Battle of the Carts.
Desmond expected that Mohun Lal would reach Santipur shortly after
nightfall. He himself might hope to arrive there, if not intercepted at
Khulna or Amboa, at any time between midnight and three o'clock,
according to the state of the river.
It was approaching dusk when he drew near to Khulna. The boats having
been tied up to the bank, as the custom was, Desmond sent the Babu to
find out from the Company's gumashta there whether news of the capture of
Cossimbazar Fort had reached the bazar, and if any runner had come in
from the north. In an hour the Babu returned. He said that there was
great excitement in the bazar: no official messenger had arrived, but
everybody was saying that the Nawab had captured the English factory at
Cossimbazar, and was going to drive all the Firangi out of Bengal.
Desmond decided to take a bold course. Official news not having arrived,
he might seize the moment to present his dastaks and get away before the
customs officers found any pretext for stopping him. Everything happened
as he hoped. He met with no more difficulty than at Path, and informing
the official who examined the dastaks that he would drop down to Amboa
before tying up for the night, he drew out again into the stream.
He spent some time in consultation with the serang. In a rather desolate
reach of the Hugli, he learned that in the middle of the stream there was
a small island, uninhabited save by teal and other waterfowl, and not
known to be the haunt of tigers or other beasts of prey. Reaching this
islet about ten o'clock at night, when all river traffic had ceased, he
rowed in, and landed the Armenian with his crews.
"I thank you for your company, Coja Solomon," he said blandly. 'We must
here part, to my regret, for I should like to have the pleasure of
witnessing your meeting with Mr. Merriman. The nights are warm, and you
will, I am sure, be quite comfortable till the morning, when no doubt a
passing boat will take you off and convey you back to your business at
Cossimbazar."
"I will not stay here," protested the Armenian, his face livid with
anger.
"Believe me, you have no choice. Let me remind you that had you behaved
honestly there would have been no reason for putting you to the
inconvenience of this tiring journey. You have brought it on yourself."
Coja Solomon sullenly went up the shore. Desmond then paid the men
handsomely: they had indeed worked well, and they were abundantly
satisfied with the hire they received.
Leaving Coja Solomon to his bitter reflections, Desmond dropped down to
Santipur, arriving there about two o'clock in the morning. Just before
dawn ten hackeris, each yoked with two oxen, drew up near the Company's
ghat. They were accompanied by a crowd of the inhabitants, lively with
curiosity about the engagement of so many vehicles. The gumashta came up
with the first cart, his face clouded with anxiety. He recognized the
Babu at once, and said that while he had fulfilled the order he had
received on Mr. Merriman's behalf, he had done it in fear and trembling.
The whole country knew that Cossimbazar Fort was in possession of the
Nawab, and, more than that, the Nawab had on the previous day set out
with an immense army for Calcutta. Santipur was not on the high road, and
the Company was respected there; yet the gumashta feared the people would
make an attack on the party if they suspected that they carried goods
belonging to an Englishman.
Hitherto Desmond had kept himself in the background. But now he had an
idea inspired by confidence in his costume. Introducing himself to the
gumashta, he asked him to give out that the party was in command of a
Firangi in the service of the Nawab, and was conveying part of the
Nawab's private equipage in advance to Baraset, a few miles north of
Calcutta, there to await the arrival of the main army. To make the
imposition more effective, he called for the lambadar of the village and
ordered him in the Nawab's name to despatch a flotilla of twenty-five
wollacks {barges} to Cutwa to convey the official baggage.
The trick proved effective. Desmond found himself regarded as a person of
importance; the natives humbly salaamed to him; and, taking matters with
a high hand, he impressed a score of the village idlers into the work of
transferring his precious bales from the boats to the hackeris. The work
was accomplished in half an hour.
"Bulger," said Desmond, when the loading was done, "you will consider
yourself in charge of this convoy. The Babu will interpret for you. You
will hurry on as fast as possible toward Calcutta. I shall overtake you
by and by. The people here believe that I am a Frenchman, so you had
better pass as that, too, for of course your disguise will deceive no
native in the daylight."
