Desmond was still speculating on the point when another shot from the fort aroused him to the imminent danger. The dark shapes of the two vessels must now certainly be visible from the walls. The shot flew wide.

Although the grab was well within range it was doubtless difficult to take aim, the distance being deceptive and the sights useless in the dark. But this shot was followed at intervals of a few seconds by another and another; it was clear that the fugitives were running the gauntlet of the whole armament on this side of the fort. The guns were being fired as fast as they could be loaded; the gunners were becoming accustomed to the darkness, and when Desmond heard the shots plumping into the water, nearer to him, it seemed, every time, he could not but recognize that success or failure hung upon a hair.

Crash! A round shot struck the grab within a few feet of the wheel. A shower of splinters flew in all directions. Desmond felt a stinging blow on the forehead; he put up his hand; when he took it away it was wet. He could not leave the wheel to see what damage had been done to the ship, still less to examine his own injury.

He was alone on board. Every other man was straining at his oar in the gallivat. He felt the blood trickling down his face; from time to time he wiped it away with the loose end of his dhoti. Then he forgot his wound, for two more shots within a few seconds of each other struck the grab forward. Clearly the gunners were aiming at his vessel, which, being larger than the gallivat, and higher in the water, presented an easier mark. Where had she been hit? If below the waterline, before many minutes were past she would be sinking under him.

Yet he could do nothing. He dared not order the men in the gallivat to cease rowing; he dared not leave the helm of the grab; he could but wait and hold his post. It would not be long before he knew whether the vessel had been seriously hit: if it was so, then would be the time to cast off the tow rope.

The gallivat, at any rate, appeared not to have suffered. Desmond was beginning to think he was out of the wood when he heard a crash in front, followed by a still more ominous sound. The motion of the gallivat at once ceased, and, the grab slowly creeping up to her, Desmond had to put his helm hard up to avoid a collision. He could hear the Gujarati raging and storming on deck, and cries as of men in pain; then, as the grab came abreast of the smaller vessel, he became aware of what had happened. The mainmast of the gallivat had been struck by a shot and had gone by the board.

Desmond hailed the Gujarati and told him to get three or four men to cut away the wreckage.

"Keep an eye on the prisoners," he added, feeling that this was perhaps the most serious element in a serious situation; for with round shot flying about the vessel it might well have seemed to the unhappy men on the rowing benches that mutiny was the lesser of two risks. But the rowers were cowed by the presence of the two Biluchis armed with their terrible knives, and they crowded in dumb helplessness while the tangled rigging was cut away.

"Is any one hurt?" asked Desmond.

"One of the rowers has a broken arm, sahib," replied Shaik Abdullah.

"And I have a contusion of the nose," said the Babu lugubriously.

It was impossible to do anything for the sufferers at the moment. It was still touch-and-go with the whole party. The shots from the fort were now beginning to fall short, but, for all Desmond knew, boats might have been launched in pursuit, and if he was overtaken it meant lingering torture and a fearful death. He was in a fever of impatience until at length, the tangled shrouds having been cut away, the rowing was resumed and the two vessels began again to creep slowly seaward.

Gradually they drew out of range of the guns. Steering straight out to sea, Desmond had a clear view of the whole of the harbor and a long stretch of the river. The scene was brightly lit up, and he saw that two of the gallivats had been towed away from the burning vessels, from which the flames were now shooting high into the air. But even on the two that had been cut loose there were spurts of flame; and Desmond hoped that they had sustained enough damage to make them unseaworthy.

Suddenly there were two loud explosions, in quick succession. A column of fire rose toward the sky from the gallivats that were blazing most brightly. The fire had at length reached the ammunition. The red sparks sprang upwards like a fountain, casting a ruddy glow for many yards around; then they fell back into the sea, and all was darkness, except for the lesser lights from the burning vessels whose magazines had as yet escaped. The explosions could hardly have occurred at a more opportune moment, for the darkness was now all the more intense, and favored the fugitives.

There was a brisk breeze from the southwest outside the harbor, and when the two vessels lost the shelter of the headland they crept along even more slowly than before. Desmond had learned enough of seamanship on board the Good Intent to know that he must have sea room before he cast off the gallivat and made sail northwards; otherwise he would inevitably be driven on shore. It was this fact that had prompted his operations in the harbor. He knew that the grabs could not put to sea unless they were towed, and the gallivats being rendered useless, towing was impossible.

