SEA, SPRAY AND SPINDRIFT
WORKS BY “TAFFRAIL”
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PINCHER MARTIN, O.D.
A Story of the Navy.
(CHAMBERS.)
[Illustration: “The torpedo must have struck her forward.... She seemed
to be sinking fast.”
_Frontispiece_ _See page 156_
]
SEA, SPRAY AND
SPINDRIFT
NAVAL YARNS
BY
“TAFFRAIL”
AUTHOR OF
“CARRY ON!” “PINCHER MARTIN, O.D.”
ETC., ETC.
_With Eight Full-page Illustrations by
W. E. Wigfull & H. Sotheby Pitcher._
Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott Company
London: C. Arthur Pearson Ltd.
1917
_Printed in England_
PREFACE
These stories were not originally written with a view to their ultimate
reappearance in book form, and most of them were written some while ago.
“Tubby’s Dhow” was first published in Herbert Strang’s _Annual for
Boys_; “The Stranding of the _Hoi-Hau_,” “The Salvage of the _Cashmere_”
and “The Luck of the _Tavy_,” in the _Scout_; “The Gunner’s Luck,” in
the _Weekly Telegraph_; “The Inner Patrol,” in the _Royal Magazine_;
“Horatio Nelson Chivers” and “The Escape of the _Speedwell_,” in the
_British Boys’ Annual_ (Messrs. Cassell & Co., Ltd.), and “The
Gun-runners,” in the _St. George’s Magazine_. I wish to acknowledge my
indebtedness to the respective Editors who have so kindly allowed me to
republish my work in book form.
It is needless to remark that all my characters are fictitious.
“TAFFRAIL.”
1917.
CONTENTS
PAGE
I. TUBBY’S DHOW 9
II. THE STRANDING OF THE “HOI-HAU” 32
III. THE GUNNER’S LUCK 49
IV. HORATIO NELSON CHIVERS 61
V. THE SALVAGE OF THE “CASHMERE” 84
VI. THE INNER PATROL 99
VII. THE GUN-RUNNERS 109
VIII. THE ESCAPE OF THE “SPEEDWELL” 129
IX. THE LUCK OF THE “TAVY” 147
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
The torpedo must have struck her forward _Frontispiece_
TO FACE PAGE
Tubby, making a sudden spring, hit him full on the
point of the jaw 20
Jim saw the masts of the native craft falling, whilst
masses of debris were flung skyward by the force
of the powerful explosive 47
He saw to his inexpressible relief that the entrance
to Salhanda Bay was in sight 57
“It’s laudanum. Here, take it and hide it somewhere” 77
The fiery trail of a rocket leapt out from the darkness 89
He seized the axe and made a wild slash 142
The glare died away, but not before he had caught a
fleeting glimpse of the dark shape of a vessel 150
SEA, SPRAY AND SPINDRIFT
I
TUBBY’S DHOW
I
“Oh, blow this Arabic!” exclaimed the midshipman petulantly, shutting up
the phrase book on the table before him with a bang and leaning back to
stretch himself.
“What’s the matter now, Tubby?” asked a small officer called Travers,
who, by reason of his rather shrill voice, always went by the name of
“Squeaker.”
“Tubby,” otherwise Midshipman Arthur Geoffrey Plantagenet, Royal Navy,
mopped his face for a minute before replying. It must be admitted that
he fully deserved his nickname, for in appearance he was short and very
rotund, and was the proud possessor of a bright red face, a crop of
freckles, and a shock of sandy hair. His _tout ensemble_ was not
prepossessing, but his even white teeth and blue eyes saved him from
being absolutely ugly, particularly when he laughed.
“What was that you said, Squeaker?” he said at last.
“I asked you what was the matter.”
“It’s this heat,” Tubby complained. “One can’t do any work while it’s
like this!”
Their ship--H.M.S. _Clytia_, light cruiser--was in the Gulf of Oman, and
it certainly was over-poweringly hot; for the pitch bubbled in the seams
on deck, while the awnings overhead seemed to collect rather than
mitigate the heat from the blazing sun above.
“But why d’you want to learn Arabic?” asked Travers after another pause.
“Because I want to know the language, silly!” retorted Plantagenet. “I
know all you fellows jeered at me when I took it up, but though I’ve
only been at it six months I know quite enough to make myself understood
ashore.”
“But----” the other was about to protest.
“Be quiet, you two!” growled a drowsy sub-lieutenant from a deck chair.
“Can’t you let a fellow get to sleep?”
It was a “make and mend” afternoon, which in other words meant that all
the midshipmen had a half-holiday. It followed, therefore, since the
ship was at sea and they could not get ashore, that the greater number
of them followed the usual custom of the Service and spent it in sleep.
The small curtained-off inclosure on the upper deck, serving for the
time being as the gunroom, since the heat down below was quite
unendurable, was full of young officers stretched out on forms and deck
chairs in various stages of drowsiness and deshabille. Tubby and
Travers, in fact, the latter of whom had been industriously writing up
his journal, were the only two members of the little community who were
awake.
“I say, Squeaker,” whispered the former, glancing round to see if the
sub-lieutenant was asleep, “you know we’re anchoring off one of the
villages at daylight to-morrow?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I heard the skipper telling the commander that all the officers
who could be spared could go ashore for a run, snotties as well. It ’ud
be rather a good idea if you and I took our guns. We might get Molyneux
to come too,” he added, referring to one of the other midshipmen.
“I’m all for it,” agreed Squeaker; “but is there anything to shoot?”
