CHAPTER IV.

Some of my young readers may possibly have guessed that they would hear of Jack Villiers again. "There's a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft and looks after the life of poor Jack," isn't there? Of course there is, but still, one may tempt Providence too far, and I cannot help feeling extremely nervous when I think of the very awkward fix my hero is undoubtedly in, for his Arab captors were very much inclined to assassinate him at this crisis in his fate, as they attributed their misfortune in losing the dhow entirely to his enforced presence amongst them; whereas we know that it was nothing of the sort, the discovery of their vessel having been the result of a pure accident.

When Jack Villiers fell overboard from the "Forte's" main rigging he was partially stunned by the violence with which he struck the water; but, being a strong, athletic boy, and a splendid swimmer, he soon recovered himself, and struck out desperately, in hopes of reaching one of the many life-buoys that he knew must have been flung overboard into the wake of the ship. The sea, however, had become very boisterous, and the great waves dashed over him again and again, drenching him with their stinging salt brine; and the fog had become so dense that he could not see more than two or three feet in front of him. It was a terrible position for a boy to be in, but Jack was of that sterling stuff that heroes are made of, and was determined to make a brave struggle for life.

"If it wasn't for this horrid fog," he muttered to himself as he dashed the salt spray from his eyes, "I should be as right as a trivet, for I could certainly keep myself afloat till the boat picked me up."

[Illustration: (Jack Villiers and life-buoy)]

Jack, of course, had no idea in which direction he was swimming. As a matter of fact, he was moving away from the "Forte" instead of towards her. The water in the Indian Ocean is so wonderfully buoyant that the middy was not much incommoded by his clothes, which were of very thin texture. The temperature, too, was warm enough to prevent any feeling of numbness.

Jack's heart began to sink a little when he fully recognised how difficult it would be for the crew of the boat to find him. He had had sufficient experience at sea to know that when a man falls overboard in half a gale of wind he is washed away an immense distance from the ship in an incredibly short space of time. He was aware also that the cutter could not be lowered until the way of the ship was nearly stopped, and this involved much necessary delay.

Jack listened intently for the friendly sound of oars grinding in the rowlocks, or for the shouts of his searching shipmates, but amid the roar of the elements not a sound could he distinguish. Once or twice he shouted at the top of his voice, but this he quickly found exhausted him too much, and it was absolutely necessary that he should husband his strength as far as possible in order to keep afloat at all in such a tempestuous sea.

Presently, to his great joy, our hero was struck violently on the shoulder by a circular cork lifebuoy, which was one of those thrown overboard from the "Forte's" poop. With great presence of mind Jack seized the buoy in a strong grip, and it was lucky he did so promptly, as in another moment it would have been washed far beyond him by a rolling wave.

This buoy undoubtedly saved the mid of the maintop's life, for, as we know, the cutter never came within hail of him, in spite of all the efforts of her devoted crew.

Jack never knew how long he drifted about at the mercy of the waves, clinging with desperation to the lifebuoy; but at length, as he was beginning to feel that his strength was fast ebbing away, and that the end must be very near, the fog began to almost imperceptibly melt away, and the middy saw to his delight that there was a sailing-vessel within half a mile of him, staggering along in his direction under a reefed sail, a pile of foamy water at her bows.

Our hero's heart sank a little, for he quickly perceived that the stranger was a dhow. Of the "Forte" there was no sign, but the horizon was by no means clear as yet.

"After all, she may be a lawful trader," muttered Jack, "and if I can only manage to attract her attention, her captain will no doubt land me at Aden or some British port."

By great good fortune, the dhow held straight on her course, and this brought her within a fathom or two of the spot where our hero was so bravely fighting the waves. So exhausted and weak had Jack now become, however, that when he tried to shout in order to attract the attention of the crew of the stranger he found himself unable to utter a sound. Nor did he dare to quit his hold of the lifebuoy even to wave one arm.

[Illustration: _Squatting close beside his prisoner was Ahmed Bungoo._]

The captain of the dhow, who happened to be steering his vessel, had the eyes of a lynx, and it did not escape his glance that upon his port bow was a European castaway, clinging to a buoy and buffeted about by a still tempestuous sea. The Arab skipper hated Englishmen like poison, and it would have been quite in keeping with his character to have held contemptuously on his course and left a drowning human creature to perish, but on this occasion he was induced to change his mind by the fact that he thought he perceived the flash of brass buttons upon the middy's jacket, as it rose and fell upon the tumbling waves.

The love of gain had a firm hold upon the sordid mind of this Arab chief. Perchance this was a naval officer, for whose release from captivity the British Government might be induced to pay a heavy ransom! It was too good an opportunity to be lost! The wily Arab promptly hove-to his clumsy craft, and sent away a boat to rescue the castaway.

The long and terrible strain had been too much even for a boy of unusual physical strength. No sooner was Jack bundled unceremoniously on board the dhow than he fainted dead away.

On recovering consciousness, our hero found himself lying upon the rough bamboo deck of a rude cabin built under the poop of the Arab vessel, and dimly illuminated by the open doorway, there being no other means of admitting air or light. A cushion stuffed with native cotton and covered with Turkey red supported Jack's head, and, to his astonishment, the middy found that his own dripping clothes had been stripped from him and their place taken by an Arabic jacket and pair of loose trousers secured by a cummerbund; his feet being slipped into a pair of yellow shoes.

