[Illustration: cover art]
Captured at Tripoli
BY PERCY F. WESTERMAN
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Captured at Tripoli: A Tale of Adventure. _2s. 6d._
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[Illustration: "'WHY, IT'S THE RIVER!' EXCLAIMED GERALD"
Frontispiece]
Captured at Tripoli
A Tale of Adventure
BY
PERCY F. WESTERMAN
Author of "The Quest of the Golden Hope"
"A Lad of Grit" &c.
_ILLUSTRATED BY CHARLES M. SHELDON_
BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED
LONDON GLASGOW AND BOMBAY
Contents
CHAP.
I. OFF TO THE SEAT OF WAR
II. UNDER FIRE
III. PRISONERS
IV. THE SHEIKH'S SALT
V. THE SANDSTORM
VI. THE ESCAPE
VII. THE FIGHT IN THE DESERT
VIII. A DISCOVERY
IX. THE MIRAGE
X. CHALLENGED
XI. THE MEDIAEVAL CITY
XII. SIR JEHAN DE VALX
XIII. THE MOSLEM HOST
XIV. THE DASH FOR THE GUN
XV. THE STRUGGLE AT THE BREACH
XVI. SIR JEHAN'S SUCCESSOR
XVII. THE FLIGHT FROM CROIXILIA
XVIII. REEVES'S RUSE
XIX. THE PERILS OF THE RIVER
XX. RUNNING THE LAST GAUNTLET
Illustrations
"'WHY, IT'S THE RIVER!' EXCLAIMED GERALD" Frontispiece
THE APPROACH OF THE MONOPLANE
THE CITY OF CHARLETON
THE SECOND GUN TEST
A GOOD SHOT
CAPTURED AT TRIPOLI
CHAPTER I
Off to the Seat of War
"WELL, we've seen something of the fun," exclaimed Hugh Frazer, as
the last of the 89th Regiment of Infantry filed through the
jealously-guarded gateway of the Naval Yard at Naples. "Come on,
let's get back to the front, and we may see the transports leave the
bay."
Hugh Frazer and his stanch companion, Gerald Kit-by, were staying
with the former's parents at the Hôtel des Etrangers. Both lads had
been spending their summer holidays in Italy, and were leaving for
England at the end of the week. They ought to have been already at
school, but a slight attack of malaria, which with the utmost
impartiality had affected both boys, had prevented them from
returning to Rossall at the commencement of the term.
Hugh, more generally known to his companion as "Rags", a nickname
bestowed upon him by reason of his hot-headed impulsiveness, was
fifteen years of age, tall, well-proportioned, and dark-featured.
Gerald, on the other hand, was three inches shorter, slightly
inclined to stoutness, and of a fresh, ruddy complexion. His face
almost invariably wore a smile, with the result that his
schoolfellows promptly dubbed him "Sunny Jim", a nickname that
eventually was fined down to "Jim". He was six months younger than
Hugh, and so even-tempered that he seemed eminently suited to his
companion's impulsive and masterful nature.
Threading their way through the dense crowd of enthusiastic
Neapolitans who still pressed round the now fast-closed gates, the
two lads set off at a quick pace, in spite of the sweltering heat of
that October afternoon.
"Look out, Rags!" shouted Gerald, pulling his chum backwards just in
time to escape being run down by a motor car that, packed with
officers of the Bersaglieri, was pelting down the Strada Marina at a
break-neck pace. The lads drew back, and found themselves under the
noses of a couple of mules, which a fluent-voiced Neapolitan cabby
was urging in the opposite direction. Lustily tugging at the ropes
that did duty for reins, the man succeeded in pulling up, to the
accompaniment of a volley of abuse directed towards the cause of the
obstruction. The sudden halt caused the sole occupant of the
ramshackle cab to thrust his head through the open window in order to
ascertain the reason for the delay, and to Hugh Frazer's surprise he
recognized an old friend of his family, Arthur Reeves.
"Whoever would have thought of meeting you in Naples, Hugh?"
exclaimed Mr. Reeves genially. "Jump in--your friend too, of
course--and tell me as much as you can in less than a minute. My
time's precious just now."
The two lads were not slow in availing themselves of the invitation,
and the lumbering vehicle resumed its way.
