The sweeps grated against the side of what proved to be one of the
grabs for which he had been looking. A voice from its deck hailed him.
"Take care! Where are you going? Who are you?"
Desmond called up the serang. He dare not reply himself, lest his accent
should betray him.
"Tell him all is well. We have a message from the fort to the Tremukji,"
he said in a whisper.
The serang repeated the words aloud.
"Well, huzur. But what is the meaning of the noise and the torches and
the blaze on the sea?"
"Tell him we have no time to waste. Ask him where the Tremukji lies."
The man on the grab replied that she lay outside, a dozen boat lengths.
Desmond knew that this vessel, which had been launched during his
captivity, and in whose construction he had had a humble part, had proved
the swiftest in the fleet, although much smaller than the majority of the
Pirate's. Once on board her, and beyond reach of the guns of the fort, he
might fairly hope to get clear away in spite of his miscellaneous crew.
Giving to the Gujarati the order to go ahead, he questioned the serang.
"What is the name of the serang in charge of the Tremukji?"
"Pandu, sahib."
"How many men are on board her?"
"Three, sahib."
"Then, when we come alongside and I give the word, you will tell him to
come aboard at once; we have a message from the fort for him."
Owing to the trend of the shore, the gallivat had been slowly nearing the
walls of the fort, and at this moment could not be more than a hundred
and fifty yards distant from them.
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