other in low tones and
discussing him, as he guessed by their glances in his direction.

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 vil