the pelting rain.  Then the wind moderated
somewhat: he peremptorily ordered the men to use
their brass lotis[#] to bale out the boat, and determined to
turn the storm to account.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   [#] Drinking vessels.

.. vspace:: 2

With great difficulty he got the sail hoisted, and their
the vessel ran down the river at racing speed.  The
distance to Manda, as the Armenian had told him, was six
miles--four by river, two by land.  By Diggle's route it
was ten miles.  The horsemen had had such a start of him
that he feared he could not overtake them in time.  Still
the storm that now helped him would hinder them.  If he
survived the perils of the river passage, he might even yet
succeed.  He was alive to the risks he ran.  More than
once, as the wind changed a point, it seemed that the
cranky craft must turn turtle.  But she escaped again
and again, plunging on her headlong course.  The sepoys
were sturdy enough fellows, but being unused to the water
they cowered in the bottom of the boat, except when
Desmond's stern command set them frantically baling.
Almost before it seemed possible they came in sight of a bend
in the river, which one of the men, who knew the district,
had described to Desmond as the nearest point to the
village he sought.  So rapid had the passage been that
Desmond felt that, if they could only land in safety, they
might have gained considerably on Diggle's horsemen.
The latter must have felt the full effect of the gale: it was
likely that for a time they had taken shelter.  Desmond
and his men were wet to the skin, but, profiting by the
recollection of what had happened at Plassey, they had
kept their ammunition dry.

At the bend the river presented a shelving beach, being
at least twice as wide at this point during the rainy season
as at other periods.  Without hesitation Desmond ran
the nose of the boat straight at the beach: she came to
with a violent bump; the men tumbled out waist-deep
into the water, and with shrill cries of relief scrambled
ashore.

No time was lost.  Waiting only to inspect their muskets,
Desmond at once began the march, the band being led by
the man who knew the country.  Another man, a noted
runner, formerly a kasid in the employment of the Nawab
of the Dekkan, was sent in advance to find Surendra Nath's
house, give him warning of Desmond's coming, and instruct
him to have some one on the look-out for the approach of
the enemy, if Diggle was not indeed already in possession
of the village.  The rest pushed on with all speed.  The
storm had cleared the air: the rain had ceased; and though
it was unpleasant walking over the soppy ground, the
march was much cooler than it had been earlier in the day.

Desmond longed for a hill from which to get a view of
the country; but, as almost everywhere in the valley of
the Ganges, it was dead flat.  The party was within a
quarter-mile of the village when the kasid came running
back.  He had found the Babu's house.  From its flat
roof a body of horse had been seen in the distance, nearly a
coss away.  Desmond at once ordered his men to double,
and as they dashed into the village among the wondering
people the kasid pointed out Surendra Nath's house at the
far end--a small two-storied building, surrounded by a wall
and approached through a rickety iron gateway.  It was
the first house to which the approaching horsemen would
come.

A man in native dress was standing at the gate.  At first
Desmond did not recognize him, but as he drew nearer he
saw that it was Surendra Nath himself, looking years
older--weak, thin, sunken-eyed, little like the sleek well-fed
Babu Desmond had last seen in Calcutta.

"Are the ladies safe?" asked Desmond, yards ahead of
his men.

"Yes, sir, quite safe," replied Surendra Nath, trembling.

"Thank God for that!  Go in, Babu; tell them we are
here to protect them."

While speaking he had eagerly scanned the surroundings.
On each side of the sodden track that did duty for a road
there was a mango grove.  Desmond directed Toley to
take four men to one side, and Bulger four men to the other,
and place themselves among the trees.  When the first
three files of the horsemen should have passed through,
the seamen were to give the word to fire; then, taking
advantage of the inevitable confusion, to rush with their
men to the house.  Desmond himself meanwhile, with the
remaining twelve, set to work to strengthen the defences.
These proceedings were watched with amazement by the
villagers, who, men, women, and children, stood in groups,
discussing in shrill tones the movements of these energetic
strangers.

There was a small veranda to the house.  This was
wrenched away by main force.  The posts and other parts
of the woodwork were carried to the gateway and piled up
as rapidly as possible to form a rough barricade.  Scarcely
was this task half accomplished when the clanking of
weapons was heard in the distance, soon accompanied by
the swashing of horses' hoofs on the drenched soil.
Desmond coolly ordered his men to proceed with the work.  A
minute later there was a sharp discharge of musketry,
followed by cries, shouts, and the sound of galloping horses.
The villagers scuttled away shrieking.  Immediately
afterwards Bulger and Toley with their eight men sprang from
cover and made a dash for the wall.

"Muskets first!" shouted Desmond.

The muskets were pitched over: then the men scrambled
up, Desmond and his sepoys assisting them to get across.
Almost the first to drop down into the compound was
Bulger, whose hook had proved, not for the first time, of
more service than a sound left arm.  Once over himself,
he used his hook to haul the sepoys after him, with many a
vigorous "Yo heave ho!"

"All aboard, sir," he cried, when the last of the men was
within the wall.  "I may be wrong, but I lay my button-hook
'tis now all hands to repel boarders; and only two
cutlasses among us--mine and Mr. Toley's.  Howsomdever,
notwithstandin', and which is all the same!"

Desmond ordered four of his men to post themselves
at the barricaded gateway: the rest he divided into two
parties, and stationed behind the wall at each side.  The
wall was six feet high--too high to fire over--but as it was
in a somewhat dilapidated condition there was no difficulty
in knocking away several loose bricks at intervals,
so as to make a rough-and-ready battlement.  Desmond
instructed the men to fire alternately through the
embrasures thus made.  As soon as one had fired he was to
fall back and reload as fast as possible while another man
took his place.  By this device, Desmond hoped to deceive
the enemy for a time as to the numbers of the defenders in
the compound.

But it was not to be expected that the enemy could long
be kept out, and in the last resort it would be necessary to
retreat to the house.  In view of the presence of the ladies
this was a step to be avoided if possible.  It might indeed
be the wiser course to surrender for their sakes.  As the
thought struck Desmond he called to the Babu, who was
keeping watch on the roof.

"Babu," he said, "ask the ladies to occupy the
least-exposed room.  Tell them that if the enemy get over the
wall I will try to make an arrangement with them, rather
than provoke an attack on the house."

The Babu disappeared.  But a few moments later
Phyllis Merriman, wearing the costume of a native lady
came running out.

"Mother bids me say, Mr. Burke," she said, "on no
account let such considerations weigh with you.  She says
fight to the last.  We will risk anything rather than go
back to captivity.  You will beat them, Mr. Burke, won't
you?"

"I will do my best, Miss Merriman," replied Desmond.
"But pray go back; they may be here at any moment.  I
need not say how glad I am to find you well.  Pray tell
Mrs. Merriman that we will all do our best for her and you."

"I know you will.  And my father?"

"He is distressed, of course, but clings to hope.  Do,
Miss Merriman, retire at once.  I see the enemy coming
from the grove."

"Phyllis!  Phyllis!" cried Mrs. Merriman from the
house; "come in at once!  Mr. Burke, send her in.  Have
no mercy on the wretches, I implore you."

The girl walked back reluctantly.  Unknown to Desmond,
she went no further than the doorway, where, just
hidden from sight, she watched all that followed.

