All along the Somali coast was Tandy's "chief market ground," as he
called it. Here he knew he could drive precisely the kind of bargains
he wished to make; and as for the Somalis, with their shields, spears,
ugly broad knives, and grinning sinister faces, this bold seaman did not
care anything. Nor for the Arabs either. He soon gave both to
understand that he was a man of the wide, wide world, and was not afraid
of any one.
He had come to trade and barter, he told the Arabs, and not to study
their slave-hunting habits; so if they would deal, they had only to trot
out their wares--_he_ was ready. And if they didn't want to deal, there
was no harm done. He even took Ransey with him sometimes, and once he
took Nelda as well.
The savages just here were a bad, bloodthirsty lot, and he knew it, but
he had with him five trusty men. Not armed--that is, not visibly so.
But on this particular day there was blood in those natives' eyes.
Tall, lithe, and black-brown were they, their skins oiled and shining in
the sun. But smiling. Oh, yes, these fiends will smile while they cut
a white man's throat.
Every eye was fixed hungrily on the beautiful child. What a present she
would be for a great chief who dwelt far away in the interior and high
among the mountains!
The bartering went on as usual, but Tandy kept his weather eye lifting.
Leopards' skins, lions' skins and heads, ostrich feathers, gum-copal,
ivory tusks, and gold-dust. The boat was already well filled, Nelda was
on board, so was Tandy himself, and his crew, all save one man, who was
just shoving her off when the rush was made. The prow of the boat was
instantly seized, and the man thrown down.
Pop--pop--pop--pop--rang Tandy's revolver, and the yelling crowd grew
thinner, and finally fled.
A spear or two was thrown, but these went wide of the mark.
Human blood looks ghastly on white coral sands, but was Tandy to blame?
Nelda was safe, and in his arms.
"O daddy," she cried, kissing his weather-beaten face, "are we safe?"
"Yes, darling; but I mustn't land here again."
Salook was the village king here, a big, burly brute of an Arab, with a
white, gilded turban and a yellow, greasy face beneath it. Tandy had
known some of his tricks and manners in days gone by.
At sunset that very same evening Salook was surrounded by his warriors.
"Everything yonder," he said in Swahili, as he pointed to the _Sea
Flower_, "is yours. The little maiden shall be my slave. Get ready
your boats, and sharpen your spears. Even were the ship a British
man-of-war I'd board her."
At sunset that evening Tandy was surrounded by _his_ men, and pistols
and cutlasses were served out to all.
"We'll have trouble to-night, men," he said, "as soon as the moon rises.
If there was a breath of wind off-shore I'd slip. We can't slip--but
we'll fight."
A cheer rose from the seamen, which Tandy quickly suppressed.
"Hush! Let us make them believe we suspect no treachery. But get up
steam in the donkey engine, and connect the pipes."
This is a plan of defence that acts splendidly and effectively against
all kinds and conditions of savages.
Boiling water on bare skins causes squirming, so Tandy felt safe.
The ship carried but one big gun, and this was now loaded with grape.
There wasn't a sound of life to be heard on board the barque, when about
seven bells that night a flood of moonlight, shining softly o'er the
sea, revealed the dark boats of the Somalis speeding out to the attack.
But every man on board was at his station.
This was to be a fight to the very death, and all hands knew it.
Nearer and nearer they come--those demon boats. The biggest boat of all
is leading, and, sword in hand, Salook stands in the prow. It is
crowded with savages, their spear-heads glittering in the moonbeams. On
this boat the gun is trained.
The rocks re-echo the crash five seconds after, but the echo is mingled
with the yelling of the wounded and the drowning.
Ah! a right merry feast for the sharks, and Salook goes down with the
bottomless boat.
The fight does not end with this advantage. Those Somalis are like
fiends incarnate. Not even the rifles and revolvers can repel their
attack. See, they swarm on the bulwarks round the bows, for the ship
has swung head on to the shore with the out-flowing tide.
"Give it to them. The water now, boys. Warm them well!"
Oh, horror! The shrieking is too terrible to be described.
In their boats the unwounded try to reach the shore; but the rifles play
on these, and they are quickly abandoned, for the Somalis can swim like
eels.
"Now for loot, lads," cries Tandy. "They began the row. Man and arm
the boats."
When the _Sea Flower's_ men landed on the white sands, led on by Tandy
and Ransey, the conquest was easy. A few volleys secured victory, and
the savages were driven to their crags and hills.
"Let us spoil the Egyptians," said Tandy, "then we shall return and
splice the main-brace."
The loot obtained was far more valuable than the cargoes they had
obtained by barter, and I need hardly say that the main-brace _was_
spliced.
Towards morning the wind came puffing off the land. It ought to have
died away at sunrise, but did not. So the _Sea Flower_ soon made good
her offing, and before long the land lay like a long blue cloud far away
on the weather-beam.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The ship was reprovisioned at Zanzibar, and one or two sick hands were
allowed to land to be attended to at the French hospital.
In less than a fortnight she once more set sail, and in two months'
time, everything having gone well and cheerily, despite a storm or two,
the _Sea Flower_ was very far at sea indeed, steering south-west, and
away towards the wild and stormy Cape Horn.
On going on deck one morning, Halcott found Tandy forward, glass in
hand, steadying himself against the foremast, while he swept the sea
ahead.
"Hallo! Tandy. Land, eh?"
"No, it isn't land, Halcott. A precious small island it would be. But
we're a long way to the west'ard of the Tristan da Cunha, and won't see
land again till we hail the Falklands. Have a squint, sir."
"What do you make of her, sir?" asked Tandy.
"Why, a ship; but she's a hulk, Tandy, a mere hulk or derelict."
"There might be some poor soul alive there notwithstanding."
