Bulger started as if shot. His broad face spelled first blank amazement, then incredulity, then surprised belief. Spreading his legs wide and bending his knees, he rested his hand on one and his hook on the other, shut one eye, and stuck his tongue out at the corner of his mouth.

"By the Dutchman!" he exclaimed, "if it don't beat cock fighting! Sure, 'tis Mr. Burke himself! Anna Maria! But for why did you go for to make yourself sich a Guy Faux guy, sir?"

"How are you, old fellow?" said Desmond heartily. "I am a bit of a scarecrow, no doubt, but we've won the trick, man. The real guy is down below, dead from fright by this time, I expect.

"Sorry to give you the trouble of boarding, sir," he added, as the lieutenant came over the side. "If you'll take me into your boat I'll be glad to report to the admiral or to Colonel Clive."

"By jimmy, Mr. Burke!" said the lieutenant, laughing, "you've got a way of your own of popping up at odd times and in odd places. Come with me, by all means--just as you are, if you please. The admiral wouldn't miss the look of you for anything. By George! 'tis a rare bit of play acting.

Did I hear you say you've got some natives under hatchways?"

"Yes; the owner of this finery is below with two of his men. You can hear him now."

There was a violent and sustained knocking below deck.

"I'll send my man to release him. The fleet are all coming up, sir?"

"Yes; the Bridgewater and Kingfisher are close in our wake. Come along; we'll catch the admiral before he goes ashore."

Chapter 28: In which Captain Barker has cause to rue the day when he met Mr. Diggle; and our hero continues to wipe off old scores.

Desmond received a warm welcome both from Admiral Watson and Colonel Clive. His account of the manner in which he had defeated Manik Chand's scheme for blocking the river was received with shouts of laughter, while his ingenuity and courage were warmly commended by both officers. Indeed, the admiral, always more impulsive than Clive, offered him on the spot a lieutenancy in the fleet, and was not very well pleased when Desmond politely declined the honor. He caught a gleam of approval in Clive's eyes, and later in the day, when he saw his hero alone, he felt well rewarded.

"A naval lieutenant ranks higher than a lieutenant in the army--I suppose you know that, Burke?" said Clive.

"Yes, sir."

"And you're only a cadet. From today you are a lieutenant, my lad. I am pleased with you, and whatever his enemies say of Bob Clive, no one ever said of him that he forgot a friend."

The forces proceeded to Calcutta next day, and retook the town with surprising ease. Manik Chand was so much alarmed by seeing the effect of the big guns of the fleet that he abandoned the place almost without striking a blow, and when the British troops entered they were too late even to make any prisoners save a few of the ragtag and bobtail in the rear.

Mr. Merriman returned to Calcutta a few days later. Desmond was grieved to observe how rapidly he was aging. In spite of Clive's recommendation to keep silence he could not refrain from telling his friend what he had discovered about the missing ladies; and he did not regret it, for the knowledge that they were alive and, when last heard of, out of Peloti's clutches, acted like a tonic. Merriman was all eagerness to set off and search for them himself; but Desmond pointed out the danger of such a course, and he reluctantly agreed to wait a little longer, and see whether any news could be obtained during the operations which Clive was planning against the Nawab.

Meanwhile, Desmond learned from Bulger what had happened to him since the fall of Calcutta. He was one of the hundred and forty-six thrown into the Black Hole.

"'Tis only by the mercy of the Almighty I'm here today," he said solemnly. "I saw what 'twould be as soon as the door of that Black Hole was locked, and me and some others tried to force it. 'Tweren't no good.

Mr. Holwell--he's a brave man, an' no mistake--begged an' prayed of us all to be quiet; but Lor' bless you, he might ha' saved his breath. 'Twas a hot night; we soon began to sweat most horrible an' feel a ragin'

thirst. We took off most of our clothes, an' waved our hats to set the air a-movin'; which 'twas hard enough work, 'cos we was packed so tight.

I en't a-goin' to tell you all the horrors o' that night, sir; I'd like uncommon to forget 'em, though I don't believe I never shall. 'Twas so awful that many a poor wretch begged of the Moors outside to fire on 'em.

Worst was when the old jamadar put skins o' water in at the window. My God! them about me fought like demons, which if I hadn't flattened myself against the wall I should ha' been crushed or trodden to death, like most on 'em. For me, I couldn't get near the water; I sucked my shirt sleeves, an' 'tis my belief 'twas on'y that saved me from goin' mad. A man what was next me took out his knife an' slit a vein, 'cos he couldn't bear the agony no longer. Soon arter, I fell in a dead faint, an' knowed no more till I found myself on my back outside, with a Moor chuckin' water at me.

