Harry Milvaine; Or, The Wanderings of a Wayward Boy

by Gordon Stables

reef, it lifts the ship aloft as gently, as easily as a mother liftsher baby and bears her away to safety.

  Almost immediately afterwards the fury of the squall is completelyspent, the waves no longer break on board, nor the foam and the froth,and the spume. Men can see each other now, and hear each other talk,and orders are given by the captain himself to cut away the wreck, forthe foremast has gone five feet above the board.

  Half an hour afterwards steam was up, and all was still around the ship,while in the sky calmly shone the moon and stars. But a narrow escapeindeed it had been for the good little vessel and the gallant crew thatwere in her. Though not scathless, the ship had escaped destruction onthe reef in that terrible hurricane-squall.

  "If ever," said Captain Wayland, solemnly, "we have had cause forthankfulness to that great Being who rules on earth and sea, it is thisnight."

  The captain was standing near the wheel with uncovered head and upturnedgaze, the soft light of the moon falling on his face.

  There was something very beautiful in this simple, silent, thankfuladoration; both the doctor and Dewar, who were standing not far off,felt its influence. Ay, and rough old sailors, who had weathered many astorm and braved many a danger, bared their heads even as the captaindid, and breathed that little word that means so much--"Amen?"

  The loss of her foremast did not improve the appearance of the_Bunting_, but as they would now complete the voyage under steam, andrepair damages at Calcutta, it did not matter very much.

  She was kept more in towards the low sandy coast, for north here never atree or shrub may be seen, while away down south of the line the oceanis edged with a cloudland of green, the leafy mangroves growing on thebeach--yes, and in the water itself.

  Low sandy hills, and mountains and rocks beyond. Sometimes they come insight of a squalid Somali-Arab village, but there was no inducement toland.

  But see, what is that stealing out round the point? A dhow, and a verylarge one; a two-masted vessel.

  She notices the _Bunting_ as soon as they notice her, and immediatelyputs about and stands away northward before the breeze.

  This is suspicious, and the _Bunting_ gives chase. The dhow has a fourmiles' start and goes swinging along at a wonderful rate.

  "Go ahead at full speed," is the order.

  The _Bunting_ is gaining on the dhow, but in another hour it will bedark.

  Mr Dewar slips slyly down below. He goes to the store-room, and a fewminutes afterwards he appears at the engine-room door, bearing in hisarms half a side of fat bacon.

  He winks to the engineer. The latter cuts off a huge junk and sticks itin the fire.

  "If you'd like Raggy to come and sit on the safety valve," says MrDewar, "I'll send him."

  The engineer laughs heartily at the idea, and answers--

  "The fat'll do the job," Mr Dewar, "without poor Raggy."

  So it does, and just as the sun is dropping like a red-hot cannon-ballinto the sea, and turning the waves to blood, the first shot goesroaring through the rigging of that doomed dhow.

  Another and another follow, still she cracks on. Then a shell or twoare fired and burst right over her.

  The Arabs cannot stand that. They lower sails at once.

  But behold! almost at the same moment a boat leaves the dhow, andimpelled by sturdy arms goes bounding away shoreward.

  "Ah!" says Captain Wayland, "the Arabs won't stop to reckon with us, andthey will soon be where we can't follow them."

  "Never mind," replies Mr Dewar, laughing, "we'll have the prize."

  "And, sir," he adds, "it is all owing to a bit of fat."

  "All through what, Mr Dewar?"

  "A bit of fat, sir. I'll tell you again, and beg forgiveness in dueform."

  The saloon of this huge dhow was furnished with truly orientalmagnificence.

  Lamps, mirrors, carpets, curtains, ottomans, and bijouterie, all intaste, all luxurious in the extreme.

  The hold was filled to the hatches with moaning, pining slaves.

  Hardly was there enough rice on board her to keep them alive for even athree weeks' voyage, and scarcely water enough to keep them out of agonyfor a week.

  But all this was changed now. The poor creatures were had up inbatches, their irons were knocked off, they were washed and fed.Finally, everything was made clean and comfortable for them below, andwhen all was done that could be done, a prize crew was put on board,under the command of Harry Milvaine, and the dhow and the _Bunting_parted company with three ringing cheers three times repeated.