The enemy had clearly been nonplussed by their sudden
check.  There were no British troops, so far as they knew,
for many miles round, and concerted resistance from the
natives was unlikely.  But they were now emerging from
the mango grove, a hundred yards away.  They came on
foot, leaving their horses out of musket range.  Desmond's
heart sank as he counted them.  There were even more
than he had supposed.  They numbered fifty-four, and
several had no doubt been left in charge of the horses.  Still
he felt that he had two advantages.  The first was his
position behind a wall; the second, the fact that the enemy,
unless they had obtained information from the villagers,
could not know what force they had to deal with.  Their
ignorance of course must be only temporary; if one of them
should succeed in mounting the wall the weakness of the
defence must immediately be seen.

As the enemy, tall men in the costume of native cavalry,
assembled by twos and threes at the edge of the grove
Desmond noticed three Europeans leave the main body and
advance some way into the open.  It was with a flush of
indignation and a fierce resolve to bring him at last to book
that Desmond recognized one of them as Diggle.  With his
companions he walked at a safe distance completely round
the building.  For some time they halted at the back,
carefully scanning the position.  Here the wall approached
the house much more closely than in the front, and no one
could mount it without being fully exposed to fire from the
upper windows.  After his examination, Diggle returned
with the two men, whom from their appearance Desmond
judged to be Frenchmen, to the main body, and sent off half
a dozen men towards the other end of the village.  While
they were gone one of the Frenchmen seemed to Desmond
to be expostulating with Diggle; but the latter only laughed
and waved his gloved hand in the direction of the house.

The messengers soon returned, dragging with them three
of the villagers.  These Diggle took aside separately and
questioned: it was clear to Desmond that he was ascertaining
the strength of the garrison.  Apparently satisfied, he
divided his force into three parts; the largest, consisting of
some forty men, remained at the edge of the grove; the
two smaller proceeded to the right and left of the back of
the house.  One was in command of a Frenchman, but the
Frenchman who had expostulated with Diggle had apparently
refused to have anything to do with the affair: he
held himself aloof, and by and by disappeared into the
grove.  Diggle's evident intention was to weaken the
garrison by forcing Desmond to divide his already too
small force.  He had to detach eight of his men--three to
the windows and five to the wall; leaving only fourteen,
including Bulger and Toley, to meet the rush in front.

It was not long in coming.  Diggle did not wait to parley.
Taking a musket from one of his men he raised it to his
shoulder and fired at a sepoy whose head just showed above
the gate.  The man raised his hand to his brow and fell back
with a sharp cry--a bullet had ploughed a furrow through
his scalp.  Desmond checked his men as they were about to
fire in reply; but when, in the rush that followed, the enemy
came within thirty yards, he gave the word, and seven
muskets flashed forth across the barricade.  The attacking
party were coming forward in close order, and five of the
men fell.  But the rest sprang forward with shrill yells,
Diggle, who was untouched, urging them on.  Even the fire
of Desmond's second rank failed to check them.  Two or
three dropped; others were soon swarming up the wall, and
though the defenders with clubbed muskets struck savagely
at their heads and hands as they appeared above the coping,
if one drew back, another took his place; and the wall was
so long that at several points there were gaps between
Desmond's sepoys where the enemy could mount unmolested.

Desmond, having discharged his two pistols, disposing
of one of the assailants with each shot, was in the act of
reloading when Diggle leapt into the compound, followed by
two of his men.  Shouting to Bulger, Desmond threw the
pistols and rammer on the ground behind him, and,
drawing his sword, dashed at the three intruders, who were
slightly winded by the charge and their exertions in scaling
the wall.

Desmond could never afterwards remember the details of
the crowded moments that followed.  There were cries all
around him: behind, the strident voice of Mr. Toley was
cheering his men to repel the assault at the back of the
house; at his side Bulger was bellowing like a bull of
Bashan.  But all this was confused noise to him, for his
attention was wholly occupied with his old enemy.  His
first lunge at Diggle was neatly parried, and the two,
oblivious of all that was happening around them, looked
and into each other's eyes, read grim determination there,
and fought with a cold fury that meant death to the first
that gave an opening to his opponent's sword.

If motive counted, if the right cause could always win,
the issue admitted of no doubt.  Desmond had a heavy
score to pay off.  From the time when he had met Diggle
in the street at Market Drayton to his last encounter with
him at the Battle of the Carts, he had been the mark of
his enmity, malice, spite, trickery.  But Desmond thought
less of his own wrongs than of the sorrow of his friend
Mr. Merriman, and the harrowing wretchedness which must
have been the lot of the ladies while they were in Diggle's
power.  The man had brought misery into so many lives
that it would be a good deed if, in the fortune of war,
Desmond's sword could rid the world of him.

And Diggle, on his side, was nerved by the power of hate.
Baseless as were his suspicions of Desmond's friendship with
Sir Willoughby Stokes, he felt that this boy was an obstacle.
Ever since their paths had crossed he had been conscious
that he had to do with a finer, nobler nature than his own;
and Desmond's courage and skill had again and again
frustrated him.  As he faced him now, it was with the
feeling that, if this boy were killed, a most dangerous barrier
to the realisation of his nefarious schemes would be removed.
Thus, on either side, it was war to the death.  What
Desmond lacked in skill and experience he made up for
by youth and strength.  The two combatants were thus
equally matched: a grain in the scale might decide the
issue.  But the longer the fight lasted the better were
Desmond's chances.  He had youth in his favour.  Thanks
in large measure to Diggle himself, Desmond had led a
hard life: his muscles were like iron.  The older man by
and by began to flag: more than once his guard was
nearly beaten down: nothing but his great skill in
swordsmanship and the coolness that never deserted him saved
him from the sharp edge of Desmond's blade.

But when he seemed almost at the end of his strength,
fortune suddenly befriended him.  Bulger, with his clubbed
musket and terrible iron hook, had disposed of the two men
who leapt with Diggle into the compound; but there were
others behind them: three men dropped to the ground close
by, and, making a simultaneous rush, bore Bulger back
against Desmond, hampering his sword arm.  One of
Desmond's sepoys sprang to the rescue, but he was too late
to stem the tide.  A blow from a musket stock disabled
Bulger's right arm; he lost his footing.  As he fell, his
hook, still active, caught Diggle's leg and brought him to
the ground, just as, taking advantage of the diversion, he
was making exultantly what he intended for a final lunge
at Desmond.  He fell headlong, rolling over Bulger, who
was already on the ground.

How the end came Desmond did not clearly see.  He
knew that he was beset by three of Diggle's men, and,
falling back before them, he heard the voice of Phyllis
Merriman close by, and felt a pistol thrust into his hand.
She had slipped out of the doorway, picked up the weapons
as they lay where Desmond had flung them, completed
the loading, and advanced fearlessly into the thick of the
fray.  At one and the same moment Desmond fired upon
his enemies and implored the brave girl to go back.  Then
suddenly there was a lull in the uproar.  Bulger was upon
his feet, Diggle's men paused in their fighting and gazed in
consternation at their prostrate leader.  It seemed but a
moment; then every man of them was scrambling pell-mell
over the wall, yelling as the stocks of the sepoys'
muskets sped them on their flight.

