Hunting the Skipper: The Cruise of the «Seafowl» Sloop. Fenn George Manville

“Oh, I say, don’t make me grin at you again. It’s just as if my skin was ready to crack all over. There, poor old chap, I’m sorry for you if you feel as bad as I do. But you began it.”

      “Beg pardon, then,” grumbled Roberts.

      “Granted. But I say, why doesn’t Anderson hurry us all on board?”

      “I don’t know. Yes, I do,” cried the midshipman excitedly. “The beggars – they must have quite escaped the fire! They’re gathering together over yonder, hundreds of them, with spears. I believe they’re going to make a rush. Fancy, after destroying the hornets’ nest!”

      “Then we shall have to kill the hornets,” said Murray; and the two lads were among the first to answer to the boatswain’s whistle, which now chirruped out loudly.

      “Here we are, Mr Murray, sir,” said Tom May, as the midshipman hurried up to his little party. “This is us, sir – your lot.”

      “Well, I know that,” said the lad petulantly, as he winced with pain.

      “Beg pardon, sir,” said the man. “Thought you might take us for the niggers, seeing what colour we are and how our clothes are tumbling off.”

      “Yes, we’re black enough, Tom, but I hope you don’t feel as I do,” said his leader.

      “Much of a muchness, sir,” said the man, with a grin half of mischievous mirth, half of pain. “The first luff said something about hornets, sir. I don’t know much about them insecks, but we chaps feel as if we’d been among their first cousins the wopses; eh, lads?”

      “Ay, ay!” growled another of the men. “But aren’t we soon going to have a chance to use our stings?”

      At that moment the preliminary order rang out – an order which sent a thrill through the suffering band, making them forget everything in the opportunity about to be given them for retaliation upon the advancing body of warlike blacks stealing cautiously forward from the shelter of a patch of mangroves away to the left, which had from its nearness to the margin escaped the flames.

      “The savage brutes!” muttered Murray, as he drew his sword, and winced with pain.

      “Hold your fire, Mr Murray,” shouted the lieutenant. “Wait, my lads, till you see the whites of their eyes, and then let them have it sharply when you hear the word.”

      But the little volley from the midshipman’s party of reserve was held longer, for the lieutenant’s words had little more than passed his lips when there was a flash, followed by what resembled a ball of grey smoke from the Seafowl where she lay at anchor. Then almost instantaneously came the roar of one of the sloop’s bow guns and her charge of canister shot tore through the sheltering bush-like trees, while a cheer burst from the shore party, discipline being forgotten in the excitement caused by what came as a surprise.

      The heartily given cheer was followed by another puff of grey smoke, and the crack of shot through the sheltered trees, the effect being that the advancing party of the enemy was turned into a running crowd of fugitives scattering and running for their lives, leaving the boats’ crews to embark quite unmolested, this last example of the white man’s power proving a quite sufficient lesson for the native king.

      Chapter Thirteen.

      A Visit from the Hornets

      “Upon my word, Mr Anderson,” said the captain, as he had the men drawn up before him as soon as they reached the Seafowl– “Upon my word, sir, I am delighted. I entrust you with a couple of boats’ crews to carry out a necessary duty, and you bring me back a scorched-up detachment only fit to go into hospital.”

      “I beg pardon, sir,” said the chief officer shortly; “only one man wounded, and his injury is very slight.”

      “Don’t talk to me like that, sir!” cried the captain. “Look at them, sir – look at them!”

      “I have been looking at them, sir, for long enough – poor fellows – and I am truly sorry to have brought them back in such a state.”

      “I should think you are, sir! Upon my word of honour I should think you are! But what have you been about?”

      “Burning out the hornets’ nest, sir,” said the lieutenant bluffly.

      “Well, I suppose you have done that thoroughly, Mr Anderson: but at what a cost! Is there to be no end to these misfortunes? First you allow yourself to be deluded by a slave-trading American and bring the Seafowl up here to be run aground, with the chance of becoming a total wreck – ”

      “I beg your pardon, sir!”

      “Well, not total – perhaps not total, Mr Anderson; but she is in a terribly bad position.”

      “One from which you will easily set her at liberty.”

      “Fortunately for you, Mr Anderson; and that is to my credit, I think, not yours.”

      “Granted, sir,” said the lieutenant; “but do you give me the credit of being tricked by the slave skipper?”

      “Well, I suppose I must take my share, Mr Anderson; but don’t you think it would be more creditable to dismiss these poor fellows at once and have them overhauled by the surgeon?”

      “I do, sir, certainly,” said the chief officer.

      “Have them below, then, at once, and let Mr Reston do his best with them. Only one seriously wounded, you said?”

      “No, sir; slightly.”

      “Good. But to think of the Seafowl being turned at one stroke into a hospital hulk. – You thoroughly destroyed the town and the slave barracks?”

      “We completely burned out the wretched collection of palm and bamboo huts, sir, and the horrible barn and shambles where they keep their wretched captives. It was a place of horror, sir,” said the lieutenant angrily. “If you had seen what we saw, sir, you would have felt that no punishment could be too great for the wretches.”

      “Humph! I suppose not, Mr Anderson. And that iniquitous Yankee scoundrel who has slipped through my fingers. But look here, Mr Anderson, I am going to find that wretch; and when I do – yes, when I do! He has had the laugh of me, and I was too easily deceived, Anderson; but I’m going to follow that fellow across the Atlantic to where he disposes of his unfortunate cargo. It’s thousands of miles, perhaps, and a long pursuit maybe, but we’re going to do it, sir, no matter what it costs, and I hope and believe that my officers and my poor brave fellows who have suffered what they have to-day will back me up and strain every nerve to bring the Seafowl alongside his schooner, going or coming. Hang him, Mr Anderson! – Ah, I did not mean to say that, sir; but hang him by all means if you can catch him. We’ll give him the mercy he has dealt out to these poor unhappy creatures, and for the way in which my brave fellows have been scorched and singed I’m going to burn that schooner – or – well, no, I can’t do that, for it must be a smart vessel, and my sturdy lads must have something in the way of prize money. Look at them, Mr Anderson; and look at those two! You don’t mean to tell me that those are officers?”

      He pointed at the two midshipmen so suddenly that they both started and turned to look at each other, then stared at the captain again, and once more gazed at each other, puzzled, confused, angry and annoyed at their aspect, looking so comical that the captain’s manner completely altered. He had been gazing at his young officers with an air of commiseration, and his tones spoke of the anger and annoyance he felt to see the state they were in; and then all was changed; he turned to the first lieutenant, whose eyes met his, and, unable to maintain his seriousness, he burst into a fit of laughter, in which he was joined by the chief officer. Then, pulling himself together, he snatched out his handkerchief and wiped his eyes.

      “Bah!” he ejaculated. “Most unbecoming! I did not mean this, gentlemen; the matter is too serious. But for goodness’ sake get below and make yourselves presentable. Mr Anderson, you ought not to have laughed. See to all the poor fellows, sir. The men must have fresh clothes served out, and all who are unfit for duty go into the sick bay.”

      Then,