In Clive's Command: A Story of the Fight for IndiaStrang, Herbert
History
In Clive's Command: A Story of the Fight for India
Strang, Herbert
Clive, Robert Clive, Baron, 1725-1774 -- Fiction; India -- History -- British occupation, 1765-1947 -- Fiction
The gallivats had separated into two groups; either they had been cut
apart, or, more probably, the lashings had been burned through. Around
one of the groups Desmond saw a number of small boats. They appeared to
be trying to cut out the middle of the three gallivats, which seemed to
be as yet uninjured, while the vessels on either side were in full blaze.
Owing to the intense heat the men's task was a difficult and dangerous
one, and Desmond had good hope that they would not succeed until the
gallivat was too much damaged to be of use for pursuit. He wondered,
indeed, at the attempt being made at all; for it kept all the available
boats engaged when they might have dashed upon the grab in tow and made
short work of it.
The true explanation of their blunder did not at the moment occur to
Desmond. The fact was that the men trying so earnestly to save the
gallivat knew nothing of what had happened to the grab. They were aware
that a gallivat had been cut loose and was standing out to sea; but the
glare of the fire blinded them to all that was happening beyond a narrow
circle, and as yet they had had no information from shore of what was
actually occurring. When they did learn that two vessels were on their
way to the sea, they would no doubt set out to recapture the fugitives
instead of wasting their efforts in a futile attempt to save the
unsavable.
Desmond was still speculating on the point when another shot from the
fort aroused him to the imminent danger. The dark shapes of the two
vessels must now certainly be visible from the walls. The shot flew wide.
Although the grab was well within range it was doubtless difficult to
take aim, the distance being deceptive and the sights useless in the
dark. But this shot was followed at intervals of a few seconds by another
and another; it was clear that the fugitives were running the gauntlet of
the whole armament on this side of the fort. The guns were being fired as
fast as they could be loaded; the gunners were becoming accustomed to the
darkness, and when Desmond heard the shots plumping into the water,
nearer to him, it seemed, every time, he could not but recognize that
success or failure hung upon a hair.
Crash! A round shot struck the grab within a few feet of the wheel. A
shower of splinters flew in all directions. Desmond felt a stinging blow
on the forehead; he put up his hand; when he took it away it was wet. He
could not leave the wheel to see what damage had been done to the ship,
still less to examine his own injury.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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