The following day the "Forte" chased several suspicious-looking
dhows, but one or two, being smart sailers, managed to make their
escape by carrying a press of canvas. The frigate, having lofty
masts, was visible to these Arabian mariners from a very long
distance, and, as the reader may suppose, the vessels that are
employed in the slave trade always keep a sharp look-out for British
men-of-war, for well do their captains know that, if captured, the
slaves found on board are immediately released from their cruel
captivity and the dhows sunk or burnt.
The vessels which could not elude the "Forte" were promptly boarded
by the frigate's boats. All these craft turned out to be lawful
traders, with the exception of one, which proved to have thirty-five
slaves on board. The jolly-boat, having taken possession of her
without striking a blow, the wretched slaves, more like walking
skeletons than human beings, were transferred to the "Forte," and the
dhow was sent to the bottom of the ocean by a few well-directed shots
from the frigate's forecastle guns. The Arab captain and his crew
were then put ashore upon the arid, desolate strand and left to find
their way as best they could to the nearest native settlement.
The wind having dropped very light, the "Forte" was put under steam,
and proceeded slowly northwards, keeping the land well in sight upon
her port beam. No vessels now remained in view, but a large school
of black fish were seen spouting energetically to the north-east, and
the sea was alive with shoals of flying-fish and an occasional bonito.
"We're very short of sand for scrubbing decks, sir," said the
commander to Captain Brooke during the first dog-watch; "may I send a
boat ashore to fetch some? As you know, a river falls into the sea
just to the southward of Cape Joo-joo yonder, and there's a deposit
of some of the finest sand in the world close to its mouth."
"Well, I see no objection," answered the skipper. "It's a very quiet
bit of the coast, and the men couldn't well come to any harm."
The frigate's nose was accordingly pointed in towards the land and
her speed increased; but the precaution was taken of placing leadsmen
in the chains.
"I should like to send young Thring in charge of the cutter, sir,"
observed the commander to his chief. "The poor little chap is very
much cut up about the loss of his middy chum, and it would be a
charity to let him go on the expedition."
"Go he shall, then," said the captain kindly; "he's a promising
youngster and likely to do the service credit. At the same time,
Hutton, don't forget that the boy has had but little experience. I
don't think this part of the coast is inhabited, but warn Mr. Thring
that he is not on any account to interfere with the natives if they
put in an appearance. Should there be any attempt to oppose his
landing, he is at once to return to the ship and report himself."
"Pass the word for Mr. Thring, quartermaster," sang out the commander.
"Our charts of this coast are very imperfect," said the skipper; "I
think we had better not venture any nearer in. Do you remember that
small bower anchor we lost off Ras Pundoo?"
"I do indeed, sir; we'd better stop the engines and get the first
cutter lowered. Her coxswain, Lobb, is a thoroughly reliable man,
and will take good care that young Thring does nothing rash. When a
middy takes the bit in his teeth there's no controlling him!"
Captain Brooke smiled. "The old spirit isn't dead," he said; "there
are always chips of the old block coming to the fore, who think a lot
of the honour due to the glorious white ensign. One of my own
youngsters is on board the 'Britannia' at this moment learning to be
a young sea-dog."
The "Forte" now lay "as idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean,"
rolling gently on the heaving land-swell. It was almost a stark
calm, but a catspaw here and there played over the surface of the sea
and fretted its blue-green surface into little furrows. Screaming
seabirds swooped around the ship, and just under the quarter an
enormous wily-looking shark kept watch and ward, eyeing greedily some
refuse from the cook's galley which was floating towards him.
Young Thring was only too delighted to go in charge of the cutter,
and Lobb was equally pleased--though the duty of collecting sand was
usually prosaic enough.
There is a saying, however, which again and again has proved itself a
true one: "It is always the unexpected which happens."
What Lobb called "the wheel of fortin" revolves rather quickly
sometimes.
The light breaths of air that were stirring were moving in the
direction of the land, so the cutter hoisted her lugsail and slowly
glided towards the African shore.
"Is there no surf on this part of the coast?" questioned Thring, as
he buckled on his dirk around his waist. "I don't see it, or hear
it."