“I dare say. I had a look at the chart this afternoon, and about five
miles along the coast from where we’ll anchor there’s some cover a short
way inland. It’s not far from a village. I vote we go in that
direction.”
“All right,” said Travers; “but d’you think it’ll be quite safe?”
“Of course, it will; why shouldn’t it be?”
“I’ve heard that all these villagers are in league with the gun-runners
we’re trying to catch,” explained the other. “It would be rather a bad
look-out if we got caught.”
“Oh, that’s all rot,” put in Tubby. “They won’t hurt us. You’ll come, I
suppose?”
“You bet.”
“All right. That’s fixed up. I know Molyneux’ll be keen.”
To understand the exact nature of the operations in which the _Clytia_
was taking part, it is necessary to refer to the map. The native dhows
carrying arms and ammunition usually left different places on the Oman
and Pirate coasts of Arabia, their destinations being the small bays
and creeks between Lingah and Charbar on the Mekran coast. On being
disembarked, the weapons were loaded on camels and taken inland to
Afghanistan, where, subsequently, they were used by the tribesmen
against the British forces on the northern frontier of India.
To guard against this gun-running, so prejudicial to British interests,
the Oman and Pirate coasts and the Mekran coast of Persia were being
patrolled by cruisers, while further inshore a ceaseless watch was
maintained by the boats of the Squadron.
For two weeks the _Clytia_ had been cruising slowly up and down between
Charbar and Jask, this being the portion of coast she had been detailed
to watch, while her four largest sailing boats, carrying Maxim guns, and
with their crews fully armed, had been sent away in charge of her
lieutenants. They were each responsible for about thirty miles of coast,
and had orders to search all the inner anchorages and small bays, and to
overhaul and examine all the native craft they came across.
Each week the ship met her small fry at previously determined
rendezvous, and on these occasions she received their reports,
replenished their stock of water and food, and, if necessary, relieved
the crews. But though the watch had been carried on with tireless
vigilance, nothing had happened and no dhows with arms on board had been
seized.
The men were beginning to weary of the ceaseless monotony. There was no
excitement to keep them going, and for a lieutenant, several seamen, a
signalman and a native interpreter to be herded together in a small
undecked boat about 28 feet long, was not altogether comfortable. They
had to live, eat and sleep as best they could, and though sometimes they
did get ashore on a barren stretch of sand, where they would amuse
themselves in the cool of the evening by kicking a football about, they
were getting sick of it. The weather, too, was not always fine, for at
times the boats would be compelled to anchor off the coast to ride out a
strong “Shamal,” or north-westerly gale. This was always a most trying
experience, but the only other alternative was to land up some creek,
and this, as a rule, was too hazardous to be attempted, for the
inhabitants were generally hostile, and would not hesitate to attack if
they had the least chance of success.
Tubby’s proposed expedition, therefore, was not quite so safe as he
imagined.
II
Early the next morning the _Clytia_ anchored off a small village on the
coast some distance to the eastward of Jask. She was to remain till the
following morning, and all the officers and men who could be spared from
duty, including the midshipmen, were sent ashore to stretch their legs.
Directly they landed, Tubby, Travers and Molyneux set off to the
eastward along the coast. They were burdened with their guns, cartridge
bags and water-bottles, and on account of the great heat soon found
progress very trying. The route led them across large tracts of dry
powdery sand, into which they sank up to their ankles, through
occasional patches of thick scrub, which were difficult to negotiate,
and by the time they neared their destination they were all three tired
out, hot, and very thirsty, in spite of the copious draughts of water
they had swallowed on the way. There was not a tree in the place under
which they could sit for protection from the sun, and they all wanted
rest badly.
“What d’you think we’d better do, Tubby?” asked Molyneux, stopping to
lace up his boot. “I feel like a spell in the shade, but there’s not a
tree in sight anywhere.”
“I’m tired of marching about like this,” agreed the young officer
addressed. “What do you think about it, Squeaker?”
The youth looked round for some moments without replying. “I think,” he
remarked at length, “we might go on to that village and see if they’ll
let us sit down in one of their houses for a bit. The place’ll smell
like fury, but it’s either that or no spell.” He pointed to the small
collection of mud hovels about half a mile ahead.
“Um, yes,” agreed Tubby. “I suppose that’s what we’d better do. Come
on!”
They tramped forward, but had not advanced more than two hundred yards
when they saw a man advancing along the beach towards them. He was clad
in a dirty white burnous and, coming forward, raised his hand in a sort
of military salute, and showed his teeth in a grin.
“You shoot?” he asked in English.
“Yes,” answered Tubby.
“I good guide, tell where you get plenty big bird,” said the new-comer,
tapping himself on the chest and then pointing inland.
“We want to sit down for a bit,” explained Molyneux. “Have you a house
in that village?”
“I got good house; you come see,” said the man, pointing over his
shoulder. “My name Takadin. Engleesh call me Jack Robinson. Very good
name. I been Bombay, Aden, and plenty big town. I know plenty
Engleeshman. I very good man.”
“Where did you learn English?” Tubby asked.
“I sailor B.1 boat, long time,” answered the Arab.
“What d’you think?” Tubby asked his companions. “Shall we go with him?”
“I vote we do,” they both said at once, for they were very tired; and
led by their new friend, they were soon in what was evidently the main
street of the village.
