← catalogue

For Name and Fame; Or, Through Afghan Passes

by G. A. Henty · English · Gutenberg #21979 · 497,238 chars · public domain (US)

The Project Gutenberg eBook of For Name and Fame; Or, Through Afghan Passes
    
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.

Title: For Name and Fame; Or, Through Afghan Passes

Author: G. A. Henty


        
Release date: June 30, 2007 [eBook #21979]
                Most recently updated: January 2, 2021

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/21979

Credits: E-text prepared by Martin Robb


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOR NAME AND FAME; OR, THROUGH AFGHAN PASSES ***


E-text prepared by Martin Robb



Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
      file which includes the original illustrations.
      See 21979-h.htm or 21979-h.zip:
      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/1/9/7/21979/21979-h/21979-h.htm)
      or
      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/1/9/7/21979/21979-h.zip)





FOR NAME AND FAME

Or Through Afghan Passes

by

G. A. HENTY.







Contents

   Preface.
   Chapter 1:   The Lost Child.
   Chapter 2:   The Foundling.
   Chapter 3:   Life On A Smack.
   Chapter 4:   Run Down.
   Chapter 5:   The Castaways.
   Chapter 6:   The Attack On The Village.
   Chapter 7:   The Fight With The Prahus.
   Chapter 8:   The Torpedo.
   Chapter 9:  The Advance Into Afghanistan.
   Chapter 10: The Peiwar-Khotal.
   Chapter 11: A Prisoner.
   Chapter 12: The Advance Up The Khyber.
   Chapter 13: The Massacre At Cabul.
   Chapter 14: The Advance Upon Cabul.
   Chapter 15: The Fighting Round Cabul.
   Chapter 16: The Fight In The Pass.
   Chapter 17: At Candahar.
   Chapter 18: On The Helmund.
   Chapter 19: The Battle Of Maiwand.
   Chapter 20: Candahar.
   Chapter 21: The Battle Of Candahar.
   Chapter 22: At Home At Last.

Illustrations

   Sam Dickson finds little Willie Gale.
   Will and Hans in Search of a Shelter.
   Captain Herbert saved.
   William Gale in the hands of the Afghans.
   One of the Gunpowder Magazines had Exploded.
   Letters from the General.
   Will saves Colonel Ripon.
   Gundi carried by the Bayonet.



Preface.


In following the hero of this story through the last Afghan war,
you will be improving your acquaintance with a country which is of
supreme importance to the British Empire and, at the same time, be
able to trace the operations by which Lord Roberts made his great
reputation as a general, and a leader of men. Afghanistan stands as
a line between the two great empires of England and Russia; and is
likely, sooner or later, to become the scene of a tremendous
struggle between these nations. Happily, at the present time the
Afghans are on our side. It is true that we have warred with, and
beaten them; but our retirement, after victory, has at least shown
them that we have no desire to take their country while, on the
other hand, they know that for those races upon whom Russia has
once laid her hand there is no escape.

In these pages you will see the strength and the weakness of these
wild people of the mountains; their strength lying in their
personal bravery, their determination to preserve their freedom at
all costs, and the nature of their country. Their weakness consists
in their want of organization, their tribal jealousies, and their
impatience of regular habits and of the restraint necessary to
render them good soldiers. But, when led and organized by English
officers, there are no better soldiers in the world; as is proved
by the splendid services which have been rendered by the frontier
force, which is composed almost entirely of Afghan tribesmen.

Their history shows that defeat has little moral effect upon them.
Crushed one day, they will rise again the next; scattered--it would
seem hopelessly--they are ready to reassemble, and renew the
conflict, at the first summons of their chiefs. Guided by British
advice, led by British officers and, it may be, paid by British
gold, Afghanistan is likely to prove an invaluable ally to us, when
the day comes that Russia believes herself strong enough to move
forward towards the goal of all her hopes and efforts, for the last
fifty years--the conquest of India.

G. A. Henty.



Chapter 1: The Lost Child.


"My poor pets!" a lady exclaimed, sorrowfully; "it is too bad. They
all knew me so well; and ran to meet me, when they saw me coming;
and seemed really pleased to see me, even when I had no food to
give them."

"Which was not often, my dear," Captain Ripon--her husband--said.
"However it is, as you say, too bad; and I will bring the fellow to
justice, if I can. There are twelve prize fowls--worth a couple of
guineas apiece, not to mention the fact of their being pets of
yours--stolen, probably by tramps; who will eat them, and for whom
the commonest barn-door chickens would have done as well. There are
marks of blood in two or three places, so they have evidently been
killed for food. The house was locked up last night, all right; for
you see they got in by breaking in a panel of the door.

"Robson, run down to the village, at once, and tell the policeman
to come up here; and ask if any gypsies, or tramps, have been seen
in the neighborhood."

The village lay at the gate of Captain Ripon's park, and the
gardener soon returned with the policeman.

"I've heard say there are some gypsies camped on Netherwood Common,
four miles away," that functionary said, in answer to Captain
Ripon.

"Put the gray mare in the dog cart, Sam. We will drive over at
once. They will hardly expect us so soon. We will pick up another
policeman, at Netherwood. They may show fight, if we are not in
strength."

Five minutes later, Captain Ripon was traveling along the road at
the rate of twelve miles an hour; with Sam by his side, and the
policeman sitting behind. At Netherwood they took up another
policeman and, a few minutes later, drove up to the gypsy
encampment.

There was a slight stir when they were seen approaching; and then
the gypsies went on with their usual work, the women weaving
baskets from osiers, the men cutting up gorse into skewers. There
were four low tents, and a wagon stood near; a bony horse grazing
on the common.

"Now," Captain Ripon said, "I am a magistrate, and I daresay you
know what I have come for. My fowl house has been broken open, and
some valuable fowls stolen.

"Now, policeman, look about, and see if you can find any traces of
them."

The gypsies rose to their feet, with angry gestures.

"Why do you come to us?" one of the men said. "When a fowl is
stolen you always suspect us, as if there were no other thieves in
the world."

"There are plenty of other thieves, my friend; and we shall not
interfere with you, if we find nothing suspicious."

"There have been some fowls plucked, here," one of the policemen
said. "Here is a little feather--" and he showed one, of only half
an inch in length "--and there is another, on that woman's hair.
They have cleaned them up nicely enough, but it ain't easy to pick
up every feather. I'll be bound we find a fowl, in the pot."

Two of the gypsies leaped forward, stick in hand; but the oldest
man present said a word or two to them, in their own dialect.

"You may look in the pot," he said, turning to Captain Ripon, "and
maybe you will find a fowl there, with other things. We bought 'em
at the market at Hunston, yesterday."

The policeman lifted the lid off the great pot, which was hanging
over the fire, and stirred up the contents with a stick.

"There's rabbits here--two or three of them, I should say--and a
fowl, perhaps two, but they are cut up."

"I cannot swear to that," Captain Ripon said, examining the
portions of fowl, "though the plumpness of the breasts, and the
size, show that they are not ordinary fowls."

He looked round again at the tents.

"But I can pretty well swear to this," he said, as he stooped and
picked up a feather which lay, half concealed, between the edge of
one of the tents and the grass. "This is a breast feather of a
Spangled Dorking. These are not birds which would be sold for
eating in Hunston market, and it will be for these men to show
where they got it from."

A smothered oath broke from one or two of the men. The elder signed
to them to be quiet.

"That's not proof," he said, insolently. "You can't convict five
men, because the feather of a fowl which you cannot swear to is
found in their camp."

"No," Captain Ripon said, quietly. "I do not want to convict anyone
but the thief; but the proof is sufficient for taking you in
custody, and we shall find out which was the guilty man,
afterwards.

"Now, lads, it will be worse for you, if you make trouble.

"Constables, take them up to Mr. Bailey. He lives half a mile away.
Fortunately, we have means of proving which is the fellow
concerned.

"Now, Sam, you and I will go up with the Netherwood constable to
Mr. Bailey.

"And do you," he said, to the other policeman, "keep a sharp watch
over these women. You say you can find nothing in the tents; but it
is likely the other fowls are hid, not far off, and I will put all
the boys of the village to search, when I come back."

The gypsies, with sullen faces, accompanied Captain Ripon and the
policeman to the magistrate's.

"Is that feather the only proof you have, Ripon?" Mr. Bailey asked,
when he had given his evidence. "I do not think that it will be
enough to convict, if unsupported; besides, you cannot bring it
home to any one of them. But it is sufficient for me to have them
locked up for twenty-four hours and, in the meantime, you may find
the other fowls."

"But I have means of identification," Captain Ripon said. "There is
a footmark in some earth, at the fowl house door. It is made by a
boot which has got hobnails and a horseshoe heel, and a piece of
that heel has been broken off.

"Now, which of these men has got such a boot on? Whichever has, he
is the man."

There was a sudden movement among the accused.

"It's of no use," one of them said, when the policeman approached
to examine their boots. "I'm the man, I'll admit it. I can't get
over the boot," and he held up his right foot.

"That is the boot, sir," the constable exclaimed. "I can swear that
it will fit the impression, exactly."

"Very well," the magistrate said. "Constable, take that man to the
lockup; and bring him before the bench, tomorrow, for final
committal for trial. There is no evidence against the other four.
They can go."

With surly, threatening faces the men left the room; while the
constable placed handcuffs on the prisoner.

"Constable," Mr. Bailey said, "you had better not put this man in
the village lockup. The place is of no great strength, and his
comrades would as likely as not get him out, tonight. Put him in my
dog cart. My groom shall drive you over to Hunston."

Captain Ripon returned with his groom to Netherwood, and set all
the children searching the gorse, copses, and hedges near the
common, by the promise of ten shillings reward, if they found the
missing fowls. Half an hour later, the gypsies struck their tents,
loaded the van, and went off.

Late that afternoon, the ten missing fowls were discovered in a
small copse by the wayside, half a mile from the common, on the
road to Captain Ripon's park.

"I cannot bring your fowls back to life, Emma," that gentleman
said, when he returned home, "but I have got the thief. It was one
of the gypsies on Netherwood Common. We found two of the fowls in
their pot. No doubt they thought that they would have plenty of
time to get their dinner before anyone came, even if suspicion fell
on them; and they have hidden the rest away somewhere, but I expect
that we shall find them.

"They had burnt all the feathers, as they thought; but I found a
breast feather of a Spangled Dorking, and that was enough for me to
give them in custody. Then, when it came to the question of boots,
the thief found it no good to deny it, any longer."

That evening, Captain Ripen was told that a woman wished to speak
to him and, on going out into the hall, he saw a gypsy of some
thirty years of age.

"I have come, sir, to beg you not to appear against my husband."

"But, my good woman, I see no reason why I should not do so. If he
had only stolen a couple of common fowls, for a sick wife or child,
I might have been inclined to overlook it--for I am not fond of
sending men to prison--but to steal a dozen valuable fowls, for the
pot, is a little too much. Besides, the matter has gone too far,
now, for me to retract, even if I wished to--which I certainly do
not."

"He is a good husband, sir."

"He may be," Captain Ripon said, "though that black eye you have
got does not speak in his favor But that has nothing to do with it.
Matters must take their course."

The woman changed her tone.

"I have asked you fairly, sir; and it will be better for you if you
don't prosecute Reuben."

"Oh, nonsense, my good woman! Don't let me have any threats, or it
will be worse for you."

"I tell you," the woman exclaimed, fiercely, "it will be the worse
for you, if you appear against my Reuben."

"There, go out," Captain Ripon said, opening the front door of the
hall. "As if I cared for your ridiculous threats! Your husband will
get what he deserves--five years, if I am not mistaken."

"You will repent this," the gypsy said, as she passed out.

Captain Ripon closed the door after her, without a word.

"Well, who was it?" his wife inquired, when he returned to the
drawing room.

"An insolent gypsy woman, wife of the man who stole the fowls. She
had the impudence to threaten me, if I appeared against him."

"Oh, Robert!" the young wife exclaimed, apprehensively, "what could
she do? Perhaps you had better not appear."

"Nonsense, my dear!" her husband laughed. "Not appear, because an
impudent gypsy woman has threatened me? A nice magistrate I should
be! Why, half the fellows who are committed swear that they will
pay off the magistrate, some day; but nothing ever comes of it.
Here, we have been married six months, and you are wanting me to
neglect my duty; especially when it is your pet fowls which have
been stolen.

"Why, at the worst, my dear," he went on, seeing that his wife
still looked pale, "they could burn down a tick or two, on a windy
night in winter and, to satisfy you, I will have an extra sharp
lookout kept in that direction, and have a watchdog chained up near
them.

"Come, my love, it is not worth giving a second thought about; and
I shall not tell you about my work on the bench, if you are going
to take matters to heart like this."

The winter came and went, and the ricks were untouched, and Captain
Ripon forgot all about the gypsy's threats. At the assizes a
previous conviction was proved against her husband, and he got five
years penal servitude and, after the trial was over, the matter
passed out of the minds of both husband and wife.

They had, indeed, other matters to think about for, soon after
Christmas, a baby boy was born, and monopolized the greater portion
of his mother's thoughts. When, in due time, he was taken out for
walks, the old women of the village--perhaps with an eye to
presents from the Park--were unanimous in declaring that he was the
finest boy ever seen, and the image both of his father and mother.

He certainly was a fine baby; and his mother lamented sorely over
the fact that he had a dark blood mark, about the size of a
three-penny piece, upon his shoulder. Her husband, however,
consoled her by pointing out that--as it was a boy--the mark did
not matter in the slightest; whereas--had it been a girl--the mark
would have been a disfigurement, when she attained to the dignified
age at which low dresses are worn.

"Yes, of course, that would have been dreadful, Robert. Still, you
know, it is a pity."

"I really cannot see that it is even a pity, little woman; and it
would have made no great difference if he had been spotted all
over, like a leopard, so that his face and arms were free. The only
drawback would have been he would have got some nickname or other,
such as 'the Leopard,' or 'Spotty,' or something of that sort, when
he went to bathe with his school fellows. But this little spot does
not matter, in the slightest.

"Some day or other Tom will laugh, when I tell him what a fuss you
made over it."

Mrs. Ripon was silenced but, although she said nothing more about
it, she was grieved in her heart at this little blemish on her boy;
and lamented that it would spoil his appearance, when he began to
run about in little short frocks; and she determined, at once, that
he should wear long curls, until he got into jackets.

Summer, autumn, and winter came and passed. In the spring, Tom
Ripon was toddling about; but he had not yet begun to talk,
although his mother declared that certain incoherent sounds, which
he made, were quite plain and distinct words; but her husband,
while willing to allow that they might be perfectly intelligible to
her, insisted that--to the male ear--they in no way resembled
words.

"But he ought to begin to talk, Robert," his wife urged. "He is
sixteen months old, now, and can run about quite well. He really
ought to begin to talk."

"He will talk, before long," her husband said, carelessly. "Many
children do not talk till they are eighteen months old, some not
till they are two years. Besides, you say he does begin, already."

"Yes, Robert, but not quite plainly."

"No, indeed, not plainly at all," her husband laughed. "Don't
trouble, my dear, he will talk soon enough; and if he only talks as
loud as he roars, sometimes, you will regret the hurry you have
been in about it."

"Oh, Robert, how can you talk so? I am sure he does not cry more
than other children. Nurse says he is the best child she ever
knew."

"Of course she does, my dear; nurses always do. But I don't say he
roars more than other children. I only say he roars, and that
loudly; so you need not be afraid of there being anything the
matter with his tongue, or his lungs.

"What fidgets you young mothers are, to be sure!"

"And what heartless things you young fathers are, to be sure!" his
wife retorted, laughing. "Men don't deserve to have children. They
do not appreciate them, one bit."

"We appreciate them, in our way, little woman; but it is not a
fussy way. We are content with them as they are, and are not in any
hurry for them to run, or to walk, or to cut their first teeth. Tom
is a fine little chap, and I am very fond of him, in his
way--principally, perhaps, because he is your Tom--but I cannot see
that he is a prodigy."

"He is a prodigy," Mrs. Ripon said, with a little toss of her head,
"and I shall go up to the nursery, to admire him."

So saying, she walked off with dignity; and Captain Ripon went out
to look at his horses, and thought to himself what a wonderful
dispensation of providence it was, that mothers were so fond of
their babies.

"I don't know what the poor little beggars would do," he muttered,
"if they had only their fathers to look after them; but I suppose
we should take to it, just as the old goose in the yard has taken
to that brood of chickens, whose mother was carried off by the fox.

"By the way, I must order some wire netting. I forgot to write for
it, yesterday."

Another two months. It was June, and now even Captain Ripon allowed
that Tom could say "Pa," and "Ma," with tolerable distinctness; but
as yet he had got no farther. He could now run about sturdily and,
as the season was warm and bright, and Mrs. Ripon believed in fresh
air, the child spent a considerable portion of his time in the
garden.

One day his mother was out with him, and he had been running about
for some time. Mrs. Ripon was picking flowers, for she had a dinner
party that evening, and she enjoyed getting her flowers, and
arranging her vases, herself. Presently she looked round, but Tom
was missing. There were many clumps of ornamental shrubs on the
lawn, and Mrs. Ripon thought nothing of his disappearance.

"Tom," she called, "come to mamma, she wants you," and went on with
her work.

A minute or two passed.

"Where is that little pickle?" she said. "Hiding, I suppose," and
she went off in search.

Nowhere was Tom to be seen. She called loudly, and searched in the
bushes.

"He must have gone up to the house.

"Oh, here comes nurse. Nurse, have you seen Master Tom? He has just
run away," she called.

"No, ma'am, I have seen nothing of him."

"He must be about the garden then, somewhere. Look about, nurse.
Where can the child have hidden itself?"

Nurse and mother ran about, calling loudly the name of the missing
child. Five minutes later Mrs. Ripon ran into the study, where her
husband was going through his farm accounts.

