Harry Milvaine; Or, The Wanderings of a Wayward Boy

by Gordon Stables

laughed outright. Mr Dewar was an officer of a very oldand obsolete type.

  "Why, my dear sir, that is my very best claret. Claret Lagrange, MrDewar; I paid seventy-five shillings a dozen for it."

  "Raggy," he added; "bring the rum, Raggy."

  "Try a drop of that, then."

  "Ah! that indeed, captain," exclaimed Mr Dewar, with beaming eyes."That's a drop o' real ship's."

  He was moderate, though, but he smacked his lips. "I feel in famousform now," he said. "I hope we'll come up with that rascally dhowbefore long. With my good sword now, Captain Wayland, and a brace ofcolts, I think--"

  At this moment Midshipman Milvaine--our Harry--entered, cap in hand.

  He has greatly improved since we last saw him, almost a giant, with abright and fearless eye and a most handsome face and agile figure. Hisshoulders are square and broad. He is very pliant in the waist; indeed,the body above the hips seems to move independent of hips or legs.Harry had now been four years in the service, and was but little oversixteen years of age.

  "Anything occurred, Mr Milvaine?"

  "Yes, sir, something is occurring, something terrible, murder or mutiny.The night is now very still, and the stars are out I can't seeanything, but from away over yonder, two or three points off the portbow, there is fearful screaming, and I can even hear splashing in thewater."

  Captain Wayland sprang up, so did young Dewar.

  "The scoundrels!" cried the former. "It is the dhow. They arelightening ship to get away from us with the morning breeze."

  "Mr Milvaine," he added, hurriedly, "we'll go to quarters. Do notsound the bugle.--Let all be done quietly. Keep her, Mr Milvaine,straight for the sounds you hear, and tell the engineers to go ahead atfull speed."

  "The moon will rise in half an hour," said Harry.

  "Thank Heaven for that," was the captain's reply.

  For the boats of a small ship like the _Bunting_ to board a heavilyarmed fighting dhow like the one they had been giving chase to, is nomean exploit even by day: by night such an adventure requires both tactand skill and determination as well.

  But the thing has been done before, and it was going to be tried againnow.

  The captain himself went on deck.

  There was already a faint glimmer of light from the rising moon on thesouth-eastern sky.

  But the sea was all as silent as the grave; there was the rattling ofthe revolving screw and the noise of the rushing, bubbling, lappingwaves as the vessel cleaved her way through them. Further than this,for the space of many minutes, sound there was none.

  "In what direction did you say you heard the cries?" asked CaptainWayland of young Harry Milvaine.

  "We are steering straight for it now, sir, and--"

  Suddenly he was interrupted. From a point still a little on the portbow, and apparently a mile distant, came a series of screams, somournful, so pleading, so pitiful, as almost to freeze one's blood.

  "Ah-h! Oh-h-h! Oh! Oh! Oo-oo-ok!"

  The last cry was wildly despairing, and cut suddenly short, as I havetried to describe, by the letters "ok."

  A moment or two afterwards there came across the water the sound of aplash, and next minute there was a repetition of the dreadful yells andcries.

  The captain took two or three hasty turns up and down the deck. He wasa very humane and kindly-hearted officer.

  "I hardly know what to do for the best," he said.

  "Suppose, sir," replied Mr Dewar, whom he seemed to be addressing, "wefire a gun to let her know we are near?"

  "No," replied the captain; "there is still wind enough, and time enough,for her to escape in the dark. We'll keep on yet a short time. Standby to lower the boats. They are already armed?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Escape in the dark!" muttered the captain to himself through his setteeth. "Dark indeed will be the work as soon as our lads get on boardof this fiend's ship."

  Book 2--CHAPTER FOUR.

  LIFE IN A GUNBOAT--THE CAPTAIN'S BIRTHDAY.

  Mr Dewar had charge of the first cutter, Mr Mavers, sub-lieutenant, ofthe second, and Harry himself commanded the whaler.

  These were all the boats told off for the fight, about five-and-thirtymen all told.