It was really nothing more nor less than a narrow passage-way between
two rows of very tumbledown-looking one-storeyed mud hovels, and the
advent of Europeans was evidently regarded by the inhabitants as
something quite out of the ordinary. Half-a-dozen mangy-looking curs
sniffed suspiciously at their heels, while tribes of small brown
children, clad in the sketchiest of garments, gazed at the foreigners
open-mouthed with amazement. Numbers of men, dressed in dirty white
robes, eyed them with evil, scowling faces, and it was quite obvious
that whatever feelings for the British Mr. “Jack Robinson” had, these
Arabs were none too friendly. There was something insolent in the way
they laughed, and in their glowering, sullen glances, and one or two of
them, Tubby noticed, spat on the ground after the little procession had
passed.
The boy felt nervous, for there was no mistaking the hostility of the
natives; but it was too late to draw back now, nor, for the time being,
could he impart his fears to his companions. He was thinking how sorry
he was not to have taken the advice of people who knew better than he
did, when their guide suddenly stopped before a low doorway.
“This my house!” he exclaimed with an air of pride. “Very good house!”
The midshipmen did not think much of it, for it was distinctly on its
last legs, but followed him inside. The room they found themselves in
contained little in the way of furniture, but asking them to sit down on
a kind of couch running along one side of the wall, the Arab pushed
aside a mat hanging across the doorway leading into the inner room, and
disappeared inside. Judging from the shrill cackle that went on as soon
as he entered, the ladies of the establishment were within, but the
noise was rather welcome, for it gave Tubby a chance of talking to his
friends without being overheard.
“I say, Molyneux,” he said in a whisper, “I vote we clear out of this
village as soon as we can. Did you see how those fellows looked at us as
we came along?”
“Yes, I did,” answered the other rather nervously. “D’you think they
mean any harm, though?”
“No, I don’t think so; the ship’s too close. I wish we hadn’t come, for
all that. Whatever you do, keep your guns loaded, and don’t let go of
them.” He noiselessly slipped a couple of cartridges into the breech of
his weapon.
“Look out!” hissed Travers. “The Arab’s coming back!”
“Mum’s the word then,” whispered Tubby; “but we’ll clear out as soon as
we can, and for goodness’ sake don’t let’s get separated!”
There was no time for further conversation, for just at that moment the
mat was pushed aside and Takadin came in with a tray, on which there
were several small bowls filled with dates and a few nasty-looking
native cakes.
“Please to eat,” he said with a deprecatory smile. “I poor man; Engleesh
my friend.”
The food did not look very appetising, but now it had been brought the
boys could not very well refuse to eat for fear of being thought
uncivil, and selecting some dates, as being the most harmless, began to
nibble at them. The sandwiches out of their haversacks, however, were
far more to their liking, and giving one or two to Takadin in return for
his hospitality, they had soon made a satisfactory meal, which they
washed down with water from their bottles. Having eaten, Tubby felt more
cheerful, and was beginning to forget his fears, when a figure appeared
in the doorway leading to the street outside.
Their host instantly rose to his feet and made a low obeisance to the
new-comer, a tall, fine-looking, white-bearded Arab clad in the
inevitable burnous. He was evidently of better class than the other men
they had seen, and judging from Takadin’s behaviour that he was a
notability of some kind, the boys stood up and bowed. Their salutation
was returned.
“Peace be unto thee, my son,” said the new arrival, addressing Takadin.
He spoke in Arabic, but Tubby had little difficulty in understanding his
words.
“Peace be unto thee, my father,” returned their host, bowing again.
“What do these dogs of infidels under thy roof?” demanded the Sheikh,
for such he was, and casting a piercing glance from his black eyes at
the three boys.
“They come, my father, from the war vessel anchored off the coast. They
came seeking shelter from the sun.”
“Dogs!” hissed the old man. “Spawn of the devil! May their eyes be
blasted with the fire which never languishes! By the Beard of the
Prophet, my son, thou didst a good stroke of business in sheltering
them!”
Tubby gave a start of surprise which nearly betrayed him.
“But I came, O Takadin,” he went on to say, “to have a word with thee.
’Tis only for thine ear.”
“Speak on, my father; my women are out of hearing, and the unbelievers
have no knowledge of our tongue.”
Tubby, half beside himself with apprehension and excitement, listened
intently, trying hard not to let his face betray the fact that he
understood most of what was being said. But the Sheikh was talking
again.
“The dhow from Oman with the rifles my son, when does she arrive?”
“Seven days from now, my father, at the spot close by the watch tower.
The camels will be ready, thy servant has seen to that, and the
nakhuda[A] has orders to land them four hours after the setting of the
sun.”
“It is well. I like not these dogs of hillmen in our midst. They strip
us bare like a flock of locusts. I like them not, they and their camels.
I shall give thanks to Allah when they depart.”
“Even so, my father,” agreed Takadin. “They are carrion fit only for
vultures.”
“Speak no word to any man of what we have said,” ordered the Sheikh.
“Thy servant’s lips are sealed, my father.”
“But these unbelievers, my son, who have fallen into our hands. A ransom
will not come amiss.”
“Their war vessel is very close, my father, and our village will surely
be laid in ruins if they should be harmed.”
The Sheikh made a gesture of annoyance. “Thou art my servant, O
Takadin!” he exclaimed angrily. “What I have said I have said!”
“Even so, my father,” said the other, with a cringing bow.
“’Tis well. Delay them here till I return; I go to seek my men. The
infidels shall be detained. By Allah! Would that I had the opportunity
to sear their flesh with red-hot pincers! To make them food for the
vultures of the desert!” With which terrible wish the Sheikh
disappeared.