"There's less here than anywhere," answered the coxswain; "leastways,
in fine weather like it is at present. When there's a gale blowing
there's some scud and spray flying about, I can tell you."
"The little bay we're making for seems to be protected on the south
side by a high, jutting point," said the middy, who was now observing
the coast through his telescope.
"Right you are, sir, and that makes it a safe place to land when the
south-west monsoon is blowing. That is where the little river
Joo-joo runs into the sea."
"You know this part of the coast well, Lobb, evidently."
"Yes, I do, sir. 'Taint the fust time I've landed here for sand, not
by a long chalk. On one occasion, when I was in the old 'Ariadne,'
we went up the river Joo-joo in the pinnace to get a supply of fresh
water."
"And you fell in with some natives I expect, didn't you?"
"Never a soul did we see, sir. There was a lot of
mischievous-looking baboons a-cruising about and some flamingoes, but
nothing else living did we see. No seaside lodgings to let, nor
nothing of that sort." And Lobb laughed at his own joke, his mind
reverting for a moment to his own Mary Anne, who let genteel
apartments overlooking the sea at the little Dorsetshire town of
Swanage.
The words had hardly escaped his lips when the coxswain suddenly
gripped the middy by the arm, and pointed in an excited manner in the
direction of a jutting point.
"Do you see that mast of an Arab vessel, sir?" he almost shouted,
"just over them rocks yonder."
"See it? I should think I did! Now what in the name of fortune is
she skulking behind that point for?"
"Why, for all we know, she may be a slave-ship," said the coxswain,
with much suppressed excitement in his tones. "Out oars, lads, and
we'll soon see what larks that chap is up to."
The middy, in a state of great excitement, turned his telescope upon
the stranger.
[Illustration: _Over the dhow's bulwarks appeared a row of fierce
bearded faces._]
"She's a dhow right enough," he said briefly; "but the commander
warned me not to interfere with the natives."
"That's right enough, sir, that is," returned the coxswain; "but this
is another pair of shoes altogether. A dhow is a dhow, and ain't
nothing to do with shore-going loafers."
As it was now a stark calm, recourse was had to the oars, and the
cutter slipped along through the water, which was so clear that the
fish were visible swimming about in all directions.
"If yonder craft _should_ prove to be a slaver, we ain't got no
weapons aboard to fight the swabs with," observed one of the cutter's
crew.
"The stretchers will serve our turn, I reckon, chum," said the
coxswain grimly, "and there's a shovel or two. We must be careful
what we do, though, for this hooker may prove to be a lawful trader,
and in that case we can't touch her."
The cutter, urged on by her willing crew, soon doubled the point, and
found herself in the mouth of the river. The dhow lay quietly at
anchor, and it appeared as if her crew had not as yet caught sight of
the man-of-war's boat. She looked a small vessel, and boasted of
only one very raking mast and a lofty tapering yard. Over her clumsy
stern floated a blood-red flag attached to a bamboo flagstaff.
"Give way, men; we'll soon be alongside her," cried the middy, in
sharp, decisive tones. "To my mind she has the look of a regular
slaver."
Shouts of alarm now rang out from on board the stranger, and her Arab
crew were seen hurriedly rushing hither and thither like a horde of
disturbed ants.
"There's a big crew aboard; that's suspicious," murmured the coxswain
to himself. "How I wish we had poor Mr. Villiers here! 'Tis just
the job he liked to have a hand in, the plucky youngster"--and
something very like a tear stood in the seaman's eye as his thoughts
reverted for a moment to the sad events of the preceding day.
The crew of the dhow were now seen mustering in the waist of their
vessel.
As the cutter drew near, the coxswain, who knew a few words of
Arabic, rose in the stern-sheets and shouted out that he was going to
board for the purpose of examining the dhow's papers.
The only answer to this was two or three jets of flame which gushed
out from over the vessel's taffrail. Some slugs whizzed over the
British seamen's heads and splashed harmlessly into the water beyond
them.