"Well I knows it." said Bulger. "They've been starin' at me like as if I
was a prize pig this half hour and more, and lookin' most uncommon
curious at my little button hook. But, sir, I don't see any call for me
to make out I'm a mounseer. 'T'ud make me uneasy inside, sir, the very
thought of eatin' what the mounseers eat."
"My good man, there's no need to carry it too far. Do as you please, only
take care of the goods."
Except Desmond and four men whom he retained, the whole party moved off
with the hackeris towards Calcutta. The road was an unmade track, heavy
with dust, rough, execrably bad; and at the gumashta's suggestion Desmond
had arranged for three extra teams of oxen to accompany the carts, to
extricate them in case of necessity from holes or soft places.
Fortunately the weather was dry: had the rains begun--and they were
overdue--the road would have been a slough of mud and ooze, and the
journey would have been impossible.
When the convoy had set off, Desmond with three men, including the
serang, returned to the empty boats. The lookers-on stared to see the
craft put off and drop down the river with a crew of one man each:
Desmond in the first, and the smaller boat that had contained Bulger and
his party trailing behind. Floating down some four or five miles with the
stream, Desmond gave the order to scuttle the three petalas, and rowed
ashore in the smaller boat. On reaching land he got the serang to knock a
hole in the bottom of the boat, and shoved it off towards midstream,
where it rapidly filled and sank.
It was full daylight when Desmond and his party of three struck off
inland in a direction that would bring them upon the track of the carts.
He had a presentiment that his difficulties were only beginning. By this
time, no doubt, the news of his escapade had been carried through the
country by the swift kasids of the Nawab. His passing at Khulna and Amboa
would be reported, and a watch would be kept for him at Hugli. If
perchance a kasid or a chance traveler entered Santipur, the trick he had
practised there would be immediately discovered; but if the messenger
only touched at the places on the direct route on the other bank, he
might hope that some time would elapse before the authorities there
suspected that he had left the river. They must soon learn that three
petalas lay wrecked in the stream below Amboa; but they could not satisfy
themselves without examination that these were the vessels of which they
were in search.
Tramping across two miles of fields newly sown with maize and sorghum, he
at length descried the trail of his convoy and soon came up with it. If
pursuers were indeed upon his track, only by the greatest good fortune
could he escape them. The carts creaked along with painful slowness; the
wheels halfway to the axles in dust; now stopping altogether, now rocking
like ships in a stormy sea.
With his arrival and the promise of liberal bakshish the hackeriwallahs
urged the laboring oxen with their cruel goads till Desmond, always
tender with animals, could hardly endure the sight. By nine o'clock the
morning had become stiflingly hot. There was little or no breeze, and
Desmond, unused of late to active exercise, found the heat terribly
trying. But Bulger suffered still more. A stout, florid man, he toiled
along, panting, streaming with sweat, in difficulties so manifest, that
Desmond, eying him anxiously, feared lest a stroke of apoplexy should
bring him to an untimely end.
The country was so flat that a string of carts could not fail to be seen
from a long distance. If noticed from the towers of Hugli across the
river, curiosity, if not suspicion, would be aroused, and it would not
take long to send over by a ford a force sufficient to arrest and capture
the party. To escape observation it was necessary to make wide detours.
At several small hamlets on the route Desmond managed to get fresh oxen,
but not enough for complete changes of team.
So, through all the broiling heat of the day, at hours when no other
Europeans in all Bengal were out of doors, the convoy struggled on,
making its own road, crossing the dry beds of pools, skirting or laboring
over rugged nullahs.
At nightfall Desmond learned from one of the drivers that they were still
six miles short of being opposite to Hugli. The patient Bengalis could
endure no more; the oxen were done up, the men refused to go farther
without a rest. Halting at a hamlet some five miles from the river, they
rested and fed till midnight, then set off again. It was not so
insufferably hot at night, but on the other hand they were less able to
avoid obstructions: and the rest had not been long enough to make up for
the terrible exertions of the day.
