"Good! I will give you ten rupees if you bring the boat across. You are a good swimmer?"
"The sahib will see," replied the man, with a salaam and a smile.
He took a kedgeree pot, an earthen vessel used for cooking, and firmly tied to it a stout bamboo some six feet long, so that the thicker end of the pole was even with the mouth of the vessel. The boat was slightly down the stream. The man ran a little way up stream 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. He clambered into it, and with rapid movements of the stern oar brought it to the other side, receiving with beaming face the promised reward.
While this was going on the sky had been darkening. A north-wester 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 bale 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[#] to bale out the boat, and determined to turn the storm to account.
[#] Drinking vessels.
With great difficulty he got the sail hoisted, and their the vessel ran down the river at racing speed. The distance to Manda, 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 baling. Almost before it seemed possible they came in sight of a bend in the river, which one of the men, who knew the district, had described to Desmond as the nearest point to the village he sought. So rapid had the passage been that Desmond felt that, if they could only land in safety, they might have gained considerably on Diggle's horsemen. The latter must have felt the full effect of the gale: it was likely that for a time they had taken shelter. Desmond and his men were wet to the skin, but, profiting by the recollection of what had happened at Plassey, they had kept their ammunition dry.
At the bend the river presented a shelving beach, being at least twice as wide at this point during the rainy season as at other periods. Without hesitation Desmond ran the nose of the boat straight at the beach: she came to with a violent bump; the men tumbled out waist-deep into the water, and with shrill cries of relief scrambled ashore.
No time was lost. Waiting only to inspect their muskets, Desmond at once began the march, the band being led by the man who knew the country. Another man, a noted runner, formerly a kasid in the employment of the Nawab of the Dekkan, was sent in advance to find Surendra Nath's house, give him warning of Desmond's coming, and instruct him to have some one on the look-out for the approach of the enemy, if Diggle was not indeed already in possession of the village. The rest pushed on with all speed. The storm had cleared the air: the rain had ceased; and though it was unpleasant walking over the soppy ground, the march was much cooler than it had been earlier in the day.
Desmond longed for a hill from which to get a view of the country; but, as almost everywhere in the valley of the Ganges, it was dead flat. The party was within a quarter-mile of the village when the kasid came running back. He had found the Babu's house. From its flat roof a body of horse had been seen in the distance, nearly a coss away. Desmond at once ordered his men to double, and as they dashed into the village among the wondering people the kasid pointed out Surendra Nath's house at the far end--a small two-storied building, surrounded by a wall and approached through a rickety iron gateway. It was the first house to which the approaching horsemen would come.
A man in native dress was standing at the gate. At first Desmond did not recognize him, but as he drew nearer he saw that it was Surendra Nath himself, looking years older--weak, thin, sunken-eyed, little like the sleek well-fed Babu Desmond had last seen in Calcutta.