of an orgie on board the _Dragon King_ in the height of a storm, and of
one of the murderous villains finding out his retreat in the foretop,
where the sailor who protected him lashed him to the rigging, so that he
could not tumble on deck if he should fall asleep. He remembered a man
with gleaming eyes and great white teeth swearing at him, and making a
cut at him with a drawn sword. After that, all was a complete blank to
him till he had just now opened his eyes and recognised Ernest.
"An' yer don't recollect being picked up at sea an' taken aboard the
_Susan Jane_, and brought here, nor nuthin'?" inquired Seth.
"Nothing whatever," said Frank, who showed himself to be a remarkably
intelligent boy now that he had recovered his senses. "I don't remember
anything that happened in the interval."
"Waal, that is curious," observed Seth.
That was all the story that Frank Lester could tell of the mutiny on
board the _Dragon King_, and his wonderful preservation.
All the mutineers, and some of their victims too most probably, met
their final doom shortly afterwards in the storm that had dismasted the
ship, leaving it to float derelict over the surface of the ocean; all
but the three whose corpses the visiting party from the _Susan Jane_ had
noticed on the submerged deck. These must have survived the tempest
only to perish finally from each other's murderous passions, after
having lingered on in a state of semi-starvation possibly--although
Frank said that the desperadoes from the diamond fields, who were the
ringleaders on board, were originally the most attenuated,
starved-looking mortals he had ever seen in his life.
STORY ONE, CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.
HOMEWARD-BOUND.
The work at the mine went on steadily. The "pocket" was cleared of the
quartz it contained, and the whole, amounting to two hundred and fifty
tons, passed through the stamp.
The soldiers, on their return from their victory over the Sioux, had
spread the news of the wonderful find of gold at Minturne Creek, and
miners had flocked up in hundreds. When the pocket was emptied, a
debate arose whether a heading should be driven along the course of the
lode to the spot where Mr Rawlings' cousin had struck gold, and where
it was probable that another pocket existed. It was, however, decided
to accept the offer of a body of wealthy speculators, who offered
100,000 pounds for the set. This was indeed far less than they would
have gleaned from it had the second pocket turned out as rich as the
first, for the gold, when all the quartz was crushed, amounted in value
to 350,000 pounds. Half of the total amount was divided by Mr
Rawlings, according to his promise, among the miners. Seth receiving
three shares, Noah Webster two, and the men one each. To Ernest Wilton
he gave one-fourth of his own share of the proceeds.
Then, starting from the spot where they had toiled so hard, the little
band set out for the haunts of civilisation once more, leaving behind,
where they had found a solitary valley, a place dotted with huts and
alive with busy men.
At Bismark the men separated, some to proceed back to their beloved
California, to star it among their fellows with their newly acquired
wealth, others to dissipate it in riotous living in the nearest frontier
towns, while others again, struck with the greed of gold, thought that
they had not yet got enough, and proceeded rapidly to gamble away what
they had.
Mr Rawlings went eastwards towards Boston, intending to take steamer
thence to England, which he resolved never to leave again in the pursuit
of adventure now that fortune had so generously befriended him; and with
him came Ernest Wilton, taking charge of his recovered cousin; and Seth,
who could not bear to lose sight of his former protege.
Josh and Jasper had been left behind, the two darkeys sinking their
mutual jealousy, and determining to start a coloured hotel on the
Missouri, for the benefit of travelling gentlemen of their own
persuasion; so too had Noah Webster, who said he liked hunting better
than civilisation, and intended to pass the remainder of his days out
west in the company of Moose, who was as eager after game as he was
himself and as fearless of the Indians, should they again trouble them,
after their Minturne Creek experiences.
Wolf, however, was one of the homeward-bound party. He certainly could
not be abandoned after all his faithful services, and the wonderful
instinct he had displayed, more than his master had done, in recognising
Frank, whom he had not seen since puppyhood, when Ernest Wilton's aunt,
Frank's mother, gave him to the young engineer.
As luck would have it, on the arrival of Mr Rawlings and his party at
Boston whom should they meet accidentally at the railway depot but
Captain Blowser, of the _Susan Jane_, as hearty and jolly as of yore,
and delighted to see them! His ship he "guessed" was just going to
Europe, and he would be only too glad of their taking passage in her.
