himself a man of war.
Crouching low, Desmond waited. When the Maratha joined the groups 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
{English}. 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."
"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 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
colors. 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 of 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 became 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 the 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 color.
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 signaling 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 lookout, 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 northwest wind now blowing. None of the men,
except possibly the Gujarati, had sufficient seamanship to detect this
manoeuver; 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 mess mates, 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 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 ascendancy? 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 favor,
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 and 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
southwester, 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 Suwarndrug," he said. "Is it not, Nanna?"
"Yes, of a truth; it is Suwarndrug; 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 Suwarndrug. I have seen it scores of times. No one can mistake
Suwarndrug. See, there is the hill; and there is the mango grove. Oh,
yes, certainly it is Suwarndrug."
At this moment four grabs were seen beating out of the harbor. 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
Suwarndrug; the Gujarati's anxiety to pile up testimony to the contrary
was almost sufficient in itself to prove that. If not Suwarndrug, it was
probably one of Angria's strongholds, possibly Kulaba. 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 can not be Suwarndrug?" he said, with an appearance of
composure that he was far from feeling. "Suwarndrug, you remember, has
been captured. The last news at Gheria was that it was in the Company's
hands, though there was a rumor that it might be handed over to the
Peshwa. We should not now see Angria's grabs coming out of Suwarndrug.
But if it is Suwarndrug, Fuzl Khan, why put about? As fugitives from
Gheria we should be assured of a welcome at Suwarndrug. 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 fidgetiness 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."
"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 steps 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 honor
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 leaped at him; a crashing blow between the eyes sent him
staggering against the wheel; a second while he tottered brought him limp
and almost stunned to the deck.
Meanwhile the crew had looked on for a few breathless moments in
amazement at this sudden turn of affairs. But as the Gujarati fell
Desmond heard a noise behind him. Half turning, he saw Shaik Abdullah
rushing towards him with a marlinspike. The man had him at a
disadvantage, for he was breathless from his tussle with Fuzl Khan; but
at that moment a dark object hurtled through the air, striking this new
antagonist at the back of the head, and hurling him a lifeless lump into
the scuppers.
Desmond looked round in wonderment: who among the crew had thus
befriended him so opportunely? His wonder was not lessened when he saw
the Babu, trembling like a leaf, his eyes blazing, his dusky face
indescribably changed. At the sight of Desmond's peril the Bengali,
forgetting his weakness, exalted above his timidity, had caught up with
both hands a round nine-pounder shot that lay on deck, and in a sudden
strength of fury had hurled it at the Biluchi. His aim was fatally true;
the man was killed on the spot.
With his eyes Desmond thanked the Babu; there was no time for words. The
hostile grabs were undoubtedly making chase. They had separated, with the
intention of bearing down upon and overhauling the Tremukji in whatever
direction she might flee. Fuzl Khan still lay helpless upon the deck.
"Secure that man," said Desmond to two of the crew.
He spoke curtly and sternly, with the air of one who expected his orders
to be executed without question; though he felt a touch of anxiety lest
the men should still defy him. But they went about their task instantly
without a word: Desmond's bold stand, and the swift overthrow of the big
Gujarati, had turned the tide in his favor, 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 Kulaba, sahib."
"Where is Kulaba?"
"A few 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 northeast,
and the coastline 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 harbor 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 cocoanut forest, with a few Portuguese-built
houses dotted here and there. In front a narrow jungle-clad island,
called, as he afterwards learned, Old Woman Island, stretched like a spit
into the sea. To the left of the fort, at the head of a small bay, was
the Bunder pier, with the warehouses at the shore end. Still farther to
the left were the docks and the marine yards, and; at the extremity of
the island on which Bombay stands, a frowning bastion.
Feeling that he had now 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 harbor. 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 cable lengths of the vessels of Admiral
Watson's squadron, which had arrived from Madras a few weeks before.