"Oh, Robert," she said, "I can't find Tom!" and she burst into
tears.

"Not find Tom?" her husband said, rising in surprise. "Why, how
long have you missed him?"

"He was out in the garden with me. I was picking flowers for the
dinner table and, when I looked round, he was gone. Nurse and I
have been looking everywhere, and calling, but we cannot find him."

"Oh, he is all right," Captain Ripon said, cheerfully. "Do not
alarm yourself, little woman. He must have wandered into the
shrubbery. We shall hear him howling, directly. But I will come and
look for him."

No better success attended Captain Ripon's search than that which
his wife had met with. He looked anxious, now. The gardeners and
servants were called, and soon every place in the garden was
ransacked.

"He must have got through the gate, somehow, into the park,"
Captain Ripon said, hurrying in that direction. "He certainly is
not in the garden, or in any of the hothouses."

Some of the men had already gone in that direction. Presently
Captain Ripon met one, running back.

"I have been down to the gate, sir, and can see nothing of Master
Tom; but in the middle of the drive, just by the clump of laurels
by the gate, this boot was lying--just as if it had been put there
on purpose, to be seen."

"Nonsense!" Captain Ripon said. "What can that have to do with it?"

Nevertheless he took the boot, and looked at it. It was a
roughly-made, heavy boot, such as would be worn by a laboring man.
He was about to throw it carelessly aside, and to proceed on his
search, when he happened to turn it over. Then he started, as if
struck.

"Good Heaven!" he exclaimed, "it is the gypsy's."

Yes, he remembered it now. The man had pleaded not guilty, when
brought up at the assizes, and the boot had been produced as
evidence. He remembered it particularly because, after the man was
sentenced, his wife had provoked a smile by asking that the boots
might be given up to her; in exchange for a better pair for her
husband to put on, when discharged from prison.

Yes, it was clear. The gypsy woman had kept her word, and had taken
her revenge. She had stolen the child, and had placed the boot
where it would attract attention, in order that the parents might
know the hand that struck them.

Instantly Captain Ripon ran to the stable, ordered the groom to
mount at once, and scour every road and lane; while he himself rode
off to Hunston to give notice to the police, and offer a large
reward for the child's recovery. He charged the man who had brought
the boot to carry it away, and put it in a place of safety till it
was required; and on no account to mention to a soul where he put
it.

Before riding off he ran in to his wife, who was half wild with
grief, to tell her that he was going to search outside the park;
and that she must keep up her spirits for, no doubt, Tom would turn
up all right, in no time.

He admitted to himself, however, as he galloped away, that he was
not altogether sure that Tom would be so speedily recovered. The
woman would never have dared to place the boot on the road, and so
give a clue against herself, unless she felt very confident that
she could get away, or conceal herself.

"She has probably some hiding place, close by the park," he said to
himself, "where she will lie hid till night, and will then make
across country."

He paused at the village, and set the whole population at work, by
telling them that his child was missing--and had, he believed, been
carried off by a gypsy woman--and that he would give fifty pounds
to anyone who would find him. She could not be far off, as it was
only about half an hour since the child had been missed.

Then he galloped to Hunston, set the police at work and, going to a
printer, told him instantly to set up and strike off placards,
offering five hundred pounds reward for the recovery of the child.
This was to be done in an hour or two, and then taken to the police
station for distribution throughout the country round. Having now
done all in his power, Captain Ripon rode back as rapidly as he had
come, in hopes that the child might already have been found.

No news had, however, been obtained of him, nor had anyone seen any
strange woman in the neighborhood.

On reaching the house, he found his wife prostrated with grief and,
in answer to her questions, he thought it better to tell her about
the discovery of the boot.

"We may be some little time, before we find the boy," he said; "but
we shall find him, sooner or later. I have got placards out
already, offering five hundred pounds reward; and this evening I
will send advertisements to all the papers in this and the
neighboring counties.

"Do not fret, darling. The woman has done it out of spite, no
doubt; but she will not risk putting her neck in a noose, by
harming the child. It is a terrible grief, but it will only be for
a time. We are sure to find him before long."

Later in the evening, when Mrs. Ripon had somewhat recovered her
composure, she said to her husband:

"How strange are God's ways, Robert. How wicked and wrong in us to
grumble! I was foolish enough to fret over that mark on the
darling's neck, and now the thought of it is my greatest comfort.
If it should be God's will that months or years should pass over,
before we find him, there is a sign by which we shall always know
him. No other child can be palmed off upon us, as our own. When we
find Tom we shall know him, however changed he may be!"

"Yes, dear," her husband said, "God is very good, and this trial
may be sent us for the best. As you say, we can take comfort, now,
from what we were disposed to think, at the time, a little cross.
After that, dear, we may surely trust in God. That mark was placed
there that we might know our boy again and, were it not decreed
that we should again see him, that mark would have been useless."

The thought, for a time, greatly cheered Mrs. Ripon but, gradually,
the hope that she should ever see her boy again faded away; and
Captain Ripon became much alarmed at the manifest change in her
health.

In spite of all Captain Ripon could do, no news was obtained of the
gypsy, or Tom. For weeks he rode about the country, asking
questions in every village; or hurried away to distant parts of
England, where the police thought they had a clue.

It was all in vain. Every gypsy encampment in the kingdom was
searched, but without avail; and even the police, sharp eyed as
they are, could not guess that the decent-looking Irishwoman,
speaking--when she did speak, which was seldom, for she was a
taciturn woman--with a strong brogue, working in a laundry in a
small street in the Potteries, Notting Hill, was the gypsy they
were looking for; or that the little boy, whose father she said was
at sea, was the child for whose discovery a thousand pounds was
continually advertised.



Chapter 2: The Foundling.


It was a bitterly cold night in January. The wind was roaring
across the flats and fens of Cambridgeshire, driving tiny flakes of
snow before it. But few people had been about all day, and those
whose business compelled them to face the weather had hurried
along, muffled up to the chin. It was ten at night; and the porter
and his wife at the workhouse, at Ely, had just gone to bed, when
the woman exclaimed:

"Sam, I hear a child crying."

"Oh, nonsense!" the man replied, drawing the bedclothes higher over
his head. "It is the wind; it's been whistling all day."

The woman was silent, but not convinced. Presently she sat up in
bed.

"I tell you, Sam, it's a child; don't you hear it, man? It's a
child, outside the gate. On such a night as this, too. Get up, man,
and see; if you won't, I will go myself."

"Lie still, woman. It's all thy fancy."

"You are a fool, Sam Dickson," his wife said, sharply. "Do you
think I have lived to the age of forty-five, and don't know a
child's cry, when I hear it? Now are you going to get up, or am I?"

With much grumbling, the porter turned out of bed, slipped on a
pair of trousers and a greatcoat, took down the key from the wall,
lighted a lantern, and went out. He opened the gate, and looked
out. There was nothing to be seen; and he was about to close the
gate again, with a curse on his wife's fancies, when a fresh cry
broke on his ears. He hurried out now and, directed by the voice,
found lying near the gate a child, wrapped in a dark-colored shawl,
which had prevented him from seeing it at his first glance. There
was no one else in sight.

Illustration: Sam Dickson finds little Willie Gale.

The man lifted his lantern above his head, and gave a shout. There
was no answer. Then he raised the child and carried it in; locked
the door, and entered the lodge.

"You are right, for once," he said. "Here is a child, and a pretty
heavy one, too. It has been deserted by someone; and a heartless
creature she must have been, for in another half hour it would have
been frozen to death, if you had not heard it."

The woman was out of bed now.

"It is a boy," she said, opening the shawl, "about two years old, I
should say.

"Don't cry, my boy--don't cry.

"It's half frozen, Sam. The best thing will be to put it into our
bed, that has just got warm. I will warm it up a little milk. It's
no use taking it into the ward, tonight."

Ten minutes later the child was sound asleep; the porter--who was a
good-natured man--having gone over to sleep in an empty bed in the
house, leaving the child to share his wife's bed.

In the morning the foundling opened its eyes and looked round.
Seeing everything strange, it began to cry.

"Don't cry, dear," the woman said. "I will get you some nice
breakfast, directly."

The kindness of tone at once pacified the child. It looked round.

"Where's mother?" he asked.

"I don't know, dear. We shall find her soon enough, no doubt; don't
you fret."

The child did not seem inclined to fret. On the contrary, he
brightened up visibly.

"Will she beat Billy, when she comes back?"

"No, my dear, she sha'n't beat you. Does she often beat you?"

The child nodded its head several times, emphatically.

"Then she's a bad lot," the woman said, indignantly.

The child ate its breakfast contentedly, and was then carried by
the porter's wife to the master, who had already heard the
circumstance of its entry.

"It's of no use asking such a baby whether it has any name," he
said; "of course, it would not know. It had better go into the
infants' ward. The guardians will settle what its name shall be. We
will set the police at work, and try and find out something about
its mother. It is a fine-looking little chap; and she must be
either a thoroughly bad one, or terribly pressed, to desert it like
this. Most likely it is a tramp and, in that case, it's odds we
shall never hear further about it.

"Any distinguishing mark on its clothes?"

"None at all, sir. It is poorly dressed, and seems to have been
very bad treated. Its skin is dirty, and its little back is black
and blue with bruises; but it has a blood mark on the neck, which
will enable its mother to swear to it, if it's fifty years
hence--but I don't suppose we shall ever hear of her, again."

That afternoon, however, the news came that the body of a tramp had
been found, frozen to death in a ditch near the town. She had
apparently lost her way and, when she had fallen in, was so numbed
and cold that she was unable to rise, and so had been drowned in
the shallow water. When the master heard of it, he sent for the
porter's wife.

"Mrs. Dickson," he said, "you had better take that child down, and
let it see the tramp they have found, frozen to death. The child is
too young to be shocked at death, and will suppose she is asleep.
But you will be able to see if he recognizes her."

There was no doubt as to the recognition. The child started in
terror, when he saw the woman lying in the shed into which she had
been carried. It checked its first impulse to cry out, but
struggled to get further off.

"Moder asleep," he said, in a whisper. "If she wake, she beat
Billy."

That was enough. The woman carried him back to the house.

"She's his mother, sir, sure enough," she said to the master,
"though how she should be puzzles me. She is dressed in pretty
decent clothes; but she is as dark as a gypsy, with black hair.
This child is fair, with a skin as white as milk, now he is
washed."

"I daresay he takes after his father," the master--who was a
practical man--said. "I hear that there is no name on her things,
no paper or other article which would identify her in her pockets;
but there is two pounds, twelve shillings in her purse, so she was
not absolutely in want. It will pay the parish for her funeral."

An hour later the guardians assembled and, upon hearing the
circumstances of the newcomer's admission, and the death of the
tramp, they decided that the child should be entered in the books
as "William Gale,"--the name being chosen with a reference to the
weather during which he came into the house--and against his name a
note was written, to the effect that his mother--a tramp, name
unknown--had, after leaving him at the door of the workhouse, been
found frozen to death next day.

William Gale grew, and throve. He was a quiet and contented child;
accustomed to be shut up all day alone, while his mother was out
washing, the companionship of other children in the workhouse was a
pleasant novelty and, if the food was not such as a dainty child
would fancy, it was at least as good as he had been accustomed to.

The porter's wife continued to be the fast friend of the child whom
she had saved from death. The fact that she had done so gave her an
interest in it. Her own children were out in service, or at work in
the fields; and the child was a pleasure to her. Scarce a day
passed, then, that she would not go across the yard up to the
infants' ward, and bring Billy down to the lodge; where he would
play contentedly by the hour, or sit watching her, and sucking at a
cake, while she washed or prepared her husband's dinner.

Billy was seldom heard to cry. Perhaps he had wept all his stock of
tears away, before he entered the house. He had seldom fits of bad
temper, and was a really lovable child. Mrs. Dickson never wavered
in the opinion she had first formed--that the dead tramp was not
Billy's mother--but as no one else agreed with her, she kept her
thoughts to herself.

The years passed on, and William Gale was now no longer in the
infants' ward, but took his place in the boys' school. Here he at
once showed an intelligence beyond that of the other boys of his
own age. The hours which he had, each day, spent in the porter's
lodge had not been wasted. The affection of the good woman had
brightened his life, and he had none of the dull, downcast look so
common among children in workhouses. She had encouraged him to talk
and play, had taught him the alphabet, and supplied him with an
occasional picture book, with easy words. Indeed, she devoted far
more time to him than many mothers, in her class of life, can give
to their children.

The guardians, as they went in and out to board meeting, would
delight her by remarking:

"That is really a fine little fellow, Mrs. Dickson. He really does
you credit. A fine, sturdy, independent little chap."

The child, of course, wore the regular uniform of workhouse
children; but Mrs. Dickson--who was handy with her needle--used to
cut and alter the clothes to fit him, and thus entirely changed
their appearance.

"He looks like a gentleman's child," one of the guardians said, one
day.

"I believe he is a gentleman's child, sir. Look at his white skin;
see how upright he is, with his head far back, as if he was
somebody. He is different, altogether, from the run of them. I
always said he came of good blood, and I shall say so to my dying
day."

"It may be so, Mrs. Dickson; but the woman who left him here, if I
remember right, did not look as if she had any good blood in her."

"Not likely, sir. She never came by him honestly, I am sure. I
couldn't have believed she was his mother, not if she had sworn to
it with her dying breath."

Mrs. Dickson's belief was not without influence upon the boy. When
he was old enough to understand, she told him the circumstances of
his having been found at the workhouse door, and of the discovery
of the woman who had brought him there; and impressed upon him her
own strong conviction that this was not his mother.

"I believe, Billy," she said, over and over again, "that your
parents were gentlefolk. Now mind, it does not make one bit of
difference to you, for it ain't likely you will ever hear of them.
Still, please God, you may do so; and it is for you to bear it in
mind, and to act so as--if you were to meet them--they need not be
ashamed of you. You have got to earn your living just like all the
other boys here; but you can act right, and straight, and
honorable.

"Never tell a lie, Billy; not if it's to save yourself from being
thrashed ever so much. Always speak out manful, and straight, no
matter what comes of it. Don't never use no bad words, work hard at
your books, and try to improve yourself. Keep it always before you
that you mean to be a good man, and a gentleman, some day and, mark
my words, you will do it."

"You're spoiling that child," her husband would say, "filling his
head with your ridiculous notions."

"No, I am not spoiling him, Sam. I'm doing him good. It will help
keep him straight, if he thinks that he is of gentle blood, and
must not shame it. Why, the matron said only yesterday she could
not make him out, he was so different from other boys."

"More's the pity," grumbled the porter. "It mayn't do him harm
now--I don't say as it does; but when he leaves the house he'll be
above his work, and will be discontented, and never keep a place."

"No, he won't," his wife asserted stoutly; although, in her heart,
she feared that there was some risk of her teaching having that
effect.

So far, however, there could be no doubt that her teaching had been
of great advantage to the boy; and his steadiness and diligence
soon attracted the attention of the schoolmaster. Schoolmasters are
always ready to help pupils forward who promise to be a credit to
them, and William Gale's teacher was no exception. He was not a
learned man--very far from it. He had been a grocer who had failed
in business and, having no other resource, had accepted the very
small salary offered, by the guardians of Ely workhouse, as the
only means which presented itself of keeping out of one of the
pauper wards of that institution. However, he was not a bad reader,
and wrote an excellent hand. With books of geography and history
before him, he could make no blunders in his teaching; and although
he might have been failing in method, he was not harsh or
unkind--and the boys, therefore, learned as much with him as they
might have done with a more learned master, of a harsher
disposition.

He soon recognized not only William's anxiety to learn, but the
fearlessness and spirit with which he was always ready to own a
fault, and to bear its punishment. On several occasions he brought
the boy before the notice of the guardians, when they came round
the school and, when questions had to be asked before visitors,
William Gale was always called up as the show boy.

This prominence would have made him an object of dislike, among the
other lads of his own age; had it not been that William was a
lively, good-tempered boy; and if, as sometimes happened on these
occasions, a sixpence or shilling was slipped into his hand by some
visitor, who was taken by his frank open face and bright
intelligent manner, it was always shared among his school fellows.

At one of the examinations the wife of a guardian, who was present
with her husband, said on returning home:

"It must be very dull for those poor boys. I will pack up some of
the boys' books, and send them. Now they have gone to college, they
will never want them again; and they would make quite a library for
the workhouse boys. There must be twenty or thirty of them, at
least."

If ladies could but know what brightness they can infuse into the
lives of lads, placed like these in Ely workhouse, by a simple act
of kindness of this kind, there would not be an institution in the
kingdom without a well-supplied library. The gift infused a new
life into the school. Hitherto the world outside had been a sealed
book to the boys. They knew of no world, save that included within
the walls of the house. Their geography told them of other lands
and people, but these were mere names, until now.

Among the books were Robinson Crusoe, Midshipman Easy, Peter
Simple, three or four of Cooper's Indian tales, Dana's Life before
the Mast, and several of Kingston's and Ballantyne's books. These
opened a wonderland of life and adventure to the boys. The
schoolmaster used to give them out, at twelve o'clock; and they
were returned at two, when school recommenced; and only such boys
as obtained full marks for their lessons were allowed to have them.
In this way, instead of the library being a cause of idleness--as
some of the guardians predicted, when they heard of its
presentation--it was an incentive to work.

Certainly its perusal filled the minds of most of the boys with an
intense longing to go to sea but, as there is always a demand for
apprentices for the Yarmouth and Lowestoft smacks, the guardians
did not disapprove of this bent being given to their wishes--indeed,
as no premium had to be paid, with apprentices to smack owners,
while in most trades a premium is required, a preference was given
to the sea by the guardians.

When William Gale reached the age of fifteen, and was brought
before the board to choose the trade to which he would be
apprenticed, he at once said that he would go to sea. There were
applications from several smack masters for apprentices; and he,
with the five other boys brought up with him, were all of one
opinion in the matter.

