The Good Intent dropped anchor off the jetty running out from the docks north of the fort.  Captain Barker had already given orders that no shore leave was to be allowed to the crew, and as soon as he had stepped into the longboat, accompanied by Diggle, the men’s discontent broke forth in angry imprecations, which Mr. Toley wisely affected not to hear.

No time was lost in unloading the portion of the cargo intended for Angria.  The goods were carried along the jetty by stalwart Marathas clad only in loincloths, and stored in rude cabins with penthouse roofs.  As Desmond knew, the heavy chests that taxed the strength of the bearers contained for the most part muskets and ammunition.  The work went on for the greater part of the day, and at nightfall neither the captain nor Diggle had returned to the vessel.

Next day a large quantity of Indian produce was taken on board.  Desmond noticed that as the bales and casks reached the deck, some of the crew were told off to remove all marks from them.

“What’s that for?” repeated Bulger, in reply to a question of Desmond’s.  “Why, ’cos if the ship came to be overhauled by a Company’s vessel, it would tell tales if the cargo had Company’s marks on it.  That wouldn’t do by no manner o’ means.”

“But how should they get Company’s marks on them?”

Bulger winked.

“You’re raw yet, Burke,” he said.  “You’ll know quite as much as is good for you by the time you’ve made another voyage or two in the Good Intent.”

“But I don’t intend to make another voyage in her.  Mr. Diggle promised to get me employment in the country.”

“What?  You still believes in that there Diggle?  Well, I don’t want to hurt no feelin’s, and I may be wrong, but I’ll lay my bottom dollar Diggle won’t do a hand’s turn for you.”

The second day passed, and in the evening Captain Barker, who had hitherto left Mr. Toley in charge, came aboard in high humor.

“I may be wrong,” remarked Bulger, “but judgin’ by cap’n’s face, he’ve been an’ choused the Pirate—­got twice the valley o’ the goods he’s landed.”

“I wonder where Mr. Diggle is?” said Desmond.

“You en’t no call to mourn for him, I tell you.  He’s an old friend of the Pirate, don’t make no mistake; neither you nor me will be any the worse for not seein’ his grinnin’ phiz no more.  Thank your stars he’ve left you alone for the last part of the voyage, which I wonder at, all the same.”

Next day all was bustle on board in preparation for sailing.  In the afternoon a peon {messenger} came hurrying along the jetty, boarded the vessel, and handed a note to the captain, who read it, tore it up, and dismissed the messenger.  He went down to his cabin, and coming up a few minutes later, cried: 

“Where’s that boy Burke?”

“Here, sir,” cried Desmond, starting up from the place where, in Bulger’s company, he had been splicing a rope.