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Updated: July 18, 2025
Finlinson Sahib had that day given orders to clear the scaffolding from the guard-tower on the right bank, and Peroo with his mates was casting loose and lowering down the bamboo poles and planks as swiftly as ever they had whipped the cargo out of a coaster. From his trolley he could hear the whistle of the serang's silver pipe and the creek and clatter of the pulleys.
Of the lot, only one or two wore sarongs, the others having submitted at least at sea to the indignity of European trousers. Only two sat on the spars. One, a man with a childlike, light yellow face, smiling with fatuous imbecility under the wisps of straight coarse hair dyed a mahogany tint, was the tindal of the crew a kind of boatswain's or serang's mate.
Finlinson Sahib had that day given orders to clear the scaffolding from the guard-tower on the right bank, and Peroo with his mates was casting loose and lowering down the bamboo poles and planks as swiftly as ever they had whipped the cargo out of a coaster. From his trolley he could hear the whistle of the serang's silver pipe and the creek and clatter of the pulleys.
"Then be quick about it: we're going to trip the anchor, melons or no melons. D'ye hear?" Hossain ran down the sail and clambered up the chains; which the other boatmen made fast to a rope thrown from the deck. Desmond also lowered his sail, steering so as to approach the port quarter of the Good Intent, the serang's boat being on the starboard.
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