"Mind, lads," the chairman said, "the life of an apprentice on
board a North Sea smack is a hard one. You will get a great many
more kicks than half pence. It will be no use grumbling, when you
have once made your choice. It is a rough, hard life--none rougher,
or harder. When you have served your time, it will be open to you
either to continue as smacksmen, or to ship as seamen in sea-going
ships.

"Sailors who hail from the eastern fishing ports are always
regarded as amongst the best of our seamen. Still, it is a rough
life, and a dangerous one. The hardest life, on shore, is easy in
comparison. There is time to change your minds, before you sign;
when you have done so, it will be too late. Are you all
determined?"

None of them wavered. Their signatures were attached to the
indentures, and they were told that the porter would take them to
Yarmouth, on the following day. William Gale obtained leave to
spend his last evening at the porter's lodge, and there he talked
very seriously, with Mrs. Dickson, over his future prospects.

"I know," he said, "from Dana's book, that the life is a very rough
one, but that will not matter. A sailor, when he has been four
years at sea, can pass his examination as a mate; and I mean to
work hard, and pass as soon as I can. I don't care how much I am
knocked about, that's nothing; there's a good chance of getting on,
in the end."

"You will meet a great many bad boys, Bill; don't you let them lead
you into their ways."

"Don't be afraid of that," he answered, "I won't do anything I
should be ashamed of, afterwards. You have taught me better."

"I suppose the guardians gave you a Bible, today; they always do,
when boys goes out."

Will nodded.

"Be sure you read it often, my boy. You read that, and stick to it,
and you won't go far wrong. You know what the parson said, last
Sunday:

"'No one is strong in himself, but God gives strength.'"

"I remember," Will said. "I made up my mind, then, that I'd bear it
in mind, and act upon it when I could. I think the thought of God,
and the thought that I may meet my parents--and they must not be
ashamed of me--will help me to be honest, and firm."

"I hope, Bill, you will come, sometimes, and see me, when you are
ashore."

"I shall be sure to do that, when I can," he answered. "But of
course, I shall have no money, at first; and it may be a long time
before I can pay my railway fare here; but you may be sure I will
come. Whoever may be my real mother, you are the only mother I ever
knew, and no mother could have been kinder. When I grow to be a
man, and go to sea in big ships, I will bring you all sorts of
pretty things from abroad and, if ever you should want it, you may
be sure that my wages will be quite as much yours as if I had been,
really, your son!"

Sam Dickson gave a snort. It was very good of the boy, but he
considered it his duty to snub him, in order to counteract what he
considered to be the pernicious counsels and treatment of his wife.

"Fine talk," he said, "fine talk. We shall see."

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Sam Dickson," his wife said,
wrathfully. "The boy means what he says, and I believe him. If
anything was to happen to you, and that boy was growed up, I
believe he would come forward to lend me a helping hand, just as he
says, as if he were my son. The gals is good gals, but gals in
service have plenty to do with their wages--what with dress, and
one thing or another. We must never look for much help from them
but, if Bill is doing well, and I ever come to want, I believe as
his heart would be good to help, a bit."

"Well," the porter said, dryly, "there's time enough to see about
it, yet. I ain't dead, you ain't a pauper, and he ain't a man, not
by a long way."

"Well, you needn't go to be short tempered over it, Sam. The boy
says as he'll be as good as a son to me, if the time ever comes as
how I may want it. There is no call for you to fly out, as if he'd
said as he'd poison me, if he'd the chance.

"Anyhow, you'll write to me regular, won't you, Bill?"

"That I will," the boy said. "Every time I gets back to port, I'll
write; and you'll write sometimes, won't you? And tell me how you
are, and how every one is, schoolmaster and all. They have all been
very kind to me, and I have nothing to say against any of them."

The next morning William Gale laid aside, for ever, his workhouse
dress; and put on a suit of rough blue cloth, fitted for his future
work. Then, bidding adieu to all his friends, he--with his five
fellow apprentices--started by rail, under charge of Sam Dickson,
for Yarmouth.

The journey itself was, to them, a most exciting event. They had,
in all their remembrance, never been a mile from the workhouse; and
the swift motion of the train, the changing scenery, the villages
and stations, were a source of immense interest. As they neared
Yarmouth their excitement increased, for now they were nearing the
sea; of which they had read so much, but could form so little idea.
They were disappointed, however, inasmuch as no glimpse was
obtained of it, as they crossed the flat country leading to the
town but, failing the sea, Yarmouth itself--the town which was
henceforth to be their headquarters--was in the highest degree
interesting.

Presently the train reached the station, and then Sam Dickson--who
had made many annual journeys to Yarmouth, on the same errand--at
once started off with them to the smack owners who had written to
the workhouse. These lived at Gorleston, a large village on the
south side of the river. Walking down from the station, the boys
caught a glimpse of the river, and were delighted at the sight of
the long line of smacks, and coasters, lying by the wharves
opposite.

Presently they left the road, and made their way down to the river
side. Their guardian had great difficulty in getting them along, so
interested were they in the smacks lying alongside. Presently they
stopped at a large wooden building, over which was the name of
"James Eastrey."

"Here we are," Sam Dickson said. "Now, stop quietly outside. I will
call three of you up, when I have spoken to Mr. Eastrey."

Presently the porter re-appeared at the door, and called three of
the boys in. William Gale was one of the number, James Eastrey
being the name of the owner to whom he had signed his indentures.

A smell of tar pervaded the whole place. Nets, sails, and cordage
were piled in great heaps in the store; iron bolts and buckets,
iron heads for trawls, and ship's stores of all kinds.

Mr. Eastrey came out from a little wooden office.

"So," he said, "you are the three lads who are going to be my
apprentices. Well, boys, it is a rough life but, if you take the
ups and downs as they come, it is not a bad one. I always tell my
captains to be kind to the boys but, when they are at sea, they do
not always act as I wish them. When you are on shore, between the
voyages, I give you eight shillings a week, to keep yourselves; or
I put you in the Smack Boys' Home, and pay for you there. The last
is the best place for you, but some boys prefer to go their own
way.

"I suppose you are all anxious to go to sea--boys always are, for
the first time. One of my boats is going out, tomorrow.

"You," he said, pointing to William Gale, "shall go in her. What is
your name?"

"William Gale, sir."

"Very well, William Gale, then you shall be off first. The others
will only have a day or two to wait.

"I can only send one new hand in each smack. The others will go to
the Home, till the smacks are ready. I will send a man with them,
at once. They can have a day to run about the town. I shall find
plenty of work for them, afterwards.

"You, Gale, will stop on the smack. I will take you on board, in
half an hour, when I have finished my letter."

The three lads said goodbye to their comrades and to Sam Dickson. A
sailor was called up, and took two off to the Smack Boys' Home; and
Will Gale sat down on a coil of rope, to wait till his employer was
ready to take him down to the craft to which he was, henceforth, to
belong.



Chapter 3: Life On A Smack.


"Now come along, Gale," Mr. Eastrey said, at last, "the Kitty is
close by."

Following his master, the lad went out from the store and along the
wharf and, presently, stepped upon a smack on which several men,
and a boy, were at work.

"Harvey," Mr. Eastrey said, "I have brought you a new lad. He will
sail with you, tomorrow. I have a very good account of him, and I
think you will find him quick, and ready."

"So as he's not up to tricks, I shall do very well with him, I
don't doubt," the skipper said; "but boys are an awful trouble, the
first voyage or two. However, I will do my best for him.

"Are you ready to begin work at once, young 'un? What is your
name?"

"William Gale, and I am quite ready."

"Very well, Bill, chuck off your jacket, then, and pass those bags
along from the wharf."

The boy was soon hard at work. He was a little disappointed at
finding that the skipper was, in dress and manner, in no way
superior to the rest of the crew. The Kitty was a yawl of
forty-five tons, deep in the water and broad in the beam. Her deck
was dirty and, at present, in disorder; and she did not come up to
the perfection of neatness and cleanliness which William Gale had
read of, in the pages of his favorite author. However--as he told
himself--there must, of course, be a good deal of difference
between a man of war, where the crew have little to do but to keep
things neat and bright, and a fishing smack.

The work upon which he was, at present, engaged was the
transferring of the provisions for the voyage from the quay to the
hold. These consisted principally of barrels of salt meat, and bags
of biscuits; but there were a large tin of tea, a keg of sugar, a
small barrel of molasses--or treacle--two or three sacks of
potatoes, pepper and salt. Then there was a barrel of oil for the
lamps, coils of spare rope of different sizes, and a number of
articles of whose use William Gale had not the most remote idea.

After two hours' work, the skipper looked at his watch.

"Time to knock off work," he said, "and we've got pretty near
everything on board. Now, be sure you are all here by six in the
morning. Tide will begin to run out at eight, and I don't want to
lose any of it.

"Bill, you are to come home with me, for the night."

It was but a hundred yards to the sailor's cottage, which stood on
the edge of the sharp rise, a short distance back from the river.

"Here, wife," he said as he entered, "I've got a new apprentice,
and I expect he's pretty hungry; I am, I can tell you, and I hope
tea's ready. His name's Bill, and he's going to stop here,
tonight."

"Tea is quite ready, John, and there's plenty of mackerel. I
thought you would not be getting them again, for a spell.

"Do you like fish?" she asked the boy.

"I don't know, ma'am--I never tasted them."

"Bless me!" the woman cried, in astonishment; "never tasted fish!
To think, now!"

"I've been brought up in a workhouse," William said, coloring a
little as he spoke, for he knew the prejudice against the House.

"Ah!" she said, "we have had a good many of that sort; and I can't
say as I likes 'em, for the most part. But you haven't got the look
about you. You don't seem that sort."

"I hope I shall turn out none the worse for it," the boy said; "at
any rate, I'll do my best."

"And none can't do more," the good woman said, briskly. "I like
your looks, Bill, and you've a nice way of talking. Well, we shall
see."

In a few minutes tea was upon the table, and Will sat down with the
skipper, his wife, and two daughters--girls of ten and twelve. The
lad enjoyed his meal immensely, and did full justice to the fish.

"You will have plenty of them, before you eat your next tea on
shore. We pretty nigh live on them, when we are on the fishing
grounds."

"The same kind of fish as this?"

"No, mackerel are caught in small boats, with a different sort of
gear, altogether. We get them, sometimes, in the trawl--not shoals
of 'em, but single fish, which we call horse mackerel."

After tea, the skipper lit his pipe; and his wife, after clearing
up, took some knitting, and sat down and began to question the new
apprentice.

"It's lucky, for you, you found such a good friend," she said, when
he had finished his story. "That's how it is you are so different
from other boys who have been apprenticed from the House. I should
never have thought you had come from there.

"And she gave you good advice as to how you should go on, I'll be
bound."

"Yes, ma'am," Will said, "and I hope I shall act up to it."

"I hope so, Bill; but you'll find it hard work to keep yourself as
you should do, among them boys. They are an awful lot, them smack
boys."

"Not worse nor other boys," her husband said.

"Not worse than might be looked for, John, but they are most of 'em
pretty bad. The language they use make my blood run cold, often.
They seems to take a delight in it. The hands are bad enough, but
the boys are dreadful.

"I suppose you don't swear, Will. They look too sharp after you, in
the House; but if you take my advice, boy, don't you ever get into
the way of bad language. If you once begin, it will grow on you.
There ain't no use in it, and it's awful to hear it."

"I will try not to do so," Will said firmly. "Mother--I always call
her mother--told me how bad it was, and I said I'd try."

"That's right, Will, you stick to that, and make up your mind to
keep from liquor, and you'll do."

"What's the use of talking that way?" the skipper said. "The boy's
sure to do it. They all do."

"Not all, John. There's some teetotalers in the fleet."

"I won't say I'll never touch it," Will said, "for I don't know,
yet, how I may want it--they say when you are cold and wet through,
at sea, it is really good--but I have made up my mind I'll never
drink for the sake of drinking. Half the men--ay, nineteen out of
twenty in the House--would never have been there, I've heard mother
say, if it hadn't been for drink; and I told her she need never
fear I'd take to that."

"If you can do without it on shore, you can do without it at sea,"
the skipper said. "I take it when I'm on shore, but there's not a
drop goes out on the Kitty. Some boats carries spirits, some don't.
We don't. The old man puts chocolate on board instead and, of a wet
night, a drink of hot chocolate's worth all the rum in the world.

"As for giving it up altogether, I see no call for it. There are
men who can't touch liquor, but they must go on till they get
drunk. That sort ought to swear off, and never touch it at all.
It's worse than poison, to some. But for a man who is content with
his pint of beer with his dinner, and a glass of grog of an
evening, I see no harm in it."

"Except that the money might be better spent, John."

"It might be, or it might not. In my case, the saving would be of
no account. The beer costs three pence, and the rum as much more.
That's six pence a day. I'm only at home ten days, once every two
months; so it come to thirty shillings a year, and I enjoy my
dinner, and my evening pipe, all the better for them."

"The thing is this, Will: you don't know, when you begin, whether
you are going to be one of the men who--like my John--is content
with his pint of beer, and his glass of grog; or whether you will
be one of them as can't touch liquor without wanting to make beasts
of themselves. Therefore the safest plan is, don't touch it at
all--leastways, till you've served your time. The others may laugh
at you, at first; but they won't like you any the worse for it."

"Thank you, ma'am. I will make up my mind to that--not to touch
liquor till I am out of my apprenticeship. After that, I can see
for myself."

"That's right, lad. When you come back from your first trip, you
can join the lodge, if you like. I and my girls are members."

"Thank you, ma'am," Will said; "but I won't take any pledge. I have
said I will not do it, and I don't see any use in taking an oath
about it. If I am so weak as to break my word, I should break my
oath. I don't know why I shouldn't be able to trust myself to do as
I am willed, in that way as in any other. If I'd a craving after
it, it might be different; but I never have tasted it, and don't
want to taste it, so I don't see why I can't trust myself."

"Yes, I think as how you can trust yourself, Will," the woman said,
looking at him; "and I've noticed often that it isn't them who say
most, as do most.

"Now, I daresay you are sleepy. There's my boy's bed for you. He is
fourth hand in one of the smacks at sea."

The next morning Will was out of bed the instant he was called,
excited at the thought that he was going really to sea. The
skipper's wife had tea made, and the table laid.

"Here," she said, "are some oilskin suits my boy has given up. They
will suit you well enough for size and, although they are not as
good as they were, they will keep out a good deal of water, yet.
You will get half-a-crown a week, while you are at sea so, by the
time you get back, you will have enough to buy yourself a fresh
suit."

Half an hour later Will was at work, getting two spare sails and
the last of the stores on board.

"Now, Bill, come below," the skipper said. "I will show you your
bunk."

The cabin was larger than Will had expected. It was about twelve
feet square, and lofty enough for a tall man to stand upright. By
the side of the companion stairs was a grate, on which a kettle was
boiling; and this, as he afterwards learned, was a fixture, except
when cooking was going on, and the men could have tea whenever they
chose. Round three sides of the cabin extended lockers, the tops
forming seats. Above were what looked like cupboards, running round
the sides; but the skipper pushed open a sliding door, and showed a
bed place.

"That is your bunk," he said. "You see, there are two at the end,
and one each side, above, and as many under them--eight bunks, in
all. You will have to help Jack--that is the other boy--in cooking,
and make yourself useful, generally, in the day. The crew are
divided into two watches, but you will not have much to do on deck.
If the night is clear you can sleep, except when the trawl is being
got up. Of a thick or stormy night, you will keep your watch.

"Now, as the other lad is more handy on deck than you are, you can
take charge here. All you have to do is to see that the kettle is
kept boiling. You can come on deck and lend a hand, if wanted; but
you must come down sometimes, and see the fire is all right."

After inspecting the contents of the kettle, and seeing that it was
full, Will climbed up the steep ladder again; and was soon working
away, coiling down the ropes with the other lad, while the crew
hoisted sails and got the boat under weigh.

"Are there only two hands under the captain?" he asked the other
boy.

"There are two others," the boy said. "They will come on board
after we get out of the river, and you'll see they will be just as
drunk as they can stand."

"What, drunk at this time in the morning?"

"Yes, they got drunk last night and, as they won't have fairly
slept it off, they will be beginning again this morning. The old
man will look them up, and get them off."

"Who is the old man?"

"Old Eastrey, of course, stupid.

"I wish they were all on board. There's a fine breeze, and I hate
wasting four or five hours off the bar, waiting for the hands to
come off."

"I wonder the old man stands it," Will said.

"He can't help it," the other answered. "Scarce a smack goes out of
Yarmouth without half the hands being drunk, when she starts. They
don't get much chance afterwards, you see; and they sleep it off by
night, so it don't make any odds. Our skipper is always sober, and
that's more than many of them are. I have gone out when me and the
other boy were the only two sober on board."

"But isn't it very dangerous?"

"Dangerous? No," the boy said, "one of them is sure to be sober
enough to manage to stand at the helm and, though I've bumped
pretty heavy on the sands, sometimes, we generally strike the
channel. There is no fear of anything else. We never start, if a
gale is blowing; and the smacks are safe in anything but a gale.
They are too deep to capsize and, at sea, there's no more
drinking."

The smack dropped down the river and stood, off and on, near its
entrance. Will was delighted with the bright sea, dotted with ships
and fishing craft. The sun was shining, and there was just enough
wind to send the smack along briskly through the water, without
raising any waves sufficiently high to give her a perceptible
motion. At eight o'clock the captain went on shore in the boat,
with a man, to look after the absent sailors; leaving only one hand
and the two boys on board. At ten the boat was again seen, coming
out.

"One, two, three, four," the boy said, "he has got them both. Now
we shall be off."

The boat was soon alongside. The two drunken men were helped on
board and, at once, went below to sleep themselves sober. Then the
boat was hoisted on board and, the second hand taking the helm, the
Kitty started fairly on her way.

"Now," the captain said, "let us get her a little tidy."

