The Gujarati performed his work at the helm skilfully, and about five o'clock, when the sun was setting, casting a romantic glow over the long straggling settlement, the Tremukji ran to her anchorage among a host of small craft, within a few cable lengths of the vessels of Admiral Watson's squadron, which had arrived from Madras a few weeks before. Chapter 17: In which our hero finds himself among friends; and Colonel Clive prepares to astonish Angria. The entrance of a strange grab had not passed unnoticed. Before the anchor had been dropped, the harbor master put off in a toni. "What grab is that?" he shouted in Urdu, as he came alongside. "The Tremukji, sir," replied Desmond in English. "Eh! what! who in the name of Jupiter are you?" "You'd better come aboard, sir, and I'll explain," said Desmond with a smile. The harbor master mounted the side, rapping out sundry exclamations of astonishment that amused Desmond not a little. "Don't talk like a native! H'm! Queer! Turn him inside out! No nonsense!" "Well, here I am," he added, stepping up to Desmond. "My name's Johnson, and I'm harbor master. Now then, explain; no nonsense." Desmond liked the look of the little man. He was short and stout, with a very large red face, a broad turn-up nose, and childlike blue eyes that bespoke confidence at once. "My name is Desmond Burke, sir, and I've run away from Gheria in this grab." "The deuce you have!" "Yes, sir. I've been a prisoner there for six months and more, and we got off a few nights ago in the darkness." "H'm! Any more Irishmen aboard?" "Not that I'm aware of, sir." "And you got away from Gheria, did you? You're the first that ever I heard did so. Nothing to do with Commodore James, eh?" "No, sir. I don't know what you mean." "Why, Commodore James started t'other day to take a good sea-look at Gheria. There's an expedition getting ready to draw that rascally Pirate's teeth. You saw nothing of the squadron? No nonsense, now." "Not a thing, sir. We were blown out to sea, and I suppose the commodore passed us in the night." "H'm! Very likely. And you weathered that storm, did you? Learned your seamanship, eh?" "Picked up a little on board the Good Intent, sir. I was ship's boy aboard." "Mighty queer ship's boy!" said Mr. Johnson in an audible aside. "The Good Intent's a villainous interloper; how came you aboard of her?" "I was in a sense tricked into it, sir, and when we got to Gheria Captain Barker and Mr. Diggle, the supercargo, sold me to Angria." "Sold you to the Pirate?" "Yes, sir." "And where do you hail from, then?" "Shropshire, sir; my father was Captain Richard Burke in the Company's service." "Jupiter! You're Dick Burke's son! Gad, sir, give me your hand; I knew Dick Burke; many's the sneaker of Bombay punch we've tossed off together. No nonsense about Dick; give me your fist.