"Indeed! Bring chairs, Hossain."
One of the native attendants left the room noiselessly, and returning with chairs placed them at the table.
"Sit down, gentlemen. That is amazing news, as you say, Mr. Johnson. Perhaps Mr. Burke will relate his adventure as we eat."
Desmond took the chair set for him. The guests were five. Two of them wore the laced coats of admirals; the taller, a man of handsome presence, with a round chubby face, large eyes, small full lips, his head crowned by a neat curled wig, was Charles Watson, in command of the British fleet; the other was his second, Rear-Admiral Pocock. A third was Richard King, captain of an Indiaman, in a blue coat with velvet lappets and gold embroidery, buff waistcoat and breeches. Next him sat a jolly red-faced gentleman in plain attire, and between him and the Governor was Clive himself, whose striking face--the lawyer's brow, the warrior's nose and chin, the dreamer's mouth--would have marked him out in any company.
Desmond began his story. The barefooted attendants moved quietly about with the dishes, but the food was almost neglected as the six gentlemen listened to the clear, low voice telling of the escape from the fort, the capture of the grab, and the eventful voyage to Bombay harbour.
"By George! 'tis a famous adventure," exclaimed Admiral Watson, when the story was ended. "What about this Pirate's den? Gheria fort is said to be impregnable; what are the chances if we attack, eh? The approaches to the harbour, now; do you know the depth of water?"
"Vessels can stand in to three fathoms water, sir. Seven fathoms is within point-blank shot of the fort. The walls are about fifty feet high; there are twenty-seven bastions, and they mount more than two hundred guns."
"And the opposite shore?"
"A flat tableland, within distance for bombarding. A diversion might be made from there while the principal attack could be carried on in the harbour, or from a hill south of the fort."
"Is the landing easy?"