It took some hours' work before the deck was washed, the ropes
coiled down, and everything ship-shape. By the time all was done,
the low coast of Norfolk had sunk below the horizon, and the smack
was far out at sea. There was more motion now, but the wind was
still light.

The skipper was pleased with the earnestness and alacrity which the
new apprentice showed.

"Now, Jack," he said to the other boy, "take Will below with you,
and show him how to make tea."

The process of tea making, on board a smack, is not a difficult one
to master; the sole operation consisting in putting a few more
spoonfuls of tea into the kettle boiling over the fire, when it
begins to get low, and filling up with fresh water. But, simple as
the thing was, William Gale did not learn it on that occasion. He
had been feeling somewhat shaky, even while on deck; and the heat
of the cabin, and the smell of some grease which Jack had just put
in the frying pan, preparatory to cooking some fish brought off
from shore, completed the effect of the rising sea. Until next
morning he was not in a condition to care, even had the tea
remained unmade to the end of time. He did not go below, but lay
under the shelter of a tarpaulin, on deck.

In the morning, the skipper roused him up.

"Now, lad, just take off your coat and shirt. Here is a bucket of
water. Put your head in that, and give yourself a good sluice; and
then come down and have a cup of tea, and a bit of biscuit, and you
will find yourself all right again."

Will followed the instructions, and found himself wonderfully
better.

"Now, lad, lend a hand in tidying up on deck. There is nothing like
work, for keeping off seasickness. Jack shall cook, for today."

The boy set to work with a will; and felt so refreshed that, by one
o'clock, he was able to go below and take his share of the dinner.
At present, while on their way to the fishing grounds, their meals
were taken at the same time as on shore but, once at work, there
were only two meals a day. Of these the first was taken when the
fishing was over, the fish cleaned, picked, weighed, and
packed--the hour varying between nine and eleven. The second meal
was taken before the trawl was lowered, at six or seven o'clock in
the evening.

After five days' sailing, the smack arrived off the fishing ground;
but another two days were spent in finding the fleet, as the
fishing grounds extend over a distance of some hundreds of miles.
When they came up with it, William Gale was astonished at the vast
number of boats that dotted the sea.

In the Yarmouth fleet there are between four and five hundred
vessels and, were it not that the most perfect order and discipline
reign, the number of accidents which would occur, from so many
boats fishing close to each other at night, would be terrible. The
fleet is commanded by one of the most experienced skippers, who is
termed the admiral. His authority is absolute. He leads the fleet
to the grounds he selects for fishing and, by signals by day and
rockets by night, issues his orders--when the nets are to be
lowered down and drawn up, the course which is to be steered, and
the tack on which they are to stand.

The fishing is entirely done at night. The trawls are let down
about dusk, and the fleet attached to these moving anchors forge
slowly ahead and to leeward, until daybreak. Then the trawls are
got in, and the fleet sail in a body to the spot where the admiral
decides that fishing shall be continued in the evening. At 10
o'clock at night the trawls are hauled in, and the nets emptied.
All hands are called up for this operation. When it is concluded,
the trawl is again lowered and the fish cleaned and packed; by the
light of a torch formed of rope, dipped in tar. The watch who have
hitherto been on deck turn in, and the others remain on deck until
morning, when the nets are again hauled in.

There is not, indeed, much for the watch to do; as the smack needs
no steering, and the attention of the men on deck is directed
chiefly to see that no other smack drifts down upon them. Should
there appear any danger of this, a flare is lit to warn the other
smacksmen. The trawl rope is slacked out or hauled in, as the case
may require and, generally, volleys of strong language pass between
the respective crews.

The trawl beam is a heavy pole, some 30 or 35 feet long. At each
end are fitted strong iron hoops, of about three feet in diameter.
These keep the pole from touching the ground, and keep open the
mouth of the net; one side of which is attached to the pole, while
the other drags along the bottom. The net resembles in shape a
long, deep purse; and has various pockets and other contrivances by
which, when a fish has once entered its mouth, it is prevented from
returning.

The trawl rope--which is from 40 to 80 yards in length, according
to the depth of water--is hauled in by means of a winch; and its
great weight taxes the united strength of the crew, to get it level
with the bulwark. When it is up, the net is hauled on board, the
small end is opened, and the fish tumble on to the deck. They are
then separated and packed in trunks--as the wooden cases, in which
they are sent to market, are called.

Soles fetch by far the highest price, and fortunate are the crew
who get a good haul of this fish; for the men work upon shares, an
account being kept of all the sales made, during the fishing trip.
The owner deducts the cost of the provisions and stores which have
been put on board, and takes one or more shares for the vessel.
Each man has one share, the skipper and mate receiving rather a
larger proportion than the others; thus the men have a lively
interest in each haul, and great is the satisfaction when the net
comes up well filled, and there is seen to be a good proportion of
soles among the contents.

The coarse fish--as they are called--include brill, haddock, hake,
ling, whiting, and many others. Turbot are also caught. In each
haul there would probably be a vast number of objects which would
delight the heart of a naturalist. Dog fish, too, are sometimes
taken; as are conger eels, and horse mackerel. Stones, and oysters,
too, come up in the nets; and the latter are the betes-noires of
the fishing. Sometimes, when the fleet gets over a bed of oysters,
a score of nets will be lost in a single night for, when the bag
becomes full of oysters, its weight is so great that the utmost
power of the fishermen's exertions, on the winch, is insufficient
to lift it from the bottom; and there is nothing to be done but to
cut the rope, and abandon trawl and net. Upon these occasions the
language applied to the admiral is scarcely of a kind for polite
ears.

The food of the crews, when once upon the fishing ground, consists
almost wholly of fish. With the exception of soles, each man may
select any fish he fancies from the glistening mass upon the deck;
and the amount which each consumed at a meal at first astonished
William Gale, accustomed as he was to meager workhouse rations. He
soon, however, found himself able to keep up with the rest; but the
operation of frying seemed sometimes interminable, so many times
had the pan to be filled and emptied.

Hard biscuits were eaten with the fish, and the whole washed down
with copious draughts of tea, without milk. Two or three times a
week the men would, as a change, have a meal of salt meat; and on
Sundays a duff--or pudding--of flour and currants was made.

A few days after joining the fleet the weather changed, the sky
became gloomy and threatening. The wind blew hard, and a heavy sea
got up. Will found that keeping watch at night--which was pleasant
enough on a fine, star-light night--was a very different thing,
now. It was no joke looking ahead with the wind blowing fiercely,
and showers of spray dashing into the eyes; and yet a vigilant
watch must be kept for, if the rockets which ordered the hauling of
the trawl were not noticed, some other smack, moving rapidly when
released from the drag of its net, might at any moment come into
collision with the smack.

Still more important was it to notice upon which side the trawl was
to be lowered, after being emptied; and upon which tack the vessel
was to proceed. For a mistake in this respect would be certain to
bring the smack across another; in which case the trawl ropes would
become entangled--involving, in a heavy sea, the certain loss of
one or the other. Many of the smacks carry dogs, and it is found
that these become even better watchers than their masters; for they
can be relied on to call the attention of the watch, by sharp
barking, to the letting up of the rocket, however distant.

A rocket may seem to be an easy thing to see but, in a large fleet,
the stern-most smacks may be three or four miles away from the
leaders and, in a dark, thick night, it is exceedingly difficult to
make out even a rocket, at that distance.

The wind increased to a gale. The trawls were up now, and the fleet
lay to. It may be explained that this operation is performed by
bringing a ship nearly into the eye of the wind, and then hauling
the foresail across, and belaying the sheet. The aft sail--or
mizzen--is then hauled tight, and the tiller lashed amidships. As
the fore-sail pays the vessel off from the wind, the after sail
brings her up again; and she is thus kept nearly head to sea, and
the crew go below, and wait till the storm abates.



Chapter 4: Run Down.


William Gale was astonished at the fury of the tempest, and the
wildness of the sea. Although, at the workhouse, he had often heard
the wind roaring round the walls, there was nothing to show him the
force that was being exerted. There were but few trees in the
neighborhood, and William had hardly ever been without the walls,
except in fine summer weather. He was, therefore, almost bewildered
by the force and fury of the gale; and by the noise, as it shrieked
through the rigging, and howled across the water. The occasional
flapping of the sails, and the rattling of the heavy blocks added
to the din; and it seemed to him that the Kitty which, like all
fishing smacks, was very deep in the water, must be completely
engulfed by the great waves which swept down upon her.

Several times, indeed, he was obliged to leap down into the cabin,
to avoid being swept away by the great masses of green water
which--pouring over her bows--swept aft, carrying away all before
them. But the Yarmouth smacks are admirable sea boats and, pounded
and belabored as she was, the Kitty always shook off the water that
smothered her, and rose again for the next wave. In twenty-four
hours the gale abated, the scattered fleet were assembled--each
flying its flag--and it was found that three were missing, having
either foundered, or been driven away from their consorts.

With the return of fine weather the fishing began again, and
William thoroughly enjoyed his life. The skipper was kind and
forbearing; he neither ill treated the boys, himself, nor permitted
any of the crew to do so; and everything went on regularly and
comfortably. There were a few books on board and, of an evening,
after the trawl was lowered and before the watch below turned into
their bunks, William--who was the best reader on board--would be
asked to read aloud for an hour. Sometimes there were songs and, as
the Kitty was fortunate, and her taking of fish good, the men were
all cheerful and good tempered.

Once every three or four days, the collecting steamer came in
sight; then there was a general race, in the fleet, to put the
trunks of fish on board her. Each did his best to be in good time
for, when the catch had been heavy, the steamer was sometimes
unable to take the whole of it; in which case the portion left
behind would be wholly spoilt, before the arrival of another
steamer. The whole of the fleet, therefore, ran down towards the
steamer as soon as she was seen; the heavy boats were tossed
overboard, and the trunk lowered into them, and two hands jumped in
to row them to the steamer. Round her a swarm of boats would soon
be collected, each striving to get alongside, to deliver the fish.

In calm weather the scene was simply amusing but, when the sea was
high, it was exciting and even dangerous; indeed, in the course of
a year more lives are lost, in the process of taking the fish from
the smack to the steamer, than in vessels foundered by gales.

Sometimes the fleet will be joined by Dutch trading smacks, who
exchange fresh bread and meat, tobacco, and spirits for fish. This
traffic is the cause, alike, of loss to the owners, by the fish
thus parted with; and of injury to the men, by the use of spirits.
Fortunately the skipper of the Kitty--although not averse to the
use of spirits, on shore--was a strict man at sea, and saw that no
one took more than a single glass of grog, of an evening.

Over and over again, Will congratulated himself that he had the
good fortune to make his first voyage under such a skipper; for he
shuddered at the stories Jack told him, of the cruelties and
barbarities with which apprentices are treated on board some of the
smacks. Although, however, there is no doubt many brutal skippers
hail from Yarmouth; the fleet from that town bears a good
reputation, in comparison with that of Grimsby--where the number of
apprentices returned as drowned, each year, is appalling.

One night, when the wind was high and the fleet trawling lower down
the North Sea than usual, Will--who was on deck--was startled at
seeing a great ship bearing down upon the smack. He gave a shout of
terror and warning, which was joined in by the crew on deck. One
ran for the hatchet to cut the trawl, and thus give steerage way to
the smack.

It was too late. In another moment the great ship bore down upon
them with a crash, and the Kitty sunk beneath the waves. The
bowsprit of the vessel projected across the deck, just at the point
where William Gale was standing and, in a moment, he caught at the
bob stay and quickly hauled himself on to the bowsprit. Climbing
along this, he was soon on board.

Two or three sailors were leaning over the bows, peering into the
darkness. They had not seen the smack, until too late to avoid it;
and the collision, which had proved fatal to the Kitty, had
scarcely been felt by the ship. Will was at ones taken to the
captain, who spoke English. The boy implored him to turn back, but
the captain shook his head.

"It would be useless," he said; "the sea is heavy and, in these
long boots--" and he pointed to the sea boots, up to the thigh,
which all fishermen wear, "--no man could swim for two minutes; nor
would there be a chance, if they could, of our finding them on so
dark a night. I am very sorry, my lad, but it cannot be helped. It
would take half an hour to bring the ship about, and go back to the
spot where the smack sunk; and we might not get within half a mile
of it. You know that, as well as I do."

Will had been long enough at sea to recognize the truth of what the
captain said. As he was led forward, he burst into tears at the
thought of the loss of his kind friend the captain, and the rest of
his mates. The sailor who accompanied him patted him on the back,
and spoke cheeringly to him in a foreign language; and he was soon
between decks with the crew. Several of these could speak English,
and Will found that he was on board a Dutch merchantman, bound with
troops for Java.

The wind got up and, in the morning, it was blowing a heavy gale
from the east; and the vessel, with reefed topsails, was running
for the straits between Dover and Calais, at twelve knots an hour.
After breakfast, the captain sent for William.

"I am sorry, for your sake, that the state of the weather will
prevent our communicating with any ship we may meet. But I promise
you that, if the gale breaks before we are fairly out from the
channel, I will heave to and put you on board a homeward-bound
ship."

Such a chance did not occur. For four or five days the gale
continued with great severity and, before it ceased, the ship was
well down the coast of Spain, on her way south. When the captain
saw that there was but small chance of his being able to transship
his involuntary passenger, he said to him:

"Look you, my lad. I fear that you will have to make the voyage
with me, for we shall not touch at any port, until we arrive at our
destination. If you like, I will ship you as a hand on board, as
from the day of the collision. A hand, more or less, will make no
difference to the owners; and the money will be useful to you, when
you leave the ship. Of course, you can return in her, if you think
fit; but it is likely enough that, when we reach Java, we may be
sent up to China for a homeward cargo--in which case I will procure
you a passage in the first ship sailing for your home."

Will gladly accepted the offer. He was, however, by no means
penniless for, upon the morning after his coming on board, the
Dutch officers and passengers--hearing what had happened in the
night--made a collection among themselves, and presented the boy
with a purse containing fifteen pounds.

It was a long voyage, but not an unpleasant one for William. His
duties were not very heavy--he had far less to do than had been the
case, on board the smack. A month on board the Kitty had done much
towards making a sailor of him, for there are no better seamen in
the world than the Yarmouth smacksmen. Going aloft was, at first, a
trial; but he soon learned his duties and, being a strong and
active lad, he was quickly able to do efficient work; and speedily
gained the good opinion of the Dutch sailors, by his good temper
and anxiety to please.

They ran some little distance to the south of the Cape before
shaping an easterly course, to avoid the bad weather so frequently
met with there and, beyond encountering two or three gales, of no
exceptional severity, nothing occurred to break the monotony of the
voyage, until the coasts of Java were in sight. Upon their arrival
in port, they found no vessel there about to sail for Europe; and
the captain's expectation was fulfilled, as he found orders
awaiting him to proceed to China, when he had landed the troops and
discharged his cargo. Will determined to continue his voyage in her
to that place.

Among the ship boys on board was one between whom, and Will Gale, a
great friendship had been struck up. He was a year or two Will's
senior, but scarcely so tall; upon the other hand, he was nearly
twice his girth. He talked but little, but his broad face was ever
alight with a good-tempered grin. He spoke a few words of English;
and Will had, when first picked up, been given specially into his
charge. Will's superior activity and energy astonished the Dutch
lad, whose movements were slow and heavy; while Will, on his part,
was surprised at the strength which Hans could exert, when he
chose. One day, when Will had been plaguing him, and ventured
within his reach, the lad had seized and held him out at arm's
length, shaking him as a dog would a rat, till he shouted for
mercy.

The two were soon able to get on in a queer mixture of Dutch and
English and, when words failed, they would eke out their words by
gestures.

The vessel had sailed but a few days from Java when there were
signs of a change of weather. Hitherto it had been lovely; now a
slight mist seemed to hang over the sea while, overhead, it was
clear and bright. There was not a breath of wind, and the sails
hung listlessly against the masts. Will--who was leaning against
the bulwarks, chatting to Hans--observed the captain, after looking
round at the horizon, go into his cabin. He reappeared in a minute,
and spoke to the officer; who immediately shouted an order for "all
hands to shorten sail."

"What is that for?" Will said, wonderingly; "there is not a breath
of wind."

"I egzpect captain haz looked at glass," Hans said, "find him fall.
I egzpect we going to have ztorm--very bad ztorms in dese zeas."

Will ran aloft with the sailors and, in ten minutes, every inch of
canvas--with the exception of a small stay sail--was stripped from
the ship. Still, there was not a breath of wind. The sea was as
smooth as glass, save for a slight ground swell. Although the mist
did not seem to thicken, a strange darkness hung over the sky; as
if, high up, a thick fog had gathered. Darker and darker it grew,
until there was little more than a pale twilight. The men stood in
twos and threes, watching the sea and sky, and talking together in
low tones.

"I don't like this, Hans," Will said. "There is something awful
about it."

"We have big ztorm," Hans replied, "zyclone they call him."

Scarcely had Hans spoken when the sky above seemed to open, with a
crash. A roar of thunder, louder than ten thousand pieces of
artillery, pealed around them while, at the same moment, a blinding
flash of lightning struck the mainmast, shivering it into
splinters, and prostrating to the deck five seamen who were
standing round its foot. As if a signal had been given by the peal
of thunder, a tremendous blast of wind smote the vessel and,
stripped though she was of sails, heaved her over almost to the
gunwale.

For a moment, the crew were paralyzed by the suddenness of the
catastrophe; stunned by the terrible thunder, and blinded by the
lightning. None seemed capable of moving. Will had instinctively
covered his eyes with his hands. It seemed to him, for a moment,
that his sight was gone. Then the voice of the captain was heard,
shouting:

"Helm, hard up. Out axes, and cut away the wreck, at once!"

