strange doings in Gheria harbor.
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 snuffbox, he tapped it, took a pinch, savored 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 a 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. Today 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, thin, 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 gray 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.
Today--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 tonight, my brothers," he said in conclusion. "We have no
longer time. Before sunrise tomorrow 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
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 newcomer--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 before
him 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 struggle 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-garroted Maratha, who was leaning passively against the shed, the
sinewy hand of the Gujarati still pressing 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 learned 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 its flint and tinderbox 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 toward the northeast 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 harbor, 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 toward 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 a betel {nut of the
areca palm wrapped in the leaf of the betel plant}.
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 the sea.
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
{name of a class of hereditary stranglers}, 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 windows 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.
"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 toward 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 {small boats cut out of the solid tree,
used for passing between the shore and larger vessels} 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.
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
waterside, 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 harbor, 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.
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 harbor 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 southwest 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 harbor mouth.
He had learned, 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 harbor 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, and 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 main deck. 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
shipboard 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 {head of a crew} 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 harbor to instant activity. And it
was necessary to Desmond's plan, not only to secure the serang, but to
secure him alive.
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
Suwarndrug 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 neighborhood 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 moment 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 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 insure 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 mainmast," he said.
Desmond slipped out, and in a few seconds returned with several yards of
thin coir, a strong rope made of cocoanut fiber. 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 Gujarata 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 a 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 collarbone.
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 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.