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.
[Illustration: 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.
CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH
*In which our hero finds himself among friends; and Colonel Clive
prepares to astonish Angria.*
The entrance of a strange grab had not passed unnoticed. Before the
anchor had been dropped, the superintendent of marine put off in a toni.
"What grab is that?" he shouted in Urdu, as he came alongside.
"The _Tremukji_, sir," replied Desmond in English.
"Eh! what! who in the name of Jupiter are you?"
"You'd better come aboard, sir, and I'll explain," said Desmond with a
smile.
The superintendent mounted the side, rapping out sundry exclamations of
astonishment that amused Desmond not a little.
"Don't talk like a native! H'm! Queer! Turn him inside out! No
nonsense!"
"Well, here I am," he added, stepping up to Desmond. "My name's Johnson,
and I'm superintendent of marine. Now then, explain; no nonsense!"
Desmond liked the look of the little man. He was short and stout, with
a very large red face, a broad turn-up nose, and childlike blue eyes
that bespoke confidence at once.
"My name is Desmond Burke, sir, and I've run away from Gheria in this
grab."
"The deuce you have!"
"Yes, sir. I've been a prisoner there for six months and more, and we
got off a few nights ago in the darkness."
"H'm! Any more Irishmen aboard?"
"Not that I'm aware of, sir."
"And you got away from Gheria, did you? You're the first that ever I
heard did so. Nothing to do with Commodore James, eh?"
"No, sir. I don't know what you mean."
"Why, Commodore James started t'other day to take a good sea-look at
Gheria. There's an expedition getting ready to draw that rascally
Pirate's teeth. You saw nothing of the squadron? No nonsense, now."
"Not a thing, sir. We were blown out to sea, and I suppose the
Commodore passed us in the night."
"H'm! Very likely. And you weathered that storm, did you? Learnt your
seamanship, eh?"
"Picked up a little on board the _Good Intent_, sir. I was ship's boy
aboard."
"Mighty queer ship's boy!" said Mr. Johnson in an audible aside. "The
_Good Intent's_ a villainous interloper; how came you aboard of her?"
"I was in a sense tricked into it, sir, and when we got to Gheria
Captain Barker and Mr. Diggle the supercargo sold me to Angria."
"Sold you to the Pirate?"
"Yes, sir."
"And where do you hail from, then?"
"Shropshire, sir; my father was Captain Richard Burke, in the Company's
service."
"Jupiter! You're Dick Burke's son! Gad, sir, give me your hand; I knew
Dick Burke; many's the sneaker of Bombay punch we've tossed off
together. No nonsense about Dick; give me your fist. And so you
sneaked out of Gheria and sailed this grab, eh? Well, you're a chip of
the old block, and a credit to your old dad. I want to hear all about
this. And you'll have to come ashore and see the Governor."
"It's very kind of you, Mr. Johnson, but really I can't appear before
the Governor in this rig."
He glanced ruefully at his bare legs and feet and tattered garments.
"True, you en't very ship-shape, but we'll soon alter that. Ever use a
razor?"
"Not yet, sir," replied Desmond with a smile.
"Thought not. Plenty of native barbers. You must get shaved. And I'll
rig you up in a suit of some sort. You must see the Governor at once,
and no nonsense."
"What about the grab, sir?"
"Leave that to me. You've got a pretty mixed crew, I see. All escaped
prisoners too?"
"All but four."
"And not one of 'em to be trusted, I'll swear. Well I'll put a crew
aboard to take charge. Come along; there's no time to lose. Colonel
Clive goes to bed early."
"Colonel Clive! Is he here?"
"Yes; arrived from home two days ago. Ah! that reminds me; you're a
Shropshire lad; so's he; do you know him?"
"No, sir; I've seen him; I--I----"
Desmond stammered, remembering his unfortunate encounter with Clive in
Billiter Street.
"Well, well," said the superintendent, with a quizzical look; "you'll
see him again. Come along."
Desmond accompanied Mr. Johnson on shore. A crowd had gathered. There
were sepoys in turban, cabay,[#] and baggy drawers; bearded Arabs;
Parsis in their square brimless hats; and a various assortment of
habitues of the shore--crimps, landsharks, badmashes,[#] bunder[#]
gangs. Seeing Desmond hold his nose at the all-prevailing stench of fish
Mr. Johnson laughed.
[#] Cloak.
[#] Rowdy characters.
[#] Port.
"You'll soon get used to that," he said. "'Tis all fish-oil and
bummaloes[#] in Bombay."
[#] Small fish the size of smelt, known when dried as "Bombay duck."
Having sent a trustworthy crew on board the Tremukji, the superintendent
led Desmond to his house near the docks. Here, while a native barber
plied his dexterous razor on Desmond's cheeks and chin, Mr. Johnson
searched through a miscellaneous hoard of clothes in one of his
capacious presses for an outfit. He found garments that proved a
reasonable fit, and Desmond, while dressing, gave a rapid sketch of his
adventures since he left the prison-shed in Gheria.
"My wigs, but you've had a time of it. Mutiny and all! Dash my
buttons, here's a tale for the ladies! Let me look at you. Yes, you'll
do now, and faith you're a pretty fellow. And Dick Burke's son! You've
got his nose to a T; no nonsense about that. Now you're ready to make
your bow to Mr. Bourchier. He's been a coursing match with Colonel
Clive and Mr. Watson[#] up Malabar Hill, and we'll catch him before he
sits down to supper. How do you feel inside, by the way? Ready for a
decent meal after the Pirate's hog's wash, eh?"