When Arthur Reeves was in England, he lived in a bungalow not far
from the Frazers' home at Shoreham, where he was a frequent and
welcome guest. He was six feet in height, of fairly light build,
long-limbed and thin-featured. He was partially blind in his left eye
and nearly deaf in his left ear, but in spite of these defects he
succeeded in passing the doctor in an examination for the Accountant
Branch of the Navy. How he did it could never be satisfactorily
explained, though he strongly asserted that it was sheer bluff. But
he was "ploughed" in the educational examination, and took to
journalism. By another supreme piece of bluff he succeeded in getting
a post as war correspondent in one of our petty border wars. This was
his bent. He did so well getting his "copy" through a good two hours
before his rivals that his success was assured. In the Boer War he
made the circulation of his paper increase by leaps and bounds,
succeeding by more bluff in gaining exclusive information and adding
to his fame. He came home with a splendid reputation, a touch of
enteric, and a Mauser bullet wound in his left leg; but in spite of
the fact that the left part of his anatomy was seriously crippled,
his energy, resource, and marvellous descriptive powers made him in
great request as a special correspondent. In this capacity he had
been dispatched to the ends of the earth, often at a few hours'
notice, always adding to his laurels; and, being a born linguist, he
had a thorough knowledge of French, German, and Italian, and more
than a smattering of Turkish, Arabic, Hindustani, and Swahili. Ten
days previously he had been enjoying a brief but well-earned rest at
Shoreham, after an exciting time in a revolution in Central America;
then, like a bolt from the blue, came the news of Italy's high-handed
declaration of war against Turkey.
Reeves was ready within an hour of receiving a telegram from his
chief. Wearing a worn yet serviceable suit of khaki, and light,
strong boots and puttees, and carrying a small portmanteau containing
his trusty Mauser pistol, fifty rounds of ammunition, writing
materials, and a change of linen--the old war correspondent knew the
importance of carrying but little impedimenta--he caused no small
sensation amongst the scribes of Fleet Street. His visit to the
editorial offices was also of brief duration, and, having secured his
letters of introduction, and drafts upon the Bank of Italy, he caught
the boat train from Victoria by just thirty seconds.
Two days later he was in Rome, presenting his credentials to the
Minister of War. That high official was most urbane, and gave the
correspondent permission to embark on any of the transports, "if
convenient to the exigencies of military service". At Taranto no
vessels were available; at Bari it was found that the last transport
had left for the concentration base; at Brindisi the transport
officers, charmingly polite, regretted that every vessel had already
its full complement as allowed by State regulations. Arthur Reeves
found that for once he had been fooled. He rushed to the telegraph
office and wired to the Minister of War. After a tedious delay of
three hours came the reply: "Regret; can offer no further
suggestions". The correspondent was angry: he did not want
suggestions--he wanted a passage to Tripoli. The rebuff only urged
him to greater efforts, and without further dallying he took train to
Naples.
Here again he met with the same polite apologies and regrets, while,
to put the finishing touch, he was shown a recent order from the
Minister of Marine forbidding transport officers to grant passages to
civilians.
Arthur Reeves tried "bluffing". He produced the order from the
Minister of War, and, arguing that a war correspondent was not a
civilian in the accepted sense of the word, demanded that he should
be given a passage. For once bluff failed. With deprecatory shrugs
and reiterated professions of deepest regret, the naval officer
superintending the transport arrangements replied that he was acting
under the direct orders of his chief. Why not telegraph to the
Minister of Marine?
But the Englishman would waste no more time. He determined to charter
a steamer, regardless of cost, and proceed to the seat of war.
Enquiries at the various shipping offices, however, elicited the same
reply--all steam vessels were ordered to be held at the sole disposal
of the Italian Government. At last one agent suggested a sailing
craft. With the prevalent strong north-west wind the passage would be
soon made. He had a swift felucca, the _Victor Strozzi_, which would
be at the signor's disposal.
"Have her ready by five o'clock, then."
"Impossible, signor!"
The Englishman was obdurate.
"Five o'clock, or not at all."
The "patron" protested, but finally gave way, Mr. Reeves agreeing to
the proposal that the _Victor Strozzi_ should provision at Capri,
where supplies had not yet reached war prices. The correspondent was
on his way down to the bay when his conveyance nearly bowled over his
young acquaintance Hugh Frazer and his companion.
Arthur Reeves was a man of few words. What he did say was brief and
to the point. But he was a rare listener. The biggest bore in
creation he would endure uncomplainingly, for in the torrent of vapid
small talk he would never fail to pick up some information to add to
his vast store of knowledge of men and matters.
"Sorry I didn't know before that you were staying in Naples. I should
have liked to have had a yarn with your pater, Rags," he remarked.
"Look here; it's not too late. Cut off back to the hotel and ask him,
to come on board. Bring your chum with you. I'll take you across to
Capri--you will enjoy it--and there are plenty of boatmen to run you
back."
