Chapter 13: In which Mr. Diggle illustrates his argument; and there arestrange doings in Gheria harbor.
The morning of the third day dawned--the last of the three allowedDesmond for making up his mind. When the other prisoners were loosed fromtheir fetters and marched off under guard to their usual work, he alonewas left. Evidently he was to be kept in confinement with a view toquickening his resolution. Some hours passed. About midday he heardfootsteps approaching the shed. The door was opened, and in the entranceDiggle appeared.
"You will excuse me," he said with a sniff, "if I remain on the thresholdof your apartment. It is, I fear, but imperfectly aired."
He pulled a charpoy to the door, and sat down upon it, as much outside aswithin. 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'spalace somewhat sweeter than this your present abode--somewhat morecommodious also."
Desmond, reclining at a distance, looked his enemy calmly and steadily inthe face.
"If you have come, Mr. Diggle," he said, "merely to repeat what you saidyesterday, let me say at once that it is a waste of breath. I have notchanged my mind."
"No, not to repeat, my young friend. Crambe repetita--you know thephrase? Yesterday I appealed, in what I had to say, to your reason;either my appeal, or your reason, was at fault. Today I have anotherpurpose. 'Tis pity to come down to a lower plane; to appeal to the moreignoble part of man; but since you have not yet cut your wisdom teeth Imust 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. Atthose moments Angria is perhaps most himself, and I, perhaps, am mostmyself; which might prove to a philosopher that there is a radicalantagonism between the oriental and the occidental character. Since mypicture of the brighter side has failed to impress you, I propose to showyou 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, 'tissheer 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 ofwhom 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 weregone; his eyes were lit with the glare of madness; the parched skin ofhis hollow cheeks was drawn back, disclosing a grinning mouth and yellowteeth. His arms and legs were like sticks; both hands had lost theirthumbs, his feet were twisted, straggling wisps of gray hair escaped fromhis 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'scharacter--the side which forbids me to call Angria unreservedly myfriend. A year ago that man was as straight as you; he had all his organsand 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 saywhat the living image has already said.
"And within twenty-four hours, unless you come to a better mind, even asthat man is, so will you be."
He rose slowly to his feet, bending upon Desmond a look of mournfulinterest and compassion. Desmond had stood all but transfixed withhorror. But as Diggle now prepared to leave him, the boy flushed hot; hisfists 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, andwarder and sentries were out of earshot, Desmond told them what he hadseen.
"It must be tonight, my brothers," he said in conclusion. "We have nolonger 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 himwith its weird hollow notes. And in the blackness, Desmond worked as hehad never worked before, plying his saw hour after hour, never forgettinghis caution, running no risks when he had warning of the sentry'sapproach. And hour after hour the shower of sawdust fell noiselessly intoBabu'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 thenight was unbroken save by the melancholy howl of a distant jackal, andthe call of sentry to sentry as at intervals they went their rounds.
At midnight the guard was relieved. The newcomer--a tall, thin, lankyMaratha--arriving at Desmond's shed, put his head in at the little windowspace, and flashed his lantern from left to right more carefully than theman whom he had just replaced. The nine forms lay flat or curled up ontheir charpoys--all was well.
Coming back an hour later, he fancied he heard a slight sound within theshed. He went to the window and peered in, flashing his lantern beforehim from left to right. But as he did so, he felt upon his throat a gripas of steel. He struggled to free himself; his cry was stifled ere it wasuttered; his matchlock fell with a clatter to the ground. He was like achild in the hands of his captor, and when the Gujarati in a fierce lowwhisper said to him: "Yield, hound, or I choke you!" his struggle ceasedand he stood trembling in sweat.
But now came the sentries' call, passed from man to man around thecircuit of the fort.
"Answer the call!" whispered the Gujarati, with a significant squeeze ofthe man's windpipe.
When his turn arrived, the sentry took up the word, but it was a thinquavering call that barely reached the next man a hundred yards away.
