CHAPTER XXXIV
Olive deals with the Situation
A violent slatting of canvas was the first comprehensible sound thatgreeted Peter's ears as he began to recover his senses.
He opened his eyes and stared perplexedly at a light. It came from afamiliar object--the boat's lamp. He could not understand why thesails were shaking, unless for some reason the boat had been allowed torun up into the wind, which was great carelessness on some one's part,he reflected.
Yet, somehow, he wasn't in the _West Barbican's_ boat, but on the deckof something far more spacious.
He tried to sit up. The movement was a failure, resulting in athrobbing pain in the region of "Adam's apple". Remaining quiet for afew minutes he racked his bewildered brains to find a solution to themystery.
He was lying on his left side, his head supported on a folded coat.His forehead was bound round with a wet cloth. Why he knew not. Itwasn't his head but his neck that was giving him pain.
And what was the boat's lantern doing there?
Then he became aware of a hand touching him lightly on the forehead.He recoiled at the touch, and, turning his head, saw Olive kneeling onthe deck beside him.
"Hello!" he exclaimed feebly. "Where am I?"
"Still on the dhow," replied the girl. "You--we--are all right now."
"Are we?" rejoined Peter, still mystified. "Why is she run up into thewind? Can you give me a drink of water?"
Mostyn drank with difficulty. The liquid was refreshing to his parchedtongue and lips, although it was a painful task to swallow. Then helooked at the girl again.
Her face was deathly pale, even in the yellow glare of the lantern.She was bareheaded, her hair, loosely plaited, falling over hershoulders. There were dark patches on the hem of her badly worn skirt.
Then in a flash Mostyn remembered everything up to the time when he hadlost consciousness--the treacherous attack upon his sleepingcompanions, his double fight against the four Arabs. Where were theynow?
He staggered to his feet, and would have fallen promptly had not Oliveheld him up. Carefully she piloted him to the coaming of the hatch.
Although Peter's bodily strength was slow of recovery his brain wasrapidly regaining its normal functions. Seated on the hatch, with thecool breeze fanning his face, he was able to take stock of hissurroundings.
The dhow was not under control. Her lateen foresail was aback. Themasterless tiller was swaying to and fro as the vessel gathered sternway.
Close to the mainmast were the disordered folds of the tent, on whichlay the motionless forms of Preston and Mahmed. Reclining against theshort poop-ladder was Mrs. Shallop, her brawny arms bared to the elbow,and her black hair grotesquely awry. Peter could have sworn that shewas wearing a wig.
Neither the two lascars nor the Arabs were to be seen, but thedisordered, blood-stained deck bore traces of the desperate fight,while lying close to the fife-rail of the foremast was Mostyn'sautomatic.
"Are they dead?" inquired the Wireless Officer, pointing to the bodiesof the Acting Chief and Mahmed. Somehow he could not bring himself tomention them by name.
"Mr. Preston's got a knife-thrust in the shoulder," replied Olive."Mahmed has half a dozen wounds, but he's still living. We dressedtheir injuries as well as we could--Mrs. Shallop and I."
"And where are the lascars?"
"Locked in for'ard," announced the girl. "We thought we would let themstop there a bit until we sorted things out. The Arabs? Mrs. Shallopattended to them. I helped a bit. She wanted to throw them overboard.We lowered them into the after hold--all five."
Peter swallowed another draught of water. He suspected, not withoutreason, that he presented a pretty sight in the starlight. His shirthad been split across both shoulders, his right knee showed through along rent in his trousers. His hair was matted with dried blood; hisface was scratched and his neck swollen and purple-coloured. Inaddition, he was bespattered with the blood of at least one of hisvanquished antagonists.
"We may as well release the lascars," he said "It's about time we gotthe dhow under control."
Together Olive and Peter went for'ard and cut the lashings that securedthe forepeak hatch. It was quite a considerable time before thelascars summoned up courage to appear, not knowing what had happened,although they had heard the struggle and guessed what was taking place.Fortunately they guessed wrongly. They were not in the power of theferocious Arabs, and their relief was plain when they realized thatMostyn Sahib was still in command.
Fortunately both men were acquainted with the management of a dhow.The foresail was filled and the helm put up, and once more the unwieldycraft was set upon her course.