"What is it?" asked Desmond.

Bulger pointed to the form of Diggle, lying huddled among
the fallen.

"He've gone to his account, sir, which I may be wrong,
but the Almighty have got a long black score agen him."

"How did it happen?"

Bulger lifted his hook.

"'Twas that there Diggle as was the why and wherefore
o' this little ornament, sir, and 'twas only right he should
be paid for what he done.  We fell down, him and me;
I was under.  He hoisted himself on his hands to get free,
and I lifted my hook, sir, and caught him a blow under the
chin.  If it didn't break his neck, sir, my name en't Bill
Bulger, which I'm sorry for his poor wicked soul all the same."

Phyllis had her hands clasped about Desmond's arm.

"Is he dead?" she asked in a voice of awe.

"Come away," said Desmond quietly, leading her
towards the house.  "Let us find your mother."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER THE THIRTY-FIRST`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER THE THIRTY-FIRST

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: bold

In which friends meet, and part; and our
hero hints a proposal.

.. vspace:: 2

The fight was over.  It was Diggle's quarrel; neither the
Frenchmen nor the natives had any concern in it, and
when their leader was dead they had no more interest in
continuing the struggle.  They drew off; the weary
defenders collected the dead and attended to the wounded;
and Desmond went into the house.

"God bless you, Mr. Burke!" said Mrs. Merriman, tears
streaming from her eyes as she met him and clasped his
hands.  "You are not hurt?"

"Just a scratch or two, ma'am; nothing to trouble about."

But the ladies insisted on bathing the two slight wounds
on head and arm which in the heat of the fight he had not
noticed.  And then Mrs. Merriman told him all that had
happened since the day he left them in such merry spirits
at Khulna.  How they had been trapped by Diggle,
pretending to be a Monsieur de Bonnefon: how he had
conveyed them to the house of his friend Sinfray: how after
many months their whereabouts had been revealed to
Surendra Nath by one of his numerous relatives, a man
who had a distant cousin among Sinfray's servants: how
the Babu, displaying unwonted energy, had come with a
number of friends and fallen unawares upon their captors,
afterwards taking them to a house of his father's in this
village: how the old man and his son had both been stricken
with jungle fever and the father died, and when the Babu
lay helpless and unconscious on his sick bed they had found
no means of communicating with their friends.  Mrs. Merriman
shuddered as she spoke of the terrors of their captivity.
They had been well treated, indeed; Monsieur de
Bonnefon, or Diggle, as she afterwards learned to call him,
had visited them several times and seen that their wants
were supplied.  But their enforced seclusion and
inactivity, their dread of the unknown, their uncertainty as
to what might have befallen Mr. Merriman, had told heavily
upon their health and spirits.  Rumour brought news of
the tragedy of the Black Hole: they heard that the few
survivors were prisoners of the Nawab, and they feared
the worst.  From Surendra Nath they learnt that they
need not despair; and since then they had lived on in the
hope that when the Babu had recovered from his illness,
he would find some means of restoring them to the husband
and father from whom they had so long been parted.

"Surendra Nath has a heart of gold, Mr. Burke," said
Mrs. Merriman in concluding her story.  "Poor man! he
has been very ill.  We must do something to show our
gratitude for his devotion when we get back to Calcutta."

Desmond then in his turn told them all that had
happened since their disappearance.  When they learnt of the
result of the battle of Plassey and that Clive was marching
towards Murshidabad, they were eager to set off at once.

"Yes, ma'am," said Desmond, "we will start as soon as
we can.  I will leave you to make your preparations.  It
may not be possible to start before night, the country being
so disturbed, so that if you can sleep through the day you
will be fitter for the journey."

He left them, and going into the compound found Bulger
and Toley looking with curiosity at the body of Diggle.

"Hi, sir!" said Bulger as Desmond came up to them;
"this here bit o' velvet is explained at last.  Mr. Toley
he slit it with his cutlass, sir, and never did I see a man so
down in the mouth when he knowed what was under it.
Ten't nothing at all, sir; just three letters; and what for he
went and burnt them three letters into the back of his hand
'twould beat a Daniel to explain.  'Fur,' sir, that's what
they spells; but whether 'tis rabbit-skin or fox I can't
say, though 'tis most likely fox, knowin' the man."

Desmond stooped and looked at the unclad right hand.
The letters FUR were branded livid below the knuckles.

"He was always quoting Latin, Bulger," he said.  "Fur
is a Latin word: it means 'thief'."

"Which I might have knowed it, sir, only I think as
how the man what did the stampin' might have done it in
plain English.  I don't hold with these foreign lingos,
sir; there allers seems something sly and deceivin' about
'em.  No right man 'ud ever think 'fur' meant 'thief'!
Thief an' all, sir, he's dead.  Mr. Toley and me 'll put him
away decent like: and it won't do him no harm if we just
says 'Our Father' over the grave."

Desmond was turning away when three of his men came
into the compound, two grasping a Frenchman by the
arms, the third a black boy.  The former Desmond
recognized as the man whom he had seen expostulating with
Diggle; the latter was Scipio Africanus, looking scared
and miserable.  The men explained that, pursuing the
fugitives, they had captured their prisoners in the grove.
The Frenchman at once addressed Desmond in broken
English.  He said that he had tried in vain to dissuade
Diggle from his attempt to capture the ladies.  The party
had been sent by Monsieur Law to announce his coming.
He was advancing from Patna with a considerable body
of French troops designed for the support of the Nawab.
As he was speaking the Frenchman caught sight of Diggle's
exposed hand.  He started, with an exclamation of
surprise.  Then in answer to Desmond's question he revealed
the secret that had so long perplexed him.

Seven years before, he said, in December, 1750, there
was a brilliant foreigner named Peloti among the officers
of Major de la Touche, a young soldier who had been singled
out by Dupleix, the French Governor of Pondicherry, as
a military genius of the first order.  Peloti was with the
French army when, less than 4,000 in number, it fell upon
the vast hordes of Nadir Jang near Gingi, and won the
battle that set Muzaffar Jang on the throne of the Dekkan and
marked the zenith of Dupleix's success.  The new Nawab,
in gratitude to the French for the services rendered him,
sent to Dupleix a present of a million rupees, and a casket
of jewels worth half as much again.  This casket was given
to Peloti to deliver: he had abused his trust by abstracting
the gem of the collection, a beautiful diamond; and the theft
being accidently discovered, Dupleix in his rage ordered
the thief to be branded on the right hand with the word
'fur,' and drummed him out of the French employment.
For some years nothing more had been seen of Peloti;
but he had recently returned, and offered his services to
Bussy, the French commander in the Dekkan.  He brought
with him valuable information, gained in London, of the
East India Company's intentions; and this, together with his
evident knowledge of Clive's movements and of affairs in
Calcutta, had caused his former offence to be overlooked,
and his offer was accepted.

Desmond thanked the Frenchman for his information.
"I am sorry to keep you a prisoner, monsieur," he said;
"but I must trouble you to return with me to Murshidabad.
I can promise you good treatment from Colonel Clive."

The Frenchman smiled, shrugged, and exclaimed: "Eh
bien!  À la guerre comme à la guerre!"