They let me go, along with some others; and a rotten old hulk I was, there en't no mistake about that. Why, bless you, my skin come out all boils as thick as barnacles on a hull arter a six months' voyage, all 'cos o' being in sich bad air without water. And then the fever came aboard, an' somehow or other I got shipped to the mounseers' hospital at Chandernagore, which they was very kind to me, sir; there en't no denyin'

that. I may be wrong, but I could take my oath, haffidavy, an' solemn will an' testament that a mounseer's got a heart inside of his body arter all, which makes him all the better chap to have a slap at if you come to think of the why an' wherefore of it."

"But how came you on board the Tyger?"

"Well, when my boils was gone an' the fever slung overboard, I got down to Fulta an' held on the slack there; an' when the ships come up, they sent for me, 'cos havin' sailed up an' down the river many a time, they thought as how I could do a bit o' pilotin', there not bein' enough Dutch pilots to go round. An' I ha' had some fun, too, which I wonder I can laugh arter that Black Hole and all. By thunder! 'tis a merry sight to see the Moors run. The very look of a cutlass a'most turns 'un white, and they well-nigh drops down dead if they see a sailor man. Why, t'other day at Budge Budge--they ought to call it Fudge Fudge now, seems to me--the Jack tars went ashore about nightfall to help the lobsters storm the fort in the dark. But Colonel Clive he was dog tired, an' went to his bed, sayin' as how he'd lead a boardin' party in the mornin'. That warn't exactly beans an' bacon; nary a man but would ha' took a big dose o'

fever if they'd laid out on the fields all night.

"Anyways, somewhere about eleven, an' pitch dark, a Jack which his name is Strahan--a Scotchman, by what they say--went off all alone by himself, to have a sort of private peep at that there fort. He was pretty well filled up wi' grog, or pr'aps he wouldn't ha' been quite so venturesome.

Well, he waded up to his chin in a ditch o' mud what goes round the fort, with his pistols above his head. When he gets over, bang goes one pistol, an' he sets up a shout: 'One and all, my boys! one and all, hurray!'--a-dreamin' I s'pose as he was captain of a boardin' party an a crew o' swabs behind him. Up he goes, up the bastion; bang goes t'other pistol; then he outs with his cutlass, a-roarin' hurray with a voice like a twelve pounder; down goes three o' them Moors; another breaks Jack's cutlass with his simitar; bless you, what's he care? don't care a straw, which his name is Strahan; he've got a fist, he have, an' he dashes it in the Moor's face, collars his simitar, cuts his throat and sings out, 'Ho, mateys! this 'ere fort's mine!'

"Up comes three or four of his mates what heard his voice; they swings round the cannon on the bastion an' turns it on the enemy; bang! bang!

and bless your heart, the Moors cut and run, an' the fort was ourn."

At the moment Desmond thought that Bulger was drawing the long bow. But meeting Captain Speke of the Kent a little later, he asked how much truth there was in the story.

"'Tis all true," said the captain, laughing, "but not the whole truth.

The day after Strahan's mad performance the admiral sends for him: discipline must be maintained, you know. 'What's this I hear about you?'

says Mr. Watson, with a face of thunder. Strahan bobbed, and scratched his head, and twirled his hat in his hand, and says: 'Why to be sure, sir, 'twas I took the fort, and I hope there ain't no harm in it!' By George! 'twas as much as the admiral could do to keep a straight face. He got the fellow to tell us about it: we had our faces in our handkerchiefs all the time. Then Mr. Watson gave him a pretty rough wigging, and wound up by saying that he'd consult me as to the number of lashes to be laid on.

"You should have seen the fellow's face! As he went out of the cabin I heard him mutter: 'Well, if I'm to be flogged for this 'ere haction, be hanged if I ever take another fort alone by myself as long as I live!'"

"Surely he wasn't flogged?" said Desmond, laughing heartily.

"Oh, no! Mr. Watson told us as a matter of form to put in a plea for the fellow, and then condescended to let him off. Pity he's such a loose fish!"

For two months Desmond remained with Clive. He was with him at the capture of Hugli, and in that brisk fight at Calcutta on the fifth of February, which gave the Nawab his first taste of British quality.

