by G. A. Henty
Finding, however, from scouts who had been left, that four days had passed without the appearance of the enemy, most of them had returned, on the evening before Harry arrived there. On hearing, from his escort, of the defeat of the invaders and their enormous loss, the most lively joy was manifested; and Harry was treated with almost reverential respect, the men of the escort agreeing that it was solely due to him that the victory had been gained. He made, however, but a very short stay in the village; and the headman at once ordered the largest canoe to be prepared. This was decorated with flowers and flags and manned by twenty rowers who, as soon as Harry and his two companions took their seats in it, rowed off to the brig.
“Welcome back, Lindsay!” Fairclough shouted, as the canoe approached; “we could hardly believe our eyes, when we saw you come down to the canoe. We have been in a terrible fright about you. The natives brought off news that the escort that had been sent down to take you to Johore were, every one, killed; and that, as there were no signs of any of your party, it was certain that you had been carried off. We sent a boat ashore, every morning, armed to the teeth; but they reported that the place was almost entirely deserted, and the two or three men left there said that no news, whatever, had been received of you.”
By this time, Harry had gained the deck.
“Where is your escort?” Fairclough asked.
“I am sorry to say that they were all murdered. However, my story is a long one and, although the rajah sent down some food with the escort he gave me, I am desperately thirsty, and will tell you all that happened when I have wetted my whistle.”
Fairclough told Hardy to come with them below, and Harry’s story was told in full, over sundry cups of tea, which Harry preferred to stronger beverages.
“That was an adventure, indeed,” Fairclough said, when Harry had brought his story to an end. “I would have given anything to have been with you in that siege. I own I should not have cared about being a prisoner in that fellow’s camp, especially as you were disarmed, and could not even make a fight for it. That affair with the leopard would have been more to my taste; though, if I had been in your place, with nothing but your knife and Abdool’s, I doubt whether I should have come out of it as well as you did; but the other business was splendid, and those Malays of the rajah’s must have fought well, indeed, to beat off a force six times their own strength.”
“The great point is that I have obtained his ratification of the tumangong’s grant, whenever it may be made.”
“That is satisfactory, of course; but it would not have, to my mind, anything like the importance of your series of adventures, which will be something to think over all your life. I wish I had been there, with my crew, to have backed you up; though I am afraid that most of them would have shared the fate of your Malay escort, in that sudden attack in the forest.”
“Yes; with all their pluck, they could scarcely have repulsed such a sudden onslaught though, certainly, the killing would not all have been on one side. I am glad, indeed, that Abdool also came safely out of it; as I should have missed him, fearfully.
“The interpreter showed himself a good man, and I hope that Lord Mornington will, when I report his conduct, make him a handsome present. If he had not got away with me, it is hardly likely I should ever have found my way to Johore and, if I had done so, I could not have explained to the rajah that he was going to be attacked, or have got him to erect the stockade that was the main cause of our success. In fact, he would probably, in his anger at the slaughter of his escort, have ordered me to be executed on the spot. As it was, he did not take either that, or the loss of his presents, greatly to heart.”
“You saved his kingdom for him, there is no doubt. It is not likely that he would ever have ventured to defend himself, had it not been for the confidence that he felt in you, and in the steps you took.”
“No; he told me, himself, that he would have taken flight at once and, in that case, his kingdom would have been lost; and he himself, sooner or later, hunted down.”
“And now, I suppose we can start as soon as we like?”
“Certainly; the sooner the better. I shall be very glad to be back again, for there is no saying what is going on there. Assuredly, the friendship of the Mahrattas cannot be relied upon. I know that we are not likely to make any fresh move, except in self defence, until Mysore is completely pacified, and a firm government established. Still, there is never any saying what will happen. Having been in the thick of the Mahratta business, all along, I should not like to be out of it, now.”
“Well, we will get up anchor at daybreak, tomorrow.”
All on board were glad, when the news that they were to sail for Calcutta, the next morning, was circulated through the ship. To the crew, the voyage had been a monotonous one; the weather having been uniformly fine, since they started; and they had had no adventures, such as they had hoped for, with hostile natives.
Nothing was talked of that night, between decks, but Harry’s story; which had been told by Lieutenant Hardy to the midshipmen, who had retailed it to the petty officers, and it had rapidly spread. Abdool and the interpreter were made as much of as was possible, considering that neither could understand English; and deep were the expressions of regret that none of the sailors had taken part in so tough a fight.
By the time the sun was up, next morning, the vessel was under weigh and, with light breezes, sailed round Singapore, and then headed northwest. The winds, as before, were light and, as the northeast monsoon was still blowing, the rate of progress was slow.
“I wish we could have got into the Hooghly,” Fairclough said, as he walked impatiently up and down the quarterdeck, “before the monsoon broke; but I don’t see much chance of it. It generally changes about the middle of April, and we are well on in the first week, now. At the rate at which we are sailing, we shall take at least three weeks before we get there. You see, we are only just clear of the northern point of Sumatra; and it is already a month since we got up anchor.”