There was little or nothing to be done for Preston and Mahmed. Theformer had recovered consciousness, having sustained a clean cut in theshoulder. It was Peter's servant who had borne the brunt of theinitial attack, the Arabs, ignorant of his presence in the tent, havingbeen under the impression that they were knifing his master.
Already Olive and Mrs. Shallop had washed their wounds and bandagedthem with the cleanest linen obtainable, which happened to be theburnous of the Arab captain.
"Now you must sleep, Peter," said the girl authoritatively, afterMostyn had done his best for the dhow and her new crew. "You'll be fitfor nothing to-morrow if you don't. No, I won't tell you anything morenow. We'll be quite all right."
Mostyn obeyed the mandate. Apart from being utterly fatigued he ratherliked being ordered about by the self-possessed and capable girl. Indefault of suitable bedding and covering, for the well-tried sail hadbeen hacked almost to shreds, he stretched himself on a clear space ofdeck and was soon sleeping the sleep of exhaustion.
When Peter awoke it was broad daylight. Olive was not to be seen, butMrs. Shallop had evidently been asserting herself--this time to goodpurpose; for, strange to relate, she was at the helm, while the lascarswere engaged upon the finishing touches of "squaring up" the deck.
All traces of the encounter had been removed, and the planks had beenscrubbed and washed down. Preston and Mahmed had been carried into oneof the cabins under the poop-deck, where already the Arabs' formerquarters had been "swept and garnished".
Seeing Peter stir, Mrs. Shallop threw him a curt greeting, with theadditional advice that if he went aft he would find something to eat.
Mostyn took the hint. He was feeling peckish. As he stooped to clearthe break of the poop he heard the woman shouting to the lascars to"get a move on, as I don't want to hang on here no longer than I canhelp"--a contradiction of terms which, however, had the desired effectupon those for whom it was intended.
In the aft cabin Peter found Olive presiding over a charcoal brazierand a brass coffee-pot, from which fragrant and almost forgotten odourswere issuing. The dhow's larder had been raided, with the additionaldiscovery of dates, dried goat's-flesh, bread, and several commoditiesof doubtful origin.
Peter enjoyed the meal immensely in spite of his inflamed gullet.Then, over a cigarette, he heard Olive's account of her part in thedesperate fight.
It appeared that the Arabs failed through a lack of concentration intheir initial attack. Instead of four of them dealing with Peter andPreston (one of the crew had to be at the helm) two crept towards thetent in which the Acting Chief and Mahmed were sleeping while a thirdsecured the hatch over the lascars, and the fourth directed hisattention upon the cabin in which Mrs. Shallop had taken up her abode.
Awakened by the uproar, Olive slipped out of her shelter, and hid inthe angle made by the rise of the poop and the adjoining bulwark. Theplace was not only in shadow; it was hidden from the view of the Arabat the helm.
Horror-stricken, the girl watched the drama until she saw that Peterhad thrown himself upon the would-be assassins. Up to that moment shehad thought that he was struggling under the folds of the overthrowntent.
Then horror gave place to a strange fascination as she followedMostyn's plucky and desperate struggle against the two Arabs. Shewanted t
o go to his aid, but her limbs refused the dictates of herbrain, apart from the fact that she was without a weapon of anydescription.
As in a hideous dream she saw the Wireless Officer struggle until hehad overcome his antagonists, only to be attacked by the captain of thedhow and the Arab who had returned from his task of securing thelascars.
The period of trance-like inaction passed. Olive stole stealthilytowards the three combatants with the desperate intention of throwingherself upon the captain, as he manoeuvred for an opening. She saw theiron bar descend and Peter's automatic slither along the deck. TheArabs, too intent upon settling with the Englishman, paid no attentionto the little weapon.
Swiftly the girl grasped the automatic. Even in her haste sheremembered to release the safety-catch and to see that there was acartridge in the breech.
Levelling the pistol she pressed the trigger. The Arab captain threwup his arms and staggered upon the almost exhausted Peter, bearing himto the deck together with the fellow whom he had used as a human shield.
Still at a loss as to the outcome of the fight, Olive waited, finger ontrigger, watching the writhing forms almost at her feet. Presently theArab sailor extricated himself and fumbled for the knife in his sash.