By daybreak they were some distance past Hugli, still keeping about five
miles from the river. Desmond was beginning to congratulate himself that
the worst was over; Barrackpur was only about twelve miles away. But a
little after dawn he caught sight of a European on horseback crossing
their track towards the river. He was going at a walking pace, attended
by two syces {grooms}. Attracted, apparently, by the sight, unusual at
this time of year, of a string of hackeris, he wheeled his horse and
cantered towards the tail of the convoy, which was under Bulger's charge.
"Hai, hackeriwallah," he said in Urdu to the rearmost driver, "to whom do
these hackeris belong?"
"To the great Company, huzur. The sahib will tell you."
"The sahib--what sahib?" asked the rider in astonishment.
"The sahib yonder," replied the man, pointing to Bulger.
Bulger had been staring at the horseman, and growing more and more red in
the face. Catching the rider's surprised look, he could contain himself
no longer.
"By thunder! 'tis that villain Diggle!" he shouted, and rushed forward to
drag him from his horse.
But Diggle was not taken unawares. Setting spurs to his steed, he caused
it to spring away. Bulger raised his musket, but ere he could fire Diggle
was out of range. Keeping a careful distance he rode leisurely along the
whole convoy, and a smile of malignant pleasure shone upon his face as he
took stock of its contents.
Meanwhile Bulger, already repenting of his hasty action, hurried forward
to acquaint Desmond with what had happened. Diggle's smile broadened; he
halted and took a long look at the tall figure in native dress to whom
Bulger was so excitedly speaking. Then, turning his horse in the
direction of the river, he spoke over his shoulder to his syces and
galloped away, followed by them at a run.
"You were a fool, Bulger," said Desmond testily. "This may lead to no end
of trouble."
Bulger looked penitent, and wrathful, and overwhelmed.
"We must try to hurry," added Desmond to Surendra Nath. "Promise the men
more bakshish: don't stint."
For two hours longer they pushed on with all the speed of which the jaded
beasts were capable. Every now and again Desmond looked anxiously back,
hoping against hope that they would not be pursued. But he knew that
Diggle had recognized him, and being prepared for the worst, he began to
rack his brains for some means of defense.
Misfortune seemed to dog him. Two of the oxen collapsed. It was necessary
to distribute the loads of their hackeris among the others. The march was
delayed, and when the convoy was again under way, its progress was slower
than ever.
It had, indeed, barely started, when in the distance Desmond spied a
horseman cantering towards them. A few minutes revealed him as Diggle. He
rode up almost within musket shot, then turned and trotted back.
What was the meaning of his action? Desmond, from his position near the
foremost hackeri, could see nothing more. But, a few yards ahead of him,
to the right of the track, there was a low artificial mound, possibly the
site of an ancient temple, standing at the edge of a nullah, its top some
ten or twelve feet above the surrounding plain. Hastening to this he
gained the summit, and, looking back, saw a numerous body of men on foot
advancing rapidly from the direction in which the horseman had come. In
twenty minutes they would have come up with the convoy. He must turn at
bay.
He glanced anxiously around. He was in the midst of an almost bare
sun-baked plain, the new-sown fields awaiting the rains to spring into
verdure. Here and there were clumps of trees--the towering palmyra with
its fan-shaped foliage, the bamboo with its feathery branches, the
plantain, throwing its immense leaves of vivid green into every fantastic
form. There was no safety on the plain.
But below him was the nullah, thirty feet deep, eighty yards wide, soon
to be a swollen torrent dashing towards the Hugli, but now dry. Its sides
were in parts steep, and unscalable in face of determined resistance. In
a moment Desmond saw the utmost of possibility.
Running back to the convoy, he turned its head towards the mound, and,
calling every man to the help of the oxen, he dragged the carts one by
one to the top. There he caused the beasts to be unyoked, and placed the
hackeris, their poles interlocked, so as to form a rough semicircular
breastwork around the summit of the mound. For a moment he hesitated in
deciding what to do with the cattle. Should he keep them within his
little intrenchment? If they took fright they might stampede and do
mischief; in any case they would be in the way, and he resolved to send
them all off under charge of such of the drivers as were too timid to
remain. He noticed that the Babu was quivering with alarm.