  Five-and-thirty men? Yes, but they were five-and-thirtybroad-shouldered British blue-jackets, armed with cutlass and revolver.And what is it, pray, that blue-jackets will not dare, ay, and _do_ aswell as dare?

  Even Dr Scott and the other officers had left their swords behind them,preferring the ship's cutlass.

  Every man had stripped to the waist before starting, for the night wassultry and hot.

  The boats were silently lowered before they came in sight of the dhow,therefore before the dhow could see the _Bunting_.

  With muffled oars, nearer and nearer they sweep to the spot from whencethe sounds proceed.

  The whaler, being lighter, well-manned and well-steered by Harry, tookthe lead.

  The _Bunting_ came slowly on after the boats.

  But behold! the latter are seen from the dhow's decks, and lights springup at once, and a rattling volley flies harmlessly over the heads of ouradvancing heroes. At the same time it is evident that boarding-nets arebeing quickly placed along the bulwarks of the slaver.

  In a few minutes the whaler is at the bows of the dhow. This wasunprotected by netting, and low in the water, for the vessel was deep.Harry was the first to spring on board, followed instantly by hisfellows.

  He speedily parried an ugly thrust made at his throat by a spear, andnext moment his assailant fell on his face with a gash on his neck andhis life's blood welling away. For a few seconds this part of the dhowbristled with spears, and one or two of Harry's men succumbed to thelunges and fell to the deck.

  But the Arabs retreated before the charge, fighting for every inch ofdeck, however.

  Meanwhile the cutters were boarding. They were cutters in more waysthan one, for they had not only to defend themselves againstspear-lunging, but to slash through the netting.

  A bright white light now gleamed over the dhow's deck. The _Bunting_was nearly alongside, and burning lights.

  It was well this was so, for on the deck of that slave dhow stood fullyseventy as brave Arabs as ever drew a sword or carried a spear.

  They went down before our blue-jackets, nevertheless, in twos andthrees. The modern colt is a glorious weapon when held in a cool handand backed by a steady eye.

  Their very numbers told against these Arabs, but they fought well anddesperately, for they were fighting with the pirate-rope around theirnecks. Arab dhows who fire on our British cruisers are treated aspirates, and, when taken red-handed, have a short shrift and a longdrop.

  That they fought with determined courage cannot be gainsaid--gentlemenArabs always do--but they have not the bull-dog pluck of our fellows.They cannot hang on, so to speak; they lack what is technically called"stay." Nor were they fighting in a good cause, and they knew it.

  They knew or felt that they could not, if killed, walk straight fromthat blood-slippery battle-deck into the paradise of Mahomed.

  Add to this that their weapons were far inferior to ours. Their spearswere easily shivered, and even their swords; while their pistols couldscarcely be called arms of precision.

  So after a brave but ineffectual attempt to stem the wild, stern rush ofour British blue-jackets, they fell back towards the poop, so huddledtogether that the fire of our men riddled two at a time. They finallysought refuge in the poop saloon, and even down below among theremainder of those poor trembling slaves who had not been butchered orforced to walk the plank.

  Many were driven overboard, or preferred the deadly plunge into theocean to falling into the hands of the British.

  The captain surrendered his sword, standing by the mainmast. He was atall and somewhat swarthy Arab, and spoke good English.

  "Slay me now, if so minded, you infidel dogs," he shouted, "or keep meto satiate your revenge?"

  Meanwhile, up rose the moon--a verm
ilion moon--a moon that seemed tostain all the waves with long quivering ribbons of blood, and theshadows of the two ships were cast darkling on the water far to thewest.

  A wretched half-caste Arab was found skulking under the poop, anddragged forth by one of the _Bunting's_ men. He had _not_ been in thefight, yet he had a most terrible appearance.

  He was very black and ferocious-looking, dressed only in one whitecotton garment, with a rope for a girdle, from which dangled an uglyknife.

  This fiend in human form was dabbled in blood; his face, hands, barearms, and all the front of his garment were wet with gore. He had beenthe butcher of the innocent slaves.

  He was dragged forth and dragged forward, but suddenly, with anunearthly yell, he sprang from the sailor's grasp, and next moment hadleapt into the sea.

  He was watched for a few moments swimming quickly away from the