One of Clive's Heroes: A Story of the Fight for IndiaStrang, Herbert
History
One of Clive's Heroes: A Story of the Fight for India
Strang, Herbert
Adventure stories; British -- India -- Juvenile fiction; India -- History -- 18th century -- Juvenile fiction
Desmond felt relieved; but though he was gaining time, he could but
recognize that it seemed likely to profit him little. A criminal going
to execution may step never so slowly across the prison yard; there is
the inexorable gallows at the end, and certain doom. Could he not force
matters, Desmond wondered? It was evidently to be a contest, whether of
wits or of physical strength, between himself and the Gujarati. Without
one or other the vessel could not be safely navigated; if he could in
some way overcome the ringleader, he felt pretty sure that the crew
would accept the result and all difficulty would be at an end. But how
could he gain so unmistakable an ascendency? 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. They were
Hindus; the Gujarati was a Muslim; and they must surely feel that, once
he was among his co-religionists in Cutch, in some pirate stronghold,
they would run a very poor chance of getting fair treatment. But he
soon dismissed the idea. The Gujarati must seem to them much more
formidable than the stripling against whom he was plotting. The Hindu,
even more than the average human being elsewhere, is inclined to attach
importance to might and bulk--even to mere fat. If he sounded the
Marathas, and, their fear of the Gujarati outweighing their inevitable
distrust of him as a Firangi, they betrayed him to curry a little
favour, there was no doubt that the fate both of himself and the Babu
would instantly be decided. He must trust to himself alone.
While he was still anxiously debating the matter with himself his eye
caught the two muskets lashed to the wooden framework supporting the
wheel. He must leave no hostages to fortune. Taking advantage of a
lull in the wind he steadied the wheel with his body, and with some
difficulty drew the charges and dropped them into the sea. If it came to
a tussle the enemy would certainly seize the muskets; it would be worth
something to Desmond to know that they were not loaded. It was, in
truth, but a slight lessening of the odds against him; and as he
restored the weapons to their place he felt once more how hopeless his
position remained.
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."
"But you set the course by the stars, sahib?"
"Oh yes; the grab must have been going slower than we imagined."
"The wind has not shifted?"
"Very little. I have had to tack several times."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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