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Updated: June 20, 2025
"The Tremukji is only a few cable lengths away, sir, and there's a man on board who knows the harbor. I will take him, with your permission." "Very well. Good luck go with you." Desmond saluted, and stepping into the boat which had rowed him to the Kent, he was quickly conveyed to the grab. In a few minutes he left this in a skiff accompanied only by Fuzl Khan and a lascar.
Before the day was out Desmond found himself in possession of seven thousand rupees. After paying the Marathas the wages agreed upon, he proceeded to divide the balance. He retained two shares for himself, and gave each of the men who had escaped with him an equal part. No one was more surprised than Fuzl Khan when he received his share in full.
Fuzl Khan, without doubt, would take care that he never had such a chance. Turning things over in his mind, and seeing no way out of his difficulty, he was at length summoned to relieve the Gujarati at the wheel. It was, he supposed, about four in the morning, and still pitch dark.
The capture had been effected with the loss of only twenty killed and wounded. Desmond took the earliest opportunity of seeking the body of Fuzl Khan. Fortunately the fires and the noises of the night had preserved it from mangling by wild beasts. The poor man lay where he had fallen, near the body of the overseer.
And if he did, what then?" "He was the single man, positively unique, who was spared among six attempting escape last rains." "They did make an attempt, then. Why was he spared?" "That, sir, deponent knoweth not. The plot was carried to Angria." "How?" "That also is dark as pitch. But Fuzl Khan was spared, that we know. No man can trust his vis-a-vis.
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."
Fuzl Khan had not returned; Desmond almost feared that some mishap had befallen the man. Reaching the center vessel, he peered down the hatchway, but started back as a gust of acrid smoke struck him from below. He called to the Gujarati. There was no response. For an instant he stood in hesitation; had the man been overcome by the suffocating fumes filling the hold?
Fuzl Khan clung to the helm with all his strength, but his arms were almost torn from their sockets, and he called aloud for Desmond to come to his assistance. It was fortunate that little was required of the crew, for in a few minutes all of them save the four Marathas from the gallivat were prostrated with seasickness.
In physical strength Fuzl Khan was more than his match: there was no doubt of the issue of a struggle if it were a matter of sheer muscular power. For a moment he thought of attempting to enlist the Marathas on his side.
When a battle is to be fought, no soldier fights only for himself, doing that which seems good to him alone. He looks to the captain for orders. Otherwise mistakes would be made, and all effort would be wasted. We must have a captain: who is he to be?" "Yourself, sahib," said the Gujarati at once. "You have spoken; you have the plan; we take you as leader." "You hear what Fuzl Khan says.
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