Need it be mentioned that the captain's offer was accepted; and that,
long before Frank Lester--the "Sailor Bill" whom Seth loved, and the
crew of the _Susan Jane_ and the gold-miners of Minturne Creek had
regarded with such affection--had arrived in England to gladden his
mother's heart by his restoration, as if from the dead, when he had long
been given up for lost, together with his father's property which he
carried with him, he had learnt every detail, as if he had been in his
right senses at the time, of how he had been "Picked up at Sea?"
STORY TWO, CHAPTER ONE.
GREEK PIRATES AND TURKISH BRIGANDS. A TALE OF ADVENTURE BY SEA AND
LAND.
IN BEYROUT HARBOUR.
"It's a thundering shame our sticking here so long; and I'm sick of the
beastly old place," said Tom Aldridge in a grumbling tone, as he leant
over the bulwarks listlessly, crumbling bits of biscuit into the sea to
attract the fish, which would not be attracted, and gazing in an idle
way at the roof of the pacha's palace, that glittered under the rays of
the bright Syrian sun. "I'm sick of the place, Charley!" he repeated,
more venomously than before.
"So am I, Tom," said Charley Onslow, his fellow-midshipman on board the
_Muscadine_, an English barque of some seven or eight hundred tons, that
lay, along with several foreign vessels of different rig, in the bay of
Beyrout--as pretty a harbour as could be picked out in a score of
voyages, and about the busiest port in the whole of the Levant.
"So am I, Tom," said Charley with the utmost heartiness. "I am as tired
of it as I am of the eternal dates and coffee, coffee and dates, on
which these blessed Arab beggars live, and which everybody makes a point
of offering to one, if a chap goes ashore for a minute; while, on board,
we've nothing now to do but to check off the freight as it comes
alongside before it's lowered in the hold, and look out at the
unchanging picture around us, which is so familiar that I believe I
could paint it with my eyes shut if I were an artist. Talk of the
beauty of Beyrout, indeed! To my taste, it's the most monotonous hole I
was ever in in my life, and I hate it!"
And yet, in spite of Charley Onslow's peevish criticism, the scene
around him and his companion was charming enough.
The _Muscadine_ was anchored out in the roads, close to the jutting
promontory on which the lazaretto buildings were lately erected, that
stretched out like an arm into the harbour; and the view from her deck
presented a beautiful panorama of the semi-European, semi-Oriental town,
nestling on the very edge of the blue waters of the Mediterranean, and
surrounded by gently-undulating hills, that were terraced with
symmetrical rows of trim olive-trees and vineyards, rising tier upon
tier, the one above the other; amidst which, occasionally peeped out
slily the white cupola of some suburban villa belonging to one of the
wealthy merchants of the port, or the minaret of a Moslem mosque,
standing out conspicuously against the shrubbery of foliage formed of
different tints of green, from the palest emerald shade to the deepest
indigo, that culminated finally in the cedar-crowned heights of the
mountains of Lebanon in the purple distance.
It was not a quiet scene either, as might have been imagined from the
idle ennui of both the young sailors, whom it seemed to have well-nigh
bored to death. On the contrary, to an unprejudiced looker-on it was
quite the reverse of being inactive.
In the foreground the harbour was lively enough, with boats and
caravels, and other Turkish craft of all sizes and shapes, darting here
and there like great white-winged dragon-flies, as they were wafted
swiftly one moment by some passing whiff of air, or lying still on the
surface of the sea as the wind fell and they were temporarily becalmed,
until another gust came from the hills to rouse them out of their
noontide sluggishness.
Amongst them, too, were ships' boats belonging to the different vessels,
anchored, like the _Muscadine_, out in the roads, being pulled to and
from the shore, anon laden with merchandise, anon returning for more;
while, of course, the dingy black smoke and steady paddle-beat of the
inevitable steamer, that marks the progress of Western civilisation in
the East, made themselves seen and heard, to complete the picture and
make the contrast the more striking.
"Tom," said Charley presently, after the two had remained silent for
some time, still standing in the shade of the awning aft, that protected
them from the burning heat of the sun, which was at its most potent
point, it being just mid-day.
"Yes," said the other grumpily, as if disinclined even for conversation.
"It has just gone eight bells."
"Can't I hear as well as you, Charley? What's the use of bothering a
fellow? Do leave me alone."
"I only wanted to say, Tom, that the skipper said we might go ashore
this afternoon if we liked, as soon as the second mate came on board;
and there he is coming off in the jolly-boat now."