Remembering Coja Solomon, Desmond asked Toley to
search Diggle's body before burying it.  But nothing was
found, except a little money.  The Armenian's property
had evidently been left under guard in the grove, and was
doubtless by this time far away, in the possession of one
or other of Diggle's runagate followers.

Desmond was collecting his party, preparatory to starting
for Murshidabad, when a native horseman rode into the
village at full speed, dismounted, and, humbly salaaming,
announced that he had a message from Law Sahib.  It was
clear that, seeing Europeans, he supposed them to be
Frenchmen.  Desmond did not undeceive him.  The man said
that Law Sahib had received news of Clive Sahib's victory
at Plassey, and, seeing that his promised assistance to the
Nawab was too late, had at once retired to Patna and wished
Diggle Sahib to rejoin him there.  Dismissing the messenger,
Desmond rejoiced that there was no reason now to delay
his departure; his mission for Clive was fulfilled.

At nightfall the party set off.  Closed chairs had been
provided for the ladies, and these were carried in the midst,
Bulger on one side, Toley on the other, and Desmond
behind.  One person whom Desmond had expected to take
with him was absent: Scipio Africanus, on seeing the dead
body of his master, had uttered one heart-rending howl
and fled.  No attempt was made to pursue him; and
Desmond never saw him again.  He reflected that, villainous
as Diggle had proved to be, he had at least been able
to win the affection of his servant.

On the way they met Coja Solomon, who, on learning of
the disappearance of his valuables, heaped abuse upon
Desmond and went away wringing his hands.

Travelling slowly, by easy stages, and only in the cooler
hours, it took the party three days to reach Murshidabad.
Desmond found that Clive had entered the city two days
before and taken up his abode at the Murad Bagh.  Mir
Jafar had been accepted as Nawab, and nothing had been
heard of Siraj-uddaula.  Desmond first sought out Major
Coote.

"By George, Burke!" said that officer, "Colonel Clive
is in a towering rage at your long absence; he expected
your return long ago.  And you ought to know that
Colonel Clive in a rage is not quite as mild as milk."

"I'm afraid I must brave his anger," said Desmond.
"I've found Mr. Merriman's ladies."

"You have?"

"Yes, and brought them back with me.  And Peloti
will trouble us no more: we had to fight for the ladies, and
Bulger killed him.  Won't Mr. Clive forgive me?"

"I can't answer for Mr. Clive; no one can say what he
will do.  But I tell you one thing: you'll put Warren
Hastings' nose out of joint.  You knew he was sweet on
Merriman's daughter?"

"No, I didn't know it.  I don't see what that has to do
with me."

"Don't you, egad!" said Coote with a laugh.  "Sure,
my boy, you'll see it before long.  Well, I won't keep you
to hear your story.  Go to Mr. Clive at once, and let me
know what happens."

Desmond found Clive in company with Mr. Watts and
Rai Durlabh, Mr. Scrafton and Omichand.  He had some
difficulty in obtaining admittance; only his representation
that he bore important news prevailed with the darwan.
He learnt afterwards that the great bankers, the
Seths, had just left the meeting, after it had been proved
that, owing to the depletion of the treasury, only one
half of the immense sums promised to Clive and the
English in Mir Jafar's treaty could be paid at once, the
remainder to follow in three years.  Desmond entered the
room just in time to hear Clive say to Scrafton:

"It is now time to undeceive Omichand."

Mr. Scrafton went up to the Sikh, and said quietly in
Hindustani:

"Omichand, the red paper is a trick; you are to have
nothing."

Omichand stood for a moment dazed: then he fell back
in a faint and was carried by his attendants from the room.
The shock had unhinged the poor man's reason: he
lingered insane for eighteen months and died.

At the time Desmond knew nothing of the deceit that
had been practised on him; but in the light of his after
knowledge he understood the strange expression that
clouded Clive's face as the old man was carried away: a
look of pity mingled with contempt.  Catching sight of
Desmond, the great soldier flashed out:

"What do you mean, sir, by absenting yourself
so long?  I sent you in advance because I thought
you would be speedy.  A snail would have gone more
quickly."

"I am sorry, sir," said Desmond.  "I was unexpectedly
delayed.  I had got nearly as far as Rajmahal when I
learnt the whereabouts of Mrs. Merriman.  She was in
hiding with Surendra Nath, one of Mr. Merriman's men.
I heard that Diggle--Peloti, sir--was about to attempt
her recapture, and I felt that you yourself, had you been
in my place, would have tried to save the ladies."

Clive grunted.  "Go on, sir," he said.

"We found the place, just in time, sir.  Diggle came
up with a couple of Frenchmen and a troop of native
horse.  We beat them off, and I have brought the ladies
here."

"And forgotten your instructions?"

"No, sir.  Monsieur Law was advancing from Patna:
Peloti was coming ahead to inform the Nawab of his
approach.  But the whole country knows of your victory;
the news reached Monsieur Law, and he at once turned
back.  The messenger he sent to inform Peloti of his
change of plan came too late."

"Indeed!  What was Peloti about?"

"He was killed in the fight, sir."

"A good riddance!" exclaimed Clive impetuously.
Then a far-away look came into his eyes; his expression
softened.  "Poor wretch!" he said in an undertone.
"How many did his men muster, Burke?"

"Nearly sixty, sir."

"And yours?"

"A score of sepoys, sir; but I had two seamen with me:
Bulger, whom you know; and Mr. Toley, an American,
mate of one of Mr. Merriman's ships.  They were worth a
dozen others."

Clive grunted again.

"Well, go and tell Mrs. Merriman I'll be glad to wait
on her.  And look here, Burke: you may consider yourself
a captain in the Company's service from this day.  Come
now, I'm very busy: go and give Mrs. Merriman my
message, and take care that next time you are sent on special
service you are not drawn off on any such mad expedition.
Come to me to-morrow."

Desmond trod on air as he left the house.  Clive's
impulsiveness had never before seemed to him such an admirable
quality.

As he went into the street he became aware from the
excited state of the crowd that something had happened.
Meeting a sepoy he inquired, and learnt that Siraj-uddaula
had just been brought into the city.  The luckless Nawab
had arrived in his boat close to Rajmahal, and, with the
recklessness that characterized him, he had gone ashore
while his servants prepared a meal.  Though disguised in
mean clothes he had been recognized by a fakir who
happened to be at the very spot where he landed.  The man
had a grudge against him; his ears and nose had been cut
off some time before by the Nawab's orders.  Hastening
into Rajmahal he had informed the governor, who sent
a guard at once to seize the unhappy prince and bring him
to Murshidabad.

Before the next morning dawned Siraj-uddaula was
dead.  Mir Jafar handed him to his son Miran with strict
orders to guard him carefully.  Acting on a mocking
suggestion of Miran, a courtier named Muhammad Beg took
a band of armed men to the Nawab's room, and hacked him
to death.  Next morning his mutilated body was borne on
an elephant's back through the streets, and it was known
to his former subjects that the prince who had ruled them
so evilly was no more.  Such was the piteous end, in his
twenty-sixth year, of Siraj-uddaula.