"Surendra Nath," he said, "this is no place for you. Slip away quietly;
go towards Calcutta; and if you meet Mr. Merriman coming in response to
my message, tell him the plight we are in and ask him to hasten to our
help."
"I do not like to show the white feather, sir," said the Babu.
"Not at all, Babu, we must have a trustworthy messenger: you are the man.
Now get away as fast as you can."
The Babu departed on his errand with the speed of gladness and relief.
The ground sloped sharply outward from the carts, and the rear of the
position was formed by the nullah. The last two hackeris were being
placed in position when the vanguard of the pursuers, with Diggle at
their head, came to a point just out of range. The party was larger than
Desmond had estimated it to be at his first hasty glance. There were some
twenty men armed with matchlocks, and forty with swords and lathis. All
were natives.
His heart sank as he measured the odds against him. What was his dismay
when he saw, half a mile off, another body following up. And these were
white men! Was Diggle bringing the French of Chandernagore into the fray?
Desmond posted his twelve armed peons behind the hackeris. He gave them
strict orders to fire only at the word of command, and as they had
undergone some discipline in Calcutta he hoped that, if only in self
preservation, they would maintain a certain steadiness. Behind them he
placed twelve sturdy boatmen armed with half pikes, instructing them to
take the place of the peons when they had fired. Bulger stood at the
midpoint of the semicircle; his rough square face was a deep purple with
a rim of black; his dhoti had become loosened, leaving his great
shoulders and brawny chest bare; his turban was awry; his eyes, bloodshot
with the heat, were as the eyes of Mars himself, burning with the fire of
battle.
The pursuers had halted. Diggle came forward, trotting his horse up to
the base of the mound. The peons fingered their matchlocks and looked
expectant; Bulger growled; but Desmond gazed calmly at his enemy.
"Your disguise is excellent," said Diggle in his smoothest tones; "but I
believe I speak to Mr. Desmond Burke."
"Yes, Mr. Diggle," said Desmond, stepping forward.
"I am glad to have overtaken you. Sure you have encamped early. I have a
message from my friend the Faujdar of Hugli. By some mistake a
consignment of merchandise has been illegally removed from Cossimbazar,
and the Faujdar, understanding that the goods are contained in these
carts, bids me ask you to deliver them up to his men, whom you see here
with me."
Desmond was anxious to gain time. He thought out his plan of action while
Diggle was speaking. His impulsiveness prompted a flat defiance in few
words; policy counseled a formality of utterance equal to Diggle's.
"These carts certainly contain merchandise, Mr. Diggle," he said. "It is
the property of Mr. Edward Merriman, of Calcutta; I think you know him?
It was removed from Cossimbazar; but not, I assure you, illegally. I have
the dastaks authorizing its removal to Calcutta; they are signed by the
Faujdar of Murshidabad. Has the Faujdar of--where did you say?"
"Of Hugli."
"Has the Faujdar of Hugli power to countermand what the Faujdar of the
capital has done?"
"Why discuss that point?" said Diggle with a smile. "The Faujdar of Hugli
is an officer of the Nawab; hoc sat est tibi--blunt language, but the
phrase is Tully's."
"Well, I waive that. But I am not satisfied that you, an Englishman, have
authority to act for the Faujdar of Hugli. The crowd I see before me--a
rabble of lathiwallahs--clearly cannot be the Faujdar's men."
At this point he heard an exclamation from Bulger. The second body of men
had come up and ranked themselves behind the first.
"And may I ask," added Desmond, with a slight gesture to Bulger to
restrain himself--he too had recognized the newcomers--"since when the
Nawab has taken into his service the crew of an interloping English
merchantman?"
"I shall give you full information, Mr. Burke," said Diggle suavely,
"when we stand together before my friend the Faujdar. In the meantime you
will, if I may venture to advise, consult your interest best in yielding
to superior numbers and delivering up the goods."
