“The sahib will see,” replied the man, with a salaam and a smile.

He took a kedgeree pot, an earthen vessel used for cooking, and firmly tied to it a stout bamboo some six feet long, so that the thicker end of the pole was even with the mouth of the vessel.  The boat was slightly down the stream.  The man ran a little way upstream to a point where a spit of land jutted out into the river, his companions following quickly with the pot.  This they placed mouth downwards in the water.  Then the Sepoy mounted on top, launched himself on this novel buoy, and, holding on to the pole, floated breast high in the water down with the current, dexterously steering himself with his legs to the point where the boat was moored.  Soon he reached the spot.  He clambered into the boat and with rapid movements of the stern oar brought it to the other side, viewing with beaming face the promised reward.

While this was going on the sky had been darkening.  A northwester was coming up, and after his experience on the eve of Plassey, Desmond knew what that meant.  He hastily embarked his men, and the boat started:  but it had scarcely covered a third of the distance across the river when the wind struck it.  Fortunately the sail was not up:  as it was, the flat-bottomed boat was nearly swamped.  Drenching rain began to fall.  The river was lashed to fury:  for three crowded minutes it seemed to Desmond a miracle that the boat was still afloat.  The waves dashed over its sides; the men, blinded by the rain, were too much cowed to attempt to bail out.

Desmond was at the helm; Bulger and Toley had an oar each; although only a few yards distant, Desmond could scarcely see them through the pelting rain.  Then the wind moderated somewhat:  he peremptorily ordered the men to use their brass lotis {drinking vessel} to bale out the boat, and determined to turn the storm to account.

With great difficulty he got the sail hoisted; and then the vessel ran down the river at racing speed.  The distance to Malda, as the Armenian had told him, was six miles—­four by river, two by land.  By Diggle’s route it was ten miles.  The horsemen had had such a start of him that he feared he could not overtake them in time.  Still, the storm that now helped him would hinder them.  If he survived the perils of the river passage he might even yet succeed.

He was alive to the risks he ran.  More than once, as the wind changed a point, it seemed that the cranky craft must turn turtle.  But she escaped again and again, plunging on her headlong course.  The Sepoys were sturdy enough fellows, but being unused to the water they cowered in the bottom of the boat, except when Desmond’s stern command set them frantically bailing.

Almost before it seemed possible they came in sight of a bend in the river which one of the men, who knew the district, had described to Desmond as the nearest point to the village he sought.  So rapid had the passage been that Desmond felt that, if they could only land in safety, they might have gained considerably on Diggle’s horsemen.  The latter must have felt the full effect of the gale:  it was likely that they had taken shelter for a time.  Desmond and his men were wet to the skin, but, profiting by the recollection of what had happened at Plassey, they had kept their ammunition dry.