Immediately on arriving in Murshidabad, Desmond had
sent a kasid to Calcutta to inform Mr. Merriman that his
wife and daughter had been found and were safe.  The
merchant set off at once on horseback and arrived in the
midst of preparations for the return of the army to
Calcutta.  Desmond was present at his meeting with the
ladies; the scene brought a lump into his throat, and his
embarrassment was complete when one and all
overwhelmed him with praise and thanks.

Nor was Surendra Nath forgotten.  His readiness and
courage at the critical moment had undoubtedly saved
the ladies; Mr. Merriman declared that he would henceforth
have a higher opinion of the Bengali character.  The
Babu beamed with joy when his employer announced that
he would give him the *Hormuzzeer* and a considerable part
of his business.

"I change the name to *Merriman*, sir," he said, "and
my family will hold that name in veneration and esteem
unto third and fourth generations."

A few days later a long procession of three hundred
boats, laden with the money, plate and jewels that had been
handed over to the British, set off with colours flying,
amid strains of martial music, down the river to Calcutta.
Every man who had taken part in the expedition had a
share of the vast treasure.  Desmond found himself richer
by £3,000.

Calcutta was *en fête* when the expedition returned.
Desmond was surprised to see how much had already been
done to repair the ruin wrought by the Nawab.  A new
city was rising from the ruins.  Congratulations were poured
on the victors; and though now, as always, Clive had to
contend with the jealousies of lesser men, there was none
but had to admit that he was a great man who deserved
well of his country.

Mr. Merriman at once completed the winding up of his
affairs, begun months before.  His recent troubles had
much aged him; India was to him now a hateful country,
and he decided to return to England immediately with his
wife and daughter.  He tried to persuade Desmond to
accompany him, but in vain.

"'Tis very good of you, sir," said Desmond warmly;
"you have done so much for me.  But Mr. Clive has made
me a captain: his work is not yet done, and I do not feel
that I can leave him until I have done something to justify
his confidence in me."

"Well, boys will be boys.  I have made a fortune here:
I suppose you want to do the same.  'Tis natural.  But
don't stay in India as long as I have.  I don't want to lose
sight of you.  You have done me the best service man
ever did: you have avenged my brother and restored to
me all that I held dearest in the world.  I love you as a son,
Desmond; I wish you were my son indeed, my boy."

Desmond looked a little uncomfortable.

"May I venture----" he began hesitatingly; "do you
think, in some years time, if I get on here, I might----"

"Well?"

"Do you think I might--in short, that I might have
a chance of becoming your son, sir?"

"Eh?  Is that it?  Mr. Warren Hastings asked me the
same question the other day, Desmond.  You can't both
have her, you know.  What does Phyllis say?"

"I--I haven't asked her, sir."

"Quite right.  You're only a boy.  Well, Hastings is
to remain as assistant to Mr. Scrafton, our new agent at
Murshidabad.  You remain as assistant--or is it rival,
eh?--to Mr. Clive.  You're both out of the way.  Phyllis
may prefer Bulger."

"Bulger!"

"Yes.  Didn't you know?  Phyllis has taken a fancy
to him; that hook of his appears to be a most fascinating
feature; and he will accompany us home."

Desmond laughed a little awkwardly.

"I hope----" he began.

"He won't hook her?  But there, I mustn't make sport
of such a serious matter.  Go on as you have begun, my
dear lad, and I promise you, when you come home, that if
Phyllis hasn't found some one already to her liking, you
shall have all the influence I can exert with the minx."

"Thank you, sir: I couldn't ask for more.  There's
another thing: do you think you could do anything for
Mr. Toley?  He's a capital fellow."

"I know it.  I have anticipated you.  Toley is appointed
captain of the *Jane*, an Indiaman that arrived the other
day; her captain died of scurvy on the way out.  She'll
sail for England next week; we go with her, and so does
that villain Barker, who'll get his deserts when he reaches
London.  The *Good Intent* is broken up; her interloping
is over for good and all.  But come, my boy, sure 'tis time
we dressed: Admiral Watson likes punctuality, and I
promise you he'll give us a capital dinner.  A word in your
ear: Phyllis is to sit between you and Hastings.  You
can't eat him, at any rate."

A week later Desmond went down to the Company's
ghat to see the *Jane* sail.  Mr. Toley, in his brand new
uniform, looked more melancholy than ever, and Phyllis
Merriman made a little grimace when she saw for the first
time the captain under whose charge she was to sail for home.

"Don't be alarmed," said Desmond, laughing.  "The
sadder he looks, I believe the happier he is.  Silas Toley is
a fine seaman and a true gentleman.--I wonder if we shall
ever meet again, Miss Merriman?"

"I wonder, Mr. Burke."

"I shall hear about you, I hope."

"Dear me! 'tis very unlikely.  Father hates putting
pen to paper.  'Tis far more likely I shall hear of you,
Mr. Burke, doing terrible things among these poor Indians--and
tigers: I am sure you must want to shoot a tiger."

"You shall have my first skin--if I may send it."

"Mamma will be charmed, I am sure; though, indeed,
she may have too many of them, for we have the same
promise from--let me see--Mr. Lushington, Mr. Picard,
Mr. Hastings, and----"

"All aboard!" sang out a voice from the deck of the
vessel.

Phyllis gave Desmond her hand, and looked at last into
his eyes.  What he read in hers filled him with contentment.
She ran across the plank and joined her father and
mother, to whom Desmond had already said his adieus.
At the last moment Bulger came up puffing, a miscellaneous
collection of curiosities dangling from his hook.

"Good-bye, sir," he said, giving Desmond a hearty grip.
Then he shut one eye and jerked his head in the direction
of the vessel.  "Never you fear, sir: I'll keep my weather
eye open.  Missy have took an uncommon fancy to this
here little fish-hook o' mine, and 'tis my belief I'll keep her
hangin' on to it, sir, nevertheless and notwithstandin' and
all that, till you comes home covered with gore and glory.
I may be wrong."

He tumbled on deck.  Then amid cheers, with flags
flying and handkerchiefs waving, the good ship moved from
the ghat into the swelling river.





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.. _`CHAPTER THE THIRTY-SECOND`:

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   CHAPTER THE THIRTY-SECOND

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In which the curtain falls, to the sound of
bells; and our hero comes to his own.

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It was a mellow day in October, 1760, a little more than
six years since the day when Market Drayton gave rein to
its enthusiasm in honour of Clive.  From a flagstaff newly
erected on the roof of the *Four Alls* on the Newport Road
a square of bunting flapped in the breeze.  Inside the inn
the innkeeper was drawing a pint of ale for his one solitary
customer, a shambling countryman with a shock of very
red hair, and eyes of innocent blue.

"There, that makes a quart, Tummas Biles, and 'tis as
much as your turnip head can safely carry."

He passed the can across the bar on a hook that
projected from a wooden socket in his sleeve.

