CHAPTER III.

The following day the "Forte" chased several suspicious-looking dhows, but one or two, being smart sailers, managed to make their escape by carrying a press of canvas. The frigate, having lofty masts, was visible to these Arabian mariners from a very long distance, and, as the reader may suppose, the vessels that are employed in the slave trade always keep a sharp look-out for British men-of-war, for well do their captains know that, if captured, the slaves found on board are immediately released from their cruel captivity and the dhows sunk or burnt.

The vessels which could not elude the "Forte" were promptly boarded by the frigate's boats. All these craft turned out to be lawful traders, with the exception of one, which proved to have thirty-five slaves on board. The jolly-boat, having taken possession of her without striking a blow, the wretched slaves, more like walking skeletons than human beings, were transferred to the "Forte," and the dhow was sent to the bottom of the ocean by a few well-directed shots from the frigate's forecastle guns. The Arab captain and his crew were then put ashore upon the arid, desolate strand and left to find their way as best they could to the nearest native settlement.

The wind having dropped very light, the "Forte" was put under steam, and proceeded slowly northwards, keeping the land well in sight upon her port beam. No vessels now remained in view, but a large school of black fish were seen spouting energetically to the north-east, and the sea was alive with shoals of flying-fish and an occasional bonito.

"We're very short of sand for scrubbing decks, sir," said the commander to Captain Brooke during the first dog-watch; "may I send a boat ashore to fetch some? As you know, a river falls into the sea just to the southward of Cape Joo-joo yonder, and there's a deposit of some of the finest sand in the world close to its mouth."

"Well, I see no objection," answered the skipper. "It's a very quiet bit of the coast, and the men couldn't well come to any harm."

The frigate's nose was accordingly pointed in towards the land and her speed increased; but the precaution was taken of placing leadsmen in the chains.

"I should like to send young Thring in charge of the cutter, sir," observed the commander to his chief. "The poor little chap is very much cut up about the loss of his middy chum, and it would be a charity to let him go on the expedition."

"Go he shall, then," said the captain kindly; "he's a promising youngster and likely to do the service credit. At the same time, Hutton, don't forget that the boy has had but little experience. I don't think this part of the coast is inhabited, but warn Mr. Thring that he is not on any account to interfere with the natives if they put in an appearance. Should there be any attempt to oppose his landing, he is at once to return to the ship and report himself."

"Pass the word for Mr. Thring, quartermaster," sang out the commander.

"Our charts of this coast are very imperfect," said the skipper; "I think we had better not venture any nearer in. Do you remember that small bower anchor we lost off Ras Pundoo?"

"I do indeed, sir; we'd better stop the engines and get the first cutter lowered. Her coxswain, Lobb, is a thoroughly reliable man, and will take good care that young Thring does nothing rash. When a middy takes the bit in his teeth there's no controlling him!"

Captain Brooke smiled. "The old spirit isn't dead," he said; "there are always chips of the old block coming to the fore, who think a lot of the honour due to the glorious white ensign. One of my own youngsters is on board the 'Britannia' at this moment learning to be a young sea-dog."

The "Forte" now lay "as idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean," rolling gently on the heaving land-swell. It was almost a stark calm, but a catspaw here and there played over the surface of the sea and fretted its blue-green surface into little furrows. Screaming seabirds swooped around the ship, and just under the quarter an enormous wily-looking shark kept watch and ward, eyeing greedily some refuse from the cook's galley which was floating towards him.

Young Thring was only too delighted to go in charge of the cutter, and Lobb was equally pleased--though the duty of collecting sand was usually prosaic enough.

There is a saying, however, which again and again has proved itself a true one: "It is always the unexpected which happens."

What Lobb called "the wheel of fortin" revolves rather quickly sometimes.

The light breaths of air that were stirring were moving in the direction of the land, so the cutter hoisted her lugsail and slowly glided towards the African shore.

"Is there no surf on this part of the coast?" questioned Thring, as he buckled on his dirk around his waist. "I don't see it, or hear it."