Sirajuddaula was encamped to the northeast of the town with a huge army.

In a heavy fog, about daybreak, Clive came up at the head of a mixed force of king's troops, sepoys and sailors, some two thousand men in all.

Hordes of Persian cavalry charged him through the mist, but they were beaten off, and Clive forced his way through the enemy's camp until he came near the Nawab's own tents, pitched in Omichand's garden.

Sirajuddaula himself was within an ace of being captured. His troops made but a poor stand against the British, and by midday the battle was over.

Scared by this defeat, the Nawab was ready to conclude with the Company the treaty which long negotiations had failed to effect. By this treaty the trading privileges granted to the Company by the emperor of Delhi were confirmed; the Nawab agreed to pay full compensation for the losses sustained by the Company and its servants; and the right to fortify Calcutta was conceded. The longstanding grievances of the Company were thus, on paper, redressed.

A day or two after the battle a ship arrived with the news that war had been declared in Europe between England and France. Efforts to maintain neutrality between the English and French in Bengal having failed, Clive wished the Nawab to join him in an attack on the French settlements in Bengal. This the Nawab refused to do, though he wrote, promising that he would hold as enemies all who were enemies of Clive--a promise that bore bitter fruit before many months had passed.

The French were keen rivals of the Company in the trade of India, and constantly took advantage of native troubles to score a point in the game. Clive had come to Bengal with the full intention of making the Company, whose servant he was, supreme; and having secured the treaty with Sirajuddaula he resolved to turn his arms against the French. They were suspected of helping the Nawab in his expedition against Calcutta: it was known that the Nawab, treating his engagements with reckless levity and faithlessness, was trying to persuade Bussy, the French commander in the Dekkan, to help him to expel the British from Bengal.

There was excuse enough for an attack on Chandernagore.

But before Clive could open hostilities, he was required, by an old arrangement with the Mogul, to obtain permission from the Nawab. This permission was at length got from him by Omichand. The sack of Calcutta by the Nawab had caused Omichand great loss, and, hoping in part to retrieve it, he made his peace with Clive and the Council, and was then selected to accompany Mr. Watts when he went as British representative to Murshidabad. The wily Sikh, working always for his own ends, contrived to make the unstable young despot believe that the French were tricking him, and in a fit of passion he sealed a letter allowing Admiral Watson to make war upon them. He repented of it immediately, but the letter was gone.

On the day after it reached the admiral, March twelfth, 1757, Clive sent a summons to Monsieur Renault, the governor of Chandernagore, to surrender the fort. No reply was received that day, and Clive resolved, failing a satisfactory answer within twenty-four hours, to read King George's declaration of war and attack the French.

Desmond was breakfasting among a number of his fellow officers next morning when up came Hossain, the serang who had accompanied him on his eventful journeys up and down the Hugli. Lately he had been employed, on Desmond's recommendation, in bringing supplies up the river for the troops. The man salaamed and said that he wished to say a few words privately to the sahib. Desmond rose, and went apart with him.

At sunrise, said the man, a vessel flying Dutch colors had dropped down the river past the English fleet. Her name was Dutch, and her destination Rotterdam; but Hossain was certain that she was really the Good Intent, which Desmond had pointed out to him as they passed Chandernagore, and which they had more than once seen since in the course of their journeys.

Her appearance had attracted some attention on the fleet; and the Tyger had sent a shot after her, ordering her to heave to; but having a strong northeast wind behind her, she took no notice of the signal and held on her course.

Desmond thanked Hossain for the information, and, leaving his breakfast unfinished, went off at once to see Clive, whom he was to join that morning on a tour of inspection of the northwest part of the French settlement.

"Well, I don't see what we can do," said Clive, when Desmond repeated the news to him. "Mr. Watson no doubt suspected her when it was too late.

Nothing but a regular chase could have captured her after she had passed.

Ships can't be spared for that; they've much more important work on hand."

"Still, 'tis a pity, sir," said Desmond. "'Tis not only that Captain Barker is an interloper; he has been in league with pirates, and his being at Chandernagore all these months means no good."

"It means, at any rate, that he hasn't been able to get a cargo. Trade's at a standstill. Well, I'd give something to lay Mr. Barker and his crew by the heels--on behalf of the Company, Burke, for don't forget, as some of our friends of the Calcutta Council do, that I am here to save the Company, not their private property. 'Tis too late to stop the vessel now."