ch-dark night; nothing broke the blackness save the scattered
points of light from the sentries' lanterns. Stepping to the side of the
half-garroted Maratha, who was leaning passively against the shed, the
sinewy hand of the Gujarati still pressing upon his windpipe, Desmond
thrust a gag into his mouth and with quick deft movements bound his
hands. Now he had cause to thank the destiny that had made him Bulger's
shipmate; he had learned from Bulger how to tie a sailor's knot.

Scarcely had he bound the sentry's hands when he was joined by one of his
fellow prisoners, and soon seven of them stood with him in the shadow of
the shed. The last man, the Gujarati, had held the rope while the Babu
descended. There was no one left to hold the rope for him, but he swung
himself up to the roof and climbed down on the shoulders of one of the
Biluchis. Meanwhile the sentry, whose lantern had been extinguished and
from the folds of whose garments its flint and tinderbox had been taken,
had now been completely trussed up, and lay helpless and perforce silent
against the wall of the shed. From the time when the hapless man first
felt the grip of the Gujarati upon his throat scarcely five minutes had
elapsed.

Now the party of nine moved in single file, swiftly and silently on their
bare feet, under the wall of the fort toward the northeast bastion,
gliding like phantoms in the gloom. Each man bore his burden: the Babu
carried the dark lantern; one of the Marathas the coil of rope; the other
the sentry's matchlock and ammunition; several had small bundles
containing food, secreted during the past three days from their rations.

Suddenly the leader stopped. They had reached the foot of the narrow
flight of steps leading up into the bastion. Just above them was a
sentinel. The pause was but for a moment. The plan of action had been
thought out and discussed. On hands and knees the Gujarati crept up the
steps; at his heels followed Desmond in equal stealth and silence. At the
top, hardly distinguishable from the blackness of the sky, the sentinel
was leaning against the parapet, looking out to sea. Many a night had he
held that post, and seen the stars, and listened to the rustle of the
surf; many a night he had heard the call of the sentry next below, and
passed it to the man on the bastion beyond; but never a night had he seen
anything but the stars and the dim forms of vessels in the harbor, heard
anything but the hourly call of h