"I'm jiggered if the sharks ain't slaver-men then," exclaimed the
coxswain indignantly. "Stand by to lay in your oars, lads, and
follow Mr. Thring and me aboard with shovels and stretchers in your
fists."
The cutter dashed alongside the dhow. Over the latter's bulwarks
appeared a row of fierce bearded faces, and the sunlight glanced
brightly on spears and scimitars. It was an exciting moment.
"Bowmen, hang on there forrard!" shouted the middy, as he drew his
little dirk from its sheath--a weapon never intended for active
service.
"Grab some of them chaps' weapons as soon as you can, lads," roared
the coxswain, as he clambered up the dhow's clumsy side; "and then
we'll play 'old Harry' with the swabs."
With a dash and determination which nothing could withstand the
cutter's crew followed their youthful leader on board, dealing
telling blows with their shovels and stretchers as they did so, but
unfortunately one or two seamen were wounded by the spears of the foe
before they gained the deck of the slaver.
Now came a fierce hand-to-hand tussle. The Arabs had uttered
triumphant shouts of joy when they perceived that the British seamen
were without weapons, for they deemed it an easy matter to overcome
them. So they thrust with spear and cut with scimitar, fiercely
urging each other to drive the enemy back into their boat again. But
they soon found they had tough customers to deal with--men who were
accustomed to fighting against tremendous odds. The coxswain, an
immensely powerful man in the prime of life, soon wrested a scimitar
from one of his opponents, and, rushing into the thick of the fray,
cut down everyone who opposed him.
Young Thring had not been so fortunate. Having gained in safety the
dhow's bulwarks, he thrust with his dirk at an Arab who was opposing
his further advance, and by great good luck wounded him in the
sword-arm, causing the man to drop his spear over the taffrail,
whence it fell into the cutter. The middy was about to spring on
board when he received a violent blow on the chest from a clubbed
musket and fell backwards into the boat, in the stern-sheets of which
he lay senseless for a few moments. The bowmen were unable to assist
him, owing to their important duties forward.
[Illustration: (Villiers and slaver-men)]
Quickly regaining consciousness, however, the youngster, who had
never lost his grip of the dirk, threw that almost useless weapon
aside, and, seizing the formidable spear which the Arab had dropped
into the boat, he once more clambered up the dhow's tall side.
As he did so a hideous chorus of shrieks and screams, which rose high
above the sounds of strife, rent the air; and a number of terrified
slaves burst open the flimsy bamboo deck and, rushing up in a body,
began throwing themselves overboard as if in fear of their lives.
Many of these poor creatures, unable to swim, sank at once beneath
the surface. The scene of confusion on board the dhow was now
indescribable. In the midst of it Lobb, scimitar in hand, ran up to
the middy.
"I've killed the captain of these slaver-men," he said excitedly,
"and the rest of the beggars was so took aback at the loss of their
chieftain that they caved in and laid down their arms. The ship is
yours, sir, but we must do our best to prevent these slaves escaping.
Mad as March hares, the lot of 'em seems to be, and that's the truth!"
By dint of almost superhuman efforts, the middy and his men succeeded
in pacifying the terrified Africans who still remained on board. A
good many had reached the shore, and were clambering up the rocks in
a wet and dripping state.
The Arabs had been disarmed and the wounded men were being attended
to when young Thring and his followers were thunderstruck by hearing
a loud and piercing cry from amongst the cliff-like rocks on shore:
"Help! help!"
"The voice of an Englishman!" exclaimed Lobb, in the greatest
astonishment; "well, that beats everything as----"
He was interrupted by an agonising shout from Thring, who staggered
back as if he had been shot: "It's Villiers! it's Jack Villiers!"
There could be no doubt about it. Extraordinary as it may appear,
there undoubtedly was the mid of the maintop--supposed to be fathoms
deep in an ocean grave--with his arms bound behind him, being hurried
away inland by a small party of armed Arabs who had just a few
moments before emerged from a cave amongst the rocks immediately
above the spot where the dhow lay at anchor. As Thring gazed in a
petrified manner at the flying group, he saw to his horror that one
of the Arabs had felled his chum to the ground with a blow from the
butt-end of a pistol.