Chapter 15: In which our hero weathers a storm; and prepares for squalls.
Hungry as he was, however, Desmond would not eat while he was, so tospeak, still in touch with Gheria. He ran up the sail on the mizzen, andthe grab was soon cutting her way through the water at a spanking rate.He had closely studied the chart on board the Good Intent when thatvessel was approaching the Indian coast--not with any fixed purpose, butin the curiosity which invested all things Indian with interest for him.From his recollection he believed that Gheria was somewhat more than ahundred miles from Bombay. If the grab continued to make such goodsailing she might hope to cover this distance by midnight. But she couldhardly run into harbor until the following day. There was, of course, nochart, not even a compass, on board; the only apparatus he possessed wasa water clock; naturally he could not venture far out to sea, but neitherdared he hug the shore too closely. He knew not what reefs there might belying in wait for his untaught keel. Besides, he might be sighted fromone or other of the coast strongholds still remaining in Angria's hands,and it was not impossible that swift messengers had already been sentalong the shore from Gheria, prescribing a keen lookout and the chase ofany solitary grab making northward.
But if he kept too far out he might run past Bombay, though when hementioned this to his fellow fugitives he was assured by the Biluchis andFuzl Khan that they would unfailingly recognize the landmarks, havingmore than once in the course of their trading and pirate voyages touchedat that port.
On the whole he thought it best to keep the largest possible offing thatwould still leave the coast within sight. Putting the helm down he ranout some eight or ten miles, until the coast was visible only from themasthead as a purple line on the horizon, with occasional glimpses ofhigh ghats {mountains} behind.
Meanwhile the Gujarati and some of the others had breakfasted from theirbundles. Leaving the former in charge of the wheel, Desmond took hiswell-earned meal of rice and chapatis, stale, but sweet with thesweetness of freedom.
In his ignorance of the coast he felt that he must not venture to runinto Bombay in the darkness, and resolved to heave-to during the night.At the dawn he would creep in towards the shore without anxiety, forthere was little chance of falling in with hostile vessels in theimmediate neighborhood of Bombay. Knowing that a considerable Britishfleet lay there, the Pirate would not allow his vessels to cruise farfrom his own strongholds. But as there was a prospect of spending atleast one night at sea, it was necessary to establish some system ofwatches. The task of steering had to be shared between Desmond and FuzlKhan; and the majority of the men being wholly inexperienced, it was notsafe to leave fewer than six of them on duty at a time. The only dangerlikely to arise was from the weather. So far it was good; the sea wascalm, the sky was clear; but Desmond was enough of a seaman to know that,being near the coast, the grab might at any moment, almost withoutwarning, be struck by a squall. He had to consider how best to divide uphis crew.
Including himself there were eleven men on board. Four of them werestrangers of whom he knew nothing; the six who had escaped with him wereknown only as fellow prisoners.
To minimize any risk, he divided the crew into three watches. Oneconsisted of the Babu, the serang, and one of the Marathas from thegallivat. Each of the others comprised a Mysorean, a Biluchi, and aMaratha. Thus the strangers were separated as much as possible, and thenumber of Marathas on duty was never in excess of the number offugitives; the steersman, Desmond or the Gujarati, as the case might be,turned the balance.
The watch was set by means of the water clock found in the cabin. Desmondarranged that he and Fuzl Khan should take alternate periods of eighthours on and four off. The two matchlocks taken from the sentinels of thefort and brought on board were loaded and placed on deck near the wheel.None of the crew was armed save the Biluchis, who retained their knives.
Towards midday the wind dropped almost to a dead calm. This wasdisappointing, for Desmond suspected that he was still within the area ofAngria's piratical operations--if not from Gheria, at any rate from someof the more northerly strongholds not yet captured by the East IndiaCompany or the Peshwa. But he had a good offing: scanning the horizon allaround he failed to sight a single sail; and he hoped that the breezewould freshen as suddenly as it had dropped.