Those who were least stupefied by the shock sprang, in a dazed and
stupid way, to obey the order. Will drew out his knife and, feeling
rather than seeing what he was doing, tried to assist in cutting
away the shrouds of the fallen mast--it had gone a few feet above
the deck. Presently he seemed, as he worked, to recover from his
stupor; and the power of sight came back to him. Then he saw that
the vessel--taken on the broadside by the gale--was lying far over,
with several feet of her lee deck under water. So furious was the
wind that he could not show his head over the weather bulwark. The
sea was still smooth, as if the water was flattened by the force of
the wind. The stay sail had been blown into ribbons.

In order to get the ship's head off the wind, the head of the jib
was hauled up a few feet. It happened to be a new and strong one
and, although it bellied and lashed, as if it would tear itself
into fragments, it still stood. Again the captain gave an order,
and the sail was hauled up to its full height. Still further the
vessel heaved over; and Will expected, every moment, that she would
capsize. Then, gradually, her head paid off, and slowly she
righted, and flew before the gale.

"That was a near squeak," Will said.

"What is zqueak?" Hans shouted.

"I mean a close shave," Will replied.

Hans' blue eyes opened wider than usual.

"A zhave!" he repeated; "what are you talking about zhaving?"

"No, no," Will said, laughing, "I mean a narrow escape of being
capsized."

Hans nodded. There was no time for talk, for orders were given for
getting preventer stays on the foremast. The jib, having done its
work, had been hauled down the instant the ship payed off; and a
small storm sail set, in its place.

The men now had time to attend to those who had been struck by
lightning. Three of them were found to be dead, but the other
two--who were stunned and senseless--still lived, and were lifted
and carried below.

Serious as the disaster had been, Will felt that the stroke of
lightning had saved the ship. The pressure of the wind, upon two
masts and hull, had nearly sufficed to capsize her. Had the main
mast stood, he felt that she must have gone over.

The sea got up in a very few minutes but, being now only in light
ballast, the vessel rose easily over them. Four men were at the
helm, for the waves soon became so high that the ship yawed
dangerously on her course. The gale seemed to increase, rather than
diminish in fury; and the sea, instead of following in regular
waves, became a perfect chaos of tossing water, such as Will had
never before seen. He understood it, however, when--half an hour
after the outburst of the gale--he heard one of the men, who had
just been relieved at the wheel, say that in that time the ship had
already run twice round the compass. She was therefore in the very
center of the cyclone, and the strangely tossed sea was accounted
for.

The motion of the ship was extraordinary. Sometimes she was thrown
on one side, sometimes on the other. Mountains of water seemed to
rise suddenly beside her, and tumbled in great green masses over
the bulwarks. So wild and sudden were her movements that even the
oldest sailors were unable to keep their feet; and all clung on to
shrouds, or belaying pins. Will and Hans had lashed themselves by
the slack of a rope to the bulwarks, close to each other, and there
clung on; sometimes half drowned by the waves, which poured in
above them; sometimes torn from their feet by the rush of green
water, as the ship plunged, head foremost, into a wave, or shipped
one over her poop.

Presently there was a crash that sounded even above the fury of the
gale--the fore top-mast had gone, at the cap. The axes were again
called into requisition, for a blow from the floating spar would
have instantly stove in the side. While engaged upon this, the
captain called two of the men with axes aft. These were set to work
to chop through the shrouds of the mizzen and, in a minute later,
the mast snapped asunder on the level of the deck, and went over
the side with a crash, carrying away several feet of the bulwark.
This act was necessitated by the loss of the fore top-mast, as the
pressure of the wind upon the mizzen would have brought her head
up, and laid her broadside to the gale.

The motion of the vessel was now considerably easier, and there was
no longer any difficulty in keeping her dead before the wind. She
was now describing much larger circles in her course, showing that
she was farther removed from the center of the cyclone. After five
or six hours, the extreme violence of the wind somewhat abated, and
it seemed to settle down into a heavy gale.

For two days the vessel ran before it. She had made a good deal of
water, from the opening of the seams by straining, and the pumps
were kept going. They were, they found, able to prevent the water
from gaining upon them; and all felt that they should weather the
tempest, provided that they were not dashed upon any of the islands
in which this portion of the ocean abounds.

The crew had had no regular meals, since the gale began; for the
caboose had been broken up, and washed overboard, soon after the
commencement of the storm; and they had been obliged to be content
with biscuits. There was little to be done on deck and, the watch
over, they passed their time in their bunks.

In the afternoon of the third day of the tempest, the cry was
raised of "Breakers ahead!" Will, with his comrades of the watch
below, sprang from their berths and hurried on deck. Far ahead, as
the vessel lifted on the waves, could be seen a gleam of white
water.

In anticipation of such a danger, a small spar had been erected
upon the stump of the mizzen, and steadied with strong stays. Sail
was now hoisted upon this, and an effort was made to bring the
vessel's head to wind. Watching for a favorable moment between the
passage of the heavy seas, the helm was put down and, slowly, her
head came up into the wind. Under such sail, the captain had no
hope of being able to reach out, in the teeth of the gale; but he
hoped to be able to claw off the shore until clear of the land,
which lay to leeward of him.

That hope soon vanished. One of the mates was sent to the top of
the foremast, and descended with news that, as far as could be
seen, the line of breakers stretched away, both on her beam and
quarter. As the minutes went by the anxious crew could see, but too
clearly, that the ship was drifting down upon the land; and that
she must inevitably be wrecked upon it.

The outlines of the shore could now be seen--a forest of tossing
trees, behind which high land could be made out, through the
driving clouds. Orders were now given to prepare to anchor, but all
knew that the chances were slight, indeed. The water is for the
most part deep, close alongside the islands of the Eastern
Archipelago and, even were the holding ground good, hemp and iron
would hardly hold the vessel head to the gale, and tremendous sea.

When within a quarter of a mile of the breakers, the man with the
lead proclaimed a depth of ten fathoms. This was better than they
had expected. The jib was lowered, and her head brought dead to
wind. The captain shouted "cut," and, in an instant, the stoppers
were severed, and two heavy anchors dropt into the sea. One had a
heavy chain cable, the other hemp; and these were allowed to run
out to the bits. The vessel brought up with less shock than could
be expected. A wave or two passed under her, and still her cable
held.

A gleam of hope began to reign, when a mountainous sea was seen,
approaching. Higher and higher it rose and, just as it reached the
ship, it curled over and crashed down upon her deck. The cables
snapped like pack thread, and a cry of despair arose from the crew.
The captain was calm and collected, and shouted orders for the jib
to be again hoisted, and the helm put up; so as to run her, head
first, on to the shore.

As they neared the line of breakers, they could see heads of jagged
rocks rising among them while, beyond, a belt of smooth water--a
quarter of a mile wide--extended to the land. The ship's head was
directed towards a point where no rocks appeared above the surface.
Everyone held their breath and, clinging to the bulwarks, awaited
the shock.

The vessel lifted on a great wave, just as she came to the line of
broken water and, as she settled down, struck with a tremendous
crash. So great was the shock that she broke in two, amidships, as
if she had been made of paper; the portion aft going instantly to
pieces and, at once, the sea around was covered with fragments of
wreck, bales, boxes, and casks. Another great sea followed, filling
the now open ship, forcing up the deck, and sweeping everything
before it.

William Gale and Hans had gone as far forward as possible.

"Come out to the end of the bowsprit," Will said to Hans; and the
two lads crawled out together, and sat on the end of the spar.

The sea beneath them was white as milk, with the foam which poured
over the reef; but Will thought that they were beyond the rocks.
Every sea which struck the wreck added to the disaster; until a
larger one than usual struck it, and broke it into fragments. The
lads clung to the spar, as it fell. It sank deep in the water, but
they retained their hold until it came to the surface, and Will
looked round.

They were safely beyond the edge of the reef. The sea was still
rough and broken; but it was quiet, compared to that beyond the
reef. He saw that the fore mast was floating near and, to it,
several were clinging.

In a quarter of an hour the spar floated to land, the boys felt the
bottom with their feet, and soon scrambled ashore. A few minutes
later the fore mast also drifted up; and several men, clinging to
fragments of the wreck, were also cast ashore. In all eleven men,
including the first mate, were saved.



Chapter 5: The Castaways.


After waiting on the shore, until all hope that any more of their
shipmates survived was at an end, the party--by the mate's
orders--detached a sail from a yard that had drifted ashore, and
carried it well into the wood; where they were sheltered, to some
extent, from the force of the gale. A stout pole was then cut, and
lashed between two trees. The sail was thrown over this, and pegged
down at both sides. A fire was lit, with some difficulty. Then a
quantity of ferns and branches of trees were cut. These made a soft
and elastic bed, and the whole party slept heavily until the
morning.

Then they went back to the shore. It was littered thickly with
fragments of wreck, casks, boxes, and other articles. Here, too,
were nearly a score of the corpses of their shipmates. The first
duty was to dig a long shallow trench in the sand, beyond high
water mark; and in this the bodies of their drowned comrades were
laid.

The storm was now breaking. Glimpses of blue sky were visible
overhead, and the wind had greatly abated. The sea upon the reef
was, however, as high as ever. Setting to work, they hauled a large
number of boxes and bales beyond the reach of the waves. One of the
casks contained biscuits and, knocking in the head, they helped
themselves to its contents, and sat down to talk over their
position.

"I am not sure," the mate said, "that our poor comrades there--"
and he nodded towards the grave, "--have not the best of it. The
inhabitants of most of these islands are bloodthirsty pirates who,
if they find us, will either cut our throats at once, or keep us as
slaves. Our only hope is that we may not be discovered, until we
have time to build a boat in which to sail away to Singapore, or
back to Java.

"Had we been wrecked further south, things would have been more
hopeful; for the Papuans are friendly, and inoffensive people.
These islands here are inhabited by Malays, the most bloodthirsty
pirates in the world. However, we must hope that we may not be
found, before we have finished a boat.

"My chest is among those which have been washed up, and there are a
few tools in it. I always had a fancy for carpentry; and it's hard
if, in a fortnight, we cannot make some sort of craft which will
carry us. Indeed, if we content ourselves with a strong framework,
covered with canvas, we may be ready in four or five days."

The men set cheerfully to work, under his directions. In his chest
was a hatchet, saw, and chisels. With these, young trees of
flexible wood were cut down and split. A keel was laid, 25 feet in
length. Cross pieces, 12 feet long, were pegged to this by
trenails--nails formed of tough and hard wood. The cross pieces
were then bent upwards, and fastened to the strips which were to
form the gunwale. Strengthening pieces were placed along, at
distances of 7 or 8 inches apart, and firmly lashed. When the whole
was finished, after three days' labor, the framework of a boat 25
feet long, 3 feet deep, and 7 feet in beam stood upon the beach. A
barrel of oil had been thrown ashore and, with this, the mate
intended thoroughly to soak the canvas with which the frame was to
be covered. The boat would, he calculated, carry the whole of the
men, with an ample store of food and water for the voyage.

Upon the morning of the fourth day as, on their way to work, they
emerged from the wood upon the open beach, the mate gave a low cry,
and pointed along the shore. There, between the reef and the
island, was a large Malay prahu. The party instantly fell back
among the trees. The Malays were apparently cruising along the
reef, to see if the late storm had thrown up the wreckage--which
might be useful to them--and a loud shout proclaimed their
satisfaction, as they saw the shore strewn with the remains of the
Dutch ship. The prahu was rowed to the shore, and fifty or sixty
Malays sprang from the bows on to the sand.

Scarcely had they done so when a shout, from one of them, called
the attention of the others to the framework of the boat. There was
a minute's loud and excited chatter among them. Then they dashed
forward to the wood, the deep footsteps in the sand showing,
plainly enough, the direction from which the builders of the boat
had come and gone. The latter, as the Malay boat neared the shore,
had retired further into the wood but, from the screen of leaves,
they were able to see what was going on. As they saw the Malays
rush, in an excited and yelling throng, towards the wood, the
little party took to their heels.

"Scatter," the mate said. "Together, they are sure to overtake us;
singly, we may escape."

"Let us keep together, Hans," Will said, as they dashed along
through the wild jungle. Torn by thorns, often thrown down by
projecting roots and low creepers, they kept on; their pace at
times quickening, as shouts and screams told them that some of
their comrades had fallen into the hands of the Malays. Presently
they came upon the little stream which flowed into the sea, close
to where they had been cast ashore.

"Let us follow this up," Will said. "They can track us, through the
forest; but the water will set them off our scent."

For a quarter of a mile, they followed the course of the stream;
stopping breathlessly, many times, as they heard voices in the
wood, not far off. Presently Will pointed to a tree, rising from a
clump of bushes, close to the bank.

"Let us get through those bushes," he said. "Be careful, Hans, not
to break a twig, as you go. We can climb that tree. There are
plants, with stems like cords, winding round it. The top is so
thick and bushy that I don't think they can see us, there."

Very carefully they parted the bushes that overhung the stream, and
entered the thicket. Then they made their way, with great
difficulty, to the foot of the tree. It was a very large one, with
a trunk fully 15 feet in diameter, rising some forty feet without a
branch. Then a number of great arms grew out, at right angles.
These were covered thickly with parasitic vegetation. Round the
trunk, like a snake embracing its victim, a great climber had wound
itself. Its main stem was as thick as a man's arm, and there were
dozens of smaller, cord-like climbers. Thus, the lads had no
difficulty in climbing to the point where the branches grew out.
Above these was a mass of foliage, completely covered by the
climbers; whose drooping sprays, and clusters, gave the tree the
appearance of a solid mass of verdure. The boys continued to climb
until they were nearly at the top of the tree.

"There!" Will said, wiping away the perspiration which streamed
from his face, "if they do not track us through the bushes to the
very foot of this tree, I defy them to find us."

For some hours, the wood was alive with noises. The Malays were
evidently beating every foot of it, and were determined that none
of their victims should escape. Several times parties of men came
up the stream, searching the banks on both sides but, happily, even
their sharp eyes did not detect the spot where the boys had entered
the bushes and, gradually, the noises ceased and, at night, a great
glare by the seashore told the lads that their enemies had gathered
again there; and were continuing, by fire light, the work of
breaking open and examining the treasures which the sea had cast up
for them.

"What do you zay, Will? Zhall we get down and go furder into wood,
or zhall we wait here?"

"I think, anyhow, we had better wait till tomorrow night," Will
answered. "They may search again, tomorrow, and might come upon our
tracks. If they don't find us, they may suppose that they have
caught us all, or that we have escaped right into the interior. If
they find no traces of us they will, likely enough, set sail before
night."

There was no difficulty in finding a place in which they could
sleep; for the cord-like climbers from bough to bough formed
natural cradles, in which they lay as securely as if in a hammock,
on board a ship. In the morning they were woke, at daybreak, by the
cries of the many birds which throng the forests of the Eastern
Archipelago. No one approached them during the day, and they
doubted not that the Malays were all hard at work, on the shore.

That night there was no reflection of a fire on the beach. In the
morning they descended from their perches and made their way
carefully, and as noiselessly as possible, through the wood; to a
point upon the shore, a mile distant from the point where they
landed. Going to the edge of the trees, they were enabled to take a
view along the shore. It was deserted. The Malay prahu was gone.

Confident that none of their enemies would have remained behind,
they walked boldly along the shore to the spot where the Malays had
landed. Every box and barrel had been broken open, and the contents
carried away. Planks and beams had been split asunder, to obtain
the copper bolts and fastenings. The framework of the boat had been
destroyed, and every portion of canvas and rope carried away. The
lads sat down on the shore.

"What shall we do next, Hans?"

Hans shook his head.

"Perhaps some of the others may have got away, and may join us
here, today or tomorrow. If any are alive, they would be certain to
come back here, when they thought the Malays had left."

Hans grunted an assent.

"Anyhow, the first thing to do," Will went on, "is to gather up the
pieces of biscuits. They have wasted lots, in breaking open the
barrels, and I am famishing."

Hans rose with alacrity, and they soon were at work collecting
pieces of biscuits.

"Let us gather up all the pieces, carefully. There are a good lot,
altogether; and we may want them, badly, before we have done."

In half an hour they had collected about 30 pounds of biscuits and,
having gone to the stream and taken a drink, they made for the spot
where their tent had stood. As they expected, they found the canvas
was gone. They set to work with their knives and, cutting a number
of boughs, erected a shelter sufficient to shield them from the
night air.

All day they hoped, but in vain, that some of their comrades would
return, and listened eagerly to every sound in the forest; but no
call, or footstep, met their ears. They had no means of lighting a
fire, the first having been lit by the mate who--being a
smoker--had had a small tin box of matches in his pocket. This had
fitted closely, and kept out the water.

"What had we better do, if no one comes back?" Will said, as they
sat in their little hut.

"Build anoder boat," Hans answered.

"But how are we to do that, Hans? We might make the framework, but
we have no canvas to cover it with. Besides, even if we had, I have
no idea of the direction of Singapore, and I doubt if we could find
our way back to Java."

Hans had no further suggestion to offer.

"I suppose we could live in the forest for some time," Will said.
"I read a book called Robinson Crusoe, and a sailor there lived on
a desert island for years; but then he had a gun, and all sorts of
things. There are plenty of birds but, even if we could make bows
and arrows, I suppose we should be months before we could shoot
straight enough to hit them."

Several days passed. The lads found plenty of fruit; but the season
was advancing, and Will said one day to Hans:

"What on earth are we to do, when the fruit and biscuits are all
finished?"

Wandering in the woods, they found the bodies of the whole of their
companions. All were headless, the Malays having carried off these
coveted trophies. They did not attempt to bury the bodies for, in
such a climate, decomposition sets in rapidly, and swarms of
insects complete the work. In the grass near the hut they found one
treasure--the mate's ax--which had evidently fallen from his belt,
in his flight, and had been overlooked by the Malays.

