Thus reflecting on the qualities of his fellow-captives. Desmond had ruefully to acknowledge that they would make a poor crew to navigate a grab or gallivat. Yet he could find no other, for Angria’s system of mixing the nationalities was cunningly devised to prevent any concerted schemes. If the attempt was to be made at all, it must be made with the men whom he knew intimately and with whom he had opportunities of discussing a plan. But he was at once faced by the question of the Gujarati’s trustworthiness. If there was any truth in Surendra Nath’s suspicions, he would be quite ready to betray his fellows; and if looks and manner were any criterion, the suspicions were amply justified. True, the man had gained nothing by his former treachery, but that might not prevent him from repeating it, in the hope that a second betrayal would compel reward. While Desmond was still pondering and puzzling, it happened one unfortunate day that Govinda the overseer was carried off within a few hours by what the Babu called the cramp--the disease now known as cholera. His place was immediately filled. But his successor was a very different man. He was not so capable as Govinda, and endeavoured to make up for his incapacity by greater brutality and violence. The work of the yard fell off; he tried to mend matters by harrying the men. The whip and rattan were in constant use, but the result was less efficiency than ever, and he sought for the cause everywhere but in himself. The lives of the captives, bad enough before, became a continual torment. Desmond fared no better than the rest. He lost the trifling privileges he had formerly enjoyed. The new overseer seemed to take a delight in bullying him. Many a night, when he returned to the shed, his back was raw where the lash had cut a livid streak through his thin dhoti. His companions suffered in common with him, Fuzl Khan more than any. For days at a time the man was incapacitated from work by the treatment meted out to him. Desmond felt that if the Gujarati had indeed purchased his life by betraying his comrades, he had made a dear bargain. One night, when his eight companions were all asleep, and nothing could be heard but the regular calls of the sentries, the beating of tom-toms in the town, and the howls of jackals prowling on the outskirts, Desmond gently woke the Babu. "My friend, listen," he whispered, "I have something to say to you." Surendra Nath turned over on his charpoy. "Speak soft, I pray," he said. "My head is on fire," continued Desmond. "I cannot sleep. I have been thinking. What is life worth to us? Can anything be worse than our present lot? Do you ever think of escape?" "What good, sir? I have said so before. We are fettered; what can we do? There is but one thing that all men in our plight desire; that is death."