he mouth of the vessel. The boat was slightly
down the stream. The man ran a little way upstream to a point where a
spit of land jutted out into the river, his companions following quickly
with the pot. This they placed mouth downwards in the water. Then the
Sepoy mounted on top, launched himself on this novel buoy, and, holding
on to the pole, floated breast high in the water down with the current,
dexterously steering himself with his legs to the point where the boat
was moored. Soon he reached the spot. He clambered into the boat and with
rapid movements of the stern oar brought it to the other side, viewing
with beaming face the promised reward.

While this was going on the sky had been darkening. A northwester was
coming up, and after his experience on the eve of Plassey, Desmond knew
what that meant. He hastily embarked his men, and the boat started: but
it had scarcely covered a third of the distance across the river when the
wind struck it. Fortunately the sail was not up: as it was, the
flat-bottomed boat was nearly swamped. Drenching rain began to fall. The
river was lashed to fury: for three crowded minutes it seemed to Desmond
a miracle that the boat was still afloat. The waves dashed over its
sides; the men, blinded by the rain, were too much cowed to attempt to
bail out.

Desmond was at the helm; Bulger and Toley had an oar each; although only
a few yards distant, Desmond could scarcely see them through the pelting
rain. Then the wind moderated somewhat: he peremptorily ordered the men
to use their brass lotis {drinking vessel} to bale out the boat, and
determined to turn the storm to account.

With great difficulty he got the sail hoisted; and then the vessel ran
down the river at racing speed. The distance to Malda, as the Armenian
had told him, was six miles--four by river, two by land. By Diggle's
route it was ten miles. The horsemen had had such a start of him that he
feared he could not overtake them in time. Still, the storm that now
helped him would hinder them. If he survived the perils of the river
passage he might even yet succeed.

He was alive to the risks he ran. More than once, as the wind changed a
point, it seemed that the cranky craft must turn turtle. But she escaped
again and again, plunging on her headlong course. The Sepoys were sturdy
enough fellows, but being unused to the water they cowered in the bottom
of the boat, except when Desmond's stern command set them frantically