The Mid of the Maintop

By Arthur Lee Knight,

Author of "The Young Rajah," etc.

With Pen-and-ink Illustrations by Hilda K. Robinson.

London: Ernest Nister

New York: E. P. Dutton & Co.

Printed in Bavaria. 651.

THE MID OF THE MAINTOP.

CHAPTER I.

The "Forte" was a fifty-gun frigate employed upon the East Coast of Africa in the suppression of the slave trade. About a week previous to the commencement of our story the ship had been to Zanzibar Harbour, where the rest of the squadron was assembled, and Captain Brooke and his second-in-command, Commander Hutton, had reported themselves on board the flagship, which was a modern man-of-war, and had received instructions from the admiral to sail along the coast, keeping a sharp look-out for slave-dhows, at that time very numerous. On the captain's return the "Forte" at once sailed, and at the time our story opens she was about fifty miles to the eastward of Ras Hafoon, a bold bluff promontory formed by huge sun-scorched rocks, and utterly destitute of vegetation of any kind.

The captain looked anxiously at the barometer in his cabin. It had begun to fall ominously.

There was a hurried knock at the door.

"Come in," shouted Captain Brooke, as he snatched his cap from a peg.

The lieutenant of the watch entered.

"There's a dense fog driving up, sir," he said, "and I think we're in for a bit of a blow as well."

"Take a reef in the topsails," responded the captain promptly, "and turn the hands up."

A few seconds later the order was echoing along the "Forte's" crowded decks, and the bluejackets were streaming up the hatchways, laughing and joking as they went.

The captain unrolled a chart, glanced for a moment at it, and then followed the lieutenant on deck.

A squall had burst upon the ship. The topmen were swarming up the rigging: every man was at his post.

Jack Villiers was one of the smartest midshipmen on board the "Forte," and was a general favourite with everyone. As he was a smart athletic youngster, he had been placed in command of the maintopmen when they were aloft, and was always in the thick of any adventure, which very much endeared him to the bluejackets' hearts.

As soon as the reef was taken in on this occasion, Jack sent his men down from aloft and then prepared to follow himself. The "Forte" was heeling over to the strong breeze, and tearing through the water at the rate of eight knots an hour. The scud and spray were flying over the hammock-nettings, but a dense fog had begun to envelop the ship, and blew in clouds of vapour through her network of rigging and amongst her white sails.

Jack ran down the ratlines as fast as he could.

Jack ran down the ratlines of the rigging as fast as he could now that his duty aloft was done. Unfortunately, at this moment the heavy wet main-sheet was dragged upwards by the straining of the sail, and struck against Jack's feet with such violence as to make him lose his hold of the rigging.

In an instant he was flung upwards and then hurled overboard into the midst of the foaming waves.

Lifebuoys were thrown overboard, the ship was hove-to, and a boat was sent away; but by this time Jack had been lost to sight in the driving mist. When last seen he was swimming rather feebly as if dazed by his fall from aloft.

The coxswain of the cutter searched in vain for the missing boy. No trace of him could be found. The wind howled in fitful gusts, and the fog grew thicker and thicker. It was impossible to see more than a few feet from the boat, but the coxswain shouted again and again in his loudest tones in the hope of being heard by Jack. Very gloomy did the seamen look when no answer came to these repeated cries.

The storm was now very violent, and the cutter was in danger. The "Forte" was of course out of sight, but she now began firing signal-guns.

"The skipper might save his powder," said the coxswain anxiously, "for we can't fetch the old hooker in this lumpy sea. Lay in your oars, lads, step the mast, and set a close-reefed sail. I reckon it's our only chance to escape being swamped."

"And the poor young gentleman," said one of the men, with a sigh; "I'm afraid we'll never see him this side of eternity again."

"It'll break his mother's heart," remarked the coxswain huskily; "but we've our duty to do, mates, and if the Lord calls him we mustn't complain, He being our Commander-in-Chief, so to speak."

The boat under her rag of a sail flew before the wind. The "Forte" continued to fire guns at intervals, but it was impossible to pay attention to them, and soon the sound died away altogether.

For hours the cutter held on her way, the coxswain not daring to alter course for fear the boat should be swamped.

Suddenly the fog lifted and began to roll away over the ocean. At the same moment the gale began to abate in violence and the sea to go down. In eastern climes a sudden storm quickly expends its force.

The cutter's crew gave a shout of joy. Away over the crests of the still agitated sea they perceived the misty outlines of their ocean home, H.M.S. "Forte." She was apparently standing down in their direction.

"Here's a piece of good luck," exclaimed the coxswain; "that's the old hooker, as sure as guns are guns, and, what's more, the wind has veered to the westward, and we can run down and jine company with her in the shake of a pig's whisker."

