"Yes, sir. I've been a prisoner there for six months and more, and we got off a few nights ago in the darkness."

"H'm! Any more Irishmen aboard?"

"Not that I'm aware of, sir."

"And you got away from Gheria, did you? You're the first that ever I heard did so. Nothing to do with Commodore James, eh?"

"No, sir. I don't know what you mean."

"Why, Commodore James started t'other day to take a good sea-look at Gheria. There's an expedition getting ready to draw that rascally Pirate's teeth. You saw nothing of the squadron? No nonsense, now."

"Not a thing, sir. We were blown out to sea, and I suppose the commodore passed us in the night."

"H'm! Very likely. And you weathered that storm, did you? Learned your seamanship, eh?"

"Picked up a little on board the Good Intent, sir. I was ship's boy aboard."

"Mighty queer ship's boy!" said Mr. Johnson in an audible aside. "The Good Intent's a villainous interloper; how came you aboard of her?"

"I was in a sense tricked into it, sir, and when we got to Gheria Captain Barker and Mr. Diggle, the supercargo, sold me to Angria."

"Sold you to the Pirate?"

"Yes, sir."

"And where do you hail from, then?"

"Shropshire, sir; my father was Captain Richard Burke in the Company's service."

"Jupiter! You're Dick Burke's son! Gad, sir, give me your hand; I knew Dick Burke; many's the sneaker of Bombay punch we've tossed off together.

No nonsense about Dick; give me your fist.

"And so you sneaked out of Gheria and sailed this grab, eh? Well, you're a chip of the old block, and a credit to your old dad. I want to hear all about this. And you'll have to come ashore and see the governor."

"It's very kind of you, Mr. Johnson, but really I can't appear before the governor in this rig."

He glanced ruefully at his bare legs and feet and tattered garments.

"True, you en't very shipshape, but we'll soon alter that. Ever use a razor?"

"Not yet, sir," replied Desmond with a smile.

"Thought not. Plenty of native barbers. You must get shaved. And I'll rig you up in a suit of some sort. You must see the governor at once, and no nonsense."

"What about the grab, sir?"

"Leave that to me. You've got a pretty mixed crew, I see. All escaped prisoners, too?"

"All but four."

"And not one of 'em to be trusted, I'll swear. Well, I'll put a crew aboard to take charge. Come along; there's no time to lose. Colonel Clive goes to bed early."

"Colonel Clive! Is he here?"

"Yes; arrived from home two days ago. Ah! that reminds me; you're a Shropshire lad; so's he; do you know him?"

"No, sir; I've seen him; I--I--"

Desmond stammered, remembering his unfortunate encounter with Clive in Billiter Street.

"Well, well," said the harbor master, with a quizzical look; "you'll see him again. Come along."

Desmond accompanied Mr. Johnson on shore. A crowd had gathered. There were Sepoys in turban, cabay {cloak}, and baggy drawers; bearded Arabs; Parsis in their square caps; and a various assortment of habitues of the shore--crimps, landsharks, badmashes {bad characters}, bunder {port} gangs. Seeing Desmond hold his nose at the all-prevailing stench of fish, Mr. Johnson laughed.

"You'll soon get used to that," he said. "'Tis all fish oil and bummaloes {small fish the size of smelt, known when dried as 'Bombay duck'} in Bombay."

Having sent a trustworthy crew on board the Tremukji, the harbor master led Desmond to his house near the docks. Here, while a native barber plied his dexterous razor on Desmond's cheeks and chin, Mr. Johnson searched through a miscellaneous hoard of clothes in one of his capacious presses for an outfit. He found garments that proved a reasonable fit, and Desmond, while dressing, gave a rapid sketch of his adventures since he left the prison shed in Gheria.

"My wigs, but you've had a time of it. Mutiny and all! Dash my buttons, here's a tale for the ladies! Let me look at you. Yes, you'll do now, and faith you're a pretty fellow. And Dick Burke's son! You've got his nose to a T; no nonsense about that. Now you're ready to make your bow to Mr.

Bourchier. He's been a coursing match with Colonel Clive and Mr. Watson {it was customary to use the title Mr. in speaking to or of both naval and military officers} up Malabar Hill, and we'll catch him before he sits down to supper.

"How do you feel inside, by the way? Ready for a decent meal after the Pirate's pig's wash, eh?"

"I'm quite comfortable inside," said Desmond, smiling, "but, to tell you the truth, Mr. Johnson, I feel mighty uneasy outside. After six months of the dhoti these breeches and things seem just like bandages."

"It en't the first time you've been swaddled, if you had a mother. Well now, if you're ready. What! That rascal gashed you! Tuts! 'tis a scratch.

Can't wait to doctor that. Come on."

The two made their way into the fort inclosure, and walked rapidly to the Government House in the center. In answer to Mr. Johnson the darwan {doorkeeper} at the door said that the governor would not return that night. After the coursing match he was giving a supper party at his country house at Parell.

"That's a nuisance. But we can't have any nonsense. The governor's a bit of an autocrat; too much starch in his shirt, I say; but we'll go out to Parell and beard him, by Jove! 'Tis only five miles out, and we'll drive there in under an hour."

Turning away he hurried out past the tank house on to the Green, and by good luck found an empty shigram {carriage like a palanquin on wheels} waiting to be hired. Desmond mounted the vehicle with no little curiosity. These great beasts with their strange humps would surely not cover five miles in less than an hour. But he was undeceived when they started. The two sturdy oxen trotted along at a good pace in obedience to the driver's goad, and the shigram rattled across Bombay Green, past the church and the whitewashed houses of the English merchants, their oyster-shell windows already lit up; and in some forty-five minutes entered a long avenue leading to Mr. Bourchier's country house. Twice during the course of the journey Desmond was interested to see the shigramwallah {wallah is a personal affix, denoting a close connection between the person and the thing described by the main word.

Shigramwallah thus is carriage driver} pull his team up, dismount, and, going to their heads, insert his hand in their mouths.

"What does he do that for?" he asked.

"To clear their throats, to be sure. When the beasts go at this pace they make a terrible lot of foam, and if he didn't swab it out they'd choke, and no nonsense.

"Well, here we are. Dash my wig, won't his Excellency open his eyes!"

Since their departure from the fort the sky had become quite dark. At the end of the avenue they could see the lights of Governor Bourchier's bungalow, and by and by caught sight of figures sitting on the veranda.

Desmond's heart beat high; he made no doubt that one of them was Clive; the moment to which he had looked forward so eagerly was at last at hand.

He was in no dream land; but his dream had come true. He felt a little nervous at the prospect of meeting men so famous, so immeasurably above him, as Clive and Admiral Watson; but with Clive he felt a bond of union in his birthplace, and it was with recovered confidence that he sprang out of the cart and accompanied Mr. Johnson to the bungalow. He was further reassured by a jolly laugh that rang out just as he reached the steps leading up to the veranda.

"Hullo, Johnson," said a voice, "what does this mean?"

"I've come to see the governor, Captain."