  The gunboat steamed away north and by east, while the dhow spread hergreat wings to the breeze and went tacking away for Zanzibar.

  Just two months after this, the _Bunting_ was nearing Symon's Town, allhaving gone as merrily with her, since leaving Calcutta, as marriagebells. Dr Scott and Dewar were chaffing each other, as they veryfrequently did.

  The doctor had a long string floating overboard from the stern, andevery now and then he caught and hauled on board a Cape pigeon, which hehad managed by skilful manoeuvring to entangle with his tackle.

  He had them running about the deck to the number of twenty or more.

  "What are you going to do with all these birds?" asked Dewar. "Yousilly old Sawbones!"

  "I'm merely catching them for sport, you mouldy old logarithm," repliedScott. "I'll let them off again presently, that will be more sport."

  "Strange, isn't it, my dear Dr Fungus," said Dewar, "that they can'tfly away after they once alight on deck?"

  "Not at all," returned the surgeon, "not at all strange, MrFive-knots-an-hour; the explanation is simple. They are attacked by_mal de mer_--seasickness, you know--"

  "Yes, yes, I know that much French, Mr Sawbones."

  "Well, old Binnacle-lamp, I'm glad you do know something. The birds getseasick and can't fly, and don't care much what becomes of themselves."

  "Humph!" said Mr Dewar, walking away laughing. "Very little is fun tofools--beg pardon, doctor, I mean to foolosophers."

  In another twenty-four hours the saucy little _Bunting_ was lying safelyat anchor in Symon's Bay. And what a lovely place is this same bay withits surrounding scenery! Oh! the beauty, the summer beauty, the springand autumn beauty of those grand old hills that mirror their purpleheath-clad heads in the placid waters of that enchanting bay! Howgorgeous the flowers that blaze on its trees, how golden the sands onwhich the waves break in streaks of snowy foam! Its very rocks aretinted, and bronzed with the sunshine of ages, even its most barrenspots, where, high up among the mountains, the soil peeps through, arerich in brooms and lichen-grey, for Time himself has been the artisthere.

  Captain Wayland had half, or nearly wholly expected to find MidshipmanMilvaine here waiting for him. He was quite uneasy when a steamerstraight from Zanzibar and Seychelles came in, and reported that noslave dhow with a prize crew had been seen at the former town.

  The _Bunting_ lay at Symon's Bay a fortnight, and during that time,first a French man-o'-war, and next an English trading steamer arrivedfrom Zanzibar straight away. But still no tidings of the missing dhow.

  The _Bunting_ then bore up for home, arriving in good time in PlymouthSound, duly reported herself, and in less than a week was paid off.

  Captain Wayland took the pains to go all the way to the Highlands ofScotland to report correctly the story of the dhow.

  He was most hospitably received, and did not get away for nearly threeweeks.

  Both Harry's parents were plunged into grief at the captain's tidings,but his reason for coming north was to make the best of matters that hecould, and he left them at last resigned and hopeful, Harry's motherespecially assuring him that she felt certain her son would turn upagain safely and soon.

  But alas! and alas! weeks flew by, and months passed into a year, and ayear into long years, but no tidings ever were received of that lostdhow and her unhappy crew.

  Then hope died out of even the mother's heart, and she even began tolook old, and grow grey under the pressure o
f her woeful grief.

  Book 3--CHAPTER ONE.

  ALONE IN THE WILDERNESS.

  'TIS JUSTICE, NOT REVENGE.

  "Call it not revenge, my brother; say it is but an act of justice, sternjustice, and I am with you."

  "Allah is great, Allah is good," replied the Arab whom his companion hadaddressed as brother.

  They were both talking in their own language, a language at once soforcible and flowery, that all attempts to render it into English endsbut in a poverty-stricken paraphrase.

  "Yes, Allah is good."

  The difference between the two speakers was very remarkable. They werebrothers only by courtesy.

  One sat on the edge of a kind of wooden sofa or dais; in front of himwas a small table of Hindoo manufacture, on which there stood a brownearthenware water chatty, some glasses,