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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.
Scarcely had he bound the sentry's hands when he was joined by one of his fellow prisoners, and soon seven of them stood with him in the shadow of the shed. The last man, the Gujarati, had held the rope while the Babu descended. There was no one left to hold the rope for him, but he swung himself up to the roof and climbed down on the shoulders of one of the Biluchis.
In the course of their deadly struggle the Gujarati and the overseer had shifted their ground, and at this moment, fortunately for Desmond, Fuzl Khan had driven his knife into his old oppressor's heart. But the same accident that saved Desmond's life gave Diggle an opportunity of which he was quick to avail himself.
Thus pondering and puzzling, with no satisfaction, he spent the full period of his term of duty. At the appointed time Fuzl Khan came to relieve him. It was now full daylight; but, scanning the horizon with a restless eye, Desmond saw no sign of land, nor the sail of any vessel. "No land yet, sahib?" said the Gujarati, apparently in surprise. "No, as you see."
He paused; there was sound of hard breathing. "Tell it us," said the Gujarati eagerly. "You are one of us, Fuzl Khan?" "The plan! the plan! Is not my back mangled? Have I not endured the tank? Is not freedom sweet to me as to another? The plan, sahib! I swear, I Fuzl Khan, to be true to you and all; only tell me the plan." "You shall have the plan in good time. First I have a thing to say.
Fuzl Khan shouted to the serang to take the helm and steer the vessel out to sea; then set off in headlong pursuit of Desmond, who had now turned and stood awaiting the attack. The Gujarati did not even trouble to draw his knife. He plunged at him like a bull, shouting that he would deal with the pig of a Firangi as he had dealt with the sentinel at Gheria.
To locate a sound is always difficult; but, as far as Desmond could judge, the snores came from the neighborhood of the lantern and as from the floor. He stepped back again into complete darkness. The Gujarati was at his elbow. "Wait, Fuzl Khan," said Desmond in the lowest of whispers. "I must go in and see where the man is and how the cabin is arranged."
Desmond ran to the helm, and the Gujarati with his five companions seizing each upon one of the long sweeps, they dropped their blades into the water and began to pull. Desmond was all a-tingle with excitement and determination. The shouts from the shore were nearer; the lights were brighter; for all he knew, the whole garrison and population were gathering.
The Gujarati relaxed his grip on the man's throat; he made another attempt to cry out; but the firm fingers tightened their pressure and the incipient cry was choked in a feeble gurgle. Once more the hapless serang tried to rise; Fuzl Khan pressed him down and shook him vigorously. He saw that it was useless to resist, and lay limp and half throttled in his captor's hands.
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.
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