[#] It was customary to use the title Mr. in speaking to or of both
naval and military officers.
"I'm quite comfortable inside," said Desmond smiling, "but, to tell you
the truth, Mr. Johnson, I feel mighty uneasy outside. After six months
of the dhoti these breeches and things seem just like bandages."
"It en't the first time you've been swaddled, if you had a mother. Well
now, if you're ready. What! That rascal gashed you? Tuts! 'tis a
scratch. Can't wait to doctor that. Come on."
The two made their way into the fort enclosure, and walked rapidly to
Government House in the centre. In answer to Mr. Johnson the darwan[#]
at the door said that the Governor would not return that night. After
the coursing match he was giving a supper party at his country house at
Parel.
[#] Doorkeeper.
"That's a nuisance. But we can't have any nonsense. The Governor's a
bit of an autocrat; too much starch in his shirt, I say; but we'll go
out to Parel and beard him, by Jove! 'Tis only five miles out, and
we'll drive there in under an hour."
Turning away he hurried out past the tank-house on to the Green, and by
good luck found an empty shigram[#] waiting to be hired. Desmond
mounted the vehicle with no little curiosity. These great beasts with
their strange humps would surely not cover five miles in less than an
hour. But he was undeceived when they started. The two sturdy oxen
trotted along at a good pace in obedience to the driver's goad, and the
shigram rattled across Bombay Green, past the church and the whitewashed
houses of the English merchants, their oyster-shell windows already lit
up; and in some forty-five minutes entered a long avenue leading to Mr.
Bourchier's country house. Twice during the course of the journey
Desmond was interested to see the shigramwallah[#] pull his team up,
dismount, and, going to their heads, insert his hand in their mouths.
[#] Carriage like a palanquin on wheels.
[#] Wallah is a personal affix, denoting a close connexion between the
person and the thing described by the main word. Shigramwallah
thus=carriage-driver.
"What does he do that for?" he asked.
"To clear their throats, to be sure. When the beasts go at this pace
they make a terrible lot of foam, and if he didn't swab it out they'd
choke, and no nonsense. Well, here we are. Dash my wig, won't his
Excellency open his eyes!"
Since their departure from the fort the sky had become quite dark. At
the end of the avenue they could see the lights of Governor Bourchier's
bungalow, and by and by caught sight of figures sitting on the veranda.
Desmond's heart beat high; he made no doubt that one of them was Clive;
the moment to which he had looked forward so eagerly was at last at
hand. He was in no dreamland; his dream had come true. He felt a
little nervous at the prospect of meeting men so famous, so immeasurably
above him, as Clive and Admiral Watson; but with Clive he felt a bond of
union in his birthplace, and it was with recovered confidence that he
sprang out of the cart and accompanied Mr. Johnson to the bungalow. He
was further reassured by a jolly laugh that rang out just as he reached
the steps leading up to the veranda.
"Hallo, Johnson!" said a voice, "what does this mean?"
"I've come to see the Governor, Captain."
"Then you couldn't have come at a worse time. The supper's half an hour
late, and you know what that means to the Governor."
Mr. Johnson smiled.
"He'll forget his supper when he has heard my news. 'Tis about the
Pirate."
"What's that?" said another voice. "News of the Pirate?"
"Yes, Mr. Watson. This young gentleman----"
But he was interrupted by the khansaman,[#] who came out at this moment
and with a salaam announced that supper was served.
[#] Butler.
"You'd better come in, Johnson," said the first speaker. "Any news of
the Pirate will be sauce to Mr. Bourchier's goose."
The gentlemen rose from their seats, and went into the house, followed
by Desmond and the superintendent. In a moment Desmond found himself in
a large room brilliantly lighted with candles. In the centre was a
round table, and Mr. Bourchier, the Governor, was placing his guests.
He did not look very pleasant, and when he saw Mr. Johnson he said:
"You come at a somewhat unseasonable hour, sir. Cannot your business
wait till the morning?"
"I made bold to come, your Excellency, because 'tis a piece of news the
like of which no one in Bombay has ever heard before. This young
gentleman, Mr. Desmond Burke, son of Captain Burke, whom you'll
remember, sir, has escaped from Gheria."
The Governor and his guests were by this time seated, and instantly all
eyes were focussed on Desmond, and exclamations of astonishment broke
from their lips.
"Indeed! Bring chairs, Hossain."
One of the native attendants left the room noiselessly, and returning
with chairs placed them at the table.
"Sit down, gentlemen. That is amazing news, as you say, Mr. Johnson.
Perhaps Mr. Burke will relate his adventure as we eat."
Desmond took the chair set for him. The guests were five. Two of them
wore the laced coats of admirals; the taller, a man of handsome
presence, with a round chubby face, large eyes, small full lips, his
head crowned by a neat curled wig, was Charles Watson, in command of the
British fleet; the other was his second, Rear-Admiral Pocock. A third
was Richard King, captain of an Indiaman, in a blue coat with velvet
lappets and gold embroidery, buff waistcoat and breeches. Next him sat
a jolly red-faced gentleman in plain attire, and between him and the
Governor was Clive himself, whose striking face--the lawyer's brow, the
warrior's nose and chin, the dreamer's mouth--would have marked him out
in any company.
Desmond began his story. The barefooted attendants moved quietly about
with the dishes, but the food was almost neglected as the six gentlemen
listened to the clear, low voice telling of the escape from the fort,
the capture of the grab, and the eventful voyage to Bombay harbour.
"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."