Time passed on, and ever and anon Desmond looked eagerly down the river for a sign of the oncoming fleet.  At last, somewhere about midday, he observed signs of excitement in Tanna Fort, and almost simultaneously saw a puff of smoke and heard a report from one of its guns.

Shortly afterwards he observed the spars of a British-built ship slowly approaching upstream.  In full confidence that the scheme for blocking the river was now frustrated, he awaited with patience the oncoming of the fleet, wondering whether the forts would make a determined resistance.

Slowly the vessel drew nearer.  Another shot was fired from the fort, with what result Desmond could not tell.  But immediately afterwards he heard the distant report of a heavy gun, followed by a crash near at hand, and a babel of yells.  A shot from the British ship had plumped right in the center of Tanna Fort.  At the same moment Desmond recognized the figurehead.

“’Tis the Tyger!” he said to himself with a smile.  “Won’t Captain Latham grin when he sees me in this rig!”

Then he laughed aloud, for the valiant defenders of Tanna Fort had not waited for a second shot.  They were swarming helter skelter out of harm’s way, rushing at the top of their speed up the river and leaving their fortress to its fate.  On the other bank the garrison of Aligarh Fort had also taken flight, and were streaming along with excited cries in the direction of Calcutta.

The man in the bows of the sloop looked amazedly at the new subahdar.  Why did he laugh?  Why did he not wave the green flag that lay at his hand?  When were the men who had gone below going to knock out the stoppings of the holes and take to the boat with himself and their commander?  But the subahdar still stood laughing.

All at once Desmond, remembering the real subahdar below, asked himself:  what if he drove out the bungs and scuttled the vessel?  But the question brought a smile to his lips.  He could not conceive of the Bengali’s playing such a heroic part, and he possessed his soul in peace.

Now the Tyger was in full sight, and behind her Desmond saw the well-remembered Kent, Admiral Watson’s flagship.  The stampede from the forts had evidently been observed on board, for firing had ceased, and boats were already being lowered and filled with men.

Desmond waited.  The Tyger’s boats, he saw, were making for Tanna Fort:  the Kent’s for Aligarh.  But one of the latter was heading straight for the sloop.  Desmond could not resist the temptation to a joke.  Making himself look as important as he could, he stood by the gunwale watching with an air of dignity the oncoming of the boat.  It was in command of a young lieutenant.  The men bent to their oars with a will, and Desmond could soon hear the voice of the officer as he called to his crew.

But his amusement was mingled with amazement and delight when, in the big form sitting in the bow of the boat, he recognized no other than his old messmate, his old comrade in the Fight of the Carts—­William Bulger.  The joke would be even better than he had expected.