Time sped quickly. Desmond made the best use of his opportunities of
learning navigation under Captain King and the harbor master, and before
two months had expired was pronounced fit to act as mate on the finest
East Indiaman afloat. He took this with a grain of salt. The fact was
that his adventures, the modesty with which he deprecated all allusions
to his part in the escape from Gheria, and the industry with which he
worked, won him the goodwill of all; he was a general favorite with the
little European community of Bombay.
Apart from his study, he found plenty to interest him in his spare
moments. The strange mixture of people, the temples and pagodas, the
towers of silence on which the Parsees exposed their dead, the burning
pyres of the Hindus on the beach, the gaunt filthy fakirs {religious
mendicant (Mohammedan)} and jogis who whined and told fortunes in the
streets for alms, the exercising of the troops, the refitting and
careening of Admiral Watson's ships--all this provided endless matter for
curiosity and amusement.
One thing disappointed him. Not once during the two months did he come in
contact with Clive. Mr. Merriman remained in Bombay, awaiting the arrival
of a vessel of his from Muscat; but Desmond was loath to ask him whether
he had sounded Clive about a cadetship. As a matter of fact Mr. Merriman
had mentioned the matter at once.
"Patience, Merriman," was Clive's reply. "I have my eye on the
youngster.
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