"And what about myself, Mr. Diggle?"
"You, of course, will accompany me to the Faujdar. He will be incensed, I
make no doubt, at your temerity, and not unjustly; but I will intercede
for you, and you will be treated with the most delicate attentions."
"You speak fair, Mr. Diggle," said Desmond, still bent upon gaining time;
"but that is your way. What assurance have I that you will, this time,
keep your word?"
"You persist in misjudging me," said Diggle regretfully. "As Cicero says
in the play, you construe things after your fashion, clean from the
purpose of the things themselves. My interest in you is undiminished; nay
rather, it is increased and mixed with admiration. My offers still hold
good: join hands with me, and I promise you that you shall soon be a
persona grata at the court of Murshidabad, with wealth and honors in your
grasp."
"Your offer is tempting, Mr. Diggle, to a poor adventurer like me, and if
only my own interests were involved, I might strike a bargain with you. I
have had such excellent reasons to trust you in the past! But the goods
are not mine; they are Mr. Merriman's; and the utmost I can do at present
is to ask you to draw your men off and wait while I send a messenger to
Calcutta. When he returns with Mr. Merriman's consent to the delivery of
the goods, then--"
The sentence remained unfinished. Diggle's expression had been becoming
blacker and blacker as Desmond spoke, and seeing with fury that he was
being played with he suddenly wheeled round, and, cantering back to his
men, gave the order to fire. At the same moment Desmond called to his men
to lie flat on the ground and aim at the enemy from behind the solid
wooden wheels of the hackeris. Being on the flat top of the mound, they
were to some extent below the line of fire from the plain, and when the
first volley was delivered no harm was done to them save for a few
scratches made by flying splinters struck from the carts.
But the crack of the matchlocks struck terror into the pale hearts of
some of the hackeriwallahs. Several sprang over the breastwork and
scuttled away like scared rabbits. The remainder stood firm, grasping
their lathis in a manner that showed the fighting instinct to be strong,
even in the Bengali.
Many anxious looks were bent upon Desmond, his men expecting the order to
fire. But he bade them remain still, and through the interval between two
carts he watched for the rush that was coming. The crew of the Good
Intent, headed by Sunman, the cross-eyed mate, and Parmiter, had come up
behind the natives. These, having emptied their matchlocks, were now
retiring to reload. Diggle had dismounted, and was talking earnestly with
the mate. They walked together to the edge of the nullah, and looked up
and down it, doubtless canvassing the chances of an attack in the rear;
but the sides were steep; there was no hope of success in this direction;
and they rejoined the main body.
Evidently they had decided on making a vigorous direct attack over the
carts. Dividing his troop into two portions, Diggle put himself at the
head of the one, Sunman at the head of the other. Arranged in a
semicircle concentric with the breastwork, at the word of command all the
men with firearms discharged their pieces; then, with shrill cries from
the natives, and a hoarse cheer from the crew of the Good Intent, they
charged in a close line up the slope.
Behind the barricade the men's impatience had only been curbed by the
quiet imperturbable manner of their young leader. But their self
restraint was on the point of breaking down when, short, sharp and clear,
the long-awaited command was given. Their matchlocks flashed; the volley
told with deadly effect at the short range of thirty paces; four or five
men dropped; as many more staggered down the slope; the rest halted
indecisively, in doubt whether to push forward or turn tail.
"Blockheads! cowards!" shouted Diggle in a fury. "Push on, you dogs; we
are four to one!"
He was now a very different Diggle from the man Desmond had known
hitherto. His smile was gone; all languor and indolence was lost; his
eyes flashed, his lips met in a hard cruel line; his voice rang out
strong and metallic. That he was no coward Desmond already knew. He put
himself in the forefront of the line, and, as always happens, a brave
leader never lacks followers.