"There's less here than anywhere," answered the coxswain; "leastways, in fine weather like it is at present. When there's a gale blowing there's some scud and spray flying about, I can tell you."

"The little bay we're making for seems to be protected on the south side by a high, jutting point," said the middy, who was now observing the coast through his telescope.

"Right you are, sir, and that makes it a safe place to land when the south-west monsoon is blowing. That is where the little river Joo-joo runs into the sea."

"You know this part of the coast well, Lobb, evidently."

"Yes, I do, sir. 'Taint the fust time I've landed here for sand, not by a long chalk. On one occasion, when I was in the old 'Ariadne,' we went up the river Joo-joo in the pinnace to get a supply of fresh water."

"And you fell in with some natives I expect, didn't you?"

"Never a soul did we see, sir. There was a lot of mischievous-looking baboons a-cruising about and some flamingoes, but nothing else living did we see. No seaside lodgings to let, nor nothing of that sort." And Lobb laughed at his own joke, his mind reverting for a moment to his own Mary Anne, who let genteel apartments overlooking the sea at the little Dorsetshire town of Swanage.

The words had hardly escaped his lips when the coxswain suddenly gripped the middy by the arm, and pointed in an excited manner in the direction of a jutting point.

"Do you see that mast of an Arab vessel, sir?" he almost shouted, "just over them rocks yonder."

"See it? I should think I did! Now what in the name of fortune is she skulking behind that point for?"

"Why, for all we know, she may be a slave-ship," said the coxswain, with much suppressed excitement in his tones. "Out oars, lads, and we'll soon see what larks that chap is up to."

The middy, in a state of great excitement, turned his telescope upon the stranger.

[Illustration: _Over the dhow's bulwarks appeared a row of fierce bearded faces._]

"She's a dhow right enough," he said briefly; "but the commander warned me not to interfere with the natives."

"That's right enough, sir, that is," returned the coxswain; "but this is another pair of shoes altogether. A dhow is a dhow, and ain't nothing to do with shore-going loafers."

As it was now a stark calm, recourse was had to the oars, and the cutter slipped along through the water, which was so clear that the fish were visible swimming about in all directions.

"If yonder craft _should_ prove to be a slaver, we ain't got no weapons aboard to fight the swabs with," observed one of the cutter's crew.

"The stretchers will serve our turn, I reckon, chum," said the coxswain grimly, "and there's a shovel or two. We must be careful what we do, though, for this hooker may prove to be a lawful trader, and in that case we can't touch her."

The cutter, urged on by her willing crew, soon doubled the point, and found herself in the mouth of the river. The dhow lay quietly at anchor, and it appeared as if her crew had not as yet caught sight of the man-of-war's boat. She looked a small vessel, and boasted of only one very raking mast and a lofty tapering yard. Over her clumsy stern floated a blood-red flag attached to a bamboo flagstaff.

"Give way, men; we'll soon be alongside her," cried the middy, in sharp, decisive tones. "To my mind she has the look of a regular slaver."

Shouts of alarm now rang out from on board the stranger, and her Arab crew were seen hurriedly rushing hither and thither like a horde of disturbed ants.

"There's a big crew aboard; that's suspicious," murmured the coxswain to himself. "How I wish we had poor Mr. Villiers here! 'Tis just the job he liked to have a hand in, the plucky youngster"--and something very like a tear stood in the seaman's eye as his thoughts reverted for a moment to the sad events of the preceding day.

The crew of the dhow were now seen mustering in the waist of their vessel.

As the cutter drew near, the coxswain, who knew a few words of Arabic, rose in the stern-sheets and shouted out that he was going to board for the purpose of examining the dhow's papers.

The only answer to this was two or three jets of flame which gushed out from over the vessel's taffrail. Some slugs whizzed over the British seamen's heads and splashed harmlessly into the water beyond them.

