Even the slight effort was
too much for him, and he swooned again.
When he once more recovered consciousness, he saw a figure by his side.
It was Mr. Toley. Again the distant thunder of artillery fell upon his
ears.
"What is happening?" he asked feebly.
"Almighty be praised!" said Toley fervently, "you're coming safe to port.
Hush! Lie you still. You'll want nussin' like a babby. Never you heed the
popguns; I'll tell you all about them when you're stronger. Food, sleep,
and air; that's my catechism, larned from the surgeon. Bless you, Burke,
I feared you was a done man."
With this Desmond had to be for the time content. But every day he heard
firing, and every day, as he slowly regained strength, he became more and
more anxious to know what it meant. Toley seemed to have left the ship;
Desmond was tended only by natives.
From them he learned that the Nawab was attacking Calcutta. How were the
defenders faring? They could not tell. He knew how small was the
garrison, how weak the fortifications; but, with an English lad's
unconquerable faith in his countrymen's valor, he could not believe that
they could fail to hold their own.
One day, however, he heard no more firing. In the afternoon Mr. Toley
came to his bunk, bringing with him Mr. Merriman himself. The merchant
had his head bound up, and wore his left arm in a sling. He was pale,
haggard, the shadow of his former self.
"What has happened, sir?" cried Desmond the instant he saw him.
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