The sea was choppy, and the rowers had much ado to control the sweeps.

Only their dread of the Biluchis' knives kept them at their work. But the progress, though slow, was steady; gradually the glow in the sky behind the headland grew dimmer; though it was as yet impossible to judge with certainty how much offing had been made. Desmond, resolving to give away no chances, and being unacquainted with the trend of the coast, kept the rowers at work, with short intervals of rest, until dawn. By this means he hoped to avoid all risk of being driven on a lee shore, and to throw Angria off the scent, for it would naturally be supposed that the fugitives would head at once for Bombay, and pursuit, if attempted, would be made in that direction.

When day broke over the hills, Desmond guessed that the coast must be now five miles off. As far as he could see, it ran north by east. He had now plenty of sea room; there was no pursuer in sight; the wind was in his favor, and if it held, no vessel in Angria's harbor could now catch him.

He called to the Gujarati, who shouted an order to the Biluchis; the worn-out men on the benches ceased rowing, except four who pulled a few strokes every now and then to prevent the two vessels from colliding.

Desmond had thought at first of stopping the rowing altogether and running the grab alongside the gallivat; but that course, while safe enough in the still water of the harbor, would have its dangers in the open sea. So, lashing the helm of the grab, he dropped into a small boat which had been bumping throughout the night against the vessel's side, and in a few minutes was on board the gallivat.

He first inquired after the men who had been wounded in the night. One had a broken arm, which no one on board knew how to set. The Babu had certainly a much discolored nose, the contusion having been caused no doubt by a splinter of wood thrown up by the shot. Two or three of the rowers had slight bruises and abrasions, but none had been killed and none dangerously hurt.

Then Desmond had a short and earnest talk with the Gujarati, who alone of the men had sufficient seamanship to make him of any value in deciding upon the next move.

"What is to be done with the gallivat?" asked Desmond.

"Scuttle her, sahib, and hoist sail on the grab."

"But the rowers?"

"Fasten them to the benches and let them drown. They could not help our enemies then, and it would make up for what you and I and all of us have suffered in Gheria."

"No, I can't do that," said Desmond.

"It must be as I say, sahib. There is nothing else to do. We have killed no one yet, except the sentinel on the parapet; I did that neatly, the sahib will agree; I would have a life for every lash of the whip upon my back."

"No," said Desmond decisively, "I shall not drown the men. We will take on board the grab three or four, who must be sailors; let us ask who will volunteer. We will promise them good pay; we haven't any money, to be sure, but the grab can be sold when we reach Bombay, and though we stole her I think everybody would admit that she is our lawful prize. I should think they'll be ready enough to volunteer, for they won't care to return to Gheria and face Angria's rage. At the same time we can't take more than three or four, because in the daylight they can now see how few we are, and they might take a fancy to recapture the grab. What do you think of that plan?"

The Gujarati sullenly assented. He did not understand mercy to an enemy.

"There is no need to pay them, sahib," he said. "You can promise pay; a promise is enough."

Desmond was unwilling to start an argument and said nothing. Once in Bombay he could insure that any pledges given would be strictly kept.

As he expected, there was no difficulty in obtaining volunteers. Twice the number required offered their services. They had not found their work with the Pirate so easy or so well rewarded as to have any great objection to a change of masters. Moreover, they no doubt feared the reception they would get from Angria if they returned. And it appeared afterwards that during the night the Biluchis had recounted many fabulous incidents, all tending to show that the sahib was a very important as well as a very ingenious Firangi, so that this reputation, coupled with an offer of good pay, overcame any scruples the men might retain.

Among those who volunteered and whose services were accepted was the serang of Angria's gallivat. Unknown to Desmond, while he was holding this conversation with the Gujarati, the serang, crouching in apparent apathy on his bench, had really strained his ears to catch what was being said. He, with the three other men selected, was released from his bonds, and ordered to lower the longboat of the gallivat and stow in it all the ammunition for the guns that was to be found in the ship's magazine. This was then taken on board the grab, and Desmond ordered one of the Mysoreans to load the grab's stern chasers, telling the Marathas whom he intended to leave on the gallivat that, at the first sign of any attempt to pursue, their vessel would be sunk.

Then in two parties the fugitives went on board the grab. Desmond was the last to leave the gallivat, releasing one of the captive rowers, who in his turn could release the rest.