For a second or two Tubby was absolutely nonplussed by what he had
heard. Takadin would certainly carry out his orders if he could, and in
a minute or two the chief would probably return with his men. The boy
racked his brains for a way out of the difficulty. To escape through the
village was an obvious impossibility, for they would have to run the
gauntlet of all the inhabitants. Then the boy’s memory came to his
assistance. He suddenly recollected the topography of the place, and
how, when walking down the street, he had seen a little strip of blue
sea at the end of it. He remembered, also, that when they were
approaching the village he had noticed a low wooden pier with a boat
made fast alongside it. Here was a solution. The house they were in
could not be more than two hundred yards from the water. They must make
a dash for the boat. All these thoughts flashed through his mind, but
what had to be done must be done at once.
“I say, Molyneux!” he said in an excited whisper, “be ready to make a
dash as soon as I do!”
“Whatever for?” asked the other, “what’s all the----?”
“I can’t tell you now,” hissed Tubby, “but it’s jolly serious. Be ready
to make a bolt for the sea; you too, Travers.”
The other two looked at each other in amazement, for they could not
conceive what had happened, but they both followed Tubby’s example when
he stood up with his gun.
Takadin noticed what was going on. “You no go,” he said with a
treacherous smile, “you stay my house. I very----”
But he got no further, for Tubby, making a sudden spring, hit him full
on the point of the jaw.
[Illustration: “Tubby, making a sudden spring, hit him full on the point
of the jaw.”
_To face page 20_
]
The Arab was quite unprepared for the sudden attack and staggered
backwards, and another severe punch laid him flat on the ground.
“Run!” yelled the assailant to his companions, “run for all you’re
worth!”
He dashed out of the door followed by the others, and as he emerged he
caught a hurried glimpse of the Sheikh and half-a-dozen men coming down
the street from the right. The latter shouted and promptly started off
in pursuit, but the boys made for the sea at full pelt, the din behind
making them run all the faster.
Every second Tubby expected to hear a bullet whistling by his ears, but,
though he did not know it till later, the Arabs carried no firearms.
Still, the situation was quite bad enough, for though nobody tried to
intercept them in their flight, they could hear their pursuers padding
along close behind.
On and on they flew until, after what seemed an eternity, they reached
the end of the lane and saw the open sea before them, and the wooden
jetty, with the boat still made fast alongside it, a short distance to
the left. Tubby’s breath came in great gasps, his head throbbed, and he
felt as if his heart would burst, but he tore on with the others close
behind.
By the time they reached the shore end of the pier, however, the leading
Arab, who was some distance ahead of his friends, was barely three feet
behind Molyneux, the last of the three. The man suddenly nerved himself
for a supreme effort, and springing forward seized the boy by the
shoulder. Molyneux promptly swerved in his stride, but tripped, and
before he quite knew what had happened had fallen headlong on his face.
The Arab, unable to stop himself, still came on, and catching his foot
in the prostrate boy’s body, gave a loud yell and disappeared over the
edge of the pier into the water.
Tubby, hearing the commotion, glanced round to see what had happened,
and, stopping himself suddenly, turned round and dashed back to his
fallen friend. Travers also checked himself, not knowing what to do.
“Get into the boat!” Tubby yelled to him, noticing his indecision. “Get
in and cast her off!”
The small midshipman clambered on board and began to fumble with the
painter, while Tubby put back the safety catch of his hammerless gun and
held it ready. The other Arabs, meanwhile, had just reached the shore
end of the pier, and to the boy’s relief he suddenly noticed that none
of them carried firearms.
“If you come any further I’ll fire!” he shouted breathlessly in their
own language. “Get up, Molyneux!” he added in English. “Get down into
the boat and cover ’em with your gun!”
Molyneux sprang to his feet and joined Travers in the boat.
The Arabs had halted when they heard Tubby’s hail, and were now talking
excitedly among themselves, but then one of them drew a long
evil-looking knife and made a step forward.
Tubby promptly covered him. “Drop that or I fire!” he commanded. To his
intense surprise the man obeyed his peremptory order.
“Thou son of a pig!” bellowed the enraged Sheikh. “Wouldst thou obey the
command of an infidel? Seize him, I say! Seize him!” But the men did
not like the look of the gun muzzles confronting them, and still hung
back.
“Come on!” shouted Travers at length, “I’ve cast her off!”
“Have you got ’em covered?” asked Tubby.
“Yes,” cried Molyneux, squinting along his weapon.
Tubby walked backwards until he came to where the boat lay, and then
jumped on board.
“By Allah! Thou craven sons of pigs!” yelled the Sheikh. “They would
steal the boat! At them!”
The men came panting along the low jetty, but it was too late, for by
the time they reached the end the boat was a good half-dozen yards away.
They could do nothing; there was no other boat in which they could give
chase, and they had to content themselves by throwing strange curses at
the three boys who had outwitted them.
“By George!” remarked Tubby breathlessly, tugging at one of the clumsy
oars, “that was a jolly narrow squeak! I thought they had us!”
“I regarded it as a dead cert!” said Molyneux gravely.
A gentle south-westerly breeze had sprung up, and five minutes later, as
the discomfited Arabs were leaving the pier, the sail had been hoisted,
and the boat was bowling along the coast towards the spot where the
adventurers had landed.
As soon as he recovered his breath, Tubby told his companions of the
conversation he had overheard, and their eyes opened wider and wider
with astonishment as he went on.
“Well, what d’you propose to do?” queried Molyneux, when at length the
tale was told.
“Tell the commander,” said Tubby. “But I say, you fellows, not a word of
this to anyone else!”
“Right O!” they both agreed.