While this brief struggle had been going on, a light figure within theshed had mounted to the rafters and, gently feeling for and twistinground a couple of wooden pins, handed down to his companions below asection of the roof some two feet square, which had been kept in itsplace only by these temporary supports. The wood was placed silently onthe floor. Then the figure above crawled out upon the roof, and lethimself 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 scatteredpoints of light from the sentries' lanterns. Stepping to the side of thehalf-garroted Maratha, who was leaning passively against the shed, thesinewy hand of the Gujarati still pressing upon his windpipe, Desmondthrust a gag into his mouth and with quick deft movements bound hishands. Now he had cause to thank the destiny that had made him Bulger'sshipmate; 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 hisfellow prisoners, and soon seven of them stood with him in the shadow ofthe shed. The last man, the Gujarati, had held the rope while the Babudescended. There was no one left to hold the rope for him, but he swunghimself up to the roof and climbed down on the shoulders of one of theBiluchis. Meanwhile the sentry, whose lantern had been extinguished andfrom the folds of whose garments its flint and tinderbox had been taken,had now been completely trussed up, and lay helpless and perforce silentagainst the wall of the shed. From the time when the hapless man firstfelt the grip of the Gujarati upon his throat scarcely five minutes hadelapsed.
Now the party of nine moved in single file, swiftly and silently on theirbare feet, under the wall of the fort toward the northeast bastion,gliding like phantoms in the gloom. Each man bore his burden: the Babucarried the dark lantern; one of the Marathas the coil of rope; the otherthe sentry's matchlock and ammunition; several had small bundlescontaining food, secreted during the past three days from their rations.
Suddenly the leader stopped. They had reached the foot of the narrowflight of steps leading up into the bastion. Just above them was asentinel. The pause was but for a moment. The plan of action had beenthought out and discussed. On hands and knees the Gujarati crept up thesteps; at his heels followed Desmond in equal stealth and silence. At thetop, hardly distinguishable from the blackness of the sky, the sentinelwas leaning against the parapet, looking out to sea. Many a night had heheld that post, and seen the stars, and listened to
the rustle of thesurf; many a night he had heard the call of the sentry next below, andpassed it to the man on the bastion beyond; but never a night had he seenanything but the stars and the dim forms of vessels in the harbor, heardanything but the hourly call of his mates and the eternal voice of thesea.
He was listless, bemused. What was it, then, that made him suddenlyspring erect? What gave him that strange uneasiness? He had heardnothing, seen nothing, yet he faced round, and stood at the head of thesteps with his back to the sea. The figures prone below him felt that hewas looking toward them. They held their breath. Both were on the topmoststep but one; only a narrow space separated them from the sentinel; theycould hear the movement of his jaws as he chewed a betel {nut of theareca 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 seemedto 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 sprangforward with the lightness, the speed, the deadly certainty of a Thug{name of a class of hereditary stranglers}, his hand was on the man'sthroat. Desmond, close behind, had a gag ready, but there was no need touse it. In the open the Gujarati could exert his strength more freelythan through the narrow windows of the shed. Almost before Desmondreached his side the sentinel was dead.
In that desperate situation there was no time to expostulate. While theGujarati laid the hapless man gently beside the gun that peeped throughthe embrasure of the parapet, Desmond picked up the sentinel's matchlock,ran softly back, and summoned his companions. They came silently up thesteps. To fasten the rope securely to the gun carriage was the work of afew instants; then the Gujarati mounted the parapet, and, swarming downthe rope, sank into the darkness. One by one the men followed; it came tothe 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 himselfdescended last of all, and on the rocks below the little group wascomplete.
They were free. But the most difficult part of their enterprise was yetto 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 roughground, the party set off toward the jetty. They kept as close aspossible to the wall, so that they would not be seen if a sentinel shouldhappen to look over the parapet; and being barefooted, the slight soundthey might make would be inaudible through the never-ceasing swish of thesurf. Their feet were cut by the sharp edges of the rocks; many a bruisethey got; but they kept on their silent way without a murmur.