"I tell you what, Hans," Will said, one day, "fruit is getting
scarcer and scarcer, and there are not more than five or six pounds
of biscuits left. I vote that we make through the forest into the
interior of the island. There must be some villages scattered
about. If we enter one boldly, they may not kill us. I don't know
whether they have any respect for the laws of hospitality, as some
savages have but, even if they did kill us, it's better than being
starved to death, here. It's a chance, anyhow.

"What do you say, Hans?"

"I don't zay noding," Hans answered. "I don't have no obinion, at
all. If you dink zat is ze best plan, let us do it."

So saying, Hans collected the biscuit, tied it up in his
handkerchief, and was ready to start at once.

"There is no hurry, Hans," Will said, laughing; "still, if we are
to make a start, we may as well go at once."

Turning their backs upon the sea, they struck into the wood. They
had never before gone farther than a mile from the shore. After an
hour's walking, they found that the character of the forest was
changing: the ground rose rapidly, the thick, tangled undergrowth
disappeared, and they were able to walk briskly forward, under the
shade of the large trees. The hill became steeper and steeper, as
they advanced; and Will knew that they were ascending the hill that
they had seen from the ship, when she was coming towards the shore.

Three hours after leaving the coast, they were upon its top. The
ground was rocky here and, in some places, bare of trees. Inland,
they saw hill rising behind hill, and knew that the island must be
a large one.

Illustration: Will and Hans in Search of a Shelter.

"Look, Hans, there is smoke curling up at the foot of that hill,
over there. Don't you see it? It is very faint, but it is certainly
smoke. There must be a house there and, most likely, a village.

"Come on, we shall get there before the sun sets. I don't think it
can be more than a mile and a half away."

Hans, as usual, assented and, in about half an hour, they arrived
at a Malay village. The aspect was curious, each hut being built in
a tree. At the point where the lower branches started, a platform
was made. The tree above this was cut down, and on the platform the
hut was erected--access being obtained to it by a ladder. Several
of the inhabitants were walking about. These, upon seeing the lads,
uttered cries of warning and, instantly flying to the ladders,
which were constructed of light bamboo, climbed to the huts and
raised the ladders after them. Then, at every door, men appeared
with bent bows and pointed arrows, threatening the invaders.

Will had cut a green bough, and this he waved as a token of peace;
while Hans threw up his hands, to show that he was unarmed. Then
they bowed several times, almost to the ground; held out their arms
with outstretched hands and, finally, sat down upon the ground.

The Malays apparently understood that their visitors came in peace.
They held a long conversation among themselves and, at last, the
ladder of one of the huts--which appeared larger and better
finished than the others--was lowered, and four men descended. One
of these carried a kriss in his hand. His bow was slung behind his
back. The others kept their bows bent in readiness for instant
action.

The chief was a tall and well-built man, of about forty years of
age. He, like his followers, was dressed only in a loincloth; he
had copper bracelets round his wrists. As he approached, the lads
rose and bowed deeply; then Will held out to him the ax and,
placing it in his hand, motioned to him that it was a present.

The chief looked pleased at the gift, placed his hands on Will's
shoulder and nodded, and performed the same gesture to Hans. Then
he led them towards his hut, and motioned to them to sit down at
the foot of the tree.

Curious faces were watching from every hut and, as soon as it was
seen that peace was established, the ladders were lowered and a
swarm of men, women, and children soon surrounded the visitors. At
the chief's order a woman approached them, bringing a dish of food.
This was composed, the boys found, principally of birds; cut up and
stewed, with some sort of vegetable. The dish was by no means bad
and, after living for nearly a fortnight upon biscuit and fruit,
they much enjoyed it.

Presently, women brought bundles of dried fern and spread them at
the foot of the tree and, soon after it was dark, the boys lay down
upon them. It was long, however, before they went to sleep; for the
din and chatter in the village continued, until far into the night.
The lads guessed that the reason and manner of their coming was
warmly debated; and judged by their reception that the prevailing
opinions were favorable, and that the visit from the two white men
was considered to be a fortunate omen.

The next day they were again amply supplied with food, and were
constantly surrounded by a little group of women and children, to
whom their white skins appeared a source of constant wonder. Their
movements were entirely unchecked, and they were evidently
considered in the light of guests rather than prisoners.

The next night the village retired to rest early. The boys sat
talking together, for a long time, and then lay down to sleep.
Presently, Will thought that he heard a noise and, looking up, saw
in the moonlight a number of savages, stealthily approaching. They
carried with them ladders; and intended, he had no doubt, to
surprise the sleeping villagers. They were already close at hand.

Will shook Hans--who had already gone off to sleep--and pointed out
to him the advancing foes. These were already in the village and,
separating, fixed a ladder against each of the huts. So far the
boys, who lay in the shadow of the hut, had not been noticed. The
Malays--who belonged to a hostile village--began to climb the
ladders; when the lads, grasping the heavy sticks which they always
carried, and springing to their feet with loud shouts, ran to the
ladders, before the Malays could recover from their astonishment at
the approach of the white-faced men, rushing upon them.

Half a dozen of the ladders were upset, the men who had mounted
them coming heavily to the ground. Some of these, as they rose, at
once took to their heels; others, drawing their krisses, rushed at
their assailants. But the lads were no longer alone. At the first
shout, the doors of the huts had opened; and the inhabitants rushed
out, with their arms. The remaining ladders were instantly
overthrown, and a shower of arrows poured upon their assailants.

Will and Hans knocked down the foremost of their assailants; and
the whole body, foiled in their attempted surprise, discomfited at
the appearance of the strange white-faced men, and exposed to the
arrows of the defenders, at once darted away--several of their
number having already fallen, under the shafts from above. With
exulting shouts, the warriors of the village poured down their
ladders from the huts, and took up the pursuit; and soon no one
remained in the village, save the white lads and the women and
children.

Towards morning the warriors returned, several of them bringing
with them gory heads, showing that their pursuit had not been in
vain. The village was now the scene of great rejoicings. Huge fires
were lighted, and a feast held in honor of the victory. The chief
solemnly placed the white men, one on each side of him, and made
them a speech; in which, by his bowing and placing his hand on
their heads, they judged he was thanking them for having preserved
their village from massacre. Indeed, it was clear, from the
respectful manner of all towards them, that they were regarded in
the light of genii, who had come specially to protect the village
from the assaults of its enemies.

After the feast was over the chief, after a consultation with the
rest, pointed to a tree close to that in which his own hut was
situated. The whole village set to work, ladders were fixed against
it; and the men, ascending, hacked away with krisses and stone
hatchets at the trunk. Hans--seeing their object--made signs to the
chief to lend him his ax and, ascending to the tree, set to work
with it; doing, in five minutes, more work than the whole of the
natives employed could have accomplished in an hour. After working
for some time, he handed the ax to one of the natives, who
continued the work. The tree was not a large one--the trunk, at
this point, being about 18 inches in diameter. Half an hour's work
sufficed to cut it through; and the upper part of the tree fell,
with a crash.

In the meantime the women had brought in, from the forest, a
quantity of bamboos and, with these, the men set to work and
speedily formed a platform. Upon this a hut was erected, the roof
and sides being covered with palm leaves laid closely together,
forming a roof impervious to rain. Two large bundles of fern, for
beds, were then taken up; and the chief, ascending, solemnly
invited the boys to come up and take possession.

A woman was told off to prepare food for them, and attend to their
wants and, by nightfall, the lads found themselves in a comfortable
abode of their own. Pulling up the ladder, after the manner of the
natives, they sat down to chat over their altered prospects. They
were now clearly regarded as adopted into the village community,
and need have no further fear as to their personal security, or
means of living.

"For the time we are safe," Will said; "but--as I don't want to
turn Malay, and live all my life with no other amusement than
keeping my own head on, and hunting for those of the enemies of the
village--we must think of making our escape, somehow; though at
present, I own I don't see how."



Chapter 6: The Attack On The Village.


A day or two later a Malay ran at full speed into the village, and
said a few words which caused a perfect hubbub of excitement. The
men shouted. The women screamed and, running up the ladders to
their tree abodes, began gathering together the various articles of
value, in their eyes. The chief came up to the boys and, by signs,
intimated that a large number of hostile natives, belonging to
several villages, were advancing to attack them; and that they must
fly into the interior.

This was very unwelcome news for the lads. Once removed farther
from the sea the tribe might, not improbably, take up their abode
there, as they would fear to return to the neighborhood of their
enemies. This would be fatal to any chance of the lads being taken
off by a passing ship. After a few words together, they determined
to oppose the movement. Will, in a loud voice and with threatening
gestures, intimated that he disapproved of the plan, and that he
and his companion would assist them in defending their village.

The Malays paused in their preparations. Their faith in their white
visitors was very great and, after a few minutes' talk among
themselves, they intimated to the boys that they would obey their
orders. Will at once signed to a few men to stand as guards round
the village, to warn them of the approaching enemy; and then set
the whole of the rest of the population to work cutting
sharp-pointed poles, boughs, and thorny bushes. With these a circle
was made around the trees upon which the village was built.
Fortunately the hostile Malays had halted in the forest, two or
three miles away, intending to make their attack by night and, as
the news of their coming had arrived at noon, the villagers had,
before they ceased work late in the evening, erected a formidable
hedge round the village.

Some of the women had been set to work manufacturing a number of
torches, similar to those used by them for lighting their
dwellings, but much larger. They were formed of the stringy bark of
a tree, dipped in the resinous juice obtained from another. Will
had one of these fastened to each of the trees nearest to the
hedge. They were fixed to the trunks on the outside, so that their
flame would throw a light on the whole circle beyond the hedge
while, within, all would be shadow and darkness.

It was very late before all preparations were completed. Will then
placed a few men as outposts, some hundred yards in the forest, in
the direction from which the enemy were likely to approach. They
were ordered to give the alarm, the moment they heard a noise; and
were then to run in and enter the circle by a small gap, which had
been left in the abbatis for the purpose. Many of the men then took
their posts, with their bows and arrows, in the trees near the
hedge. The others remained on the ground, ready to rush to any
point assailed.

For several hours no sound save the calls of the night birds, and
the occasional distant howls of beasts of prey, were heard in the
forest; and it was not until within an hour of morning--the hour
generally selected by Malays for an attack, as men sleep at that
time the heaviest--that a loud yell, at one of the outposts, told
that the enemy were close at hand.

Two or three minutes later the scouts ran in, and the gap through
which they had entered was at once filled up with bushes, which had
been piled close at hand for the purpose. Aware that their approach
was discovered, the enemy abandoned all further concealment; and
advanced with wild yells, intending to strike terror into the
defenders of the village. As they advanced the torches were all
lighted and, as the assailants came within their circle of light, a
shower of arrows from the Malays on the ground, and in the trees
above, was poured into them.

Yells and screams told that the volley had been a successful one
but, discharging their arrows in turn, the Malays, with demoniac
yells, rushed against the village. The advance, however, was
arrested suddenly when they arrived at the abbatis. From behind its
shelter, so deadly a rain of arrows was poured in that they soon
shrank back, and bounded away beyond the circle of light, while
taunting shouts rose from its defenders.

For a time they contented themselves by distant shouting; and then,
with a wild yell, charged forward again. Several dropped from the
fire of arrows, from those in the trees and behind the abbatis but,
discharging their arrows in return, the assailants kept on until
they again reached the impediment. Here they strove furiously to
break through--hacking with their krisses, and endeavoring to pull
up the stakes with their hands--but the defenders, in the shade
behind, sent their arrows so fast and thick that the assailants
again shrank back, and darted away to shelter.

Throughout the night there was no renewal of the attack and, in the
morning, not a foe was visible. Two or three scouts went out to
reconnoiter; but no sooner did they enter the forest than one of
them was shot down, and the rest sent flying back.

"I believe the scoundrels are going to try to starve us out," Will
said. "Let us speak to the chief, and ask how much provisions they
have got."

After much pantomime, Will succeeded in conveying his meaning to
the chief; and the latter at once ordered all the inhabitants to
produce their stock of food. This was unexpectedly large, and Will
thought that there was sufficient for a fortnight's consumption. He
now made signs of drinking, but the reply to this was disheartening
in the extreme. A few gourds full of water were brought forward,
and two or three of the close-woven baskets in which water is often
carried, in this country. There was, in fact, scarce enough to last
the defenders for a day. The stream from which the village drew its
supply of water was about a couple of hundred yards away;
consequently the villagers fetched up their water as they needed
it, and no one thought of keeping a store.

Will looked in dismay at the smallness of the supply.

"If they really intend to starve us out, Hans, we are done for. No
doubt they reckon on our water falling short. They would know that
it was not likely that there would be a supply here."

The natives were not slow to recognize the weak point of their
defense One or two of the men, taking water baskets, were about to
go to the stream; but Will made signs to the chief that they must
not do this. The only hope was that the enemies would draw off; but
if they saw that water was already short, they would be encouraged
to continue to beleaguer the place. Will was unable to explain his
reasons to the chief; but the latter, seeing how great was the
advantage that they had already gained, by following the counsel of
their white visitors in the matter of the hedge, acquiesced at once
in their wishes.

Will then ascended to one of the huts, and carefully reconnoitered
the whole ground. There was, he saw, at the end farthest from the
stream, a slight dip in the land extending into the forest.
Beckoning the chief to join him, he made signs that, at night, the
warriors should issue silently from the village at this point, and
make noiselessly through the wood. They would then take a wide
circuit, till they came upon the stream; and would then, working up
it, fall upon the enemy in the rear.

The chief was dubious; but Will made an imperative gesture and the
chief, in a humble manner, agreed to do as he was ordered. The day
passed slowly and, before nightfall, the supply of water was
entirely finished. Once or twice scouts had gone out, to see if the
enemy were still round the village; but returned, each time, with
the news that they were there.

The last time, just before nightfall, Will directed two or three of
them to take water buckets, and to go in the direction of the
stream; signing to them, however, to return the moment they saw
signs of the enemy. They were soon back and, as Will had expected,
the sight of the water buckets showed the enemy that the garrison
of the village were badly supplied, in that respect; and taunting
shouts arose from the woods, asking them why they did not go down
to drink.

Will felt certain that the Malays would now draw the greater part
of their number down to the side of the stream; and that there
would therefore be the more chance of the garrison making their way
out, at the other end of the village. Three hours after it was
dark, the chief mustered all his men. They were about five-and-forty,
in all. Will signed that each should take with him a water basket or
large gourd so that, in case they failed in defeating the enemy, and
breaking up the blockade, they might at least be able to bring a
supply of water into the village. Will then, with much difficulty,
explained to the chief that the old men, boys, and women remaining in
the village were, the moment they heard the sound of the attack upon
the enemy's rear, to shout and yell their loudest, and to shoot
arrows in the direction of the enemy.

A few sticks had already been pulled up at the point of the hedge
through which Will intended to make a sally, and the band now
passed noiselessly out. The chief himself led the way, the white
boys following behind him. Lying upon their stomachs, they crawled
noiselessly along down the little depression and, in ten minutes,
were well in the wood; without having met with an enemy, although
they had several times heard voices among the trees, near them.

They now rose to their feet and, making a wide detour, came down,
after a quarter of an hour's walk, upon the stream. Here the gourds
and baskets were filled; and then, keeping along by the waterside,
they continued their march. Presently they saw a number of fires,
round which many Malays were sitting. They crept noiselessly up
until within a few yards and then, with a yell, burst upon the
enemy. Numbers were cut down at once; and the rest, appalled by
this attack on their rear, and supposing that the inhabitants of
some other village must have arrived to the assistance of those
they were besieging, at once fled in all directions. Those
remaining in the village had seconded the attack by wild shouts, so
loud and continuous that their besiegers had no reason to suppose
that their number had been weakened.

For a few minutes the pursuit was kept up; then the chief recalled
his followers, with a shout. The water baskets--many of which had
been thrown down in the attack--were refilled, and the party made
their way up to the village, where they were received with shouts
of triumph.

The panic of the Malays had been, in no slight degree, caused by
the appearance of the two boys; who had purposely stripped to the
waist, and had shouted at the top of their voices as, waving the
krisses which they had borrowed, they fell upon the foe. The idea
that white devils were leagued with the enemies against them had
excited the superstitious fear of the Malays to the utmost; and
when, in the morning, scouts again sallied from the village, they
found that the enemy had entirely gone--the fact that they had not
even returned to carry off the effects which had been abandoned, in
the first panic, showing that they had continued their flight,
without stopping, to their distant villages.

The chief, like an able politician, took advantage of the
impression which his white visitors had created and, the same day,
sent off messengers to the villages which had combined in the
attack against them, saying that the white men--his guests--were
very angry; and that, unless peace was made, and a solemn promise
given that there should be no renewal of the late attempts, they
were going to lay a dreadful spell upon the villages. Women and
children would be seized by disease, and the right arms of the
warriors wither up.

This terrible threat carried consternation into the Malay villages.
The women burst into prolonged wailings, and the bravest of the men
trembled. The messenger said that the white men had consented to
abstain from using their magical powers until the following day;
and that the only chance to propitiate them was for deputations
from the villages to come in, early the next morning, with promises
of peace and offerings for the offended white men.

It was not for some time afterwards that the lads learned enough of
the language to understand what had been done; but they guessed,
from the exultation of the chief, and the signs which he made that
their late enemies would shortly come in, in an attitude of
humiliation, that he had in some way succeeded in establishing a
scare among them.

On the following morning deputations--consisting of six warriors, and
women bearing trays with fruit, birds, and other offerings--arrived at
the village. The men were unarmed. At their approach, the chief made
signs to the boys to take a seat at the foot of the principal tree; and
then, accompanied by his leading warriors, led the deputation--with much
ceremony--before them. The women placed their trays at their feet, and the
men addressed them in long speeches, and with many signs of submission.

The boys played their part well. As soon as they saw what was
required of them they signified, with an air of much dignity, that
they accepted the offerings; and then went through the ceremony of
shaking hands, solemnly, with each of the warriors. Then they made
a speech in which, with much gesticulation, they signified to the
visitors that a terrible fate would befall them, should they again
venture to meddle with the village.