There is no necessity to describe the homeward journey, or how, after
sailing about three miles along the coast, they landed, left the boat on
the beach, and finished the journey on foot.
But that evening Tubby summoned up his courage, and in an interview with
the commander told him all he had heard. But that officer, though he
promised to inform the captain, did not realise how much Arabic the boy
really knew, and at any rate it was quite obvious that he did not
believe his story.
III
Three mornings later, when the _Clytia_ had resumed her weary patrol of
the coast, a messenger suddenly burst into the place where Tubby was
endeavouring to work out a sight under the direction of the naval
instructor.
“Beg pardon, sir,” said the man, “but is Mr. Plantagenet ’ere?”
“Here I am,” said that young officer. “What is it?”
“Please, sir, th’ capten wants you on th’ bridge at once.”
Tubby dashed off, and on reaching the bridge went up to the captain and
saluted. “You sent for me, sir?” he asked.
“Yes, Mr. Plantagenet. The commander tells me you know Arabic. Is that
so?”
“I know a little, sir,” Tubby modestly answered.
“Enough to understand conversations when you hear ’em, eh?” asked the
captain with a twinkle in his eye.
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, be ready to leave the ship in ten minutes’ time. The native
interpreter in the third cutter,” he waved his hand to where the boat
they had just met lay alongside, “is down with fever, and you’ll have to
go instead of him. I do not, Mr. Plantagenet, approve of your going
visiting native villages when you go ashore, you must understand, but I
suppose you remember whereabouts this one was?”
“Perfectly, sir,” said Tubby.
“So much the better, then. You may perhaps be able to bring back that
dhow you heard the men talking about. Hurry up now, collect what you
want, and then report yourself to Mr. Thompson, who is in charge of the
boat.”
The midshipman dashed off to his chest, without stopping even to tell
his messmates of what had occurred, and hurrying back on deck again
reported himself as ordered.
Five minutes later the ship had left them and was steaming off to the
westward, and the cutter, hoisting her sails to the light off-shore
breeze, resumed her work of watching the coast.
“But are you quite certain of what you’ve just told me?” asked Thompson,
rather incredulously, when, an hour later, Tubby imparted his secret.
“Yes, sir, quite,” said the boy. “I told the commander directly I got on
board, and he told the skip--the captain, sir. He evidently believes it,
sir. I’m quite certain myself, too,” he reiterated.
“Well, we’ll have a try at this dhow of yours, and if we do get her,
it’ll be a bit of a feather in your cap, young man.”
Tubby looked very pleased.
“Luckily,” continued the lieutenant, “the watch tower you mention is on
our beat. Just to the east’ard of the village where you went. You say
they were to land the stuff four hours after sunset four days from now.
Is that correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, at that time, close on midnight, I should think it ’ud be, this
boat’ll pull into the bay by the watch tower, and, with any luck,
granted of course that this yarn of yours is all right, we’ll collar ’em
red-handed.”
Tubby sincerely hoped they would. He did not want to be made a fool of.
IV
The night was very dark with no moon; hardly a ripple disturbed the
glassy surface of the water, and silently, for her oars were muffled,
the cutter crept on.
“There’s the watch tower!” said Thompson in a whisper, pointing away to
the port bow where a dim shape could just be seen against the blue of
the sky.
Tubby took his watch out of his pocket and held it close to the shaded
lantern in the stern of the boat. “By Jove!” he ejaculated.
“What’s the matter?” Thompson inquired.
“It’s nearly one o’clock, sir,” the boy replied anxiously. “She ought to
be here by now.” Then a sudden horrible thought flashed through his
mind. “I clean forgot!” he exclaimed in an agitated whisper.
“Forgot what?”
“That when the Arabs chased us I talked to ’em in Arabic, sir. They’ll
know that I understood what was said about the rifles, and they may have
been able to tell the dhow to go somewhere else. Suppose----” but he was
interrupted by the coxswain.
“I thought I seed somethink over there, sir,” whispered the man
excitedly, pointing to starboard. “A sort o’ shadow like---- Yessir,” he
suddenly broke off, “there’s somethink there right enough!”
“Hard-a-port! Steer straight for it!” ordered the lieutenant, seeing
what the man was pointing at.
Before they had gone fifty yards in the new direction the shadow
resolved itself into the familiar outline of a dhow heading in for the
land. The wind had dropped, but those in the cutter could hear the
creaking of her sweeps as she approached. Nearer and nearer she drew.
Three hundred yards--two hundred--one hundred. Tubby unbuttoned the
holster of his revolver and waited; the seconds seemed interminable.
Then, quite suddenly, the Arabs became aware that they were not alone,
for a loud hail came out of the darkness. “Is that thou, O Takadin?”
yelled a voice in Arabic, its owner probably thinking that a boat must
have come out from the village to guide them into the anchorage.
“Tell ’em to heave to!” ordered Thompson.
Tubby did so.
“Name of Allah!” shrieked the voice in alarm. “Arm yourselves, my
brothers! The Kafir dogs are upon us!”
A spit of flame broke out from the black shape ahead, and a bullet sang
off into the darkness.
“Give ’em a round or two from the maxim!” cried Thompson.
“Pop, pop, pop--pop, pop,” went the little weapon.
A chorus of yells and shrieks came from the dhow, and the movement of
her oars ceased abruptly as the crew sprang for their weapons. No
further shots were fired, but a few sturdy strokes brought the cutter
alongside, and boating their oars the bluejackets endeavoured to board.
But the vessel’s high bulwarks were lined with armed Arabs, who slashed
and hewed with their swords whenever a head appeared over the gunwale.
