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

doesn’t matter,” said Roberts sourly; “but the blacks did, and felt too, I expect. Anyhow, they sloped off, and now I suppose we shall do the same while our shoes are good, for the skipper won’t be happy till we’re out to sea again.”

      “Here, what now?” said Murray excitedly. “What does this mean?”

      “This” meant cheering and excitement and the issuing of orders which made the deck a busy scene, for the men were beat to quarters ready to meet what promised to be a serious attack. For in the evening light quite a fleet of large canoes crowded with men could be seen coming round a bend of the river, the blades dipping regularly and throwing up the water that flashed in the last rays of the sinking sun, while from end to end the long canoes bristled with spears, and the deep tones of a war song rhythmically accompanied the dipping of the paddles.

      “Why, they must be three or four hundred strong, Anderson,” said the captain. “Fully that, sir.”

      “Poor wretches!” muttered the captain. “I thought we had given them lesson enough for one day.”

      “Only enough to set them astir for revenge,” said the lieutenant.

      “Well, the lesson must be repeated,” said the captain, shrugging his shoulders. “See what a shot will do with that leading canoe. We have come upon a warlike tribe, brave enough, or they would not dare to attack a vessel like this.”

      Chapter Fourteen.

      Dealing with a Fleet

      “I know what I should do,” said Murray, as, forgetting the smarting and stiffness from which he suffered, he stood watching the savage fleet steadily gliding down stream.

      “What?” said Roberts.

      “Get out of the river as soon as I could. We could sail right away now.”

      “Cowardly,” grumbled Roberts. “Why, it would be throwing away the chance of giving the wretches a severe lesson.”

      “They’ve had one,” said Murray, “and if we sink half-a-dozen of them they’ll be ready enough to come on again.”

      “Then we could sink some more. Why, if you sailed away they’d think we were afraid of them.”

      “Let them! We know better. It seems a bit horrible with our great power to begin sending grape and canister scattering amongst these slight canoes.”

      “Oh yes, horrible enough; but they must be taught that they can’t be allowed to make war upon other tribes and sell their prisoners into slavery.”

      “I suppose so,” said the lad, with a sigh, possibly due to the pain he still felt from the late fight with the flames.

      “Look at that,” whispered Roberts excitedly. “Why, the skipper seems to think as you do.”

      For orders were given, the capstan manned, and the sloop glided towards the anchor by which they now swung, the sails began to fill and help the men in their task, and soon after the anchor stock appeared above the water.

      It was quite time, for the canoes were nearing fast, and to the two midshipmen it appeared as if the enemy would be alongside and swarming aboard before their vessel had time to gather way.

      “Why don’t we fire, Frank?” said Roberts excitedly.

      “Because we’re not in command,” replied Murray coolly, as he tried to measure mentally the length of time it would take for the leading canoe to reach them, rapidly advancing as it was in obedience to the lusty strokes given by some thirty paddles which made the water foam on either side of the frail craft packed with men.

      “But it’s absurd. The skipper ought to have given the order long ago.”

      “And filled the surface with dead and dying men floating and struggling amongst the shattered pieces of the canoe?”

      “Yes: why not? It’s war, sir – war.”

      “But war when it is a necessity ought to be carried on in as humane a fashion as is possible.”

      “With people like this? Bah! Why, if they once get aboard they will spear us to a man, or batter our heads with their war clubs.”

      “They would if they could,” said Murray quietly.

      “They will, I tell you,” said Roberts excitedly.

      “No, they will not, old chap, for the skipper won’t let them.”

      “Oh, you!” exclaimed Roberts, who stamped one foot down upon the deck in his excitement. “Why, you are as foolish as our officers.”

      “Speak gently, or some one will be hearing you,” said Murray quietly.

      “I want some one to hear me!” exclaimed the lad. “We are giving all our chances away.”

      “That we are not! I’ve been trying to calculate how we shall stand for distance when the Seafowl glides off on the other tack.”

      “So have I,” cried Roberts furiously, “and it will be with the crews of two of those war canoes on board spearing and stabbing us.”

      “Indeed!” said Murray, in quite a drawl. “That doesn’t agree with my calculation. I make it that they will be about fifty yards astern, and beyond spear-throwing distance.”

      “And I tell you that you are all wrong, Frank.”

      “Well, one of us is, old chap, for certain.”

      “You!” said Roberts emphatically. “No, I think not, old fellow. You see, too, that I have the skipper’s opinion on my side.”

      “The skipper’s opinion isn’t worth a pinch of powder. He’s a crack-brained lunatic. Here, what do you mean by that?”

      “Only to turn my hand into a tompion to stop your fiery, foolish words, old fellow,” replied Murray. “You’d look nice if any one carried your remarks to the captain.”

      “I’m only doing my duty, sir, and am trying to save our ship from the attack of these savages who are bearing down upon us.”

      “And setting your knowledge of navigation and the management of the Seafowl above that of the captain.”

      “I tell you I have lost faith in the skipper.”

      “Of the lieutenant – ”

      “He does not see our peril.”

      “And the wisdom of our old and experienced warrant officers,” continued Murray.

      “There,” said the midshipman, “look at that! Not a shot fired, and those two leading canoes abreast of us. There’ll be a massacre directly.”

      “Bravo!” whispered Murray excitedly. “Wonderfully done! You miserable old croaker, wasn’t that splendid?”

      A minute before, the lad who had remained cool and self-contained during what seemed to be a perilous time, had watched without comprehending the action of the forward guns’ crews, who, in obedience to the orders given by the first lieutenant, seized upon the capstan bars and stood ready to starboard and port, waiting for something anticipated.

      Then as the Seafowl answered to her helm and Roberts was turning frantic with excitement as he felt that the savages were bound to be aboard directly, the sloop careened over from the force of the breeze when her course was altered, there was a dull crashing sound and her stem cut one long war canoe in two amidships, leaving the halves gliding alongside in company with some fifty or sixty struggling and swimming naked savages, some of whom began to climb aboard by the stays, others by the fore chains; but as each fierce black head rose into sight, there was a tap given by a well-wielded capstan bar, and black after black dropped back into the water, to glide astern, stunned or struggling, to be picked up by his companions in the second boat, which was being overtaken by others, bristling with spears, while the vessel was a cable’s length ahead and steadily increasing its speed.

      “Now then, Dick, what about my calculation?” said Murray,