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A Chapter
of
Adventures
BY
G. A. HENTY
[Illustration: Emblem]
BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED
LONDON GLASGOW AND BOMBAY
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE
George Alfred Henty was born near Cambridge in 1832, and educated at
Westminster School and Gonville and Caius College, Cambridge. He
volunteered for service in the Crimean War, and after some varied
experiences adopted a journalistic career. He served as war
correspondent of the _Standard_ during the Austro-Italian campaign of
1866, and was afterwards a correspondent in the Abyssinian War, the
Franco-German War, the Ashanti War, &c. His first book for boys was
published in 1868, and was followed by a long and very successful
series, including _The Young Franc-Tireurs_ (1872), _In Times of Peril_
(1881), _Under Drake's Flag_ (1883), _With Clive in India_ (1884), _The
Lion of the North_ (1886), _Orange and Green_ (1888), _The Lion of St.
Mark_ (1889), _By Pike and Dyke_ (1890), _By Right of Conquest_ (1891),
_With Moore at Corunna_ (1898), _With Kitchener in the Soudan_ (1903),
and _With the Allies to Pekin_ (1904). He died in 1902.
CONTENTS.
CHAP. Page
I. A FISHING VILLAGE 5
II. CAUGHT BY THE TIDE 15
III. A RUN FROM HARWICH 27
IV. THE WRECK 37
V. THE RESCUE 46
VI. ALTERED PROSPECTS 57
VII. ON BOARD THE _WILD WAVE_ 69
VIII. ALEXANDRIA 78
IX. THE RIOT IN ALEXANDRIA 89
X. PRISONERS 99
XI. THE BOMBARDMENT 110
XII. FREE 120
XIII. AMONG FRIENDS 131
XIV. A SET OF RASCALS 143
XV. A THREATENING SKY 153
XVI. OLD JOE'S YARN 163
XVII. IN DANGEROUS SEAS 180
XVIII. A CYCLONE 191
XIX. CAST ASHORE 201
A CHAPTER OF ADVENTURES
CHAPTER I
A FISHING VILLAGE
OF the tens of thousands of excursionists who every summer travel down
by rail to Southend, there are few indeed who stop at Leigh, or who,
once at Southend, take the trouble to walk three miles along the shore
to the fishing village. It may be doubted, indeed, whether along the
whole stretch of coastline from Plymouth to Yarmouth there is a village
that has been so completely overlooked by the world. Other places,
without a tithe of its beauty of position, or the attraction afforded by
its unrivalled view over the Thames, from Gravesend to Warden Point,
ever alive with ships passing up and down, have grown from fishing
hamlets to fashionable watering-places; while Leigh remains, or at any
rate remained at the time this story opens, ten years ago, as unchanged
and unaltered as if, instead of being but an hour's run from London, it
lay far north in Scotland.
Its hill rises steeply behind it; there is room only for the street
between the railway and the wharves, and for a single row of houses
between the line and the foot of the hill. To get into Leigh from the
country round it is necessary to descend by a steep road that winds down
from the church at the top of the hill; to get out again you must go by
the same way. The population is composed solely of fishermen, their
families, and the shopkeepers who supply their necessities. The men who
stand in groups in the street and on the wharf are all clad in blue
guernseys or duck smocks and trousers of pilot cloth or canvas.
Broad-built sturdy men are they, for in point of physique there are few
fishermen round the coast who can compare with those of Leigh.
A stranger in the place would think that the male population had nothing
to do but to stand in the street and talk, but night is for the most
part their time for work; although many of the bawleys go out on the
day-tide also, for at Leigh the tide is all-important. For five hours in
the day it washes the foot of the wharves, for seven a wide expanse of
mud stretches away to Canvey Island in front, and Southend Pier to the
east.
At the wells--for Leigh still depends for water on its wells--are,
during the hours at which water is permitted to be drawn, lines of
twenty women and girls with pails, each patiently waiting her turn.
There are not many boys about, for boys require more sleep than men, and
a considerable portion of their time on shore is spent in bed.
