Part 21 (1/2)

Book 2--CHAPTER FOUR.

LIFE IN A GUNBOAT--THE CAPTAIN'S BIRTHDAY.

Mr Dewar had charge of the first cutter, Mr Mavers, sub-lieutenant, of the second, and Harry himself commanded the whaler.

These were all the boats told off for the fight, about five-and-thirty men all told.

Five-and-thirty men? Yes, but they were five-and-thirty broad-shouldered British blue-jackets, armed with cutla.s.s and revolver.

And what is it, pray, that blue-jackets will not dare, ay, and _do_ as well as dare?

Even Dr Scott and the other officers had left their swords behind them, preferring the s.h.i.+p's cutla.s.s.

Every man had stripped to the waist before starting, for the night was sultry and hot.

The boats were silently lowered before they came in sight of the dhow, therefore before the dhow could see the _Bunting_.

With m.u.f.fled oars, nearer and nearer they sweep to the spot from whence the sounds proceed.

The whaler, being lighter, well-manned and well-steered by Harry, took the lead.

The _Bunting_ came slowly on after the boats.

But behold! the latter are seen from the dhow's decks, and lights spring up at once, and a rattling volley flies harmlessly over the heads of our advancing heroes. At the same time it is evident that boarding-nets are being quickly placed along the bulwarks of the slaver.

In a few minutes the whaler is at the bows of the dhow. This was unprotected by netting, and low in the water, for the vessel was deep.

Harry was the first to spring on board, followed instantly by his fellows.

He speedily parried an ugly thrust made at his throat by a spear, and next moment his a.s.sailant fell on his face with a gash on his neck and his life's blood welling away. For a few seconds this part of the dhow bristled with spears, and one or two of Harry's men succ.u.mbed to the lunges and fell to the deck.

But the Arabs retreated before the charge, fighting for every inch of deck, however.

Meanwhile the cutters were boarding. They were cutters in more ways than one, for they had not only to defend themselves against spear-lunging, but to slash through the netting.

A bright white light now gleamed over the dhow's deck. The _Bunting_ was nearly alongside, and burning lights.

It was well this was so, for on the deck of that slave dhow stood fully seventy as brave Arabs as ever drew a sword or carried a spear.

They went down before our blue-jackets, nevertheless, in twos and threes. The modern colt is a glorious weapon when held in a cool hand and backed by a steady eye.

Their very numbers told against these Arabs, but they fought well and desperately, for they were fighting with the pirate-rope around their necks. Arab dhows who fire on our British cruisers are treated as pirates, and, when taken red-handed, have a short shrift and a long drop.

That they fought with determined courage cannot be gainsaid--gentlemen Arabs always do--but they have not the bull-dog pluck of our fellows.

They cannot hang on, so to speak; they lack what is technically called ”stay.” Nor were they fighting in a good cause, and they knew it.

They knew or felt that they could not, if killed, walk straight from that blood-slippery battle-deck into the paradise of Mahomed.

Add to this that their weapons were far inferior to ours. Their spears were easily s.h.i.+vered, and even their swords; while their pistols could scarcely be called arms of precision.

So after a brave but ineffectual attempt to stem the wild, stern rush of our British blue-jackets, they fell back towards the p.o.o.p, so huddled together that the fire of our men riddled two at a time. They finally sought refuge in the p.o.o.p saloon, and even down below among the remainder of those poor trembling slaves who had not been butchered or forced to walk the plank.