Now that excitement and suspense were over, and there was nothing thatcalled for activity, Desmond felt the natural reaction from the strain hehad undergone. By midday he was so tired and sleepy that he found himselfbeginning to doze at the wheel. The Gujarati had been sleeping for somehours, and, as the vessel now required scarcely any attention Desmondthought it a good opportunity for snatching a rest. Calling to Fuzl Khanto take his place and bidding him keep the vessel's head, as far as hecould, due north, he went below. About six bells, as time would have beenreckoned on the Good Intent, he was wakened by the Babu, with a messagefrom the Gujarati desiring him to come on deck.
"Is anything wrong, Babu?" he asked, springing up.
"Not so far as I am aware, sahib. Only it is much hotter since I began mywatch."
Desmond had hardly stepped on deck before he understood the reason forthe summons. Overhead all was clear; but towards the land a dense bank ofblack cloud was rising, and approaching the vessel with great rapidity.It was as though some vast blanket were being thrown seawards. The airwas oppressively hot, and the sea lay like lead. Desmond knew the signs;the Gujarati knew them too; and they set to work with a will to meet thestorm.
Fortunately Desmond, recognizing the unhandiness of his crew, had takencare to set no more sail than could be shortened at the briefest notice.He had not been called a moment too soon. A flash lit the black sky; apeal of thunder rattled like artillery far off; and then a squall struckthe grab with terrific force, and the sea, suddenly lashed into fury,advanced like a cluster of green liquid mountains to overwhelm thevessel. She heeled bulwarks under, and was instantly wrapped in a densemist, rain pouring in blinding sheets. The main topsail was blown awaywith a report like a gun shot; and then, under a reefed foresail, thegrab ran before the wind, which was apparently blowing from thesoutheast.
Furious seas broke over the deck; the wind bellowed through the rigging;the vessel staggered and plunged under the shocks of sea and wind. FuzlKhan clung to the helm with all his strength, but his arms were almosttorn from their sockets, and he called aloud for Desmond to come to hisassistance.
It was fortunate that little was required of the crew, for in a fewminutes all of them save the four Marathas from the gallivat wereprostrated with seasickness. The Babu had run below, and occasionally,between two gusts, Desmond could hear the shrieks and groans of theterrified man. But he had no time to sympathize; his whole energies werebent on preventing the grab from being pooped. He felt no alarm; indeed,the storm exhilarated him; danger is bracing to a courageous spirit, andhis blood leaped to this contest with the elements. He thrilled with asense of personal triumph as he realized that the grab was a magnificentsea boat. There was no fear but that the hull would stand the strain;Desmond knew the pains that had been expended in her building: thecareful selection of the timbers, the niceness with which the planks hadbeen fitted. No European vessel could have proved her superior inseaworthiness.
But she was fast drifting out into the Indian Ocean, far away from thehaven Desmond desired to make. How long was this going to last? Whitherwas he being carried? Without chart or compass he could take no bearings,set no true course. It was a dismal prospect, and Desmond, glowing as hewas with the excitement of the fight, yet felt some anxiety. Luckily,besides the provisions brought in their bundles by the fugitives, therewas a fair supply of food and water on board; for although every portablearticle of value had been taken on shore when the grab anchored inGheria, it had not been thought necessary to remove the bulkier articles.Thus, if at the worst the vessel were driven far out to sea, there was nodanger of starvation, even if she could not make port for several days.
But Desmond hoped that things would not
come to this pass. Towardsnightfall, surely, the squall would blow itself out. Yet the windappeared to be gaining rather than losing strength; hour after hourpassed, and he still could not venture to quit the wheel. He was drenchedthrough and through with the rain; his muscles ached with the stress; andhe could barely manage to eat the food and water brought him staggeringlyby the serang in the intervals of the wilder gusts.
