Part 1

# Sea, spray and spindrift : $b Naval yarns ### By Dorling, H. Taprell (Henry Taprell)

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SEA, SPRAY AND SPINDRIFT

WORKS BY “TAFFRAIL”

CARRY ON! Naval Sketches and Stories. 1/- net, PEARSON.

STAND BY! Naval Sketches and Stories. 1/- net, PEARSON.

MINOR OPERATIONS Naval Stories. 1/- net, PEARSON.

OFF SHORE Naval Sketches and Stories. 1/- net, PEARSON.

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.