The whole of the seamen and many of the Bengalis surged forward after
him. Behind the breastwork all the men were now mixed up--musketeers with
pikemen and lathiwallahs. Upon these came the swarming enemy, some
clambering over the carts, others wriggling between the wheels. There was
a babel of cries; the exultant bellow of the born fighter, British or
native; a few pistol shots; the scream of the men mortally hit; the "Wah!
wah!" of the Bengalis applauding their own prowess.
As Diggle had said, the odds were four to one. But the defenders had the
advantage of position, and for a few moments they held the yelling mob at
bay. The half pikes of the boatmen were terrible weapons at close
quarters, more formidable than the cutlasses of the seamen balked by the
breastwork, or the loaded bamboo clubs of the lathiwallahs.
Sunman, the mate, was one of the first victims; he fell to a shot from
Bulger. But Parmiter and Diggle, followed by half a dozen of the sailors,
and a score of the more determined lathiwallahs and musketeers with
clubbed muskets, succeeded in clambering to the top of the carts and
prepared to jump down among the defenders, most of whom were busily
engaged in jabbing at the men swarming in between the wheels. Desmond saw
that if his barricade was once broken through the issue of the fight must
be decided by mere weight of numbers.
"Bulger, here!" he cried, "and you, Hossain."
The men sprang to him, and, following his example, leaped on to the cart
next to that occupied by Diggle and Parmiter. Desmond's intention was to
take them in flank. Jumping over the bales of silk, he swung over his
head a matchlock he had seized from one of his peons, and brought it down
with a horizontal sweep. Two of the Bengalis among the crowd of
lathiwallahs, who were hanging back out of reach of the boatmen's pikes,
were swept off the cart. But the violence of his blow disturbed Desmond's
own balance; he fell on one knee; his matchlock was seized and jerked out
of his hand; and in a second three men were upon him. Bulger and the
serang, although a little late, owing to want of agility in scaling the
cart, were close behind.
"Belay there!" roared Bulger, as he flung himself upon the combatants.
The bullet head of one sturdy badmash cracked like an eggshell under the
butt of the bold tar's musket; a second received the terrible hook square
in the teeth; and a third, no other than Parmiter himself, was caught
round the neck at the next lunge of the hook, and flung, with a mighty
heave, full into the midst of the defenders. Bulger drew a long breath.
At the same moment Diggle, attacked by the serang, was thrown from his
perch on the hackeri and fell among his followers outside the barricade.
There was a moment's lull while both parties recovered their wind. Firing
had ceased; to load a matchlock was a long affair, and though the
attackers might have divided and come forward in relays with loaded
weapons, they would have run the risk of hitting their own friends.
It was to be again a hand-to-hand fight. Diggle was not to be denied.
Desmond, who had jumped down inside the barricade when the pressure was
relieved by Bulger, could not but admire the spirit and determination of
his old enemy, though it boded ill for his own chance of escape. He was
weary; worn out by want of rest and food; almost prostrated by the
terrible heat. Looking round his little fort, he felt a tremor as he saw
that five out of his twenty-four men were more or less disabled. True,
there were now more than a dozen of the enemy in the same or a worse
plight; but they could afford their losses, and Desmond indeed wondered
why Diggle did not sacrifice a few men in one fierce overwhelming
onslaught.
"A hundred rupees to the man who kills the young sahib, two hundred to
the man who takes him alive!" cried Diggle to his dusky followers, as
though in answer to Desmond's thought.
Then, turning to the discomfited crew of the Good intent, he said: "Sure,
my men, you will not be beaten by a boy and a one-armed man. There's a
fortune for all of you in those carts. At them again, my men; I'll show
you the way."
He was as good as his word. He snatched a long lathi from one of the
Bengalis and rushed up the slope to the hackeri nearest the nullah.
Finding a purchase for one end of his club in the woodwork of the wagon,
he put forth all his strength in the effort to push it over the edge.
Owing to the length of the lathi he was out of reach of the half pikes in
the hands of the boatmen, who had to lunge either over or under the
carts.