The storm had lasted for nearly ten hours before it showed signs ofabatement. Another two hours passed before it was safe to leave the helm.The wind had by this time fallen to a steady breeze; the rain had ceased;the sky was clear and starlit; but the sea was still running high. Atlength the serang offered to steer while the others got a little rest;and intrusting the wheel to him Desmond and Fuzl Khan threw themselvesdown as they were, on the deck near the wheel, and were soon fast asleep.
At dawn Desmond awoke to find the grab laboring in a heavy sea, with juststeering way on. The wind had dropped to a light breeze. The Gujarati wassoon up and relieved the serang at the wheel; the rest of the crew,haggard melancholy objects, were set to work to make things shipshape.Only the Babu remained below; he lay huddled in the cabin, bruised,prostrate, unable to realize that the bitterness of death was past,unable to believe that life had any further interest for him.
Desmond's position was perplexing. Where was he? Perforce he had lost hisbearings. He scanned the whole circumference of the horizon, and sawnothing but the vast dark ocean plain and its immense blue dome--never ayard of land, never a stitch of canvas. He had no means of ascertaininghis latitude. During the twelve hours of the storm the grab had beendriven at a furious rate; if the wind had blown all the time from thesoutheast, the quarter from which it had struck the vessel, she must nowbe at least fifty miles from the coast, possibly more, and north ofBombay. In the inky blackness of the night, amid the blinding rain, ithad been impossible to read anything from the stars. All was uncertain,save the golden sheen of sunlight in the east.
Desmond's only course was to put the vessel about and steer by the sun.She must thus come sooner or later in sight of the coast, and then one orthe other of the men on board might recognize a landmark--a hill, apromontory, a town. The danger was that they might make the coast in theneighborhood of one of the Pirate's strongholds; but that must be risked.
For the rest of the day there were light variable winds, such as,according to Fuzl Khan, might be expected at that season of the year. Thenortheast monsoon was already overdue. Its coming was usually heralded byfitful and uncertain winds, varied by such squalls or storms as they hadjust experienced.
The sea moderated early in the morning, and became continually smootheruntil, as the sun went down, there was scarce a ripple on the surface.The wind meanwhile had gradually veered to the southwest, and later tothe west, and the grab began to make more headway. But with the fall ofnight it dropped to a dead calm, a circumstance from which the Gujaratiinferred that they were still a long way from the coast. When the starsappeared, however, and Desmond was able to get a better idea of thecourse to set, a slight breeze sprang up again from the west, and thegrab crept along at a speed of perhaps four knots.
It had been a lazy day on board. The crew had recovered from theirsickness, but there was nothing for them to do, and as orientals theywere quite content to do nothing. Only the Babu remained off duty, inaddition to the watch below. Desmond visited him, and persuaded him totake some food; but nothing would induce him to come on deck; the meresight of the sea, he said, would externalize his interior.
It was Desmond's trick at the wheel between eight and midnight. GulamAbdullah was on the lookout; the rest of the crew were forward squattingon the deck in a circle around Fuzl Khan. Desmond, thinking of otherthings, heard dully, as from a great distance, the drone of theGujarati's voice. He was talking more freely and continuously than wasusual with him; ordinarily his manner was morose; he was a man of fewwords, and those not too carefully chosen. So prolonged was themonotonous murmur, however, that Desmond by and by found himselfwondering what was the subject of his lengthy discourse; he even strainedhis ears to catch, if it might be, some fragments of it; but nothing cameinto distinctness out of the low-pitched tone.
Occasionally it was broken by the voice of one of the others; now andagain there was a brief interval of silence; then the Gujarati beganagain. Desmond's thoughts were once more diverted to his own strangefate. Little more than a year before, he had been a boy, with no moreexperience than was to be gained within the narrow circuit of a countryfarm. What a gamut of adventure he had run through since then! He smiledas he thought that none of the folks at Market Drayton would recognize,in the muscular, strapping, suntanned seaman, the slim boy of WilcoteGrange. His imagination had woven many a chain of incident, and set himin many a strange place; but never had it presented a picture of himselfin command of as mixed a crew as was ever thrown together, navigatingunknown waters without chart or compass, a fugitive from the chains of anEastern despot.