"I don't care whether Tompkins comes off or not," replied Tom Aldridge
in the same peevish tone as he had spoken at first. "What's the good of
going ashore?"
"Oh, lots of good," said Charley Onslow more cheerily. "Better than
stopping here cooped-up like a fowl and being grilled in the sun."
"Well, I can't see the difference between getting roasted ashore and
roasted on board, for my part," retorted Tom. "It's six of one and
half-a-dozen of the other."
"You lazy duffer!" said Charley laughing; "you are incorrigible. But do
come along with me, Tom. We haven't landed now for two days, and I
can't stand the _Muscadine_ any longer."
"I suppose you'll have your way, as you always do," grumbled the other,
turning away at last from his listless contemplation of the prospect
with which he had owned himself so disgusted. "I don't know how it is,
Charley, but you seem to manage me and everybody here just as you like;
you can come round the skipper even, when you set your mind to it, and
that is what no one else can do!"
"You forget Mr Tompkins."
"I don't count him at all," said Tom Aldridge indignantly. "He's a
sneak, and gets his way by wheedling and shoe-scraping! But you,
Charley, go to work in quite a different fashion. Why, I'm hanged if
you don't cheek a fellow when you want to get something out of him.
It's your Irish impudence that does it, my boy, I expect."
"Sure, an' it's a way we have in the ould counthry," said Charley,
putting on the brogue so easily that it seemed natural to him--which
indeed it was, as he was born not twenty miles from Cork, in the
neighbourhood of which is situated the far-famed "Blarney stone," that
is supposed to endow those who kiss it with the "gift of the gab;" and
Charley must have "osculated it," as a Yankee would say, to some
purpose.
"Be jabers, thin, ye spalpeen," laughed Tom--who had got out of his
grumpy state quickly enough; for his disposition was almost as
light-hearted as that of his friend, and it was only the heat and the
confinement on board ship when in harbour that had previously oppressed
his spirits--"let us look smart, and be off. Here's that fellow
Tompkins just coming up the side, and I don't want any more of his
company than I can help! Tell him we're going by the captain's
permission, Charley. I don't want to say a word to him after that row
this morning. You are still on speaking terms with him, and I'm not.
And while you are settling matters with the old sneak, I'll get the
dinghy ready, and fetch up the bottle of brandy I promised that jolly
old Turk at the coffee-shop."
"You'd better water it a bit, Tom," said Charley, as the other was
diving down the companion-stairs. "It's awfully strong; and you know
Mohammedans are not accustomed to it."
"Not a drop of it, my boy," replied he, disappearing for a moment from
view, and his voice receding in the distance. "I promised the old
infidel that he should have the real stuff, and I'll let him see that a
giaour can keep his word."
In a second or two he came up again, the bottle, however, concealed in
the pocket of his reefer of light blue serge. And hauling in the
painter of the boat, which was floating astern, while Charley was still
confabulating with the second officer, who had come on board in the
meantime, he sat himself down in her, and waited patiently till his chum
had done with the obnoxious Mr Tompkins, who seemed to have a good deal
to say, and that of a not very pleasant character. "Bother the chap!"
said Charley, when he was at length released, and, shinning down a rope,
sat down in the stern-sheets of the dinghy, as Tom Aldridge took up the
sculls and shoved off from the ship. "He's got as much to say as Noah's
great-grandmother. And the gist of it all, fault-finding, of course."
"What can you expect from a pig, eh?" said Tom, philosophically, when
the boat was well clear of the _Muscadine_, setting to work leisurely
and pulling to shore, while Charley reclined at his ease on the cushions
which he had taken the trouble to fix up for himself, and--did nothing,
as usual.
It was the general sort of "division of labour" amongst them.
However, they were fast friends, and, as Tom didn't complain, nobody
else has any right to find fault.
"A grunt, I suppose," replied Charley, in answer to Tom's conundrum.
"At least, from a Welsh pig, like Tompkins. An Irish one, bedad! would
have better manners."
"Bravo, Charley!" exclaimed Tom, bursting out into a laugh in which his
companion as heartily joined. "You stick to your country, at all
events, which is more than can be said for our leek-eating friend. He
always wishes to deny that he belongs to the land of the Cymri and hails
from Swansea, as he does. The sneak! I'm sure a decent Welshman would
be ashamed to own him. But, don't let us worry ourselves any longer
about Tompkins; it's bad enough to have him with us on board, without
lugging him ashore, too; hang him!"