Twice were the sailors driven back into their boat by sheer weight of
superior numbers, and for a time the result hung in the balance, for
even with their cutlasses and revolvers they could not gain a footing on
the enemy’s deck.
Thompson, however, summed up the situation, and noticing that the
greater number of the enemy were busy repelling the attack from the
stern of the boat, suddenly leapt forward and clambered on board the
dhow from there, before anyone could arrive to resist him. He was
followed by three men, and the instant they were seen, all the Arabs
came forward to drive them back. This diversion gave the others the
opportunity they wanted, and before he quite understood what had
happened, Tubby found himself scrambling on board followed by the men.
Rushing forward, with a revolver in one hand and a drawn cutlass in the
other, he instantly found himself confronted by a tall Arab armed with a
curved sword. The man made a wild slash, his keen blade whistling within
a couple of inches of the midshipman’s shoulder, but before he could
recover himself Tubby’s revolver spoke, and the man collapsed in a heap.
Another assailant came at him with a pistol, and while the boy was still
fumbling with his weapon, for it was very dark, there was a spit of
flame, a loud report, and he felt a burning sensation in his left arm.
He dropped his revolver with the pain, but before his attacker could do
further damage, a bluejacket had felled him with the butt of a rifle.
It was a ghastly business, for the Arabs were desperate, and the British
had their work cut out. The sharp reports of rifles and revolvers, the
dull thudding of falling blades, the shouts of the sailors, and the wild
yells of the enemy, converted the peaceful night into a seething
pandemonium of sound. But it could not last for very long, for at last
only three Arabs remained, and these, fighting desperately, had been
driven into a corner.
“Ask ’em if they’ll surrender,” panted Thompson. “Tell ’em they won’t be
killed.”
Tubby did so, and the men dropped their weapons with a clatter. It was
the last thing he remembered, for, overcome by the pain of his wound, he
suddenly collapsed in a heap on the deck.
Thompson sprang forward to his assistance. “What’s the matter,
Plantagenet?” he asked, not knowing the boy was wounded.
But Tubby had fainted.
* * * * *
The next day the captured dhow, which was found to have on board 2500
rifles and many thousands of rounds of ammunition, met H.M.S. _Clytia_.
The wounded, for by some miraculous chance none of the boat’s crew had
been killed, were transferred to the ship, and Tubby, who was only
slightly wounded, at once found himself a regular hero, and the subject
of envy from all his messmates. He pretended to hate this notoriety,
especially when the captain sent for and congratulated him personally,
but his cup of happiness was not yet full.
About six months later, when the ship was at Colombo, Tubby was again
ushered into his commanding officer’s presence.
“Mr. Plantagenet,” said the captain, “I have been directed by My Lords
Commissioners of the Admiralty to inform you that your name has been
noted for early promotion to the rank of lieutenant on your passing the
necessary examinations.” He looked up with a twinkle in his eye to see
how the boy took it.
“Sir!” gasped the midshipman, hardly able to believe his ears.
The captain handed him the paper he had been reading. “Read it
yourself,” he said.
Tubby stared at the typewritten sheets in amazement. He had had no
inkling of this. He, Arthur Geoffrey Plantagenet--oh, really it was too
much. He burst out into a delighted chuckle.
II
THE STRANDING OF THE HOI-HAU
I
“Pirates!” laughed the mate. “Of course there are. Why d’you ask?”
“I was reading in a book this afternoon that there were no such things
nowadays,” replied the boy. “But tell me,” he queried anxiously, “do
they still kill people, and make them walk the plank, and all that sort
of thing?”
“Don’t think they make ’em walk the plank,” answered the mate, cutting
himself another slice of bread. “But nearly every Chinese fisherman is a
pirate at heart, and some of ’em ’ud think nothing of attacking a ship
if they had half a chance.”
“Do they come out to sea, then?” asked Jim excitedly, for the subject
fascinated him.
“No, there are too many gunboats and cruisers knocking about, but if a
junk full of Chinamen came across a defenceless ship they’d attack her
all right, and kill every soul on board if they resisted. They’re born
thieves when there’s any loot to be had--aren’t they, sir?” he asked,
turning to the captain.
“Aye, that they are,” agreed Captain McCaul. “I’ve heard of a good many
cases where they’ve done it.”
“Is that why we’ve got those rifles on board, then?” asked Jim, who
remembered having seen half-a-dozen weapons in a rack in the chartroom.
The mate and skipper nodded together.
The three of them, Captain McCaul, Mr. Dowell, the mate, and Jim McCaul,
the captain’s son, were sitting at supper in the saloon of the steamer
_Hoi-Hau_, now steaming up the Yellow Sea on her way from Shanghai to
the North China ports with a general cargo.
The _Hoi-Hau_ was rather an old tub, and though his owners had offered
Captain McCaul the command of one of their larger vessels, the gruff old
Scotsman had preferred to remain where he was. His wife and family lived
in Shanghai, and as the ship was engaged in the North China trade, he
saw more of his home than if he were in command of a passenger boat.
Jim McCaul, his eldest son, a boy of fifteen, was at school at Shanghai,
and with the idea of giving him a change the skipper frequently took him
to sea when the holidays came round.
The boy naturally looked upon his occasional sea trips as a great treat,
for besides giving him the opportunity of seeing all sorts of strange
places, Mr. Dowell took a great interest in him, and it was really due
to the officer’s coaching that Jim had become quite a good seaman.
Supper was soon over, and, accompanied by his son, Captain McCaul left
the saloon and clambered up on to the bridge. The sun had set, and
overhead the stars were beginning to twinkle in the sky, while there
was hardly a breath of wind to mar the smooth surface of the sea.