"Why now, Mr. Bulger," said Tummas the tranter,
"what fur do you go fur to miscall me like other fowk?
I've been miscalled ever since that day since I drove a
stranger into Market Drayton six year ago.  I mind me he
had a red feather in his cap, and not knowing my name was
plain Tummas he called me Jehu, he did, and I never forgot
it.  Ay, and I tell ya what, Mr. Bulger: it took me two year
to find out why he give me such an uncommon name.  I
mind I was sittin' by a hayrick of Mr. Burke's--that was
long afore he was lamed by that terrible horse o' his--and
ponderin' on that heathen name, when all at wunst it comed
to me like a flash o' lightnin'.  'Jehu!' says I to myself.
'I bin and got ya at last.'  Ya see, when that stranger
saw me, I were drivin' a horse.  Well, I says to my horse,
'Gee-ho!' says I.  Not knowin' my true chrisom name,
the stranger takes up my words an' fits 'em to me.  'Gee-ho!'
says I; 'Gee-ho!' says he; only bein' a kind o'
furriner he turns it into 'Jehu': an' the name fits me
uncommon.  Hee! hee!"

"I may be wrong," said Bulger, "but 'tis my belief
'Hee-haw!' would fit you a big sight better.  But
hark! en't them the bells a-ringin '?"

The two hastened to the door, and stood looking down the
road towards Market Drayton.  From the distance came
the faint sounds of a merry peal.  By and by a four-horsed
open carriage with outriders appeared on the crest of the
hill.  Amid the dust it raised another could be seen, and
behind this a long line of vehicles.  Every coachman's
whip was decorated with a wedding favour.  The cavalcade
approached rapidly.  As the first carriage drew nearer
Bulger became more and more excited, and when it dashed
past the inn he raised his hook and shouted
"Hurray! hurray!" with the full force of his lungs.

"Give 'em a cheer, Tummas," he cried.  "Hee-haw will
do if you knows no better.  Hurray for Major Desmond
Burke and his madam--the purtiest gal I ever did see, east
or west.  Hurray for her father and mother: there they
are, with old squire an' the Major's mother.  And there's
Mr. Clive, all alone by himself 'cos his leg's stiff wi' the
rheumatics; but he would come to see the deed done,
which I may be wrong, but the new King George'll make
him a live lord afore he's much older.  Open your mouth,
Tummas, an' if you hee-haw loud enough, I'll draw you
another pint for nothing."

Desmond, now a Major, had returned home in company
with Clive.  During the three years that had passed since
he witnessed the sailing of the *Jane* he had seen much
service.  He had been with Colonel Forde when that fine
soldier expelled the French from the Northern Sirkars.
He was with the same officer when he thrashed the Dutch
at Biderra.  He had been in close touch with Clive when
these successful operations were planned; and the nearer
he saw him, the more he admired the great man's courage
in taking risks, promptitude in dealing with sudden
emergencies, sagacity in seeing to the heart of a difficult
situation.  Thus, during those years, he gained much knowledge
of the science of war, and much experience in dealing
with men.  He became rich also, not by questionable
means, but by reaping the legitimate rewards of good and
faithful service.

Before leaving India, Desmond learnt of changes that had
happened at home.  His brother had been thrown by a
young and mettlesome horse, and so badly trampled that
he must remain a helpless invalid for the rest of his life.
Sir Willoughby Stokes, even before he learnt of the death
of his nephew Peloti, had made Desmond his heir.
Mr. Merriman had bought an estate near his father's old friend,
and settled down to the life of a country gentleman.  A year
after his return, Job Grinsell, the landlord of the *Four Alls*,
had been sentenced to a long term of imprisonment for
poaching, and Mr. Merriman had no difficulty in
persuading Sir Philip Chetwode to let his inn to Bulger.

After an interview with Mr. Merriman, Desmond found
the courage to put to Phyllis the question which he had not
ventured to ask before she left India.  What the answer
was may be inferred from the fact that Sir Willoughby
insisted on the wedding taking place at once.  It was
time for the return of his old enemy the gout, he said; he
was going to Buxton to end his days, and wished to see
the Hall in the hands of his heir before he left.  Mr. Burslem,
Desmond's old schoolmaster, performed the ceremony,
and Clive, though suffering from rheumatism, came down
for the occasion.  The only familiar form that Desmond
missed was that of old Dickon, who had died a few months
after Desmond's departure from home.

Desmond settled down for a time at the Hall, cheering
his mother's declining years, repaying good for ill to his
invalid brother, and winning golden opinions from all
his neighbours high and low.  He eagerly watched the
further career of his old hero, now Lord Clive; learnt to
admire him as statesman as well as soldier; sympathized
with him through all the attacks made upon him, and
mourned him sincerely when, in 1774, the great man, preyed
upon by an insidious disease, died by his own hand.  Five
years later he felt the East calling, bought a commission,
and sailed with General Sir Eyre Coote, to take part in the
"frantic military exploits," as some one called them,
of Warren Hastings against Haidar Ali and Tippu in Mysore.
He came home a Colonel, and was made a baronet for his
services in the war.  Finally retiring from public life, he lived
for thirty years longer on his estate, happy in the careers of
his two sons, who became soldiers like himself.  He died,
an old man, in the year after Waterloo, at which his eldest
grandson, a lieutenant in the Guards, behaved with a
gallantry that attracted the notice of the Iron Duke.

Visitors to Sir Desmond Burke's house were amused and
interested to see a battered wooden stump with an iron hook
hanging in a conspicuous place in the hall, amid tigers'
heads, Indian weapons, and other trophies from the East.

"That?" Sir Desmond would say, in answer to their
question.  "That belonged to one of the best friends I ever
had, a fine old salt named William Bulger.  I met him when
I was sixteen, and buried him when I was forty: and my
wife and I have felt ever since a blank in our lives.  If you
can put up with an old man's stories, I'll tell you something
of what Bulger and I went through together, when I was a
youngster with Clive in India."

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   THE END.

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   \*      \*      \*      \*      \*      \*      \*      \*

.. vspace:: 6

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   Uniform Edition of the Stories of

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   HERBERT STRANG

.. class:: center medium white-space-pre-line

   SIZE 7 3/4 in. x 5 in., CLOTH, WITH COLOUR AND HALF-TONE
   PLATES, AND FULL COLOUR JACKETS.

.. vspace:: 2

Tom Burnaby: A Story of Uganda and the Great
Congo Forest.  Illustrated by C. SHELDON.

A particular interest attaches to "Tom Burnaby," for it
was the first romance of adventure written by Mr. Herbert
Strang, and it secured for him the place in the forefront of
writers of boys' stories that he has maintained ever since.
The hero is attached to an expedition sent to punish a band
of slave-raiding Arabs in the vicinity of the Victoria Nyanza.
He is captured by the Arabs, but escapes, and, after long
wanderings in the great Congo Forest, is befriended by an
African chief, whom he assists in a prolonged struggle with
his old enemies.  The story of Tom's efforts to impart military
discipline to the natives, his strategy and final triumph over
the Arabs, is told with great zest and with many touches of
humour.

"The tone of the story is excellent; manly and spirited, it cannot
fail to rouse a response in a boy's heart."--*World*.

.. vspace:: 3

A Gentleman-at-Arms: Being Passages in the Life
of Sir Christopher Rudd, Knight, as Related by Himself
in the Year 1641.

This book is unique in literature for boys.  It relates the
adventurous career of an Elizabethan gentleman, in a style
carefully modelled on the simple prose of the century which
produced the Authorised Version of the Bible.  No previous
writer for boys has ever attempted a similar achievement.
Apart from its romantic and exciting incidents, this story has
great value by reason of its historical and geographical
information, and its exceptional style.