"I will," replied Hugh, as the cab came to a halt at the quay. "But
where shall we see you?"
"I will be on board the _Victor Strozzi_. Get a man to row you off.
Don't forget--five sharp, if you're coming."
"No one would think that you lads were recovering from a bout of
malaria," exclaimed Mr. Frazer, as Hugh and Gerald, hot and
breathless with running, burst into the loggia of the Hôtel des
Etrangers. "What are you so excited about?"
"Whom do you think we met, Dad? Mr. Reeves! He's off to the front."
"What front?"
"Why, Tripoli, of course. He sent us to ask if we--that is you,
Gerald, and I--could go with him a part of the way."
"Bless my soul--go part of the way to Tripoli! Of course it's
impossible. I should like to have seen him, though. Ask him up to
dine with us this evening."
"He's leaving at five," glancing at the clock, the hands of which
pointed to a quarter to three. "Besides, he's only going as far as
Capri to-day."
"Oh, that's different!" replied Mr. Frazer. "That's only that little
island out in the bay. Yes, you can go."
"But won't you go too, Pater?"
"I'm afraid I cannot. Signor Calasso has an appointment with me at
six. By the by, what vessel is Reeves going in? Perfectly safe, I
hope?"
"He didn't say," replied Hugh. "I remember that he mentioned
her name. It was the----"
"_Victor_ something," added Gerald.
"Not the _Victor Stroggia_, by any chance? She's quite a large
steamer."
"That's the name," replied Hugh confidently.
"I always heard that Reeves would never let money stand in his way,"
remarked Mr. Frazer. "There's one thing--he has a sound Concern
behind him. Well, if you're going, you had better be off. You have
money with you?"
"About ten lire."
"Then take other twenty. You may not require that amount, but it is
best to be on the safe side."
Bidding Mr. Frazer goodbye, the lads scampered off. At the quay they
had no difficulty in finding a boat, for their appearance was hailed
by a chorus of shouts from a score of watermen.
"To the _Victor Stroggia_, as fast as you can," said Hugh, addressing
an old man who seemed less importunate than the rest of his fellows.
"_Si, signor._"
The lads stepped into the high-prowed craft, and the boatman, turning
his back on his youthful fares, stood up as he urged the boat towards
the centre of the bay. There were nearly twenty large ships at anchor
with steam up, while a fleet of smaller craft, mostly sailing
vessels, lay closer inshore.
Amongst the latter was the _Victor Strozzi_, the felucca Arthur
Reeves had chartered; but unwittingly Hugh and his chum were being
taken off to the _Victor Stroggia_, a subsidized merchantman about to
leave for the African coast.
Paying and dismissing their boatman, the lads threaded their way up
the steep accommodation ladder, which was crowded with the relatives
of the army officers, who, having bade their relations a long
farewell, were slowly and reluctantly descending to the boats waiting
at the foot of the ladder.
In the confusion, Hugh and his chum passed the quartermaster at the
gangway unnoticed, and found themselves standing on the packed troop
deck. The warning bell had already sounded, and the visitors were
nearly all gone, but the grey-clad infantrymen, eager to take a last
glimpse of their beloved Italy, were too engrossed to notice the two
bewildered lads.
"Can you tell me where I can find Signor Reeves?" asked Hugh, in his
best but execrable Italian, addressing a corporal.
The soldier, being a stranger to the ship, passed the question to a
seaman.
"Signor Riefi? Ohé!" Beckoning to the lads to follow, the man turned
and dived down a hatchway. Through the semi-gloom of a badly lighted
alleyway Hugh and Gerald kept at the heels of their guide, till he
stopped and knocked at the door of a cabin on the half-deck aft.
Receiving no reply, the man knocked again and opened the door.
"The signor is out; but if the signori will be pleased to wait, I
will find him," said the sailor, and the next instant Hugh and Gerald
were alone.
They waited and waited, but still no Mr. Reeves appeared. Presently
came the dull thud of the propeller revolving.
Gerald glanced at his watch. It was a quarter to five.
"We're off, and we shall be at Capri before we've seen anything," he
exclaimed. "I thought Mr. Reeves was going to start at five? We
should have been nicely sold if we had turned up sharp at the stated
time."
As it happened, at that particular moment Arthur Reeves was standing
on the deck of the felucca _Victor Strozzi_, with his glasses bearing
on the shore, in the expectation of seeing his guests, while Hugh and
Gerald, in Lieutenant Riefi's cabin on board the transport _Victor
Stroggia_, were being borne rapidly southwards to the seat of war.