It is ten o'clock in the day; the bawleys have returned from the fishing
grounds, and scores of them have anchored in the Ray--a deep stretch of
water lying between the spit of sand that extends from the end of Canvey
Island close up to Southend Pier, and the mud-flats of Leigh. The flats
are still uncovered, but the tide is rising fast in the winding channel
leading up to the village. In a few minutes there will be water enough
for the boats, and already these can be seen leaving the bawleys and
making for the mouth of the channel. The wind is fair, and each boat
hoists its sail, white or yellow or brown, and with the crew sitting up
to windward comes flying along the shallow channel, making, as they
always do, a race of it home.
The boats are large and roomy, and are, as they need to be, good
sea-boats; for they have at times to live in rough water that would
swamp lighter craft like cockle-shells. Each boat carries two men and a
boy, that being the regular crew of a bawley; although, perhaps, for
rough winter work, they may sometimes take an extra hand. In the bow of
the first boat that comes tearing along up to the wharf sits a
good-looking lad, about fourteen years old. His face is bronzed with the
sun and wind, his clothes are as rough and patched as those of the other
fisher lads; but although as strong and sinewy as any of his companions
of the same age, he is somewhat slighter in his build, more active in
his movements, and has a more springy and elastic walk in spite of the
heavy boots that he wears.
He helps the others to land several baskets of shrimps, and carry them
to the railway-station hard by. They are already boiled, for the bawleys
carry coppers, into which the shrimps are baled straight from the nets,
so that they are in readiness to send off to town as soon as they are
landed. When the baskets are all piled on the platform he crosses the
line, follows it along for some fifty yards, and then enters a neat
cottage facing it.
"Back again all safe, Jack?"
"All right, mother! It's been a fine night, with just enough wind, and
not too much. I ought to have been in half an hour ago, but tide is late
this morning."
"Lily brought word, just as she was starting for school, that the boats
were coming up the creek, so your breakfast is all ready."
"And so am I, mother; though I had a piece of bread and cheese when we
dropped anchor. I will just wash my hands, and be ready in a jiffey."
Mrs. Robson was a native of Leigh. Her father had been a fisherman, who
had owned his own bawley; indeed, most of the boats at Leigh are the
property of one of the men who work them.
Bessy Tripper--not that her real name was Tripper, but Snow; but her
father for some unknown reason got the nickname of Tripper, and his sons
and daughters were also called by it, and would hardly have answered if
addressed as Snow--was one of the prettiest girls in Leigh; so thought
William Robson, a young artist, who came down to Leigh to spend the
summer there, sketching the picturesque boats as they came in and out,
or lay, with their heads pointing all round the compass, on the soft
mud.
He had taken lodgings at Tripper's house, and when not at work with his
brush spent much of his time on board the _Enterprise_. Bessy Tripper
was a conspicuous figure in the foreground of many of his sketches, and
occupied as prominent a place in his thoughts. She was as sweet-tempered
as she was pretty, and at last Will Robson made up his mind to marry her
if she would take him. He was himself an orphan, and had no friends who
had any right to object to his marrying according to his fancy, and he
could therefore do as he pleased without question or comment. Bessy
Tripper was quite ready to take him when he asked her, and they were
married at the church at the top of the hill, and went to live at a
little cottage near Dulwich.
William Robson was no genius; he had the knack of painting pretty marine
sketches in water-colours. These sold readily, but at low prices; and
although he was always talking of doing a great picture in oils that was
to make his fortune, the picture never was painted. He was always too
busy at what he called pot-boilers, which had to be sold to dealers for
a trifle, in order to enable him to meet the butcher's and baker's
bills. He never repented his marriage; Bessy was an admirable housewife,
and made a shilling go as far as many women would a half-crown. In the
summer they generally went down for a couple of months to Leigh, for her
to see her friends, for him to gather a fresh stock of new subjects.