"I agree with you. Suppose we overhaul her," said Halcott, "and set her
on fire. She's a danger to commerce, anyhow, and I'll go myself, I
think."
So the whaler was called away, and in a few minutes the boat was
speeding over the water towards the dismantled ship, while the _Sea
Flower_, with her foreyard aback, lay floating idly on the heaving sea.
It was early summer just than, in these regions--that is, December was
well advanced, and the crew were looking forward to having a real good
time of it when Christmas came.
Alas! little did they know what was before them, or how sad and terrible
their Christmas would be.
"Pull easy for a bit, men," cried Halcott; "she is a floating horror!
Easy, starboard! give way, port! We'll get the weather gauge on her,
for she doesn't smell sweet."
Not a living creature was there to answer the hail given by Halcott.
Abandoned she evidently had been by the survivors of her crew, for the
starboard boats still hung from her davits, while the ports were gone,
and at this side a rope ladder depended.
The boat-hook caught on; with strange misgivings Halcott scrambled on
board followed by two men.
He staggered and almost fell against the bulwark, and no wonder, for the
sight that met his eyes was indeed a fearful one.
On the lower deck was a great pile of wood, and near it stood a big can
of petroleum. It was evident that the crew had intended firing the ship
before leaving her, but had for some reason or other abandoned the idea.
Halcott, however, felt that he had a duty to perform, so he gave orders
for the paraffin to be emptied over the pile and over the deck. As soon
as this was done lighted matches were thrown down, and hardly had they
time to regain the boat and push off, ere columns of dark smoke came
spewing up the hatchways, followed high into the air by tongues and
streams of fire.
Before noon the derelict sank spluttering into the summer sea, and only
a few blackened timbers were left to mark the spot where she had gone
down.
A few days after this the wind fell and fell, until it was a dead calm.
Once more the sea was like molten lead, and its surface glazed and
glassy, but never a bird was to be seen, and for more than a week not a
cloud was in the sky as big as a man's hand. Nor was the motion of the
ship appreciable. By day the sun shone warm enough, but at night the
stars far in the southern sky shone green and yellow through a strange,
dry haze.
On Saturday night Tandy as usual gave orders to splice the main-brace.
He, and Halcott also, loved the real old Saturday nights at sea, of the
poet Dibdin's days. And hitherto, in fair weather or in foul, these had
been kept up with truly British mirth and glee.
There was no rejoicing, however, on this particular evening, for two of
the hands lay prostrate on deck. Halcott himself ministered to them,
sailor fashion. First he got them placed in hammocks swung under a
screen-berth on deck. This was for the sake of the fresh air, and
herein he showed his wisdom.
Then he took a camp-stool and sat down near them to consider their
symptoms. But these puzzled him; for while one complained of fierce
heat, with headache, and his eyes were glazed and sparkling, the other
was shivering and blue with cold. He had no pain except cramps in his
legs and back, which caused him an agony so acute that he screamed aloud
every time they came on.
Halcott went aft to study. He studied best when walking on his
quarterdeck. Hardly knowing what he did, he picked up a bone that
honest Bob had been dining off, and threw it into the sea. There was
still light enough to see, and the man at the wheel looked languidly
astern. When three monster sharks dived, nose on, towards the bone, he
looked up into the captain's face.
"Seen them before?" said Halcott, who was himself superstitious.
"Bless ye, yes, sir. It's just four days since they began to keep
watch, and there they be again. Ah, sir! it ain't ham-bones they's
a-lookin' arter. They'll soon get the kind o' meat they likes best."
"What mean you, Durdley?"
"I means the chaps you 'as in the 'ammocks. Listen, sir. There's no
deceivin' Jim Durdley. We've got the plague aboard! I've been shipmate
with she afore to-day."
Halcott staggered as if shot.
"Heaven forbid!" he exclaimed.
No one on board cared much for this man Durdley. Nor is this to be
wondered at. In his own mess he was quarrelsome to a degree. Poor
little Fitz fled when he came near him, and many a brutal blow he
received, which at times caused fierce fights, for every one fore and
aft loved the nigger boy.
Durdley was almost always boding ill. His only friends were the
foreigners of the crew, men that to make a complement of five-and-twenty
Tandy had hired in a hurry.
Mostly Finns they were, and bad at that, and if there was ever any
grumbling to be done on board the _Sea Flower_ these were the fellows to
begin it.
Halcott recovered himself quickly, gave just one glance at Durdley's
dark, forbidding countenance--the man was really ugly enough to stop a
church clock--and went below.
He met Tandy at the saloon door, and told him his worst fears.
Alas! these fears were fated to be realised all too soon.
The men now stricken down were those who had boarded the derelict with
Halcott. One died next evening, and was lashed in his hammock and
dropped over the bows a few hours afterwards.
No doubt, seeing his fellow taken away, the other, who was one of the
best of the crew, lost heart.
"I'm dying, sir," he told Halcott. "No use swallowing physic, the
others'll want it soon."
By-and-by he began to rave. He was on board ship no longer, but walking
through the meadows and fields far away in England with his sister by
his side.
"I'll help you over the old-fashioned stile," Fitz, who was nursing him,
heard him say--"yes, the old-fashioned stile, Lizzie. Oh, don't I love
it! And we'll walk up and away through the corn-field, by the little,
winding path, to the churchyard where mother sleeps. Look, look at the
crimson poppies, dear siss. How bonnie they are among the green.
Ah-h!"
That was a scream which frightened poor Fitz.
"Go not there, sister. See, see, the monster has killed her! Ah, me!"
Fitz rushed aft to seek for assistance, for the captain had told him to
call him if Corrie got worse.
Alas! when the two returned together, Corrie's hammock was empty.
No one had heard even a plash, so gently had he lowered himself over the
side, and sunk to rise no more.
Book 2--CHAPTER ELEVEN.