of these journeys that they had fallen into Angria’s hands.  They might have picked up something of the simpler details of navigation.  The Mysoreans, being up-country men and agriculturists, were not likely even to have seen the sea until they became slaves of Angria.  The Marathas would be loath to embark; they belonged to a warrior race which had for centuries lived by raiding its neighbors; but being forbidden by their religion to eat or drink at sea they would never make good seamen.  The Babu was a native of Bengal, and the Bengalis were physically the weakest of the Indian peoples, constitutionally timid, and unenterprising in matters demanding physical courage.  Desmond smiled as he thought of how his friend Surendra Nath might comport himself in a storm.

There remained the Gujarati, and of his nautical capacity Desmond knew nothing.  But, mentioning the matter of seamanship casually to the Babu one day, he learned that Fuzl Khan was a khalasi {sailor} from Cutch.  He had in him a strain of negro blood, derived probably from some Zanzibari ancestor brought to Cutch as a slave.  The men of the coast of Cutch were the best sailors in India; and Fuzl Khan himself had spent a considerable portion of his life at sea.

Thus reflecting on the qualities of his fellow captives, Desmond had ruefully to acknowledge that they would make a poor crew to navigate a grab or gallivat.  Yet he could find no other, for Angria’s system of mixing the nationalities was cunningly devised to prevent any concerted schemes.  If the attempt was to be made at all, it must be made with the men whom he knew intimately and with whom he had opportunities of discussing a plan.

But he was at once faced by the question of the Gujarati’s trustworthiness.  If there was any truth in Surendra Nath’s suspicions, he would be quite ready to betray his fellows; and if looks and manner were any criterion, the suspicions were amply justified.  True, the man had gained nothing by his former treachery, but that might not prevent him from repeating it, in the hope that a second betrayal would compel reward.

While Desmond was still pondering and puzzling, it happened one unfortunate day that Govinda the overseer was carried off within a few hours by what the Babu called the cramp—­a disease now known as cholera.  His place was immediately filled.  But his successor was a very different man.  He was not so capable as Govinda, and endeavored to make up for his incapacity by greater brutality and violence.  The work of the yard fell off; he tried to mend matters by harrying the men.  The whip and rattan were in constant use, but the result was less efficiency than ever, and he sought for the cause everywhere but in himself.  The lives of the captives, bad enough before, became a continual torment.

Desmond fared no better than the rest.  He lost the trifling privileges he had formerly enjoyed.  The new overseer seemed to take a delight in bullying him.  Many a night, when he returned to the shed, his back was raw where the lash had cut a livid streak through his thin dhoti.  His companions suffered in common with him, Fuzl Khan more than any.  For days at a time the man was incapacitated from work by the treatment meted out to him.  Desmond felt that if the Gujarati had indeed purchased his life by betraying his comrades, he had made a dear bargain.