"Ay, ay, so say I," sang out Charley, in the best accord.
And then, after a few more vigorous strokes from the sculls, propelled
by Tom's muscular arms, the bow of the dinghy stranded on the sandy
shore, and the two boys landed in the highest glee, without a trace of
the ill-humour and despondency in which they had been apparently plunged
not an hour or so before.
STORY TWO, CHAPTER TWO.
THE COFFEE-SHOP IN BEYROUT.
Pushing past the crowds of busy and idle people, Greeks, Turks,
Armenians, Maronites, Arabs, Frenchmen, and a few English, like
themselves, who thronged the narrow streets, which were lined on either
side with stores built in the American fashion for the disposal of
European goods; narrow Eastern shops, and bazaars and caravanserais,
hung with carpets, and displaying grapes and figs, and all sorts of
fruit in true Oriental style; they made their way towards a Turkish
coffee-house that was situated not far from the waterside, and much
patronised by those who, like themselves, had to do with ships and
seafaring concerns--although, they did not arrive very quickly at their
destination, for the time for the noonday halt having passed by, the
usual caravans from Damascus and the interior were coming in, long
trains of camels, asses, and mules, laden with coffee, raw silk,
rhubarb, untanned leather, figs, aromatic gums, and all the varied
merchandise that comes through Arabia and Persia to the ports of the
Levant; and, consequently, the main thoroughfares were so blocked with
these commercial pilgrims from the desert, that it was as much as Tom
and Charley could do to get along.
They did it at length, however, by dint of shoving themselves
unceremoniously through the lookers-on who congregated to see the
caravans pass, taking no notice of the many invocations to Allah to
curse them, as "dogs of Christians," who profaned the sacred presence of
the followers of Islam by breathing the same air as themselves; finally
reaching the courtyard of Mohammed's khan, after much jostling and
struggling and good-natured expostulation and repartee, enlivened with
many a hearty laugh as some donkey driver came to grief with his load,
or when a venerable Arab sheikh on a tall dromedary sputtered with rage
at finding the way impassable and his dignity hurt.
The Turk who kept the khan, or coffee-house, was a middle-aged man, who
had seen a good deal of all sorts of life in knocking about the world,
and was so cosmopolitan in his character that he was almost
denationalised. He had a round, good-humoured face, that told as
plainly as face could tell that he was no ascetic, or rigid Mussulman
bound to the edicts of the Koran, but one who liked good living as well
as most folk.
Tom's description of him hit him off exactly; he was decidedly "a jolly
old Turk"--nothing more nor less.
On seeing the boys come in, he at once made places for them beside him
on the divan, where he sat on a pile of cushions smoking a long
chibouque, with a coffee-cup beside him on a little tray, that also
contained sweetmeats, from which he took an occasional sip in the
intervals, when he removed the stem of his pipe from his lips and
emitted a vast volume of tobacco-smoke in one long puff.
"Aha, my young capitan!" said he to Tom Aldridge, when they had seated
themselves, cross-legged, as he was, and accepted the chibouques brought
to them immediately by an Arab boy, "you ver long time coming to see me.
I tinks I nevare see yous no more!"
He spoke broken English, but with his genial manner and broad smile of
welcome made himself readily understood.
"I couldn't come before," said Tom. "But I didn't forget you all the
same, for I've brought what I promised, the bottle of--"
"Hush-h!" interrupted old Mohammed, with a warning gesture, placing his
hand before Tom's mouth. "De med-i-seen for my leg? Ah, yase, I
recollects. I am ver mooch oblige. Tanks. You'll have some cafe?"
"No, thank you," replied Tom. "I and my friend here are sick of coffee;
let us have some sherbet instead, although we don't want anything. We
only came to have a chat with you and a smoke, that's all."
"That is all raite, my frens. I don't like mooch coffees myselfs. De
med-i-seen is mooch bettaires," said Mohammed, patting his stomach and
grinning again, as he winked knowingly at Tom, in a manner that would
have shocked a true believer, while he shouted out an order to the Arab
boy. "But, de sheerbeet is goot for de leetle boys, O yase."
