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.
CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH
*In which our hero weathers a storm; and prepares for squalls.*
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.
[#] Mountains.
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.