“By George!” exclaimed Jim, “it’s a ripping night!”
“Don’t know so much about that,” growled the skipper, sniffing the air.
“I’d rather have a little breeze. With calm weather like this we may
find ourselves in for a fog off the Shantung Promontory. What d’you
think about it, Martin?” he asked the second mate, who happened to be on
watch.
“Don’t like it at all, sir,” replied that officer.
The captain grunted.
“Well,” he said, “we ought to be rounding the Promontory at about three
o’clock to-morrow morning. I’ll turn in now, as I shall be on deck at
midnight. Call me at once if it comes on thick.”
McCaul, accompanied by Jim, left the bridge.
“Good night, my son,” he said, halting outside his cabin by the
charthouse. “To-morrow I’ll take you for a run at Chifu. I’ve to go
ashore to see the agents.”
“That’ll be grand,” said Jim, pleased at the idea. “Good night, father.”
The skipper disappeared into his cabin, and Jim went below and turned
in. For an hour he lay reading, but then his weariness overcame him, and
blowing out his candle he fell asleep with the regular throb of the
propeller sounding in his ears.
The captain’s prophecy about fog turned out to be correct, for shortly
after he went on deck at midnight, the clear horizon ahead of the ship
became blotted out. By one o’clock the stars were barely visible
through the pall overhead, while half an hour later it was thick fog.
The skipper accordingly eased the engines until the vessel was
travelling at six knots, and began pulling the syren lanyard every two
minutes in making the prescribed fog signal.
The hoarse braying of the powerful instrument woke all the sleepers, but
Jim felt too lazy to get up, and after getting used to the dismal sound,
rolled over and fell off to sleep again.
Soon afterwards, Dowell, clad in a greatcoat over his pyjamas, went up
on to the bridge.
“Hullo,” said the captain. “What’s brought you up here?”
“Syren kept me awake, sir,” the mate explained, “and I came up to see if
you wanted any soundings taken.”
“Thanks. I think you’d better get the machine going,” said the skipper.
Dowell went aft to the poop with two of the Chinese crew, and before
long the wire of the sounding machine was released, and the lead
descended to the bottom. He noticed that it took a much shorter time
than it should have, for the ship ought to have been in sixty fathoms,
and winding up the wire as fast as he could, he anxiously compared the
glass tube with the graduated scale. To his horror the depth was no more
than seventeen fathoms!
He began to run forward to report the fact to the bridge, for it was
quite obvious that the ship was too near the shore, but hardly had he
taken two steps when the vessel gave a quivering shudder, and he could
feel her grinding and bumping over some object far below the waterline.
Presently the engines stopped with a jar, and all movement ceased. The
ship had struck a ledge of submerged rock, and was fast ashore.
Dowell, with the second mate and Jim, the two latter having been
awakened by the shock, all arrived on the bridge at much the same
moment, while the native crew, terrified out of their senses, had turned
out of the forecastle, and were clustered on deck chattering loudly.
“What’s happened, sir?” asked Dowell breathlessly, although he well knew
what the answer would be.
“We’re ashore,” replied the captain. “You’d better get the boats turned
out, provisioned, and ready for lowering, Martin,” he went on,
addressing the second mate. “Go round with the chief engineer and see
what damage has been done, and then report to me.”
The boats were turned out and provisioned, and presently Parton, the
chief engineer, came on to the bridge to make his report.
“Well, captain,” he said, “I don’t think there’s much damage.”
The skipper heaved a deep sigh of relief.
“From what I can see she’s leakin’ a bit under number one and two holds,
but the pumps are keeping the flow down quite easily.”
“Thank goodness for that!” ejaculated McCaul. “There’s no reason why we
shouldn’t float off at high water, then?”
The fog was still very thick, but soon after daylight, when the effect
of the morning sun began to make itself felt, the outline of land became
visible, and when at length the mist had completely dispersed it could
be seen that the steamer was ashore on a ledge of rock within a stone’s
throw of the coast.
To the right, the shore was one uninterrupted line of cliff, but a mile
or so to the left of where the vessel lay, these abrupt slopes gave way
to a shallow, sandy bay in which were anchored several Chinese junks.
At the head of the bay was a straggling native village, and on looking
at it through his glasses the captain could see the inhabitants
clustered on the beach gazing with obvious astonishment at the stranded
steamer.
An hour passed without incident, the pumps managing to keep down the
flow of water, but towards eight o’clock the nearest junk weighed her
anchor, and with her brown sails bellying out in the breeze drew near
the _Hoi-Hau_.
She approached rapidly, and when within a hundred yards of the steamer
hove to. Soon afterwards a native sampan put off from her side, and came
to the steamer, while a big, dark-skinned Chinaman, clad in loose blue
coat and trousers, clambered up the rope ladder, and appeared on deck.
“Steamer makee go ashore, cap’n,” he remarked in pidgin English. “Velly
much damage, wanchee help, eh?”
“No, thanks,” answered McCaul. “Ship no b’long damage. Can get off at
high water.”
“Have got plentee coolie makee help,” repeated the visitor. “Plentee
stlong coolie.”
“No wanchee,” repeated the skipper, who did not like the look of the
man. “No wanchee, savvy?”
“All light,” said the Chinaman, with an evil grin. “S’pose you wanchee
coolie, I bling.”
The visitor descended to his sampan, and returned to the junk, which
presently weighed her anchor and returned towards the neighbouring
village.