As soon as Desmond stepped on board the grab, the hawser connecting the two vessels was cast off, the mainsail was run up, and the grab, sailing large, stood up the coast. Fuzl Khan, swarming up to the masthead, reported two or three sail far behind, apparently at the mouth of Gheria harbor. But Desmond, knowing that if they were in pursuit they had a long beat to windward before them, felt no anxiety on that score. Besides, the grab he was on had been selected precisely because it was the fastest vessel in Angria's fleet.

Having got fairly under way, he felt that he had leisure to inspect the damage done to the grab by the shots from the fort which had given him so much concern in the darkness. That she had suffered no serious injury was clear from the ease with which she answered the helm and the rapidity of her sailing. He found that a hole or two had been made in the forepart of the deck, and a couple of yards of the bulwarks carried away. There was nothing to cause alarm or to demand repair.

It was a bright cool morning, and Desmond, after the excitements and the strain of the last few days, felt an extraordinary lightness of spirit as the vessel cut through the water. For the first time in his life he knew the meaning of the word freedom; none but a man who has suffered captivity or duress can know such joy as now filled his soul. The long stress of his menial life on board the Good Intent, the weary months of toil, difficulty and danger as Angria's prisoner, were past; and it was with whole-hearted joyousness he realized that he was now on his way to Bombay, where Clive was--Clive, the hero who was as a fixed star in his mental firmament.

The gallivat, lying all but motionless on the water, a forlorn object with the jagged stump of her mainmast, grew smaller and smaller in the distance, and was soon hull down. Desmond, turning away from a last look in her direction, awoke from his reverie to the consciousness that he was ravenously hungry.

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 to speak, 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 spanking rate.

He had closely studied the chart on board the Good Intent when that vessel was approaching the Indian coast--not with any fixed purpose, but in the curiosity which invested all things Indian with interest for him.

From his recollection he believed that Gheria was somewhat more than a hundred miles from Bombay. If the grab continued to make such good sailing she might hope to cover this distance by midnight. But she could hardly run into harbor until the following day. There was, of course, no chart, not even a compass, on board; the only apparatus he possessed was a water clock; naturally he could not venture 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 untaught keel. Besides, he might be sighted from one or other of the coast strongholds still remaining in Angria's hands, and it was not impossible that swift messengers had already been sent along the shore from Gheria, prescribing a keen lookout and the chase of any solitary grab making northward.

But if he kept too far out he might run past Bombay, though when he mentioned this to his fellow fugitives he was assured by the Biluchis and Fuzl Khan that they would unfailingly recognize the landmarks, having more than once in the course of their trading and pirate voyages touched at that port.

On the whole he thought it best to keep the largest possible offing that would still leave the coast within sight. Putting the helm down he ran out some eight or ten miles, until the coast was visible only from the masthead as a purple line on the horizon, with occasional glimpses of high ghats {mountains} behind.

Meanwhile the Gujarati and some of the others had breakfasted from their bundles. Leaving the former in charge of the wheel, Desmond took his well-earned meal of rice and chapatis, stale, but sweet with the sweetness of freedom.

In his ignorance of the coast he felt that he must not venture to run into Bombay in the darkness, and resolved to heave-to during the night.

At the dawn he would creep in towards the shore without anxiety, for there was little chance of falling in with hostile vessels in the immediate neighborhood of Bombay. Knowing that a considerable British fleet lay there, the Pirate would not allow his vessels to cruise far from his own strongholds. But as there was a prospect of spending at least one night at sea, it was necessary to establish some system of watches. The task of steering had to be shared between Desmond and Fuzl Khan; and the majority of the men being wholly inexperienced, it was not safe to leave fewer than six of them on duty at a time. The only danger likely to arise was from the weather. So far it was good; the sea was calm, 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 without warning, be struck by a squall. He had to consider how best to divide up his crew.

Including himself there were eleven men on board. Four of them were strangers of whom he knew nothing; the six who had escaped with him were known only as fellow prisoners.

To minimize any risk, he divided the crew into three watches. One consisted of the Babu, the serang, and one of the Marathas from the gallivat. Each of the others comprised a Mysorean, a Biluchi, and a Maratha. Thus the strangers were separated as much as possible, and the number of Marathas on duty was never in excess of the number of fugitives; 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 of eight hours on and four off. The two matchlocks taken from the sentinels of the fort 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.