.. vspace:: 3

Sultan Jim: Empire Builder.  Illustrated by CYRUS CUNEO.

Mr. Herbert Strang has chosen the African continent as the
setting for some of his most remarkable stories, and of these
"Sultan Jim" is not the least remarkable.  It was written
prior to the war, when the colonising activities of rival European
powers was raising problems of the greatest interest and
importance.  The presence of a young Englishman in one of
the debatable lands at a time of upheaval and international
rivalry enables him to uphold the interests of the Empire
against formidable opposition.  The story is brimful of
adventure, and its moral is that of patriotic self-sacrifice.

.. vspace:: 3

The Adventures of Harry Rochester: A Story
of the Days of Marlborough and Eugene.  Illustrated
by W. RAINEY.

Harry Rochester stands unrivalled amongst stories for boys
as a living presentment of a stirring period of English history.
It creates anew the glamour of the eighteenth century, and
many of the great personages of the time cross its pages.
Harry's ambition is to carry the Queen's colours, but his
father being a poor country parson, and commissions selling
high, he sees no prospect of attaining it.  Nothing daunted,
however, he takes whatever means offer to carve out a career
for himself.  As assistant to a Dutch merchant responsible for
victualling certain of the Allied troops, Harry is brought into
contact with the army in Flanders, and with Marlborough
himself; and, later, his desire for a military career finds an
outlet with the army of Prince Eugene, under whom he fights
at Blenheim.

"A stirring tale ... told in such a manner as to make it welcome
to any healthy-minded boy, and also, be it said, to not a few whose
boyhood, alas! is many a long year behind them."--*Daily Telegraph*.

.. vspace:: 3

Humphrey Bold: His Chances and Mischances by
Land and Sea.  A Story of the Time of Benbow.
Illustrated by W. H. MARGETSON.

In this book, one of Mr. Herbert Strang's best-known
historical romances, are recounted the adventures of Humphrey
Bold from the time when he was a puny slip of a boy attending
Shrewsbury School, the butt of his companions, who chaffed
him for being Bold by name and timid by nature, until he
had grown into a sturdy young giant, and sailed into Plymouth
Sound as First Lieutenant of the Bristol frigate.  The
intervening chapters tell of Humphrey's service at sea under Admiral
Benbow, his capture by the French and his escape from prison,
and of the many exciting events that befell him in the West
Indies.

"So felicitous is he in imparting local colour to his narrative that
whilst reading it we have found ourselves thinking of Thackeray.  This
suggests a standard by which very few writers of boys' books will bear
being judged.  The majority of them are content to provide their young
friends with mere reading.  Herbert Strang offers them
literature."--*Glasgow Herald*.

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Rob the Ranger: A Story of the Fight for Canada.
Illustrated by W. H. MARGETSON.

"Rob the Ranger," which has been placed by General
Baden-Powell first among the great scouting stories, brings
out the romantic side of the fight for Canada.  Rob Somers,
son of an English settler in New York State, sets out with Lone
Pete, a trapper, in pursuit of an Indian raiding party which
has destroyed his home and carried off his younger brother.
He is captured and taken to Quebec, where he finds his brother
in strange circumstances, and escapes in dead of winter, in
company with a little band of New Englanders.  They are
pursued over snow and ice, and in a log-hut beside Lake
Champlain maintain a desperate struggle against a large force
of French, Indians, and half-breeds, ultimately reaching Fort
Edward in safety.

"If there had ever been the least doubt as to Mr. Strang's
pre-eminence as a writer of boys' books,
it would be very effectually banished
by this work of his."--*Glasgow Herald*.

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Palm Tree Island: A Romance of the South Seas.
Illustrated by ARCHIBALD WEBB and ALAN WRIGHT.

In this story two boys are left on a volcanic island in the
South Seas, destitute of everything but their clothes.  The
story relates how they provided themselves with food and
shelter, with tools and weapons; how they fought with wild
dogs and sea monsters; and how, when they have settled
down to a comfortable life under the shadow of the volcano,
their peace is disturbed by the advent of savages and a crew
of mutinous Englishmen.  The savages are driven away; the
mutineers are subdued through the boys' ingenuity; and they
ultimately sail away in a vessel of their own construction.  In
no other book has the author more admirably blended
amusement with instruction.

"Written so well that there is not a dull page in the book."--*The
World*.

"A capital story for boys, thoroughly healthy in tone, providing
plenty of adventure and a quantum of the marvellous to satisfy the
most exacting of our young bloods."--*Schoolmaster*.

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Settlers and Scouts: A Story of Pioneering in East
Africa.  Illustrated by T. C. DUGDALE.

The scene of this story is laid in the Highlands of British
East Africa, and the book gives a vivid and accurately-drawn
picture of the dangers and hardships that even in these days
await the pioneer in the more remote parts of the British
Empire.  It also furnishes a good deal of information
respecting the country and the people amid which the story moves.
An Englishman and his son emigrate thither and settle down
as farmers and stock-raisers; and the difficulties they encounter,
first through the depredations of wild beasts, and afterwards
owing to the hostility of an Arab chief and his followers engaged
in the ivory trade, prove in the highest degree their courage
and resource.

"Mr. Strang, as behoves such a favourite as he, provides plenty of
adventure and excitement, but he gives much practical information as
well, and his books may be recommended to any reader who wishes to
learn what chance there is for a white settler in Uganda or to study
the state of affairs at the Congo."--*Daily Mail*.

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Boys of the Light Brigade: A Story of the
Peninsular War.  Illustrated by W. RAINEY.

This book opens in the streets of Salamanca with Lieutenant
Jack Lumsden of the 95th Rifles endeavouring to keep the
peace between some of his own Riflemen and the Spaniards.
His harangue in fluent Spanish is overheard by Sir John Moore,
who recognises in the young officer just the man he wants for
his purpose, and sends him off upon a mission of some delicacy.
Thence onward, Lumsden's adventures are interwoven with
the history of Moore's gallant army in the Peninsula,
culminating in the great retreat and the Battle of Corunna.

"Of all the qualities that go to make up a perfect boys' book we
know of none that is wanting in 'Boys of the Light
Brigade,'"--*Glasgow Herald*.

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Kobo: A Story of the Far East.  Illustrated by W. RAINEY.

This book recounts the adventures of a young British engineer
during the opening phases of the Russo-Japanese War.  Bob
Fawcett is sent to the Far East on behalf of his firm, which
has supplied range-finding instruments to the Japanese Navy.
His arrival coinciding with the outbreak of war leads, by a
natural sequence of events, to his being an eye-witness of the
first great sea fights by which Japan revealed herself to the
world as a first-rate naval power; and the grim struggle
between East and West is an ever-present background to the
stirring story of his subsequent adventures amongst Cossacks
and Manchu brigands, and of his friendship with Kobo, an
officer of the Japanese Secret Service.

"An excellent story, such as one might expect to have from the
author of that capital book, 'Tom Burnaby.'  'With a Japanese duty
comes inexorably first.'  This, indeed, is the keynote of the whole
story.  This principle of action dominates Bob's friend, and it dominates
the story."--*Spectator*.