“Those fellows are up to no good, sir,” observed Dowell. “That chap had
a revolver under his coat, I saw the bulge it made. And look,” he
continued, pointing towards the village, “something’s evidently in the
wind; you don’t see Chinamen crowding together like that for nothing. I
expect that fellow came aboard to have a look round, and now he’s gone
back to tell the others how many of us there are. His talk about coolies
was only a blind.”
“Well, I hope not,” answered the captain. “He’ll have seen there are
only six Europeans aboard, counting Jim here. We can’t trust our native
crew to fight.”
“What d’you propose to do, sir, if they do attack?” asked the mate.
“Prevent ’em boarding as long as possible, and then if they do get
aboard, we’d better barricade ourselves under the poop. There are
scuttles in the saloon there, and we can fire through them on to the
deck.”
An hour later three of the native craft anchored off the village hoisted
their sails, and after weighing their anchors came towards the steamer.
One of them, filled with brown-skinned men, circled round, lowered her
sails, and secured to the steamer’s side. Immediately she did so, the
man who had been aboard before, followed by several others, began to
climb the ladder.
This was the last thing Captain McCaul wanted, and going to the top of
the ladder he waited till the first man’s head appeared.
“No wanchee,” he said. “_Wilo_”--go away--“no wanchee coolie!”
The man, however, persisted in trying to come aboard, and not liking the
look of affairs the captain pushed him backwards, intending to force him
down the ladder.
The Chinaman, however, slipped, and, tumbling backwards with a yell,
suddenly disappeared from view, sweeping several of his friends off the
ladder as he fell. They all descended with a crash on to the deck of the
junk, the other occupants of which gave a series of unearthly howls as
the human avalanche descended.
At this moment the mate put his head over the side of the ship to enjoy
the fun, but a second later he drew it back in haste, for a shot rang
out, and a bullet whistled close by his head.
Within a second or two an irregular volley broke out from the other
junks. The enemy were armed with modern weapons.
The shots were ill-aimed, for though several bullets struck the
superstructure close to where the officers and Jim stood, the greater
number pinged harmlessly through the air overhead.
At the first discharge, the Chinese crew of the steamer fled in terror,
and shut themselves up in the forecastle, leaving the six Europeans
alone to defend the ship.
“They mean business!” shouted the captain, dashing to the chartroom and
seizing a rifle. “Cut the ladder adrift, someone!”
The mate whipped out a knife and sawed at the rope lashing, but the
blade was blunt and the rope tough, and before he was half-way through
one strand, a yellow face, with a long, evil-looking knife between its
teeth, appeared at the ladder top.
But the stroke never came, for the rope suddenly parted with a crack,
and the man disappeared backwards.
There was no time for further talking, for the enemy had now opened a
furious fire, while the Europeans, having armed themselves with rifles,
were lying on the deck emptying their magazines at their assailants.
They succeeded in dropping a good many, but the defenders were
outnumbered by more than twenty to one.
The second mate suddenly sat up with a muttered word.
“They’ve got me, the devils!” he remarked, clenching his teeth with
pain. “Lucky it’s only through the left arm, so I can still use a
rifle.”
He bandaged the injured member with his handkerchief and calmly went on
shooting. But the enemy’s fire was becoming more accurate, and at last a
bullet went through the mate’s cap and sent it flying.
“We must take cover!” exclaimed the captain, noticing what had happened.
“Down on the upper deck, everyone, and take shelter behind the
bulwarks!”
They got up one by one and dashed down the ladder leading to the deck,
with the bullets flying round them like hail, but they all succeeded in
reaching their haven of refuge without being hit.
Once behind the bulwarks they were comparatively safe, for no bullet
could penetrate the stout steel, and they only had to expose their
heads to fire.
The fight went on for a quarter of an hour without any advantage to
either side, when suddenly Jim, happening to glance round, saw a
blue-clad figure with a rifle in its hand slinking along underneath the
bridge.
The boy wheeled in an instant, brought the weapon to his shoulder, and
fired. The shot went wide, but it served its purpose, for the man
vanished.
“They’ve boarded us forward, father!” he exclaimed.
As if to prove the truth of his statement, two more pirates suddenly
appeared in the direction he pointed out.
“We shall have to barricade ourselves aft,” ejaculated the captain to
the others. “Come on, there’s no time to lose!”
No sooner said than done. Within two minutes the defenders had entered
the saloon, and after barricading the door with such movable furniture
as they could find, they took up their positions with their rifle
muzzles pointing through the portholes opening out on to the deck.
For some time nothing happened, and Jim’s eyes grew tired from the glare
of the strong sunlight outside. He waited, however, with rifle ready,
and at last the head and shoulders of a pirate appeared round the corner
of the superstructure.
He watched intently, and was just about to fire, when there came a wild
yell, and fully twenty pirates came running along the superstructure
deck.
“Bang--bang! Bang, bang, bang!” went the rifles, and several of the blue
figures fell headlong. But some of them reached the deck untouched, and
taking up a position behind the hatchway coaming, opened a heavy fire.
Their bullets struck the steel bulkhead with a series of loud clangs,
while Jim at his porthole had a narrow escape, a bullet whistling past
his cheek and shattering a mirror the other end of the saloon. It rather
unnerved him, but still he went on loading and firing, loading and
firing, like a veteran.
Several more of the enemy had been hit, but before long the second
engineer dropped his weapon with a clatter and clutched at his right
shoulder, through which a bullet had passed.
His place at the porthole was taken by the second mate, who, though
wounded, could use his rifle, and while the captain bandaged the
engineer, the firing continued.