Reaching the angle of the wall, they had now perforce to leave itsshelter, for their course led past the outskirts of the native townacross a comparatively open space. Fortunately the night was very dark,and here and there on the shore were boats and small huts which affordedsome cover. The tide was on the ebb; and, when they at length struck thejetty, it was at a point some twenty yards from its shoreward end.Groping beneath it they halted for a moment, then the two Marathasseparated themselves from the rest and, with a whispered word offarewell, disappeared like shadows into the blackness. The sea was notfor them, they would take their chance on land.
From a point some distance beyond the end of the jetty shone a faintglimmer 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 todo?"
"Yes, sahib."
Placing their bundles in the woodwork supporting the jetty, five membersof the party--the Biluchis, the Mysoreans, and the Babu--stole away inthe darkness. Desmond and the Gujarati were left alone. The Babu placedhimself near the end of the jetty to keep guard. The two Mysoreans struckoff thence obliquely for a few yards until they came to a rude open shedin which the Pirate's carpenters were wont to work during the rains. Froma heap of shavings they drew a small but heavy barrel. Carrying thisbetween them they made their way with some difficulty back towards thejetty, where they rejoined the Babu.
Meanwhile the Biluchis had returned some distance along the path by whichthey had come from the fort, then turned off to the left, and came to aplace 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, eachpropelled by short scull paddles. Moving quickly but with great cautionthe Biluchis collected the paddles from all these boats save one, carriedthem noiselessly down to the water's edge, waded a few yards into thesurf, and, setting down their burdens, pushed them gently seawards. Theythen 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 thetoni, and carrying it down to the jetty, quietly launched it under theshadow 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 fromhis dhoti, muffled the single paddle. Then all five men squatted at thewaterside, awaiting with true oriental patience the signal for furtheraction.
Not one of them but was aware that the plight of the two sentries theyhad left behind them in the fort might at any moment be discovered. Thehourly call must be nearly due. When no response came from the sentrywhose beat ended at their shed the alarm would at once be given, and in afew seconds the silent form of the sentinel on the bastion would befound, and the whole garrison would be sped to their pursuit.
But at this moment of suspense only the Babu was agitated. His naturaltimidity, and the tincture of European ways of thought he had gainedduring his service in Calcutta, rendered him less subject than hisMohammedan companions to the fatalism which rules the oriental mind. Tothe Mohammedan what must be must be. Allah has appointed to every man hislot; 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 blacknessthat brooded upon the harbor, did any of the four give sign ofexcitement. The Babu started, and rose to his feet shivering; the othersstill squatted, mute and motionless as statues of ebony, neither bygesture nor murmur betraying their consciousness that at any moment, bytocsin from the fort, a thousand fierce and relentless warriors might belaunched like sleuth hounds upon their track.
Meanwhile, what of Desmond and the Gujarati?
During the months Desmond had spent in Gheria he had made himselffamiliar, as far as his opportunities allowed, with the construction ofthe harbor and the manner of mooring the vessels there. He knew that thegallivats of the Pirate's fleet, lashed together, lay about eighty yardsfrom the head of the jetty under the shelter of the fortress rock, whichprotected them from the worst fury of the southwest monsoon. The grabslay on the other side of the jetty, some hundred and twenty yards towardsthe river--except three vessels which were held constantly ready for seasomewhat 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 onboard when the vessels were in harbor and the crews dispersed ashore.
In thinking over the difficult problem of escape, Desmond had foundhimself in a state of perplexity somewhat similar to that of the man whohad to convey a fox and a goose and a bag of corn across a river in aboat that would take but one at a time. He could not, with his smallparty, man a gallivat, which required fifty oarsmen to propel it atspeed; while if he seized one of t
he lighter grabs, he would have nochance whatever of outrunning the gallivats that would be immediatelylaunched in pursuit. It was this problem that had occupied him the wholeday during which Diggle had fondly imagined he was meditating on Angria'soffer of freedom.
A few moments after their five companions had left them, Desmond and theGujarati climbed with the agility of seamen along the ties of theframework supporting the jetty, until they reached a spot a yard or twofrom the end. There, quite invisible from sea or land, they gentlylowered themselves into the water. Guided by the dim light which he hadnoticed, 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 equalsilence a length behind.