Much awed and impressed, the Malays withdrew. The boys made a
selection, from the baskets of fruit, for their own eating; and
then signified, to the chief, that he should divide the rest among
the inhabitants of the village. When this was done, the boys
ascended to their tree and passed the day there quietly; the
villagers indulging in feasting, singing, and rejoicing over their
victory.

"The worst of all this is," Will said to Hans, "that the more they
reverence us, and the more useful they find us, the more anxious
they will be to keep us always with them. However, there is one
comfort: we are safe, as long as we choose to remain here; and that
is more than we could have hoped for, when we first landed from the
wreck. It is curious that the Malays, who have no hesitation in
attacking English ships, and murdering their crews, have yet a sort
of superstitious dread of us. But I suppose it is something the
same way as it was in England, in the days of the persecution of
old women as witches: they believed that, if left to themselves,
they could cast deadly spells, and yet they had no hesitation in
putting them to death. I suppose that it is something of the same
feeling, here."



Chapter 7: The Fight With The Prahus.


Very frequently, in the days that followed, William Gale and his
friend Hans talked over the possibility of effecting an escape; but
the difficulties appeared almost invincible. The various villages
which, so far as the boys could understand, were scattered at some
distance apart, had little dealings with each other; and indeed,
were frequently engaged in feuds. The particular people with whom
they lived had nothing whatever to do with the sea. They used--at
least so the boys understood, by their signs--to fish, at one time;
but they had been robbed of their boats, and maltreated, by some of
the cruising tribes who lived in villages on the coast, or on
creeks and rivers.

The possibility of escape seemed small, indeed. To escape they must
get on board a ship and, to do this, they must first go out to sea;
and this could only be done in a boat of their own, or in one of
the piratical prahus. The latter course could not be thought of,
for the coast pirates were bloodthirsty in the extreme and, even
could they change their residence to one of the seaside villages,
and gain the friendship of the inhabitants, they would be no nearer
to their end. For as these go out to attack, and not to trade with
European ships, there would be no chance of escaping in that way.

Upon the other hand, they might build a boat of their own; but they
considered it improbable that the Malays would allow them to
depart, for they evidently regarded their presence as a prodigy;
and revered them as having miraculously arrived, at the moment when
a great danger threatened the village. But, even should they be
allowed to build a boat and depart, they knew not whither to go.
They knew nothing of navigation, and were ignorant of the geography
of the Archipelago; and the chances of their striking upon the one
or two spots, where, alone they could land with safety, were so
small that it would be madness to undertake the voyage.

For six months they lived quietly in the Malay village. The people
instructed them in the use of their blowguns, in which they are
wonderfully skilful; being able to bring down a bird, sitting on a
lofty bough of a tree, with almost an unerring accuracy. They also
taught them to shoot with the bow and arrow, and they found that
the natives used the roots of various kinds of plants for food. The
time did not pass unpleasantly and, had they known that it would
last but a few months, only, they would have enjoyed it much.

At last, after much deliberation, they determined that they
would--as a first step towards escape--construct a little boat,
under pretense of wanting to fish. Accordingly one day, when out
with the chief and two or three of his men in the direction of the
sea, they pointed there, and signified that they wished to go
there--for they had picked up a good many Malay words. The chief
shook his head, but they insisted in so authoritative a manner that
he gave way, and followed them.

When they reached the shore, they made signs that they wanted to
construct a boat. Again the chief shook his head vehemently; and
enforced his meaning by pointing along shore, and going through the
action first of rowing, then of fighting--intimating that they
would certainly be killed, if they ventured out, by the fierce
coast tribes. The boys nodded, to show that they understood what he
wished to say but, pointing to the water a few yards from shore,
went through the action of fishing; then, burdening themselves with
imaginary fish, they pointed to the village, and showed that they
would supply it with food.

The Malays talked for some time among themselves. They had so vast
a respect for the white men that they did not like to thwart their
wishes. The thought, too, of a supply of fish--of which they had
been long deprived owing to their feuds with some of the coast
villages--also operated strongly in favor of their yielding an
assent and, at last, the chief made signs that he agreed and,
pointing to the village, intimated that assistance should be given
in building a boat.

The next day, accordingly, ten or twelve men came down to the shore
with them. A tree was felled, the ends were pointed, and the whole
formed roughly into the shape of a canoe. Fires were lighted on the
top and, by dint of flame and ax, a hollow was dug out. The
operation lasted three days, the men having brought provisions with
them, so as to avoid making the journey--two and a half hours
long--to and from the village each day. The boat, when finished,
was but a rough construction; and would have excited the mockery of
any of the coast villagers, as they are expert boat builders.
Still, it was amply sufficient for the purpose for which it was
intended--namely, for fishing inside the line of reefs.

It was heavy, and paddled slowly; and the lads had a strong
suspicion that the Malays had purposely made it more clumsy and
unseaworthy than need be, in order that they should have no
temptation to attempt a distant journey in it.

There was no difficulty about lines, the Malays being skilled in
making string and ropes from the fibers of trees. The hooks were
more difficult but, upon searching very carefully along the shore,
the lads found some fragments of one of the ship boats; and in
these were several copper nails which, hammered and bent, would
serve their purpose well. The lines were ready on the day the canoe
was finished and, as soon as she was launched, the chief and one of
the other Malays, and the boys, took their seats in her.

The natives paddled her out nearly to the edge of the reef. Four
lines, baited with pieces of raw birds' flesh, were thrown
overboard. A few minutes passed--rather anxiously for the lads, who
were most desirous that the fishing should be successful, so as to
afford them an excuse for frequently pursuing it. Then there was a
bite; and Hans, who held the line, found that it taxed his strength
to haul in the fish which tugged and strained upon it. When it was
got into the boat, it proved to be some fourteen pounds in weight.
By this time two of the other baits had been taken and, in less
than an hour, they had caught upwards of thirty fish, most of them
of considerable size.

The natives were delighted and, paddling to shore, the burden was
distributed among the whole party, with the exception of the chief
and the two whites. Before starting, a young tree was cut down and
chopped into lengths of a few feet each; and on these rollers the
canoe was hauled high up the beach. Then the party set out for the
village; where their arrival, with so large a supply of food,
occasioned great rejoicing.

After this, the boys went down regularly, every day, to fish. At
first three or four of the natives always accompanied them, under
pretense of carrying back the fish; but really, as they thought, to
keep a watch over them. To lessen their hosts' suspicions,
sometimes one or other stayed in the village. As time went on, the
suspicion of the Malays abated. The number of the guard was
lessened and, finally, as the men disliked so long a tramp, some of
the boys were told off to accompany the white men, and assist in
bringing back their fish. They were in the habit of starting soon
after daybreak, and of not returning till late in the evening;
accounting for their long absence by pointing to the sun.

The fishing was always performed immediately they reached the
coast. When they had caught as many as they and the boys could
carry, these were placed in a large covered basket; which was sunk
in the water close to the shore, to keep the fish in good condition
until they started. Then they would paddle about within the reef
or, during the extreme heat of the day, lie in the boat, shaded by
bunches of palm leaves. The Malay boys--who were set on shore after
the fishing--were left alone; and amused themselves by bathing, or
passed the time asleep under the trees.

After the first day or two, it had struck the boys that it was
dangerous to leave the canoe high on the sand; as it would be
observed, even at a distance, by a passing prahu. Consequently a
deep trench had been dug from the sea, far enough up to allow the
canoe, when floating in it, to lie below the level of the beach.
Before leaving her she was, each day, roughly covered with seaweed;
and might, therefore, escape observation by any craft passing at a
short distance from the shore.

In their expeditions along the reef, the boys discovered a passage
through it. It was of about double the width of a ship, and of
amply sufficient depth to allow a vessel of any size to cross. At
all other points, for a distance of a mile or two either way--which
was the extent of their excursions--the reef came very near to the
surface; its jagged points, for the most part, showing above it.

Several months passed, and still no sail which promised a hope of
deliverance had shown over the surface of the sea. Scarce a day
passed without their seeing the Malay prahus passing up and down
the coast; but these always kept some distance out, and caused no
uneasiness to the fishermen. They had, during this time, completed
the hollowing out of the boat; until her sides were extremely thin,
and she was so light that she could be paddled at a high rate of
speed.

They were both now expert with the paddle; and felt that if, in a
light wind, a vessel should be seen off the coast, they would be
enabled to row out and reach her. It might be, they knew, months or
even years before such a ship could be seen. Still, as there were
many vessels trading among the islands, at any moment an occurrence
might arise.

One afternoon, they had been dozing under their leafy shade when
Will, who first awoke, sat up and uttered a cry. Almost abreast of
them, and but a quarter of a mile outside the reef, was a large
brig. The wind was light and, with every stitch of canvas set, she
was making but slow progress through the water. Hans leaped up,
echoed the cry and, seizing their paddles, they rowed with all
their strength away to the opening through the reef; passed
through, and headed for the ship.

They now saw what they had not, at first, observed. At a distance
of some three miles astern were five large prahus, with their sails
set, and the banks of oars rising and falling rapidly. The brig was
chased by the pirates.

The boys rested on their paddles, for a moment.

"They are more than a match for her, I am afraid," Will said. "What
do you say, Hans, shall we go on, or not?"

Hans made no reply. He was never quick at coming to a decision.

"We had better go," Will went on. "We can see whether they mean to
fight, or not."

The boys were naked to the waist--for the thorns of the forest had
long since torn in pieces the shirts which they had on, when they
landed from the wreck--and their skins were bronzed to a deep
copper color Still, they differed in hue from the natives of the
island; and the men on board the brig regarded them with some
surprise, as they approached it.

"Throw us a rope!" Will shouted as they neared her.

There was a cry of surprise from the crew, at being addressed in
English; but a rope was thrown, and the boys soon sprang on board.
They saw, at once, that the ship was an English one.

"Hallo! Where do you spring from?" asked the captain.

"We were shipwrecked here, ten months ago," Will said, "and have
been living with the natives."

"At any other time, I should have been glad to see you," the
captain said; "but just at present, if you will take my advice, you
will get into your canoe and row on shore again.

"As you see," and he pointed to the prahus, "we are chased and,
although I mean to fight to the last--for there is no mercy to be
expected from these bloodthirsty scoundrels--I fear the chances are
small."

Will looked round and saw that the six cannons which the brig
carried--for vessels trading in the Eastern Archipelago are always
armed--had already been loosened ready for action; and that a group
of men were at work mounting a long gun, which had just been raised
from the hold. Knowing the number of men that the prahus carried,
Will felt that the chance of a successful resistance was slight.

There were about eighteen men on deck--a number larger than the
brig would carry in other seas, but necessary in so dangerous a
trading ground as this. The prahus, however, would each carry from
eighty to one hundred men; and these, attacking at once from
opposite sides, would be likely to bear down all opposition.

Suddenly an idea occurred to him.

"Look, sir, there is a passage through the reef, there; with plenty
of water and width enough for your ship. I can take her through.
There is no other passage, for some distance. If you take her
inside, and lay her across the channel, the prahus can only attack
on one side; and you can place all your guns and strength there."

The captain at once saw the advantage of this scheme.

"Capital!" he exclaimed. "Take the helm at once, my lad.

"Ease off the sheets, men."

They were now nearly opposite the entrance, and the light wind was
blowing towards the shore. The captain ordered all hands to reduce
sail, only keeping on enough to give the vessel steerage way. Two
boats were lowered, and an anchor and cable passed into each and,
as the brig passed through the opening, the rest of the sail was
lowered.

The boats rowed to the reef, one on either side. The anchors were
firmly fixed into the rock and, one being taken from the head and
the other from the stern, the crews set to work at the capstan, and
speedily had the vessel safely moored, broadside on, across the
entrance to the reef.

The Malay boats were now about a mile astern. They had ceased
rowing, when they saw the vessel headed for the land, supposing
that the captain was about to run on shore. When, to their
astonishment, they saw her pass the reef with safety, they again
set to at their work.

The guns were now all brought over to the side facing the entrance,
and were loaded to the muzzle with bullets. A number of shots,
belonging to the long gun, were placed by the bulwarks; in
readiness to hurl down into the prahus, should they get alongside.
The sailors--though determined to fight till the last--had, when
the boys came on board, been making their preparations with the
silence of despair. They were now in high spirits, for they felt
that they could beat off any attempt of the enemy to attack them.

When the Malays were abreast of the ship, they ceased rowing and
drew close together, and evidently held a consultation.

The brig at once opened fire with her long gun, and the first shot
hulled one of the prahus, close to the water's edge.

"That's right, Tom," the captain said, "stick to the same craft. If
you can sink her, there is one the less."

Several more shots were fired, with such effect that the Malays
were observed jumping overboard in great numbers, and swimming
towards the other boats--their own being in a sinking condition.
The other four prahus at once turned their heads towards shore, and
rowed with full speed towards the ship.

They knew that the entrance, of whose existence they had been
previously unaware, was an exceedingly narrow one and, as they
neared the shore, could see--by the line of breaking surf--that it
could, at most, be wide enough for one to pass at a time,
Accordingly one drew ahead and, discharging the cannon which it
carried in its bow, rowed at full speed for the entrance; another
following so close behind that its bow almost touched the stern.

"Train the guns to bear on the center of the channel," the captain
said. "Let the three bow guns take the first boat, the other three
the second.

"Do you, Tom, work away at the two behind."

The prahus came along at a great rate, the sweeps churning up the
water into foam. The leading boat dashed through the channel, the
sweeps grating on the rocks on either side. Her bow was but two
yards distant from the side of the ship when the captain gave the
word. The three cannon poured their contents into her, sweeping her
crowded decks and tearing out her bottom. Great as was her speed,
she sank below the water, just as her bow touched the side of the
ship.

Ten seconds later the command was again given; and a broadside, as
destructive, was poured into the second boat. The damage done was
somewhat less, and her bow reached the side of the ship. A dozen
Malays sprang on board, as their boat sank under their feet; but
the sailors were ready and, with musket, pistol, and cutlass fell
upon them, and either cut down or drove them overboard. The sea
around was covered with swimmers, but the ship was too high out of
the water for them to attempt to board her; and the Malays at once
struck out for the shore, the sailors keeping up the musketry fire
upon them, until out of range.

The other two boats had not followed. The mate had plumped a shot
from the long gun full into the bow of the first and--seeing the
destruction which had fallen upon their leaders--both turned their
heads and made for sea; the mate continuing his fire until they
were out of range, one shot carrying away the greater part of the
oars, on one side of the boat previously struck. When at a distance
of upwards of a mile they ceased rowing and, for some time, lay
close together. The men of the injured boat were observed to be
stopping the yawning hole in her bows, a few inches above the water
level; the other started off, at full speed, up the coast.

It was now evening, and there was scarcely a breath of wind. The
men crowded round the lads, and thanked them warmly for having been
the means of saving them from destruction.

"I am afraid you are not out of danger, yet," Will said, as the
captain shook him by the hand. "No doubt that boat has gone off
with the news and, before morning, you will have half a dozen fresh
enemies coming down, inside the reef, to attack you."

"If we had but a breath of wind, we might do," the captain said.

"I fear you will have none before morning; then it generally blows
fresh, for two or three hours. I don't know how far it is to the
village which is the headquarters of the pirates. As far as I could
make out, from the Malays with whom we have been living, it is
about six hours' walking; but the boats will row twice as fast as a
man would walk through the forest. In that case you may be attacked
at two or three o'clock in the morning, and you won't get the
breeze till after sunrise."

"Are there any other channels through the reef?" the captain asked.

"I do not know," Will replied. "We have never explored it very far,
either way; but as I should think, from the action of the Malays,
that they did not know of this, they might not know of any other,
did it exist."

"Then," the captain said, "I will warp the brig out through the
channel again; and anchor her, stem and stern, across it outside.
They will find it as hard to attack us, there, as they did before.
Then, when the breeze comes, we will slip our cable and run for it.
She is a fast sailer; and can, I think, get away from the pirates,
even with their sails and oars. Besides, by shifting the long gun
and two of the others to her stern, we can give it them so hot
that, even if they are the fastest, we may sicken them."

"I do not know, sir," Will said. "They would be likely to hang
about you, until the breeze drops; and then to attack you on all
sides at once. If we could but keep them from coming through the
channel, in pursuit, we should be safe."

"Ah! But how on earth are we to do that?" the captain asked.

William Gale was silent for a minute or two.

"Have you plenty of powder on board the ship, sir?"

"Plenty--we use it for barter."

"It seems to me--" Will went on, "--that if, before sailing, you
could sink a couple of barrels of powder in the channel, with a
fuse to explode them, a few minutes after we had left; the Malays
would be so astonished, at the explosion, that they would not
venture to pass through."

"Your idea is a capital one," the captain said, warmly; "but how
about a fuse which would burn under water?

"What do you think, Tom? Could it be managed?"

"I should think so, sir," the mate answered. "Suppose we take one
of those empty 30-gallon beer casks, and fill that up with
powder--it will hold ten or twelve of the little barrels--and then
we might bung it up, and make a hole in its head. Over the hole we
might fix a wine bottle, with the bottom knocked out; and so
fastened, with tow and oakum, that the water won't get in. Then we
might shove down through the mouth of the bottle, and through the
hole below it into the powder, a long strip of paper dipped in
saltpetre, to make touch paper of it. I don't know as a regular
fuse would do, as it might go out for want of air; but there would
be plenty to keep touch paper alight.

"We could sling three or four 18-pounder shots under the bottom of
the cask, to make it sink upright. Just before we slip our cables,
we might lower it down with the boats; lighting the fuse the last
thing, and sticking in the cork. If we don't put too much
saltpetre, it might burn for some minutes before it reached the
powder."