His quick fancy was busy even now. He felt that it was not for nothing hehad been brought into his present plight; and at the back of his mind wasthe belief, founded on his strong wish and hope, that the magnetism ofClive's personality, which he had felt so strongly at Market Drayton, wasstill influencing his career.
At midnight Fuzl Khan relieved him at the wheel, and he turned in. Hissleep was troubled. It was a warm night--unusually warm for the time ofyear. There were swarms of cockroaches and rats on board; the cockroacheshuge beasts, three times the size of those that overran the kitchen athome; the rats seeming as large as the rabbits he had been wont to shooton the farm. They scurried about with their little restless noises, whichusually would have had no power to break his sleep; but now they worriedhim. He scared them into silence for a moment by striking upon the floor;but the rustle and clipper clapper immediately began again.
After vain efforts to regain his sleep, he at length rose and went ondeck. He did not move with intentional quietness, but he was barefoot,and his steps made no sound. It was a black night, a warm haze almostshutting out the stars. As he reached the deck he heard low murmurs froma point somewhere aft. He had no idea what the time was: Shaik Mahomethad the water clock, with which he timed the watches; and Desmond's couldnot yet be due. Avoiding the spot where the conversation was in progress,he leaned over the bulwarks, and gazed idly at the phosphorescent glowupon the water.
Then he suddenly became aware that the sounds of talking came from nearthe wheel, and Fuzl Khan was among the talkers. What made the man souncommonly talkative? Seemingly he was taking up the thread where it hadbeen dropped earlier in the night; what was it about?
Desmond asked himself the question without much interest, and was againallowing his thoughts to rove when he caught the word "sahib," and thenthe word "Firangi" somewhat loudly spoken. Immediately afterwards therewas a low hiss from the Gujarati, as of one warning another to speaklower. The experiences of the past year had quickened Desmond's wits;with reason he had become more suspicious than of yore, and the necessityto be constantly on his guard had made him alert, alive to the leastsuggestion.
Why had the speaker been hushed--and by Fuzl Khan? He remembered the uglyrumors--the veiled hints he had heard about the man in Gheria. If theywere true, he had sold his comrades who trusted him. They might not betrue; the man himself had always indignantly denied them. Desmond hadnothing against him. So far he had acted loyally enough; but then he hadnothing to gain by playing his fellow fugitives false, and it was withthis knowledge that Desmond had decided to make him privy to the escape.
But now they were clear of Gheria. Fuzl Khan was free like the rest; hehad no longer the same inducement to play straight if his interest seemedto him to clash with the general. Yet it was not easy to see how such aclashing could occur. Like the others he was lost at sea; until land wasreached, at any rate, he could have no motive for opposition or mutiny.
While these, thoughts were passing through Desmond's mind he heard a manrise from the gr
oup aft and come forward. Instinctively he moved from theside of the vessel towards the mainmast, and as the man drew near Desmondstood so that the stout tree trunk was between them. The man went rapidlytowards the bows, and in a low tone hailed the lookout, whispering him asummons to join the Gujarati at the helm. The lookout, one of theMarathas, left his post; he came aft with the messenger, and both passingon the same side of the vessel, Desmond by dodging round the mast escapedtheir notice.
At the best, the action of Fuzl Khan was a dereliction of duty; at theworst!--Desmond could not put his suspicions into words. It was clearthat something was afoot, and he resolved to find out what it was. Verycautiously he followed the two men. Bending low, and keeping under theshadow of the bulwarks, he crept to within a few feet of the almostinvisible group. A friendly coil of rope near the taffrail gave himadditional cover; but the night was so dark that he ran little risk ofbeing perceived so long as the men remained stationary. He himself couldbarely see the tall form of the Gujarati dimly outlined against the sky.