"I'm jiggered if the sharks ain't slaver-men then," exclaimed the coxswain indignantly. "Stand by to lay in your oars, lads, and follow Mr. Thring and me aboard with shovels and stretchers in your fists."

The cutter dashed alongside the dhow. Over the latter's bulwarks appeared a row of fierce bearded faces, and the sunlight glanced brightly on spears and scimitars. It was an exciting moment.

"Bowmen, hang on there forrard!" shouted the middy, as he drew his little dirk from its sheath--a weapon never intended for active service.

"Grab some of them chaps' weapons as soon as you can, lads," roared the coxswain, as he clambered up the dhow's clumsy side; "and then we'll play 'old Harry' with the swabs."

With a dash and determination which nothing could withstand the cutter's crew followed their youthful leader on board, dealing telling blows with their shovels and stretchers as they did so, but unfortunately one or two seamen were wounded by the spears of the foe before they gained the deck of the slaver.

Now came a fierce hand-to-hand tussle. The Arabs had uttered triumphant shouts of joy when they perceived that the British seamen were without weapons, for they deemed it an easy matter to overcome them. So they thrust with spear and cut with scimitar, fiercely urging each other to drive the enemy back into their boat again. But they soon found they had tough customers to deal with--men who were accustomed to fighting against tremendous odds. The coxswain, an immensely powerful man in the prime of life, soon wrested a scimitar from one of his opponents, and, rushing into the thick of the fray, cut down everyone who opposed him.

Young Thring had not been so fortunate. Having gained in safety the dhow's bulwarks, he thrust with his dirk at an Arab who was opposing his further advance, and by great good luck wounded him in the sword-arm, causing the man to drop his spear over the taffrail, whence it fell into the cutter. The middy was about to spring on board when he received a violent blow on the chest from a clubbed musket and fell backwards into the boat, in the stern-sheets of which he lay senseless for a few moments. The bowmen were unable to assist him, owing to their important duties forward.

[Illustration: (Villiers and slaver-men)]

Quickly regaining consciousness, however, the youngster, who had never lost his grip of the dirk, threw that almost useless weapon aside, and, seizing the formidable spear which the Arab had dropped into the boat, he once more clambered up the dhow's tall side.

As he did so a hideous chorus of shrieks and screams, which rose high above the sounds of strife, rent the air; and a number of terrified slaves burst open the flimsy bamboo deck and, rushing up in a body, began throwing themselves overboard as if in fear of their lives. Many of these poor creatures, unable to swim, sank at once beneath the surface. The scene of confusion on board the dhow was now indescribable. In the midst of it Lobb, scimitar in hand, ran up to the middy.

"I've killed the captain of these slaver-men," he said excitedly, "and the rest of the beggars was so took aback at the loss of their chieftain that they caved in and laid down their arms. The ship is yours, sir, but we must do our best to prevent these slaves escaping. Mad as March hares, the lot of 'em seems to be, and that's the truth!"

By dint of almost superhuman efforts, the middy and his men succeeded in pacifying the terrified Africans who still remained on board. A good many had reached the shore, and were clambering up the rocks in a wet and dripping state.

The Arabs had been disarmed and the wounded men were being attended to when young Thring and his followers were thunderstruck by hearing a loud and piercing cry from amongst the cliff-like rocks on shore: "Help! help!"

"The voice of an Englishman!" exclaimed Lobb, in the greatest astonishment; "well, that beats everything as----"

He was interrupted by an agonising shout from Thring, who staggered back as if he had been shot: "It's Villiers! it's Jack Villiers!"

There could be no doubt about it. Extraordinary as it may appear, there undoubtedly was the mid of the maintop--supposed to be fathoms deep in an ocean grave--with his arms bound behind him, being hurried away inland by a small party of armed Arabs who had just a few moments before emerged from a cave amongst the rocks immediately above the spot where the dhow lay at anchor. As Thring gazed in a petrified manner at the flying group, he saw to his horror that one of the Arabs had felled his chum to the ground with a blow from the butt-end of a pistol.