Part 2

“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!”