As soon as Desmond stepped on board the grab, the hawser connecting the
two vessels was cast off, the mainsail was run up, and the grab, sailing
large, stood up the coast. Fuzl Khan, swarming up to the masthead,
reported two or three sail far behind, apparently at the mouth of Gheria
harbor. But Desmond, knowing that if they were in pursuit they had a long
beat to windward before them, felt no anxiety on that score. Besides, the
grab he was on had been selected precisely because it was the fastest
vessel in Angria's fleet.
Having got fairly under way, he felt that he had leisure to inspect the
damage done to the grab by the shots from the fort which had given him so
much concern in the darkness. That she had suffered no serious injury was
clear from the ease with which she answered the helm and the rapidity of
her sailing. He found that a hole or two had been made in the forepart of
the deck, and a couple of yards of the bulwarks carried away. There was
nothing to cause alarm or to demand repair.
It was a bright cool morning, and Desmond, after the excitements and the
strain of the last few days, felt an extraordinary lightness of spirit as
the vessel cut through the water. For the first time in his life he knew
the meaning of the word freedom; none but a man who has suffered
captivity or duress can know such joy as now filled his soul. The long
stress of his menial life on board the Good Intent, the weary months of
toil, difficulty and danger as Angria's prisoner, were past; and it was
with whole-hearted joyousness he realized that he was now on his way to
Bombay, where Clive was--Clive, the hero who was as a fixed star in his
mental firmament.
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