"Cunning old rogue," said Charley, aside to Tom. "He wants all the
brandy for himself, although he wouldn't like his fellow-religionists to
know that he drank it. I suppose if we wished for some, we would have
to ask for a drop of the med-i-seen."
"Oh, he's not a bad sort," replied Tom. "He has offered me wine many a
time, and he's a generous old chap, I should think. Well, Mohammed," he
continued, aloud, "and how's business?"
"Ver bad, ver bad inteet," said that worthy. "I nevare did no worse in
my loife. I shall have to shoot up de shop soon."
"That's a good one!" exclaimed Tom. "You can tell that to the marines.
I bet you've got a snug little pile of piastres stowed away somewhere."
"P'raps I haive," said the old Turk, nodding his head as he smiled
complacently; "and if you young shentlemens should be vat you call `ard
oop,' I could lend you some moneys. But don't talk so loud," he added
cautiously, casting a glance at a group of Greek sailors who were
gabbling away near them, and scanning Tom and Charley curiously, "I
don't like de look of dose fellows dere, and dey might hear us talk if
dey leesten, and vill remembers."
"What of that?" asked Charley; "I don't suppose they would understand
us."
"Aha, so you tink," said Mohammed warily. "But dose Grecs are ver
knowing and oop to every ting. Dey are bad, ver bad, every one."
As he spoke two of the Greeks separated themselves from the group, and
came over to where they were sitting, as if sent for the purpose.
"I understand," said one, who acted as spokesman, and addressed them in
the most perfect English, "that your captain is in want of hands?"
The question was pertinent enough, as more than half the crew were laid
up in the Beyrout hospital, or lazaretto, with a sort of malarial fever,
and the _Muscadine_ was only waiting for their recovery, or until enough
hands could be shipped, to enable her to pursue her voyage to her next
port, Smyrna, where she was to complete her cargo, and then sail for
England.
The boys of course knew this well enough, but they did not see it was
any business of the Greeks, and after Mohammed's hint as to their
character they resented the inquiry as a piece of impudence.
"How do you know which is our ship?" said Charley, in Irish fashion
asking another question, in lieu of answering the one addressed to him;
"and if you do, whether she wants hands or not?"
He spoke rather uncivilly, but the man replied to him with studied
politeness.
"I beg your pardon, sir," said he, "but the _Muscadine_ is the only
English ship in the harbour, and any one who has travelled like myself
could easily tell the nationality of yourself and your friend. I am
aware, also, that several of your crew are laid up in hospital."
"And supposing such is the case," said Tom Aldridge, taking up the
cudgels, "what then?"
"Only, sir," replied the man, even more obsequiously than before, "I and
several others here, who are in want of a ship, would be glad to sign
articles with you."
"The others you mention are Greeks like yourself, I suppose?" inquired
Tom, still brusquely, as if he did not care whether he offended his
interlocutor or not.
"Yes, sir," said the man, "but my countrymen are generally reckoned to
make good sailors, and ship in all sorts of vessels to all parts of the
world."
"That may be," answered Tom, who hardly knew what to say, "but it is no
concern of mine. You had better speak to Captain Harding about the
matter; we can't engage you."
"No?" said the man with a half sneer, half smile on his face, and he
seemed about to say something nasty; but he altered his mind before he
uttered the words, and completed his sentence with another civil
inquiry, at which neither Tom nor Charley could take offence. "And,
where can I and my friends see the captain, sir?"
"On board, any time before ten in the morning or after sunset in the
evening," said Tom curtly.
He didn't like the man, but he was at a loss how he could put him off in
any other way.
"Thank you, sir, I'm deeply obliged for your condescension," said the
Greek, who then regained his comrades, and the group presently walked
out of the khan.
"Bismillah!" ejaculated Mohammed as soon as the Greeks had disappeared.
"Can I believe my eyes? That scoundrel has got the impudence of
Sheitan, and must be in league with the spirits of Eblis."
"Who is he? do you know him?" eagerly asked Tom and Charley almost in
one breath of the Turk, who exhibited all the appearance of stupefied
astonishment.
"Mashallah! do I know him?" gasped out Mohammed, his emotion nearly
choking him. "Allah is great and Mohammed is his prophet--do I know
him?" he repeated, taking a long draw at his chibouque as if to calm his
nerves, while he lay back for a moment motionless amid his cushions.
"Well, who on earth is he, Mohammed?" demanded Tom abruptly--"that is,
unless the a--medicine--has got into your head."