“But we shall have the wind almost behind us, Fairclough.”
“Yes, when it has settled down. It is the change that I do not like. Of course, sometimes we have only a few days of moderately rough weather; but occasionally there is a hurricane at the break up, and a hurricane in the bay of Bengal is no joke. I shall not mind, much, if we get fairly past the Andamans; for from there to the mouth of the Hooghly it is open water, and I should be under no uneasiness as to the brig battling her way through it; but to be caught in a hurricane, with these patches of islands and rocks in the neighbourhood would, to say the least, be awkward.”
“Are there any ports among the islands? I recollect hearing an officer say that there was a settlement made there, some years ago.”
“That was so. In 1791 an establishment was started in the southern part of the island and, two years later, it was moved to a harbour on the northwest side of the bay. It was called Port Cornwallis; but was abandoned in 1796, being found terribly unhealthy. It was a pity, for it afforded good shelter when the northeast monsoon was blowing, and partially so from the southwest monsoon. No doubt it could have been made more healthy, if the country round had been well cleared; but it was not found to be of sufficient utility to warrant a large outlay, and the natives are so bitterly unfriendly that it would require a garrison of two or three hundred men to overawe them. We should have been always losing life—not from open attacks, perhaps, but from their habit of crawling up, and shooting men down with their arrows.”
A week later, they were some seventy or eighty miles to the west of the Andaman group. Directly the brig weathered the northernmost point of Sumatra, the course had been laid more to the west, so as to avoid the dangerous inside passage. When Harry went on deck, in the morning, he found that the wind had dropped altogether.
“There is an end of the monsoon,” Fairclough said. “I am just going to shorten sail. There is no saying which way the wind will come. The glass is falling fast but, of course, that is only to be
expected. I think, if you are wise, after breakfast you will take off that drill suit, and get into something better calculated to stand rough weather; for that we are sure to have, and any amount of rain. That is always the case, at the changes of the monsoon.
“You see, it is a sort of battle between the two winds; the southwesterly will gain, in the end, but the other will die hard; and it is this struggle that causes the circular storms which, when they are serious, are called hurricanes, though at ordinary times they are simply called the break up of the monsoon, which generally causes bad weather all over the Indian Ocean.”
Towards evening, low banks of cloud were seen to the south, and the sky looked dim and misty in the opposite direction.
“They are mustering their forces, you see, Lindsay; and the glass has fallen so far that I fancy the fight will be a hot one. At any rate, we will make all snug for the night.”
Sail after sail was taken in, until only a storm jib, a small fore stay-sail, and a close-reefed main top-sail were left standing. The bank of cloud to the south had risen considerably and, when darkness closed in, the upper edge was lit up by the almost incessant flicker of lightning. The upper spars were sent down on deck and then, there being nothing more to be done, the crew, who had all donned rough-weather clothes, awaited the outburst.
That it would be more than ordinarily severe there could be no doubt, and the men, clustered in little groups by the bulwarks, talked in low tones as they watched the slowly-approaching storm from the south; with occasional glances northwards, where indeed no clouds could be seen, but the sky was frequently lit up by the reflections of lightning below the horizon.
“What do you think of it?” Harry asked the interpreter.
“I do not like it,” the Malay replied. “I think that there will be a great hurricane. I have seen many changes of the monsoon, but never one that looked so threatening as this.”
“It does look bad,” Harry said, “though, as I have never been at sea before, at the change of the monsoon, I am no judge at all; but it certainly looks as if we were in for a bad gale. At any rate, we shall be safer, here, than we were in that hut in the mountains.”
The Malay made no reply, for some time. Then he said:
“Yes, sahib, but there was something to do, there. Directly we got in, you began to prepare for an escape. It was not certain that we should succeed. They might have come in and killed us, before you were ready but, as we were busy, we had not much time to think of the danger.
“Here we can do nothing.”
“No. But, as you see, everything has already been done. You and I have not been working, but the sailors have been busy in taking off sail, and getting down all the upper spars. We are ready for the worst, now; just as we were when we had opened the passage for our escape, and we felt fairly confident—although we might meet with many dangers, we had a good chance of getting safely away.”
“There are the danger signals, Lindsay,” the captain said, as a pale light suddenly shone out above.
Looking up, Harry saw a ball of fire on the main-mast head. Presently, this seemed to roll down the mast, till it reached the top-sail yard; then it broke into two, and these rolled out until they remained stationary, one at each end of the yard. Harry had never seen this phenomenon before.
“What is it?” he asked Fairclough, in an awed voice.
“They are often seen, before the outburst of a severe tempest. Of course, they look like balls of phosphorus; but in reality they are electric, and are a sign that the whole atmosphere is charged with electricity. Sailors have all sorts of superstitions about them but, of course, excepting that they are signs of the condition of the air, they are perfectly harmless.”
He raised his voice.
“Don’t stand near the foot of the masts, lads; keep well away from them. There is nothing to be afraid of, in those lights; but if we happened to be struck by lightning and it ran down the mast, some of you might be knocked over.