His unaided strength would have been unequal to the task of moving the
hackeri, heavily laden as it was, resting on soft soil, and interlocked
with the next. But as soon as his followers saw the aim of his movements,
and especially when they found that the defenders could not touch him
without exposing themselves, he gained as many eager helpers as could
bring their lathis to bear upon the two carts.
Meanwhile the defense at this spot was weak, for the men of the Good
Intent had swarmed up to the adjoining carts and were threatening at any
moment to force a way over the barricade. They were more formidable
enemies than the Bengalis.
Slowly the two hackeris began to move, till the wheels of one hung over
the edge of the nullah. One more united heave, and it rolled over,
dragging the other cart with it and splitting itself into a hundred
fragments on the rocky bottom. Through the gap thus formed in the
barricade sprang Diggle, with half a dozen men of the Good Intent and a
score of Bengalis.
Desmond gathered his little band into a knot in the center of the
inclosure. Then the brazen sun looked down upon a Homeric struggle.
Bulger, brawny warrior of the iron hook, swung his musket like a flail,
every now and again shooting forth his more sinister weapon with terrible
effect. Desmond, slim and athletic, dashed in upon the enemy with his
half pike as they recoiled before Bulger's whirling musket. The rest, now
a bare dozen, Bengalis though they were, presented still an undaunted
front to the swarm that surged into the narrow space. The hot air grew
hotter with the fight.
To avoid being surrounded, the little band instinctively backed towards
the edge of the nullah. Diggle exulted as they were pressed remorselessly
to the rear. Not a man dreamed of surrender; the temper of the assailants
was indeed so savage that nothing but the annihilation of their victims
would now satisfy them. Yet Diggle once again bethought himself that
Desmond might be worth to him more alive than dead, and in the midst of
the clamor Desmond heard him repeat his offer of reward to the man who
should capture him.
Diggle himself resolved to make the attempt. Venturing too near, he
received an ugly gash from Desmond's pike, promising a permanent mark
from brow to chin. This was too much for him. Beside himself with fury,
he yelled a command to his men to sweep the pigs over the brink, and, one
side of his face livid with rage, the other streaming with blood, he
dashed forward at Bulger, who had come up panting to engage him.
He had well timed his rush, for Bulger's musket was at the far end of its
pendulum swing, but the old seaman saw his danger in time. With a
movement of extraordinary agility in a man of his bulk, he swung on his
heel, presenting his side to the rapier that flashed in Diggle's hand.
Parrying the thrust with his hook, he shortened his stump and lunged at
Diggle below the belt. His enemy collapsed as if shot; but his followers
swept forward over his prostrate body, and it seemed as if, in one brief
half minute, the knot of defenders would be hurled to the bottom of the
nullah.
But, at this critical moment, assailants and defenders were stricken into
quietude by a tumultuous cheer, the cheer of Europeans, from the
direction of the gap in the barricade. Weapons remained poised in mid
air; every man stood motionless, wondering whether the interruption came
from friend or foe. The question was answered on the instant.
"Now, men, have at them!"
With a thrill Desmond recognized the voice. It was the voice of Silas
Toley. There was nothing of melancholy in it, nor in the expression of
the New Englander as he sprang, cutlass in hand, through the gap. Slow to
take fire, when Toley's anger was kindled it blazed with a devouring
flame. The crowd of assailants dissolved as if by magic. Before the last
of the crew of the Hormuzzeer, lascars and Europeans, had passed into the
inclosure, the men of the Good Intent and their Bengali allies were
streaming over and under the carts toward the open.
Diggle at the first shock had staggered to his feet and stumbled toward
the barricade. As he reached it, a black boy, springing as it were out of
the earth, hastened to him and helped him to crawl between the wheels of
a cart and down the slope. On the boy's arm he limped toward his horse,
tethered to a tree. A wounded wretch was clumsily attempting to mount.
Him Diggle felled; then he crawled painfully into the saddle and galloped
away, Scipio Africanus leaping up behind.
By this time his followers were dispersing in all directions--all but
eight luckless men who would never more wield cutlass or lathi, and a
dozen who lay on one side or other of the barricade, too hard hit to
move.