The water was warm, and a few minutes' steady swimming brought themwithin twenty or thirty yards of the light. The hulls of the gallivatsand their tall raking spars could now be seen looming up out of theblackness. Desmond perceived that the light was on the outermost of theline, and, treading water for a moment, he caught the low hum of voicescoming from the after part of the gallivat. Striking out to the left,still followed by the Gujarati, he swam along past the sterns of thelashed 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 havingbut little freeboard, soon reached the bulwark.
There he paused to recover his breath and to listen. Hearing nothing, hequietly slipped over the side and lay on the main deck. In a few secondshe was joined by his companion. In the shadow of the bulwarks the twogroped their way cautiously along the deck. Presently Desmond, who was infront, struck his foot against some object invisible to him. There was agrunt beneath him.
The two paused, Fuzl Khan nervously fingering the knife he had taken fromthe sentinel on the bastion. The grunt was repeated; but the intrudersremained still as death, and with a sleepy grumble the man who had beendisturbed turned over on his charpoy, placed transversely across thedeck, and fell asleep.
All was quiet. Once more the two moved forward. They came to the ropes bywhich the vessel was lashed to the next in the line. For a moment Desmondstood irresolute; then he led the way swiftly and silently to the deck ofthe adjacent gallivat, crossed it without mishap, and so across thethird. Fortunately both were sailors, accustomed to finding their way onshipboard in the night, as much by sense of touch as by sight. Beingbarefooted, only the sharpest ears, deliberately on the alert, could havedetected them.
They had now reached the fourth of the line of vessels. It was by far thelargest of the fleet, and for this reason Desmond had guessed that itwould have been chosen for his quarters by the serang {head of a crew} incharge of the watch. If he could secure this man he felt that hishazardous enterprise would be half accomplished. This was indeed thepivot on which the whole scheme turned, for in no other way would it bepossible to seize the ten men on board the gallivats without raising suchan alarm as must shock fort, city, and harbor to instant activity. And itwas necessary to Desmond's plan, not only to secure the serang, but tosecure him alive.
The gallivat was Angria's own vessel, used in his visits up river to hiscountry house, and, during calm weather, in occasional excursions toSuwarndrug and the other forts on the sea coast. As Desmond was aware, itboasted a large state cabin aft, and he thought it very probable that theserang had appropriated this for his watch below.
Pausing a moment as they reached the vessel to make sure that no one wasstirring, Desmond and Fuzl Khan crept on to its deck and threw themselvesdown, again listening intently. From the last vessel of the line came thesound of low voices, accompanied at intervals by the click of the oblongbone dice with which the men were gambling. This was a boon, for when theIndian, a born gambler, is engaged in one of his games of chance, he isoblivious of all else around him. But on Angria's gallivat there was nosound. Rising to a crouching position, so that his form could not be seenif any of the gamblers chanced to look in his direction, Desmond slowlycrept aft, halting at every few steps to listen. Still there was nosound.
But all at once he caught sight of a faint glow ahead; what was it? For afew seconds he was puzzled. As he approached, the glow took shape; he sawthat 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 thelight, he stood erect, and again listened. From within came the snores ofa sleeper. Now he felt sure that his guess had been correct, for none butthe serang would dare to occupy the cabin, and even he would no doubthave cause to tremble if his presumption should come to the Pirate'sears.
Keeping his body as much in the shadow as possible, Desmond craned hishead 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. Thelantern 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 theblack shadow cast by it. To locate a sound is always difficult; but, asfar as Desmond could judge, the snores came from the neighborhood of thelantern and as from the floor.
He stepped back again into complete darkness. The Gujarati was at hiselbow.
"Wait, Fuzl Khan," said Desmond in the lowest of whispers. "I must go inand see where the man is and how the cabin is arranged."
The Gujarati crouched in the shadow of the bulwarks. Desmond, dropping onhands and knees, crawled slowly forward into the cabin towards the light.It was slightly above him, probably on a raised divan--the most likelyplace for the serang to choose as his bed. In a few moments Desmond'soutstretched fingers touched the edge of the little platform; the lightwas 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 theman. Whatever the risk, it was necessary to obtain a little more light.Slightly raising himself he found that, without actually mounting theplatform, he could just reach the lamp with outstretched fingers. Veryslowly he pushed it round, so that the light fell more directly into theroom. Then he was able to see, about four feet away, curled up on thedivan, with his arms under his head, the form of a man. There was noother in the cabin. Having discovered all that he wished to know, Desmondcrawled backward as carefully as he had come.