“I don’t know why,” he continued, to Harry, “the first flash of lightning at the beginning of a storm is always the most dangerous. I can’t account for it, in any way, but there is no question as to the fact. I always feel relieved when the first clap of thunder is over; for I know, then, that we are comparatively safe from danger, in that way.”
Gradually the stars disappeared.
“Mr. Hardy,” the captain said to the lieutenant, who was standing near, “will you go down to my cabin, and see how the glass stands?”
Harry did not hear the answer, when Hardy returned, but Fairclough said to him:
“It has gone down another quarter of an inch since I looked at it, half an hour ago; and it was as low, then, as I have ever seen it.
“Mr. Hardy, you had better send the men aloft, and furl the main top-sail, altogether; and run down the fore stay-sail. We can get it up again, as soon as the first burst is over. Put four men at the wheel.”
There was still no breath of wind stirring. The stay sail was run down, but the men hung back from ascending the shrouds of the main mast.
“They are afraid of those lights,” Fairclough said, “but I do not think there is the slightest danger from them.”
“I will go up, myself, sir,” Hardy said; and he ran up the starboard shrouds while, at the same moment, one of the midshipmen led the way on the port side. The sailors at once followed their officers.
The latter had nearly reached the yard, when the two balls of fire began to roll along it, joined in the centre, and then slowly ascended the topmast. The fireballs paused there for half a minute, and then vanished.
“Now, Eden,” the lieutenant said, “let us get the work done, at once, before that fellow makes his appearance again.”
The men followed them out on the yard, and worked in desperate haste, with occasional glances up at the mast head. In a couple of minutes the sail was firmly secured in its gaskets, and all made their way below.
“Thank goodness, here it comes, at last,” Fairclough said; “the suspense is more trying than the gale itself.”
A low murmur was heard, and a faint pale light was soon visible to the south.
“Get ready to hold on, all!” he shouted to the men.
The sound momentarily increased in volume, and the distant light brightened until a long line of white foam was clearly discernible. It approached with extraordinary speed. There was a sudden puff of air. It lasted but a few seconds, and then died away.
“Hold on!” the captain again shouted.
Half a minute later, with a tremendous roar, the wind struck the brig. Knowing which way it would come, Fairclough had, half an hour before, lowered a boat and brought the vessel’s head round, so that it pointed north. The boat had then been hoisted up.
In the interval of waiting, the ship’s head had slightly drifted round, again, and the wind struck her on the quarter. So great was the pressure that she heeled far over, burying her bows so deeply that it seemed as if she were going to dive, head foremost. The water swept over the bulwarks in torrents, and extended almost up to the foot of the foremast. Then, very slowly, as she gathered way, the bow lifted and, in a minute, she was scudding fast before the gale; gathering speed, every moment, from the pressure of the wind upon her masts and hull, and from the fragment of sail shown forward. At present there were no waves, the surface of the water seeming pressed almost flat by the weight of the wind.
Then there was a deafening crash, and a blaze of light. The fore-top mast was riven in fragments, but none of these fell on the deck, the wind carrying them far ahead.
“You had better make your way forward, Mr. Hardy,” Fairclough shouted, into the lieutenant’s ear, “and see if anyone is hurt.”
Fortunately the precaution which had been taken, of ordering the men away from the mast, had prevented any loss of life; but several of the men were temporarily blinded. Three or four had been struck to the deck, by the passage of the electric fluid close to them; but these presently regained their feet. Hardy
returned, and reported to the captain.
“You had better send the carpenter down, to see that there is no fire below.”
In a minute the man ran up, with the news that he believed the foot of the mast was on fire. Mr. Hardy went to a group of men.
“Get some buckets, my lads,” he said quietly, “and make your way down to the hold. I will go with you. As was to be expected, the lightning has fired the foot of the mast; but there is no cause for alarm. As we have discovered it so soon, we shall not be long in getting it under.”
The men at once filled the fire buckets and, led by Mr. Hardy, went below. As soon as the hatchway leading to the hold was lifted, a volume of smoke poured up.
“Wait a minute, till it has cleared off a little,” the lieutenant said; and then, to the midshipman who had accompanied him:
“Go to the captain, and tell him that there is more smoke than I like, and ask him to come below. Tell him I think the pumps had better be rigged, and the hose passed down.”
Fairclough, who was accompanied by Harry, joined him just as he was about to descend the ladder.
“I will go down with you, Mr. Hardy,” he said.
“Mr. Eden, will you go up and send down all hands, except those at the wheel? Set a strong gang to rig the pumps, and pass the hose down.”
He and the lieutenant then made their way along the hold. The smoke was very thick, and it was only by stooping low that they could get along. They could see, however, a glow of light ahead.
“We can do nothing with this,” the captain said, “beyond trying to keep it from spreading, until we have shifted all these stores. The gang with buckets had better come down, empty them on the pile, and then set to work to clear the stuff away, as quickly as possible.”