He died suddenly from the effects of a chill, and when his affairs were
wound up Bessy found herself mistress of the five hundred pounds for
which he had insured his life, and the furniture of the cottage. It was
natural that she should return to Leigh. She had no friends elsewhere;
and she knew that money went much further there than in most other
places. Two hundred pounds were spent in purchasing the cottage in which
she now lived, and another two hundred in buying a bawley. At Leigh, as
at most other fishing places, the men work on shares--the boat takes a
share, and each of the men a share--the owner of a boat supplying nets
as well as the boat itself. The bawley, therefore, brought Mrs. Robson
in a sum equal to that earned by a fisherman, with deductions, however,
for damages to nets and spars.
In good seasons the receipts sufficed to keep her and her boy and girl
comfortably; in bad seasons they had to live very closely, and she was
obliged in specially bad times to dip a little into her reserve of a
hundred pounds. Upon the other hand, there was occasionally a windfall
when the smack rendered assistance to a vessel on the sands, or helped
to get up anchors or discharge cargoes.
At the time of her husband's death Jack was ten years old and Lily
eight. For two years the former attended the school on the hill, and
then went as a boy on board a bawley belonging to one of his uncles.
The lad's own predilections were entirely for the sea; his happiest
times had been spent at Leigh, and his father's work had kept the
longing alive at other times. He would have preferred going to sea in
one of the ships of which there was always such a line passing up and
down the river, but he was too young for that when he first began his
work on board the bawley; and as the time went on, and he became
accustomed to the life of a fisherman, his longings for a wider
experience gradually faded away, for it is seldom indeed that a Leigh
boy goes to sea--the Leigh men being as a race devoted to their homes,
and regarding with grave disapproval any who strike out from the regular
groove.
"We did well this morning, mother," Jack said as he came downstairs in a
clean guernsey and pilot trousers. "We had a fine haul off the lower
Blyth, and not a bad one higher up. I fancy most of the boats did well.
The _Hope_ was close to us, and I expect she must have done as well as
we did."
"That's good news, Jack. The catches have not been heavy lately, but now
they have once begun I hope that we shall have a better time of it."
The breakfast was fish, for fish is the chief article of diet at Leigh.
"Are you going to bed, Jack?"
"No, mother; I did not start until half-past one, and so I got a good
six hours before I turned out. I am going to help Uncle Ben put a fresh
coat of pitch on our boat. He is going to bring her in as soon as there
is water enough. Tom stopped on board with him, but they let me come
ashore in Atkins' boat; and of course I lent them a hand to get their
fish up. We shall land our lot when the bawley comes up."
"Then you won't go out again to-night, Jack?"
"Oh, yes, we shall, mother. We shall go out with the tide as usual. We
shall only do up to the water-line, and the pitch will be plenty dry
enough by night. We are going to fish over by Warden Point, I think."
"I am glad to hear it," his mother said. "I always feel more comfortable
when you are on that ground, as you are out of the track of steamers
there."
"Uncle is talking of going down to Harwich next week."
Mrs. Robson's face fell. She had expected the news, for every year a
considerable number of the Leigh bawleys go down to Harwich and fish off
that port for two or three months. The absence of Jack was always a
great trial to her. When he was with her she felt that he was safe, for
it is an almost unheard-of thing for a bawley to meet with an accident
when fishing in the mouth of the Thames; but off Harwich the seas are
heavy, and although even there accidents are rare--for the boats are
safe and staunch and the fishermen handle them splendidly--still the
risk is greater than when working at home.
The Leigh men themselves attribute their freedom from accident in no
slight degree to the fact that their boats never go out on Sunday. They
are God-fearing men these fishermen, and however bad the times, and
however hard the pinch, it is seldom indeed that a bawley puts out from
Leigh on Sunday, save to the assistance of a vessel in distress.
The excursionists who go down in summer weather to Margate and Ramsgate
scarcely think that ships could be cast away and broken up upon the
hidden sands beneath the sparkling waters. They know not that scarce one
of these sands but at low water is dotted with low, black timbers, and
that there are few more dangerous pieces of navigation in the world than
the passage up the mouth of the Thames on a wild night when a fierce
gale is blowing and the snow and sleet driving before it, obscuring the
guiding lights that mark the channels between the sands.
