CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH
*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,and the grab was soon cutting her way through the water at a spankingrate. He had closely studied the chart on board the _Good Intent_ whenthat vessel was approaching the Indian coast--not with any fixedpurpose, but in the curiosity which invested all things Indian withinterest for him. From his recollection he believed that Gheria wassomewhat more than a hundred miles from Bombay. If the grab continuedto make such good sailing, she might hope to cover this distance bymidnight. But she could hardly run into harbour until the followingday. There was of course no chart, not even a compass, on board; theonly apparatus he possessed was a water-clock; naturally he could notventure far out to sea, but neither dared he hug the shore too closely.He knew not what reefs there might be lying in wait for his untaughtkeel. Besides, he might be sighted from one or other of the coaststrongholds still remaining in Angria's hands, and it was not impossiblethat swift messengers had already been sent along the shore from Gheria,prescribing a keen look-out and the chase of any solitary grab makingnorthward. But if he kept too far out he might run past Bombay, thoughwhen he mentioned this to his fellow-fugitives he was assured by theBiluchis and Fuzl Khan that they would unfailingly recognize thelandmarks, having more than once in the course of their trading andpirate voyages touched at 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 themast-head as a purple line on the horizon, with occasional glimpses ofhigh ghats[#] behind.
[#] Mountains.
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 could creep in towards the shore without anxiety, forthere was little chance of falling in with hostile vessels in theimmediate neighbourhood 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 knowthat, being near the coast, the grab might at any moment, almost withoutwarning, be struck by a squall. He had to consider how best to divideup his 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.Desmond arranged that he and Fuzl Khan should take alternate periods ofeight hours on and four off. The two matchlocks taken from thesentinels of the fort and brought on board were loaded and placed ondeck near the wheel. None of the crew were armed save the Biluchis, whoretained their knives.
Towards midday the wind dropped almost to a dead calm. This wasdisappointing, for Desmond suspected that he was still within the areaof Angria's piratical operations--if not from Gheria, at any rate fromsome of the more northerly strongholds not yet captured by the EastIndia Company or the Peshwa. But he had a good offing: scanning thehorizon all around he failed to sight a single sail; and he hoped thatthe breeze would 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 strainhe had undergone. By midday he was so tired and sleepy that he foundhimself beginning to doze at the wheel. The Gujarati had been sleepingfor some hours, and as the vessel now required scarcely any attention,Desmond thought it a good opportunity for snatching a rest. Calling toFuzl Khan to take his place, and bidding him keep the vessel's head, asfar as he could, due north, he went below. About six bells, as timewould have been reckoned on the _Good Intent_, he was wakened by theBabu, with a message from 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 beganmy watch."
Desmond had hardly stepped on deck before he understood the reason ofthe summons. Overhead all was clear; but towards the land a dense bankof black cloud was rising, and approaching the vessel with greatrapidity. It was as though some vast blanket were being thrown seawards.The air was oppressively hot, and the sea lay like lead. Desmond knewthe signs; the Gujarati knew them too; and they set to work with a willto meet the storm.
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 maintopsail 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 thesouth-east. Furious seas broke over the deck; the wind shrieked throughthe rigging; the vessel staggered and plunged under the shocks of seaand wind. Fuzl Khan clung to the helm with all his strength, but hisarms were almost torn from their sockets, and he called aloud forDesmond to come to his assistance.
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 sea-sickness. 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 energieswere bent on preventing the grab from being pooped. He felt no alarm;indeed, the storm exhilarated him; danger is bracing to a courageousspirit, and his blood leapt to this contest with the elements. Hethrilled with a sense of personal triumph as he realized that the grabwas a magnificent sea-boat. There was no fear but that the hull wouldstand the strain; Desmond knew the pains that had been expended in herbuilding: the careful selection of the timbers, the niceness with whichthe planks had been fitted. No European vessel could have proved hersuperior in seaworthiness.
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?Whither was he being carried? Without chart or compass he could take nobearings, set no true course. It was a dismal prospect, and Desmond,glowing as he was with the excitement of the fight, yet felt someanxiety. Luckily, besides the provisions brought in their bundles bythe fugitives, there was a fair supply of food and water on board; foralthough every portable article of value had been taken on shore whenthe grab anchored in Gheria, it had not been thought necessary to removethe bulkier articles. Thus, if at the worst the vessel were driven farout to sea, there was no danger of starvation even if she could not makeport for several day
s.