At the moment of discovery he had felt the eager boy's impulse to springupon the sleeper at once, but although his muscles had been hardened by ayear of toil he doubted whether he had sufficient physical strength tomake 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 hisiron clutch to insure that no sound came from him. Desmond's only fearindeed 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 Gujaratito his side.
"Remember, Fuzl Khan," he whispered, "we must keep the serang alive; noteven 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 stillfarther 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 theattention 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 sleeperas a cat on a mouse if he made the least movement, Desmond tiptoed to thedoor and began to close the sliding panel. It gave a slight creak; thesleeper stirred; Desmond quickly pushed the panel home, and as he did sothe serang sat up, rubbing his eyes and looking in sleepy suspiciontowards the lantern.
While his knuckles were still at his eyes Fuzl Khan was upon him. A briefscuffle, almo
st noiseless, on the linen covering of the divan; a heavypanting for breath; then silence. The Gujarati relaxed his grip on theman's throat; he made another attempt to cry out; but the firm fingerstightened their pressure and the incipient cry was choked in a feeblegurgle. Once more the hapless serang tried to rise; Fuzl Khan pressed himdown and shook him vigorously. He saw that it was useless to resist, andlay limp and half throttled in his captor's hands.
By this time Desmond had turned the lantern full upon the scene. Comingto the man's head, while the Gujarati still held him by the throat, hesaid, in low, rapid, but determined tones:
"Obey, and your life will be spared. But if you attempt to raise an alarmyou will be lost. Answer my questions. Where is there some loose rope onboard?"
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 ofthin coir, a strong rope made of cocoanut fiber. Soon the serang laybound 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 aMaratha appeared at the doorway and entered blinking. No sooner had heset 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 wasroped and laid helpless on the floor.
"Call Sukharam," said Desmond.
The second man answered the summons, only to suffer the same fate. Athird was dealt with in the same fashion; then the fourth and fifth cametogether, wondering why the serang was so brutally interfering with theirgame. By the time they reached the door Desmond had turned the lantern tothe wall, so that they saw only a dim shape within the cabin. Ganpat wassecured before the last man became aware of what was happening. Harihesitated at the threshold, hearing the sound of a slight scuffle causedby the seizure of his companion.
"Tell him to come in," whispered Desmond in the serang's ear, emphasizingthe order by laying the cold blade of a knife against his collarbone.
Fuzl Khan had not yet finished trussing the other; as the last manentered Desmond threw himself upon him. He could not prevent a lowstartled cry; and struggling together, the two rolled upon the floor. TheMaratha, not recognizing his assailant, apparently thought that theserang had suddenly gone mad, for he merely tried to disengage himself,speaking in a tone half angry, half soothing. But finding that the mangrasping him had a determined purpose, he became furious with alarm, andplucking 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 theman'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 therestill remained five, asleep until their turn for watching and dicingcame. So quietly had the capture of the six been effected that not one ofthe sleepers had been disturbed.
To deal with them was an easier matter. Leaving the bound men in thecabin, and led by the serang, whose feet had been released, Desmond andFuzl Khan visited each of the gallivats in turn. The sleeping men awokeat 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 beforethey realized what was happening they were in the toils, helpless likethe rest.
When the last of the watchmen was thus secured, Desmond crept to thevessel nearest the shore and, making a bell of his hands, sent a low hailacross the surface of the water in the direction of the jetty. He waitedanxiously, peering into the darkness, straining his ears. Five minutespassed, fraught with the pain of uncertainty and suspense. Then he caughtthe faint sound of ripples: he fancied he descried a dark form on thewater; 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 fivemen, with bundles, muskets, and the small heavy barrel, stood withDesmond and the Gujarati on the deck of the gallivat.
In Clive's Command: A Story of the Fight for India Page 15