The gallivat, lying all but motionless on the water, a forlorn object
with the jagged stump of her mainmast, grew smaller and smaller in the
distance, and was soon hull down. Desmond, turning away from a last look
in her direction, awoke from his reverie to the consciousness that he was
ravenously hungry.
Chapter 15: In which our hero weathers a storm; and prepares for squalls.
Hungry as he was, however, Desmond would not eat while he was, so to
speak, still in touch with Gheria. He ran up the sail on the mizzen, and
the grab was soon cutting her way through the water at a spanking rate.
He had closely studied the chart on board the Good Intent when that
vessel was approaching the Indian coast--not with any fixed purpose, but
in the curiosity which invested all things Indian with interest for him.
From his recollection he believed that Gheria was somewhat more than a
hundred miles from Bombay. If the grab continued to make such good
sailing she might hope to cover this distance by midnight. But she could
hardly run into harbor until the following day. There was, of course, no
chart, not even a compass, on board; the only apparatus he possessed was
a water clock; naturally he could not venture far out to sea, but neither
dared he hug the shore too closely. He knew not what reefs there might be
lying in wait for his untaught keel. Besides, he might be sighted from
one or other of the coast strongholds still remaining in Angria's hands,
and it was not impossible that swift messengers had already been sent
along the shore from Gheria, prescribing a keen lookout and the chase of
any solitary grab making northward.
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