Squatting upon his haunches close beside his prisoner, and with his subtle dark eyes fixed intently upon the middy's blanched face, was Ahmed Bungoo, skipper of the dhow, and one of the most noted slave-dealers of Zanzibar.

The Arab gave a grunt of satisfaction when he saw that the midshipman had opened his eyes, for he had feared for some almost intolerable moments that the prisoner would slip through his fingers.

For a few seconds Jack felt strangely bewildered, then memory asserted her sway in a flash, and he distinctly remembered the train of incidents which had led up to his almost miraculous rescue from a watery grave. He tried to sit up, but fell back helpless with a groan.

Ahmed frowned, and played with the hilt of a gaily-ornamented knife which was stuck into his girdle. He was about to speak when he saw that his captive had fallen into a profound sleep--the sleep of exhausted nature.

Our mid of the maintop slept tranquilly for many long hours, and when he eventually awoke felt quite recovered and as ravenous as a shark. He found himself still in the same position upon the deck of the cabin, but the lynx-eyed skipper had disappeared. In his place a gaunt-looking, grizzle-headed Arab stood on guard at the entrance of the cabin--which was innocent of a door--armed with a very long-barrelled musket and a curved scimitar.

[Illustration: (Arab guard)]

Anxious to thank his preservers, and curious also to ascertain the nature of the vessel which had picked him up, our hero rose to his feet and moved towards the sentry, intending to pass him and go in search of the captain. The Arab, however, perceiving his intention, immediately barred the entrance with his long musket, at the same time uttering some sharp order in Arabic, which of course Jack did not understand. The middy at once gathered, however, from the man's threatening manner that he must consider himself a prisoner, and, thinking it wiser for the present to obey orders, he re-seated himself upon the deck, and, pointing to his mouth, said in a loud voice: "Me want some grub very bad, Johnny."

The sentry shouted to someone who was invisible to Jack, and presently a short, repulsive-looking native with a very black skin appeared upon the scene, bearing in his huge hands a chatty of boiled rice and a wooden spoon. This dish he set before the midshipman, and signed to him to eat.

Jack lost no time, and began to attack the rice with avidity, the two natives eyeing him closely and with the utmost gravity during the proceedings. The rice, being flavoured with a little curry-stuff and some pieces of chopped brinjal, was by no means unpalatable, and the middy left not one grain in the bowl "for manners." Indeed, he felt very much better for the meal.

[Illustration: (Jack eating)]

The short black attendant stalked out with the empty bowl, and almost at the same moment in stalked the Arab captain with an unmistakeable scowl upon his face.

"If that chap isn't a slave-dealer, may I go back to the nursery and pinafores," muttered the mid of the maintop to himself; "and I'm in a jolly tight place if this is a slave-dhow, unless one of our cruisers should happen to fall foul of her."

Feeling sure that this individual was the captain, and anxious to conciliate him--Jack was a born diplomat--our hero made the chief a neat little speech in English, expressing his thanks for past favours, and making a request that he might be landed at the nearest port.

The captain shook his head vehemently, as if to intimate that the English tongue was utterly unknown to him. Then, turning to the sentry, he said in Arabic: "By the beard of the Prophet, a handsome youth! What thinkest thou that Christian dog, the English admiral, will pay for him, eh, Khyraz?"

The sentry twirled his moustache thoughtfully. Then he said, with a hoarse, guttural laugh: "Perhaps the admiral will pay you in cannon-balls instead of gold, O Ahmed, my chief; it's a way the dogs have!"

The captain scowled at this pleasantry. Then he observed tranquilly: "I think it will be sufficient gold to buy a hundred slaves with in the Zanzibar market. We shall do well on our next voyage if we have the good fortune to escape the men-of-war."

Jack's heart rather sank when he found that the captain did not understand any English. How could he convey to him his wish to be landed at the nearest port?

As our hero was turning over these thoughts in his mind, a member of the Arab crew came below, and reported that the yard had been sprung in the gale and needed repairs.

Ahmed, after giving some rapid orders to the sentry, hurried away, and Jack was left to his own meditations, which were by no means pleasant ones.

So badly was the dhow's yard injured that Ahmed decided to put into the Joo-joo river, where he could carry out the necessary repairs whilst his vessel lay securely at anchor. The dhow drew very little water, and safely entered the estuary only a few hours before the "Forte" appeared upon the scene.

The cutter's crew under young Thring's command had been mistaken in imagining that they were taking Ahmed and his men by surprise. There is a saying: "You do not catch a weasel asleep," and the slaver-captain very closely resembled that animal, and was always on the alert and ready for emergencies. Thoroughly alarmed as he was by the apparition of the man-of-war in the offing, and of her boat approaching the shore, he yet trusted to his usual good luck--having never been captured by a cruiser--and hoped that his presence in the river would pass unobserved, shrouded from view as he deemed himself to be by the jutting point of rocks.

The instant, however, the wily Ahmed recognised that the cutter's nose was turned in his direction, he calmly and quietly prepared for action, and as a precaution sent Jack Villiers ashore in charge of three fully-armed men, on whose faith and courage he knew he could implicitly rely.

In dogged, obstinate bravery this slaver-captain was certainly not deficient. He was prepared to fight to the last drop of his blood in defence of his vessel and human cargo. With regard to his prisoner, Jack Villiers, the chief was very much averse to treating with naval officers for his release, much preferring that negotiations for that purpose should, if possible, be carried on with a Consular Agent at some port. Herein he showed his wisdom--the wisdom of the serpent.