[Transcriber's note: Illustration captions surrounded by brackets
were added by the transcriber]
[Illustration: Cover art]
[Frontispiece: Captain Brooke and Commander Hutton.]
[Illustration: Title page]
The Mid of the
Maintop
By
Arthur Lee Knight,
Author of
"The Young Rajah," etc.
With Pen-and-ink Illustrations
by
Hilda K. Robinson.
London:
Ernest Nister
New York:
E. P. Dutton & Co.
Printed in Bavaria.
651.
[Illustration: Headpiece]
THE MID OF THE MAINTOP.
CHAPTER I.
The "Forte" was a fifty-gun frigate employed upon the East Coast of
Africa in the suppression of the slave trade. About a week previous
to the commencement of our story the ship had been to Zanzibar
Harbour, where the rest of the squadron was assembled, and Captain
Brooke and his second-in-command, Commander Hutton, had reported
themselves on board the flagship, which was a modern man-of-war, and
had received instructions from the admiral to sail along the coast,
keeping a sharp look-out for slave-dhows, at that time very numerous.
On the captain's return the "Forte" at once sailed, and at the time
our story opens she was about fifty miles to the eastward of Ras
Hafoon, a bold bluff promontory formed by huge sun-scorched rocks,
and utterly destitute of vegetation of any kind.
The captain looked anxiously at the barometer in his cabin. It had
begun to fall ominously.
There was a hurried knock at the door.
"Come in," shouted Captain Brooke, as he snatched his cap from a peg.
The lieutenant of the watch entered.
"There's a dense fog driving up, sir," he said, "and I think we're in
for a bit of a blow as well."
"Take a reef in the topsails," responded the captain promptly, "and
turn the hands up."
A few seconds later the order was echoing along the "Forte's" crowded
decks, and the bluejackets were streaming up the hatchways, laughing
and joking as they went.
The captain unrolled a chart, glanced for a moment at it, and then
followed the lieutenant on deck.
[Illustration: (The Captain)]
A squall had burst upon the ship. The topmen were swarming up the
rigging: every man was at his post.
Jack Villiers was one of the smartest midshipmen on board the
"Forte," and was a general favourite with everyone. As he was a
smart athletic youngster, he had been placed in command of the
maintopmen when they were aloft, and was always in the thick of any
adventure, which very much endeared him to the bluejackets' hearts.
As soon as the reef was taken in on this occasion, Jack sent his men
down from aloft and then prepared to follow himself. The "Forte" was
heeling over to the strong breeze, and tearing through the water at
the rate of eight knots an hour. The scud and spray were flying over
the hammock-nettings, but a dense fog had begun to envelop the ship,
and blew in clouds of vapour through her network of rigging and
amongst her white sails.
[Illustration: _Jack ran down the ratlines as fast as he could._]
Jack ran down the ratlines of the rigging as fast as he could now
that his duty aloft was done. Unfortunately, at this moment the
heavy wet main-sheet was dragged upwards by the straining of the
sail, and struck against Jack's feet with such violence as to make
him lose his hold of the rigging.
In an instant he was flung upwards and then hurled overboard into the
midst of the foaming waves.
Lifebuoys were thrown overboard, the ship was hove-to, and a boat was
sent away; but by this time Jack had been lost to sight in the
driving mist. When last seen he was swimming rather feebly as if
dazed by his fall from aloft.
The coxswain of the cutter searched in vain for the missing boy. No
trace of him could be found. The wind howled in fitful gusts, and
the fog grew thicker and thicker. It was impossible to see more than
a few feet from the boat, but the coxswain shouted again and again in
his loudest tones in the hope of being heard by Jack. Very gloomy
did the seamen look when no answer came to these repeated cries.
The storm was now very violent, and the cutter was in danger. The
"Forte" was of course out of sight, but she now began firing
signal-guns.
"The skipper might save his powder," said the coxswain anxiously,
"for we can't fetch the old hooker in this lumpy sea. Lay in your
oars, lads, step the mast, and set a close-reefed sail. I reckon
it's our only chance to escape being swamped."
"And the poor young gentleman," said one of the men, with a sigh;
"I'm afraid we'll never see him this side of eternity again."
"It'll break his mother's heart," remarked the coxswain huskily; "but
we've our duty to do, mates, and if the Lord calls him we mustn't
complain, He being our Commander-in-Chief, so to speak."
The boat under her rag of a sail flew before the wind. The "Forte"
continued to fire guns at intervals, but it was impossible to pay
attention to them, and soon the sound died away altogether.
For hours the cutter held on her way, the coxswain not daring to
alter course for fear the boat should be swamped.
Suddenly the fog lifted and began to roll away over the ocean. At
the same moment the gale began to abate in violence and the sea to go
down. In eastern climes a sudden storm quickly expends its force.
The cutter's crew gave a shout of joy. Away over the crests of the
still agitated sea they perceived the misty outlines of their ocean
home, H.M.S. "Forte." She was apparently standing down in their
direction.
"Here's a piece of good luck," exclaimed the coxswain; "that's the
old hooker, as sure as guns are guns, and, what's more, the wind has
veered to the westward, and we can run down and jine company with her
in the shake of a pig's whisker."
It was the work of a few moments to alter course and shake a reef out
of the foresail.
[Illustration: (Cutter and crew)]
As the last remnants of the fog disappeared over the eastern horizon,
the "Forte" loomed more and more distinctly into view. She had
topgallant-sails set and single-reefed topsails. The shades of
evening were now beginning to fall, and the lurid sun was shaping his
course towards the bleak and barren heights that guard the shores of
the Great Dark Continent.
As soon as the "Forte" perceived her boat she hove-to. As the cutter
ran alongside, the coxswain and his mates noticed that the
hammock-nettings and ports were full of men anxious to learn the fate
of their favourite midshipman.
One glance into the boat was sufficient.
The captain and his principal officers stood at the entry-port with
pale, set faces. On hearing the coxswain's report, they turned sadly
away, and an unbroken silence reigned throughout the frigate for a
few moments.
"Hoist the cutter up," ordered Captain Brooke, in a voice broken with
emotion, "and then put the ship on her course again."