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 wasdrenched through and through with the rain; his muscles ached with thestress; and he could barely manage to eat the food and water brought himstaggeringly by 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 thehelm. The wind had by this time fallen to a steady breeze; the rain hadceased; the sky was clear and starlit; but the sea was still runninghigh. At length the serang offered to steer while the others got alittle rest; and entrusting the wheel to him, Desmond and Fuzl Khanthrew themselves down as they were, on the deck near the wheel, and weresoon fast asleep.
At dawn Desmond awoke to find the grab labouring in a heavy sea, withjust steering-way on. The wind had dropped to a light breeze. TheGujarati was soon up and relieved the serang at the wheel; the rest ofthe crew, haggard, melancholy objects, were set to work to make thingsship-shape. Only the Babu remained below; he lay huddled in the cabin,bruised, prostrate, unable to realize that the bitterness of death waspast, unable to believe that life had any further interest for him.
Desmond's position was perplexing. Where was he? Perforce he had losthis bearings. He scanned the whole circumference of the horizon, andsaw nothing but the vast dark ocean plain and its immense bluedome--never a yard of land, never a stitch of canvas. He had no meansof ascertaining his latitude. During the twelve hours of the storm thegrab had been driven at a furious rate; if the wind had blown all thetime from the south-east, the quarter from which it had struck thevessel, she must now be at least fifty miles from the coast, possiblymore, and north of Bombay. In the inky blackness of the night, amid theblinding rain, it had 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 oneor other of the men on board might recognize a landmark--a hill, apromontory, a town. The danger was that they might make the coast inthe neighbourhood of one of the Pirate's strongholds; but that must berisked.
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.The north-east monsoon was already overdue. Its coming was usuallyheralded by fitful and uncertain winds, varied by such squalls or stormsas they had just 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 south-west, 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. GulamMahomed was on the look-out; the rest of the crew were forward squattingon the deck in a circle round 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 evenstrained his ears to catch, if it might be, some fragments of it; butnothing came into distinctness out of the low-pitched drone.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! Hesmiled as he thought that none of the folks at Market Drayton wouldrecognize, in the muscular, strapping, sun-tanned seaman, the slim boyof Wilcote Grange. His imagination had woven many a chain of incident,and set him in many a strange place; but never had it presented apicture of himself in command of as mixed a crew as was ever throwntogether, navigating unknown waters without chart or compass, a fugitivefrom the chains of an Eastern despot. His quick fancy was busy evennow. He felt that it was not for nothing he had been brought into hispresent plight; and at the back of his mind was the belief, founded onhis strong wish and hope, that the magnetism of Clive's personality,which he had felt so strongly at Market Drayton, was still influencinghis 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; thecockroaches huge beasts, three times the size of those that overran thekitchen at home; the rats seeming as large as the rabbits he had beenwont to shoot on the farm. They scurried about with their littlerestless noises, which usually would have had no power to break hissleep; but now they worried him. He scared them into silence for amoment by striking upon the floor; but the rustle and clipper-clapperimmediately 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 murmursfrom a point somewhere aft. He had no idea what the time was: ShaikAbdullah had the water-clock, with which he timed the watches; andDesmond's could not yet be due. Avoiding the spot where theconversation was in progress, he leant over the bulwarks, and gazed idlyat the phosphorescent glow upon the water. Then he suddenly becameaware that the sounds of talking came from near the wheel, and Fuzl Khanwas among the talkers. What made the man so uncommonly talkative?Seemingly he was taking up the thread where it had been dropped earlierin 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 thenecessity to be constantly on his guard had made him alert, alive to theleast suggestion. Why had the speaker been hushed--and by Fuzl Khan?He remembered the ugly rumours, the veiled hints he had heard about theman in Gheria. If they were true, he had sold his comrades who trustedhim. They might not be true; the man himself had always indignantlydenied them. Desmond had nothing against him. So far he had actedloyally enough; but then he had nothing to gain by playing hisfellow-fugitives false, and it was with this knowledge that Desmond haddecided to make him privy to the escape. But now they were clear ofGheria. Fuzl Khan was free like the rest; he had no longer the sameinducement to play straight if his interest seemed to him to clash withthe general. Yet it was not easy to see how such a clashing couldoccur. Like the others he was lost at sea; until land was reached, atany 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 g
roup aft and come forward. Instinctively he moved fromthe side of the vessel towards the mainmast, and as the man drew nearDesmond stood so that the stout tree-trunk was between them. The manwent rapidly towards the bows, and in a low tone hailed the look-out,whispering him a summons to join the Gujarati at the helm. Thelook-out, one of the Marathas, left his post; he came aft with themessenger, and, both passing on the same side of the vessel, Desmond bydodging round the mast escaped their 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 himselfcould barely see the tall form of the Gujarati dimly outlined againstthe sky.