"The book is capital: full of life and vigour and local colour....
Mr. Strang has intimate personal knowledge of the countries of which
he writes, which, no doubt, accounts for much of the *vraisemblance* of
his story."--*Guardian*.

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Jack Brown in China: A Story of the Russo-Japanese
War.  (Originally published under the title of
"Brown of Moukden.")  Illustrated by W. RAINEY.

This book describes the adventures of a young Englishman
in Manchuria during the latter stages of the Russo-Japanese
War.  Mr. Brown, senior, a merchant of Moukden, is wrongly
convicted by the Russian authorities of giving information to
the Japanese, and is deported from the city.  Jack does not
know where his father has been sent, but he goes through some
desperate adventures in his attempts to find out, and to get
his wrongs redressed.  At one time he is in imminent danger
of being beheaded as a "foreign devil" in an outlying village,
but is delivered in the nick of time by a band of brigands;
and he has more than a passing glimpse of actual warfare.
There is humour as well as excitement in the book, and some
of Mr. Strang's orientals are very entertaining characters.

"The equal of anything we know of in the whole range of juvenile
fiction....  The book will hold boy readers spellbound."--*Church
Times*.

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Samba: A Story of the Congo.  Illustrated by W. RAINEY.

The scene of this story is laid in the Congo Free State, where
a young Englishman and his uncle, while prospecting for gold,
are brought into violent contact with the Belgians who are
working the rubber concessions.  Moved to indignation by the
sight of the barbarous methods employed to extort rubber
from the natives, the hero openly champions the cause of the
oppressed; he gathers about him a small force, to which he
imparts a measure of military discipline, and with it administers
a sharp lesson to the slave-drivers.  He restores the confidence
of the natives in the White Man; to them he is Lokolobolo, a
great chief, and a harbinger of brighter days.

"It was an excellent idea on the part of Mr. Herbert Strang to write
a story about the treatment of the natives in the Congo Free State....
Mr. Strang has a big following among English boys, and anything he
chooses to write is sure to receive their appreciative
attention."--*Standard*.

"Mr. Herbert Strang has written not a few admirable books for boys,
but none likely to make a more profound impression than his new story
of this year."--*Scotsman*.

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The Adventures of Dick Trevanion: A Story of
1804.  Illustrated by W. RAINEY.

This is a romance of the early years of the nineteenth century.
In it the old smuggling days are made to live again, and
reverberations are heard of the war with Napoleon.  The
Trevanions are a Cornish family, whose fortunes have fallen
low through the working out of their tin mines, and the
scheming of a relative who bears a grudge against the head
of the house.  Dick, after many exciting events in which he
is involved with smugglers and French privateers, makes a
happy discovery, through which the prosperity of his family
is restored.

"Mr. Herbert Strang has been well called the 'Twentieth-Century
Marryat.'  His many books stand high up on the list of boys' favourites.
and among his new books for this year none is likely to be more welcome
than 'The Adventures of Dick Trevanion.'  The story is dated in the
early years of the nineteenth century, and Dick's adventures on land
and sea are so vividly depicted by Mr. Strang that it would not be
surprising to find the book in the hands of older readers with a taste
for adventure."--*Gentlewoman*.

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With Drake on the Spanish Main: Illustrated
by ARCHIBALD WEBB.

A rousing story of adventure by sea and land.  The hero,
Dennis Hazelrig, is cast ashore on an island in the Spanish
Main, the sole survivor of a band of adventurers from Plymouth.
He lives for some time with no companion but a spider monkey,
but by a series of remarkable incidents he gathers about him
a numerous band of escaped slaves and prisoners, English,
French and native; captures a Spanish fort; fights a Spanish
galleon; meets Francis Drake, and accompanies him in his
famous adventures on the Isthmus of Panama; and finally
reaches England the possessor of much treasure.

"Mr. Herbert Strang bids fair to become to the present what the
late G. A. Henty was to the past generation of young folk; in fact, his
stirring romances, though, like Henty's, worked up on a sound historical
basis, are far better written."--*The Lady*.

"Another of Mr. Herbert Strang's masterful stories of adventure and
romance."--*School Guardian*.

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The Air Patrol: A Story of the North-West Frontier.
Illustrated by CYRUS CUNEO.

In this book Mr. Strang looks ahead to a time when there
is a great Mongolian Empire whose army sweeps down on to
the North-West Frontier of India.  His two heroes luckily
have an aeroplane, and with the help of a few Pathan miners,
they hold a pass in the Hindu Kush against a swarm of Mongols,
long enough to prevent the cutting of the communications of
the Indian army operating in Afghanistan.

"An exceptionally good book, written moreover in excellent
style."--*Times*.

"The 'Air Patrol' is really a masterpiece."--*Morning Post*.

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Barclay of the Guides: A Story of the Indian
Mutiny.  Illustrated in Colour by W. KOEKKOEK.  With Maps.

Of all our native Indian regiments the Guides have probably
the most glorious traditions.  They were among the few who
remained true to their salt during the trying days of the great
Mutiny, vying in gallantry and devotion with our best British
regiments.  The story tells how James Barclay, after a strange
career in Afghanistan, becomes associated with this famous
regiment, and, though young in years, bears a man's part in
the great march to Delhi, the capture of the royal city, and
the suppression of the Mutiny.

"Mr. Strang has been truly described as 'a born teacher of history,'
and this story of the Indian Mutiny is an additional proof of the truth
of the observation."--*Schoolmistress*.

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   *Complete List of Stories for Boys by*
   HERBERT STRANG

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.. class:: left white-space-pre-line

   ADVENTURES OF DICK TREVANION, THE
   ADVENTURES OF HARRY ROCHESTER, THE
   A GENTLEMAN-AT-ARMS
   A HERO OF LIEGE
   AIR PATROL, THE
   AIR SCOUT, THE
   BARCLAY OF THE GUIDES
   BLUE RAIDER, THE
   BOYS OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE
   BRIGHT IDEAS
   BURTON OF THE FLYING CORPS
   CARRY ON
   CRUISE OF THE GYRO-CAR, THE
   FIGHTING WITH FRENCH
   FLYING BOAT, THE
   FRANK FORESTER
   HEIR OF A HUNDRED KINGS, THE
   HUMPHREY BOLD
   JACK BROWN IN CHINA
   JACK HARDY
   KING OF THE AIR
   KOBO
   LONG TRAIL, THE
   LORD OF THE SEAS
   MOTOR SCOUT, THE
   NO MAN'S ISLAND
   OLD MAN OF THE MOUNTAIN, THE
   ONE OF CLIVE'S HEROES
   PALM TREE ISLAND
   ROB THE RANGER
   ROUND THE WORLD IN SEVEN DAYS
   SAMBA
   SETTLERS AND SCOUTS
   SULTAN JIM
   SWIFT AND SURE
   THOUSAND MILES AN HOUR, A
   THROUGH THE ENEMY'S LINES
   TOM BURNABY
   TOM WILLOUGHBY'S SCOUTS
   TRUE AS STEEL
   WINNING HIS NAME
   WITH DRAKE ON THE SPANISH MAIN
   WITH HAIG ON THE SOMME
   YOUNG JACK

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