It was the work of a few moments to alter course and shake a reef out of the foresail.

As the last remnants of the fog disappeared over the eastern horizon, the "Forte" loomed more and more distinctly into view. She had topgallant-sails set and single-reefed topsails. The shades of evening were now beginning to fall, and the lurid sun was shaping his course towards the bleak and barren heights that guard the shores of the Great Dark Continent.

As soon as the "Forte" perceived her boat she hove-to. As the cutter ran alongside, the coxswain and his mates noticed that the hammock-nettings and ports were full of men anxious to learn the fate of their favourite midshipman.

One glance into the boat was sufficient.

The captain and his principal officers stood at the entry-port with pale, set faces. On hearing the coxswain's report, they turned sadly away, and an unbroken silence reigned throughout the frigate for a few moments.

"Hoist the cutter up," ordered Captain Brooke, in a voice broken with emotion, "and then put the ship on her course again."

CHAPTER II.

It was three bells in the first watch when the coxswain of the cutter—whose name was Lobb—went on deck. Some supper and a short sleep in his hammock had wonderfully refreshed him. The gale had entirely blown itself out, and the sky was clear and strewn with brilliant stars, amongst which the Southern Cross and the Centauri glittered like gorgeous jewels set in lapis lazuli of an indigo tint. The breeze still held from the westward, and was strong enough to make the frigate heel over till her shining copper, dripping with salt spray, was visible on the weather side.

Lobb went to the lee entry-port and gazed out over the phosphorescent sea. His heart was heavy as he thought of poor Jack Villiers's sad fate, and mechanically he took off his cap and sought for the pipe that lay snugly therein.

"A bit of baccy is the thing to soothe a chap what's got a fit of the blues," he muttered to himself, as he charged his pipe with tobacco. "I'm jiggered if it wasn't the blackest day in my life when I failed to pick up that youngster—the brightest young fellow in the ship he was, and that there ain't no denying."

His meditations were interrupted by the middy of the first watch, a bright, fair-haired boy, who, eagerly running up to him, exclaimed: "Oh, Lobb, I wanted to see you so much about——" And he hesitated.

"Ah, it's Mr. Thring," said the coxswain, pausing in the act of lighting his pipe. "I'm main sorry for you, sir, I can assure you, for I know right well what chums you and Mr. Villiers were, and it must strike to your very heart, as one may say."

Thring's eyes filled with tears, and he felt thankful that it was too dark for the seaman to observe his emotion. He was quite a youngster, having joined the "Forte" straight from the "Britannia" training-ship only a year before our story opens.

"Tell me all that happened, Lobb," he said at length, in a strained voice. "The captain only gave me a few particulars."

The seaman lit his pipe, and between the puffs told what little there was to tell. It was little indeed, but Thring listened to the recital with breathless interest, soothed by the thought that this rough but soft-hearted sailor was fully in sympathy with him.

"The sea looks so beautiful now," he said, when Lobb had finished his short story. "No one would believe that it could have——I say, Lobb"—gripping the seaman's arm—"is it possible that my chum could have escaped in any way?"

"Nobody could have lived long in that sea," answered the coxswain sadly; "but don't you take on too much, sir, about this unfortunit business. What I says to the crew of the cutter I says to you, and mind you, lay it to heart like a brave youngster: 'We've our duty to do, mates,' says I, 'and if the Lord calls him we mustn't complain, He being our Commander-in-Chief, so to speak.'"

There was a long silence.

"I wish we could come across some slavers," said the middy at length; "I feel as if active service is the only thing that would drive poor Jack's dreadful fate from my mind."

"We ain't had much luck in that way, sir, have we? But I reckon the wheel of fortin will turn by-and-by, and we'll get a haul of prize-money. To-morrow it's like enough we'll be in the latitude of Cape Joo-joo, and the chances are we'll fall foul of some of these swabs what earns their living by trading in human flesh."

"If we do, I only hope the fellows will fight," cried Thring, with flashing eyes.

"I hope so too," said the coxswain, as he knocked the ashes out of his pipe. "I'm always ready for a scrimmage with them Arab gentry, for they're the blackest-hearted scoundrels that walk this earth, there's no mistake about that."

"Four bells, sir!" reported the marine sentry, marching up and saluting the middy of the watch.

"Make it so," answered young Thring briefly. "Good night, Lobb; I must go and examine the bow-lights, and take the corporal of the watch round the decks."

"Right you are, sir. Goodnight, and don't you let your young heart be frettin' too much, for, if you'll excuse me taking the liberty of speech, I can't abear to see that bright face of yourn a-clouded over. Don't forget the Commander-in-Chief when you turns into your hammock at eight bells."

And carefully stowing his short clay away in his cap, Lobb went thoughtfully down the main hatchway in search of his own hammock.

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.

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."