The Wireless Officer
Page 36
CHAPTER XXXV
The End of the Voyage
Three days later the dhow was bowling along up the Mozambique Channelwith the Madagascar coast showing broad on the starboard beam.
Peter was once more in charge of things. He had made a quick recoveryfrom his hurts, although he still experienced a difficulty inswallowing.
Preston too was making favourable progress. His latest wound was aclean cut. Up to the present there had been no complications, and hisamateur nurses had good reason to think that none would be forthcoming.
With Mahmed things were different. Twenty-four hours elapsed before heregained consciousness. He was suffering from at least half a dozendeep knife wounds and several others of a lesser degree of danger. Inaddition to a serious loss of blood, he was in a high fever.
Peter was greatly concerned over the dangerous state of his trustyservant. He had thought of putting into the nearest port in Madagascarand landing Mahmed for medical treatment, but the boy besought MostynSahib so fervently that he should not be left that Peter decided tocarry on.
There was no longer any doubt about the dhow's position. On board,Mostyn had discovered, amongst other articles of navigation, aBritish-made sextant, and, as soon as the Acting Chief recoveredsufficiently Preston had fixed the latitude. The absence of achronometer mattered little, since the Madagascar coast was visible tostarboard.
By the aid of Arab charts it was found that the dhow was now within sixhundred miles of Pangawani, the nearest port in the Kilba Protectorate,and, indeed, the nearest territory under British rule. Provided thewind held, the dhow ought to reel off those six hundred miles in fromfive to six days.
Everything considered, Peter congratulated himself. In a stout,weatherly craft, although on very unconventional lines according toBritish standards, there was little cause for anxiety on the score ofdanger. There were ample provisions of sorts, and sufficient freshwater to enable the dhow to carry on without being under the necessityof putting into any port to revictual.
The Arab prisoners gave little trouble. Given food and water andmedical stores of their own providing, they accepted the changedconditions with typical Moslem fatalism. Twice a day they were allowedon deck singly, ostentatiously covered by Mostyn with his automatic;and, without the slightest show of opposition, they returned to theirplace of captivity in the hold directly they were so ordered.
Amongst other articles discovered in the Arab captain's cabin was aleather bag, containing gold and silver coins of an approximate valueof L120. This Peter placed in a large trunk, which, in default of lockand key, was secured by driving in several long nails. He told no oneof his find, but resolved to hand over the money to the portauthorities as soon as the dhow arrived at Pangawani.
After distinguishing herself by knocking out her Arab assailant andmaking herself useful until Peter was able to resume control, Mrs.Shallop had drifted back into her old style. For hours at a stretchshe remained in the cabin assigned to her. When she did appear sheindulged in outbursts of complaints against everything in general.
Peter now suffered her in silence. He could afford to do so, knowingthat within the next few days he would be relieved both of her companyand his responsibility.
On the fifth day following the acquisition of the dhow, the ComoroIslands were sighted on the starboard bow. There were now plenty ofcraft to be seen, from tramp steamers to dhows. Mostyn let them passwithout attempting to communicate. A sort of spirit of independencepossessed him. Having gone thus far without outside assistance he wasdetermined to see the business through. Had urgent necessity arisen hewould have stopped a large vessel and requested medical attention, butMahmed was making good progress, and was so emphatic in his desire toremain with his master, that any thwarting of his wishes in thatdirection would have more than counterbalanced any good that a doctormight have done.
It was not until the morning of the eighth day that land was sighted onthe port bow. Once again, after days of adventure, Mostyn was gazingupon the African mainland.
"You'll have to be jolly careful how you approach Pangawani Harbour,old son," cautioned Preston for the twentieth time. "For goodness sakedon't put the old hooker on the bar and kipper the show."
"I don't intend to," replied the cautious Peter. "The Arab chart isn'tmuch good. It's on too small a scale. I'll bring up and signal for apilot, unless there's another vessel making the port. If so, I'llfollow her in."
As ill luck would have it the wind dropped about midday, and Mostyn hadthe mortification of seeing the entrance to Pangawani Harbour at lessthan five miles away, without being able to gain a hundred yardsthrough the water. At times the dhow was appreciably drifting awayfrom the desired haven. Until close on sunset she was becalmed. Thena stiff off-shore breeze sprang up.