The _Bessy_--for so Ben Tripper had named his bawley, after his
favourite sister--was lying on the mud just above Leigh. A fishy smell
pervaded the air, for close by were the boiling-sheds, with their vast
heaps of white cockle-shells. These were dug by the cocklers either
from the sand at the end of the Canvey Island or on the Maplin Sands
somewhere off Shoebury.
The large boats often return deeply laden with them. On reaching Leigh
the cockles are thrown out in great heaps by the side of the creek,
where they are covered at each tide. Here they are left to clean
themselves, and to get rid of the sand they have taken in when
burrowing. Two or three days later they are carried up to the
boiling-houses and thrown into great coppers of boiling water. They open
at once, and the fish drop from the shells. The contents of the coppers
are passed through large meshed sieves, to allow the fish to pass
through and retain the shells, which go to add to the heaps outside.
These heaps would in time rival in size the cinder tips of the Midlands
were it not that there is a use for the shells. They make splendid lime,
and are sometimes taken away in barge-loads and carried to town, where
they are used instead of gravel in the parks, making, when crushed, the
whitest and tidiest of paths.
Before starting, Jack had put on a canvas jumper, leggings and high
boots, and was soon at work with his uncle, ankle-deep in the mud. The
bawleys are boats almost peculiar to Leigh, although a few hail from
Gravesend and the Medway. They are from thirty to forty-five feet long,
and are divided into three classes of from six to fifteen tons burden.
They are very broad in comparison to their length, some of them having a
beam of fifteen feet, and they carry their width almost to the stern,
which is square. This gives the boats a dumpy appearance, as they look
as if they had been cut short. They are half-decked, with a roomy
fo'castle and a well, where the fish are kept alive. They carry one
mast.
The peculiarity of their rig is that they have no boom to their
mainsail, which in shape somewhat resembles a barge-sail, and, like it,
can in a moment be brailed completely up. They carry a lofty topmast and
large topsails, and these they seldom lower, even when obliged to have
two reefs in the mainsail. They are capital sea-boats, fast, and very
handy; and it requires a good yacht to beat a bawley with a brisk wind
blowing. The men are keen sailors, and when the trawls are taken up and
their heads turned homewards it is always a race to be first back.
Ten years ago all the bawleys were clinker-built--that is, with the
streaks overlapping each other, as in boats; but the new bawleys are now
all carvel-built, the planks being placed edge to edge, so as to give a
smooth surface, as in yachts and large vessels. They now for the most
part carry spinnakers, boomed out when running before the wind, and
balloon foresails, thereby greatly adding to their speed in light winds.
One peculiarity of the bawleys is that, when at anchor, the mainsail,
instead of being stowed with its spars parallel to the deck, is made up
on its gaff, which is then hoisted with the throat seven or eight feet
up the mast, while the peak rests on the stern.
This is done to give more room on deck, and enable the men to get more
easily in and out of the fo'castle. It has, however, a curious
appearance, and a fleet of bawleys at anchor resembles nothing so much
as a flock of broken-backed ducks.
Ben Tripper and his mate, Tom Hoskins, finished tarring the boat under
her water-line soon after four o'clock in the afternoon, Jack's share of
the work consisting in keeping the fire blazing under the pitch kettle.
"What time shall we go out, uncle?"
"Not going out at all, Jack. We will finish tarring her the first thing
in the morning, and there are two or three odd jobs want doing."
"Will you want me, uncle? because, if not, I shall go out early with
Bill Corbett cockling. His father has hurt his leg, and is laid up, so
he asked me to lend him a hand. I told him I didn't know whether you
were going out again to-night or whether you could spare me in the
morning, but that if you didn't want me I would go with him."
"You can go, Jack; besides, you will be in early anyhow. We will do the
tarring without you."