Again the pistol cracked, and the fellow collapsed in a limp heapacross the body of the captain of the dhow.
Checking her almost irresistible inclination to ascertain whether Peterwas dead or alive, the girl made her way aft, remembering that therewere five Arabs and that only four had been accounted for.
A loud, very masculine-like voice, uttering a string of curses thatwould have done credit to a Thames bargee, greeted Olive's ears. Asshe stooped to clear the low poop she was just in time to see Mrs.Shallop deliver a clean and beautifully timed punch on the point of theArab's jaw. The luckless fellow, lifted completely off his feet,crashed heavily against the bulkhead and slithered limply upon the deck.
This much Olive saw by the aid of a horn lantern hanging from thedeck-beam. Then, as Mrs. Shallop turned, the girl was also aware thatthere was a knife sticking into the woman's left shoulder.
Olive offered her assistance. Mrs. Shallop, seemingly aware of theknife for the first time, waved her back.
"Nothing to make a song about," she protested in a gruff voice. "WhenI want your help I'll ask for it--not before."
And with this ungracious refusal Mrs. Shallop went back into her cabinand shut the door; leaving Olive, feeling considerably bewildered nowthat the reaction was setting in, standing close to the unconsciousArab.
It was some moments before she pulled herself together sufficiently togo on deck. By this time the dhow had run up into the wind and wasgathering sternway with her lateen foresail aback. Olive hardly heededthe fact. Her first care was to ascertain whether any of the threewere still living.
Peter looked a ghastly sight, a generous portion of his hair torn outby the roots and blood trickling down his forehead.
A hasty examination showed that he was still alive and apparentlywithout serious injury. Olive washed the stains from his face andrested his head on an improvised pillow. Then she went to theassistance of Preston and Mahmed.
With difficulty she removed the collapsed tent, for in the melee theActing Chief had rolled over upon the folds of the canvas. He toolooked a pretty object, for the old wounds on his head had reopened,while in addition he had been stabbed. Olive deftly dressed theinjuries and turned to Mahmed.
She did not know what to make of the Indian boy. He was so chippedabout that she was unaware whether he was alive or dead.
Olive was still engaged in doing her best to patch Mahmed up when Mrs.Shallop appeared upon the scene. Somehow she had contrived to put adressing over her wound, although it must have been a difficult task totie the knot that held the bandage in position.
"Bit of a mess, ain't it?" she remarked. "We'd best clean up a bit.How about heaving those blacks overboard?"
"Are they all dead?" asked the girl.
"Not a bit of it," was the unconcerned reply. "But they soon will be,so overboard with them."
"No," declared Olive firmly. "It's not right--it's murder."
"It would have been murder for us if they hadn't knuckled under,"rejoined Mrs. Shallop. "When they come to their senses there'll bemore trouble, you mark my words."
Olive glanced in the direction of the Arab captain. Already he wasshowing signs of returning consciousness.
"What's that hatch under the poop, close to your cabin?" she asked.
"How on earth should I know?" retorted Mrs. Shallop. "It's no odds tome what it is."
The girl went aft, lifted the hatch, and lowered the lantern into thecavernous depths. The place was an after-hold, its for'ard endterminating in a strong transverse bulkhead, while the curved timbersand raking sternpost comprised the remaining walls.
"We'll lower the Arabs down that hatch," declared Olive firmly, whenshe rejoined her companion. "They'll be safe enough in there."
"No; overboard with them," persisted Mrs. Shallop.
"You'll be tried for murder on the high seas if you do," continuedOlive.
The threat caused the woman's blood-thirsty schemes to evaporate.
"All right, then," she conceded grudgingly.
With very little assistance Mrs. Shallop dragged the unresisting formsof the five Arabs aft, after searching them in a very methodicalfashion for concealed arms. This done, she passed a rope round eachArab in turn and lowered him into the hold; while at Olive's suggestiona stone jar filled with water was placed in their prison.
"Guess they'll be scared stiff when they come to," was Mrs. Shallop'sgrim comment, as she closed and secured the hatch. "Where's any food?That job's made me feel quite peckish."
She disappeared into her cabin, while Olive, left to her own resources,began her watch and ward by the side of the still unconscious WirelessOfficer.
The Wireless Officer Page 35