There was no help for it. Throughout the night the dhow was under wayclose hauled, passing and repassing the entrance without being able tocross the bar. Even after the wind had freed her, Peter would not haverisked the intricate entrance in the darkness. So, with the roar ofthe surf borne to his ears, Peter kept watch during the darkness, untildawn revealed the fact that the dhow was immediately abreast of andless than a mile from the actual fairway.
Yet the harbour was denied him. The sea breeze gave place to anothercalm, and it was not until the sun was high in the heavens that thecustomary onshore wind began to make itself felt.
There were other craft making the harbour. Several dhows were insight, their crews, tired of waiting for the breeze, laboriouslysweeping the ponderous craft. Farther away was a gunboat, herwhite-painted sides looking strangely unfamiliar to people accustomedto the "battleship grey" of warships in home waters.
"She's down from Zanzibar," declared Preston. "She's got a soft jobnowadays, but those fellows had a sticky time when I was on the coast.No, I don't think she's coming in here, otherwise we might have had atow in."
The dhow was now gathering way under the fair breeze. A cable's lengthastern was another dhow, the crew of which had just relinquished theirsweeps and were preparing to hoist sail. Mostyn noticed that thewhite-robed skipper was intently watching him, and that the curiositywas shared by the rest of the Arab crew.
"P'raps he recognizes the old hooker," he remarked to Olive, who wasstanding with him on the poop. "He'll be puzzling his brains to knowwhat we're doing on board."
Even as he spoke a distinct splash astern attracted his attention.Stepping aft he was just in time to see a brown figure diving into thewater in the wake of another who was swimming a good ten feet beneaththe surface.
Then there was another splash and the performance was repeated.
"By Jove!" exclaimed Mostyn. "We've been done. Our prisoners areescaping."
"Have escaped," corrected Olive as five heads, appeared above thesurface.
One of the Arabs was swimming strongly, at the same time shouting tohis compatriots on the nearest dhow. Two others were making slowerprogress for the reason that each was encumbered by supporting adisabled man.
Without let or hindrance the escaped prisoners gained the dhow asternand were hauled upon deck. Then, putting her helm down, the succouringcraft went about and headed for the open sea.
"They've done us in the eye," declared Peter.
"I'm rather glad," said Olive.
"So am I in a way," agreed Mostyn. "Saved us a lot of trouble, handing'em over, attending their trial, and all that sort of thing. But it'sa bit of a mystery how they managed to break out of the ship."
Leaving the lascar at the helm, Peter went below and examined the hatchof the after-hold. It was intact and secured. Raising it he peeredbelow. The mystery was a mystery no longer. Unknown to him there weretwo square ports right aft and just above the waterline, which, when inharbour, were used to facilitate stowage of cargo. Seizing theiropportunity, the prisoners had kept observation until they saw afriendly dhow within easy distance, and had made their escape throughone of the ports.
"And I'm also ve
ry glad," continued Peter, "that there's a gunboatwithin sight, otherwise we might have had to try conclusions with adozen armed Arabs."
He turned to the second lascar.
"Hoist the pilot flag," he ordered.
The pilot flag--S International--was quickly forthcoming. In theabsence of a set of signal flags on board, Olive, under Peter'sdirection, had made the required flag out of some white linen and asquare of blue cloth from the Arab skipper's wardrobe.
The signal was answered with far greater dispatch than at Bulonga, andwithin half an hour the Pangawani pilot boat was alongside.
"Hello!" was the greeting of the dapper clean-shaven official, as hecame over the side and regarded with undisguised astonishment thebedraggled and somewhat battered crew of the dhow. "Hello! You lookas if you've been in the wars. Where are you from?"
Before Mostyn could reply Preston broke in:
"Davis, old son!" he exclaimed. "Cut the cackle and get us in. I'mdying for a whisky and soda."
"Great Scott!" ejaculated the pilot in astonishment. "Preston, by thepowers! We heard that you were lost in the _West Barbican_."
"All you hear isn't gospel, my bright youth," rejoined the Acting Chiefsententiously, as he took a cigarette from the case offered by the portofficial. "Hardly expected to see you here, if it comes to that."
"They transferred me from Zanzibar in November last," exclaimed Davis."It's a move up. Here I'm practically my own boss."
He walked towards the tiller, turned on his heel, and glancedshorewards.
"You can tell your fellows to stow sail," he continued. "We'll tow youin."
"By the by," inquired Peter. "What is the date? We seem to have lostcount."
"The eleventh of January," was the reply.