The broad-beamed budgerow presented a strangely accurate microcosm of India at that moment. The English people on her deck were numerically inferior to the natives, and deprived by accident of the arms that might have equalized matters. Their little army was breathing mutiny, but was itself divided, if Chumru were not mistaken, seeing that all were for revolt, but one held out that the Feringhis' lives should be spared. And, even there, the cruel dilemma that offered itself to the ruler of every European community in the country was not to be avoided, for, if Malcolm tried to obtain his weapons his action might be the signal for a murderous attack, while, if he made no move, he left it entirely at the troopers' discretion whether or not he and Mayne should be shot down without the power to strike a blow in self-defense. Luckily he had the gift of prompt decision that is nine tenths of generalship. Saying not a word to alarm Mayne, who was still weak from the wound received an hour earlier, he crossed the deck, halting on the way to rub Nejdi's black muzzle. The sowars were watching him. With steady thrust of the port sweep they were heading the budgerow toward the ghât. He went nearer and caught the end of the heavy oar. "Pull hard, now," he said encouragingly, "and we will be out of the current." He was facing the three men, and his order was a quite natural one under the circumstances. Obviously, he meant to help. Stretching their arms for a long and strong stroke, they laid on with a will. Instantly, he pressed the oar downwards, thus forcing the blade out of the water, and threw all his strength into its unexpected yielding. Before they could so much as utter a yell, Akhab Khan and another were swept headlong into the river, while the third man lay on his back on the deck with Frank on top of him. The simplicity of the maneuver insured its success. Neither Mayne nor Winifred understood what had happened until Malcolm had disarmed the trooper, taken his cartridge pouch, and thrown him overboard to sink or swim as fate might direct. He regretted the loss of Akhab Khan, but he recalled the queer expression on the man's face when he read Bahadur Shah's sonorous titles. "Light of the World, Renowned King of Kings, Lord of all India, Fuzl-Ilahi, Panah-i-din!" That appeal to the faith was too powerful to be withstood. Yet Malcolm was glad the man had been chivalrous in his fall, for he had taken a liking to him. Chumru, of course, after the first gasp of surprise, appreciated the sahib's strategy. "Shabash!" he cried, "Wao, wao, huzoor![10] May I never see the White Pond of the Prophet if that was not well planned." [Footnote 10: "Bravo! Well done, your honor!"]