e could not conceive of the Bengali's
playing such a heroic part, and he possessed his soul in peace.

Now the Tyger was in full sight, and behind her Desmond saw the
well-remembered Kent, Admiral Watson's flagship. The stampede from the
forts had evidently been observed on board, for firing had ceased, and
boats were already being lowered and filled with men.

Desmond waited. The Tyger's boats, he saw, were making for Tanna Fort:
the Kent's for Aligarh. But one of the latter was heading straight for
the sloop. Desmond could not resist the temptation to a joke. Making
himself look as important as he could, he stood by the gunwale watching
with an air of dignity the oncoming of the boat. It was in command of a
young lieutenant. The men bent to their oars with a will, and Desmond
could soon hear the voice of the officer as he called to his crew.

But his amusement was mingled with amazement and delight when, in the big
form sitting in the bow of the boat, he recognized no other than his old
messmate, his old comrade in the Fight of the Carts--William Bulger. The
joke would be even better than he had expected.

The boat drew closer: it was level with the nose of the sloop; and the
lieutenant sang out the command, "Ship oars!" It came alongside.

"Bulger," cried the lieutenant, "skip aboard and announce us to that old
peacock up on deck."

"Ay, ay, sir," replied Bulger, "which his feathers will be plucked, or my
name en't Bulger."

At the side of the sloop lay the dinghy intended to convey the subahdar
and his men ashore when the work of sinking had been started. It was made
fast to the vessel by a rope. Bulger sprang into the dinghy and then
began an ascent so clever, and at the same time so comical, that Desmond
had much ado not to spoil his joke by a premature explosion of laughter.
The burly seaman swarmed up the rope like a monkey, clasping it with his
legs as he took each upward grip. But the comedy of his actions was
provided by his hook. Having only one arm--an arm, it is true, with the
biceps of a giant--he could not clutch the rope in the ordinary way. But
at each successive spring he dug his hook into the side of the vessel,
and mounted with amazing rapidity, talking to himself all the time.

"Avast, there!" he shouted, as with a final heave upon the hook dug into
the gunwale he hoisted himself on deck. "Haul down your colors, matey,
which they make a pretty pictur', they do."

He came overpoweringly