"It's worth trying, at any rate," the captain said; "but I fear it
would not burn long enough. I think that, instead of a bottle, we
might jam a piece of iron tube--six or eight feet long--into the
head of the cask, and cut a bung to fit it. In that way we could
get a good length of fuse."

This plan was carried out. A large cask was filled with powder; and
an iron tube, three inches in diameter and six feet long, fitted
into it, and made water tight. A long strip of paper, after being
dipped in water in which gunpowder had been dissolved; was then
dried, rolled tight, and lowered down the tube, until it touched
the powder. A bung was cut to fit the top of the tube; a piece of
wash-leather being placed over it, to ensure its being perfectly
water tight. The top of the fuse was then cut level with the pipe.
Several bits of iron were lashed to the lower end of the cask, to
make it sink upright; and the cask was steadily lowered into a boat
lying alongside the ship, in readiness for use.

The sailors entered into the preparations with the glee of
schoolboys; but the machine was not ready until long after the ship
had been towed out again through the channel, and moored broadside
to it, just outside.



Chapter 8: The Torpedo.


It was about two o'clock in the morning when the watch awoke the
crew, with the news that they could hear the distant sound of oars
coming along the shore. All took their places, in silence. After a
time the rowing ceased, and all was quiet again. Half an hour
passed, and then there was a slight sound close alongside and, in
the channel, they could dimly make out a small boat--which was
rapidly rowed away into the darkness again, several musket shots
being fired after it.

"They have sent on ahead, to find if we were lying in the same
berth," the captain said. "I expect they will be puzzled when they
hear that we are outside, and that the entrance is guarded. I
should not be surprised if they did not attack before morning. They
had such a lesson, yesterday, that I don't think they will try to
force the channel in our teeth again; but will play the waiting
game, sure that they will secure us, sooner or later."

So it turned out. The hours passed slowly on, but no sound was
heard. Then, in the dim morning light, a pirate fleet of eight
prahus was seen, lying at a distance of half a mile within the
reef.

As the day broke, the breeze sprang up, the sails were hoisted, and
the captain prepared to slip his cables. A similar preparation
could, through the glasses, be observed on board the Malay fleet.

"That will do very well," the captain said. "Those fellows will be
along in about eight or ten minutes after we have started; and the
fuse, according to the experiments we made as to its rate of
burning, will last about seven.

"Now, quick, lads, into the boat.

"Tom, you take charge of the sinking."

In another minute the boat was rowed to the channel, and the cask
lowered over the side. It was held there, for a minute, while the
mate struck a light and applied it to the touch paper. Then he
pressed the bung firmly into the top of the tube, the lashings of
the cask were cut, and the boat rowed back to the ship. The anchors
were already on board, and the brig was getting way on her as the
boat rowed alongside. The men jumped on board, and the boat was
suffered to tow behind, while all hands set the whole of the sails.
The vessel was soon running briskly before the land breeze.

The pirate fleet was instantly in motion. Every eye in the ship was
directed towards them.

"They will be there in less than ten minutes from the moment I
lowered the cask," the mate said, looking at his watch.

"Not much," the captain said, "they are rowing fast, now; but the
trees keep off the wind, and their sails do not help them. They
were a minute or two behind us in starting."

It was just eight minutes, from the time when the cask had been
lowered, that the first of the Malay boats rowed out through the
channel.

"I hope nothing has gone wrong," the mate growled.

"I am not afraid of that; though we may be wrong, a minute or two,
as to the length of the fuse."

Another boat followed the first. The third was in mid channel when,
suddenly, she seemed to rise bodily in the air, and then to fall
into pieces. A mighty column of water, a hundred feet high, rose
into the air; mingled with fragments of wood, and human bodies. A
deep, low report was heard; and the brig shook, as if she had come
into collision with some floating body.

Although they were nearly a mile away, the yell of astonishment,
and fright, of the Malays reached the ship. The prahus still inside
the reef were seen to turn round, and row away along the coast at
the top of their speed; while those which had passed the channel,
after rowing wildly for some distance, lay on their oars--the crews
apparently stupefied at what had taken place. The craft which had
been injured the day before still lay seaward, on watch; but now
turned her head, and rowed towards the shore to join her consorts.

The Sea Belle left the coast. The Malays attempted no pursuit but,
so long as they could be seen, remained inactive near the scene of
the sudden and--to them--inexplicable catastrophe which had
befallen their consort.

Once fairly freed from all fear of pursuit, the captain invited the
two lads into his cabin; and there heard from them an account of
all the adventures through which they had passed. When they had
finished, he questioned them as to their plans.

Hans said that he intended to take the first ship bound for
Holland.

"And you?" he asked Will.

"I have no particular plan," Will said. "I am in no hurry to return
to England, having no relatives there. After being so long
absent--for it is now a year since I sailed from Yarmouth--I should
not care to return and take up my apprenticeship as a fisherman."

"Will you ship regularly on board the Sea Belle?" the captain
asked.

"Thank you, sir, I think I would rather not decide upon anything
until we get to Calcutta. I have thirty pounds in money--fifteen
pounds of which were given me on board the Dutch ship, and the rest
I received as wages for the voyage from England to Java. I carried
the money in a belt round my waist, and have kept it ever since. So
I need not be in any great hurry to settle upon what I shall do;
but certainly, after a regular sea life, I should not like to go
back to being a fisherman. I am now past sixteen and, in another
three years, shall be able to earn more wages.

"I should have taken you for at least two years older," the captain
said; "you are as big and strong as many lads of eighteen."

"I have done a good lot of hard work, in the last two years," Will
said; "for on board the Dutch ship--although, of course, I was only
rated as a boy--I used to do man's work, aloft."

Other people would have been deceived, as well as the captain. Hard
work and exposure to the air had done much to age the boy. He had
been tall and slight for his age when he left the workhouse and,
while he had not ceased growing in height, he had widened out
considerably and, had he asserted himself to be eighteen years of
age, few would have questioned the statement.

The Sea Belle for some time kept south, touching at some of the
islands where a trade was done with the Papuans; then her head was
turned north and, after an eventful voyage, she reached Calcutta,
where the captain had been ordered to fill up with cotton, or
grain, for England. The captain at once landed, and proceeded to
the office of the agent of the firm who owned the Sea Belle. He was
shown into that gentleman's private room where, at the time, two
gentlemen were seated, chatting. The agent was personally
acquainted with the captain, and asked him to sit down and smoke a
cigar.

"This is Captain Mayhew, of the Sea Belle," he said to his friends.
"He has been trading, for the last three months, down among the
islands.

"These gentlemen, Captain Mayhew, are Major Harrison and Captain
Edwards, who have just arrived from China, with their regiment, in
the Euphrates.

"Has your voyage been a pleasant one, captain?"

"Pleasant enough, sir, on the whole; but we were attacked by the
Malay pirates, and I should certainly not be here to tell the tale,
at present, had it not been for the quickness and shrewdness of a
lad, who had been shipwrecked on the coast."

"How is that, Mayhew? Tell us all about it."

Captain Mayhew related the whole story of the fight with the
pirates; saying that, unquestionably, had it not been for Will's
pointing out the passage through the reef, in the first place, and
his idea of burying a submarine mine, in the second, the Sea Belle
would have fallen into the hands of the pirates.

"But where did the boy spring from? How on earth came he to be
there?"

Captain Mayhew then related the story of William Gale's adventures,
as he had them from his own lips.

"He must be a cool and plucky young fellow, indeed," Major Harrison
exclaimed. "I should like to see him.

"What style and type is he, captain? A rough sort of chap?"

"By no means," the captain answered. "He is surprisingly well
mannered. Had I met him elsewhere, and in gentleman's clothes, I do
not think that I should have suspected that he was not what he
appeared. His features, too, somehow or other, strike one as being
those of a gentleman; which is all the more singular when, as a
fact, he told me he had been brought up in a workhouse.

"In a workhouse!" Major Harrison repeated. "Then I suppose his
parents were farm laborers."

"No," the captain answered; "he was left at the door, on a stormy
night, by a tramp who was found drowned, next morning, in a ditch
near. He had, when found, a gold trinket of some kind round his
neck; and he tells me that, from that and other circumstances, it
was generally supposed by the workhouse authorities that he did not
belong to the tramp, but that he had been stolen by her; and that
he belonged, at least, to a respectable family."

"All this is very interesting," Captain Edwards said. "I should
like much to see the boy. Will you come and dine with us this
evening on board the Euphrates--Mr. Reynolds, here, is coming--and
have the boy sent on board--say, at nine o'clock--when we can have
him in, and have a chat with him?"

Captain Mayhew readily agreed. William was even then waiting
outside for him, having landed with him; and the captain, when he
entered the office, had told him to walk about for an hour and
amuse himself with the sights of Calcutta, and then return and wait
for him. He said nothing about his being close at hand, as he did
not wish the officers to see him in the rough outfit which had been
furnished him on board ship; intending to surprise them by his
appearance in decent clothes. Accordingly, on leaving Mr. Reynolds'
office he took him to one of the numerous shops, in the town, where
clothes of any kind can be procured.

"Now, Will," he said, "I want you to get a suit of shore-going
clothes. You can get your sea outfit tomorrow, at your leisure; but
I want you to show up well at the mess, this evening, and a suit of
good clothes will always be useful to you."

Captain Mayhew had intended to pay for the outfit, himself, but
this Will would not hear of; and Captain Mayhew was the less
reluctant to let the lad have his own way as he had, in the course
of the interview with the agent, agreed that the lad's services
deserved a handsome recognition from the firm; and that the sum of
one hundred guineas should be given to him, at once. The agent
felt, no doubt, that the firm would thoroughly approve of the
payment. Twenty pounds were to be given to Hans, for his share of
the services; but the two suggestions which had saved the Sea Belle
had both originated with Will.

By Captain Mayhew's advice, Will purchased a suit of dark-colored
tweed, a black tie, and some white shirts and collars. At other
shops, he bought some boots and a Panama straw hat. Having
completed their purchases, they walked for some hours about
Calcutta; Will being delighted with the variety of the native
costumes, and the newness and singularity of everything which met
his eye.

On their return to the ghaut--as the landing stage is called--they
found their various purchases already stowed in the Sea Belle's
boat; which had, about an hour before, come to shore to fetch them
off. At seven o'clock Captain Mayhew went off to the Euphrates,
leaving orders that the boat was to bring Will over, at nine. At
that hour the lad was dressed in his new clothes which,
fortunately, fitted him well.

"By jingo, Will," the first mate said, as he entered the cabin,
"you look a tip-topper, and no mistake."

The mate was right. The lad, with his sunburnt face, quiet manner,
and easy carriage, looked thoroughly at home in his attire.

"I don't know who your parents were, but I would bet a month's pay
that the old tramp you were telling us of had nothing to do with
it; for you look every inch a gentleman, from head to foot."

Will found, on gaining the deck of the Euphrates, that orders had
been left by the officer in command that he was to be shown into
the saloon cabin upon his giving his name to the sergeant, who came
up at the sentry's call. He was at once conducted below. For a
moment he felt almost bewildered as he entered; the size of the
cabin, the handsomeness of its fittings, the well-laid table decked
with fragrant flowers, so far surpassed anything he had ever seen,
or thought of.

He was conducted to the head of the table, where Major Harrison,
with Mr. Reynolds on one hand and Captain Mayhew on the other, sat
near the colonel commanding the regiment. Captain Mayhew, who had
already told the outline of the story, smiled quietly to himself at
the expression of surprise which crossed the faces of the major and
Mr. Reynolds, as well as of the other officers sitting near, at the
appearance of the lad he introduced to them. The colonel ordered a
chair to be placed next to himself, and told the servant to fill a
glass of wine for Will, and entered into conversation with him.

"I think, gentlemen," he said, after a minute or two, seeing that
the lad did not touch the wine that was poured out for him, "it
will be pleasanter on deck; for it is terribly hot here, and I see
that most of you have finished your wine."

An adjournment was at once made, to the deck. Here cigars were
lighted and, the colonel and senior officers taking their places in
some of the easy chairs--which were still all out--the rest
gathered round to hear the story, which Major Harrison had promised
them would be an interesting one.

Captain Mayhew first gave his account of the fight between the Sea
Belle and the pirates, beginning at the point when, as he was hotly
chased and despairing of making a successful defense, the canoe
with the two lads in it came out to him. Then Will was called upon
to explain how he came to be there, at that moment. He told briefly
how the fishing smack was sunk, how he had saved himself by
clinging to the bob stay of the Dutch Indianan, and how he had
sailed in this vessel to Java; and was on his way in her to China,
when wrecked in the cyclone.

Here his audience insisted upon his giving them full details; and
he accordingly told them the manner in which he and a few of the
crew had escaped; how, when they were building a boat, they had
been attacked by Malays, and all--except another lad and himself,
who were hiding in a tree--were massacred by the pirates; how they
had gone inland to a village where, having aided the natives when
attacked by a hostile tribe, they had been most kindly received;
how they had finally obtained a canoe, and spent their time in
fishing, in hopes of seeing a passing sail; until the Sea Belle,
chased by the Malay pirates, had appeared off the shore.

There was a genuine murmur of approval, from those thickly
clustered round, as the lad finished his story; and the colonel
warmly expressed his approval of his conduct, under such exciting
circumstances.

"What are you going to do, now?" he asked.

"I have not made up my mind, sir," the lad said. "I expect that I
shall ship in some vessel sailing for England, shortly."

"Major Harrison," the colonel said, "will you and Captain Mayhew
come with me to my cabin?

"I should like to have a few minutes' private chat with you," he
went on, putting his hand on Will's shoulder.

A minute or two later, the three gentlemen and Will were seated in
the private cabin.

"Look here, my boy," the colonel said; "I have heard, from Major
Harrison, what you had told Captain Mayhew concerning your birth
and, certainly, your appearance and manner go far to sustain the
belief that the tramp who left you was not your mother, and that
your parents were of gentle birth. I do not say that a man's birth
makes much difference to him; still, it does go for something and,
in nine cases out of ten, the difference both in face and figure is
unmistakable. Unless I am very wrong, your father was a gentleman.

"However, that is not to the point: it is your quickness and
activity, your coolness in danger, and the adventures which you
have gone through which interest us in you. Now I think it is a
pity that a lad, who has shown that there is so much in him, should
remain a sailor before the mast. You have not been so long at sea
as to become wedded to it, and to be unable to turn your hands to
anything else.

"Now, what do you say to enlisting? In the ranks are men of all
sorts--gentlemen, honest men, and blackguards. The steady,
respectable man is sure to rise. You can, the captain tells me,
read and write well. There is a chance of active service, at
present; and when there is active service, a man who distinguishes
himself gets rapid promotion. The regiment land, tomorrow; and go
straight through, by train, to the North. There is trouble in
Afghanistan; and an ultimatum has just been sent, to the Ameer,
that if he does not comply with our terms it will be war; and we
hope to be there in time for the beginning of it. I can only say
that, if you like to join, Major Harrison and myself will keep our
eyes upon you and, if you deserve it, you may be sure of rapid
promotion. You have greatly interested me in your story, and I
should be very glad to give a helping hand to so deserving a young
fellow.

"It is not usual, certainly, for a regiment to take recruits in
India; but I don't suppose that there can be any objection to it."

"Thank you very much," Will said, when the colonel ceased. "I am
greatly obliged to you for your kindness. I have never thought
about the army, but I am sure that I cannot possibly do better than
accept your kind offer.

"The only thing, sir, is about my age.

"Tut, tut!" the colonel interrupted, "I don't want to know anything
about your age. When you go up for attestment, you will say that
you are under nineteen, which will be strictly true. I will give a
hint, and no further questions will be asked. Neither I nor anyone
else know that you are not past eighteen and, in time of war, no
one is particular as to the age of recruits, as long as they are
fit to do their duty.

"You must work hard, to pick up enough knowledge of drill to enable
you to take your place in the ranks. There is neither parade work,
nor difficult maneuvering, in the face of an enemy; and you can
finish up, afterwards.

"Are you quite agreed?"

"Quite, sir," Will said, joyously, "and am, indeed, obliged to
you."

"Come on board, then, tomorrow at eight o'clock, and ask for
Sergeant Ringwood."

William Gale left the cabin with a new prospect of life before him.
He had, of late, rather shrunk from the thought of again taking his
place as a ship boy; and the prospect of adventures--to say nothing
of the advancement which might befall him, through the interest
taken in him by the colonel--was delightful to him.

The last words the colonel had said when he left the cabin were:

"Say nothing about the workhouse, and as little as possible of
anything which happened before you were wrecked on the island, in
the barrack room."

When William and Captain Mayhew had left the cabin, Colonel
Shepherd sent for Sergeant Ringwood.

"Sergeant," he said, "a young fellow will come on board, tomorrow
at eight o'clock, to join the regiment as a recruit. Take him at
once to the surgeon, and get him passed. I know we shall be able to
give him but little drill, before we get to the frontier; but do
all you can for him, and I will make it up to you. He is a smart
young fellow, and I have a good deal of interest in him.

"He was on his way to China, and was wrecked among the Malays, and
has gone through a good deal. Finding himself here with nothing to
do, and with a prospect of active service on the frontier, he has
decided to enlist and, as he is a gallant young fellow, I do not
wish to balk his fancy."

The sergeant saluted and took his leave, impressed with the
idea--although the colonel had not said so--that the new recruit
was a young gentleman, who had joined the service simply for the
sake of taking part in the war.

The next morning Will took leave of his friend Hans; who had, the
previous day, shipped on board a Dutch ship, homeward bound; and
who was, a few hours later, to shift his berth to her, after he had
been on shore to fit himself out in clothes. Hans was much affected
at saying goodbye to his companion, and the two promised to
correspond with each other.

On bidding farewell to his friend the captain of the Sea Belle, the
latter informed Will that Mr. Reynolds had, on behalf of the owners
of the Sea Belle, paid 100 pounds to his account into the Bank of
Hindustan; and that this, or any portion of it, would be paid to
his order; as the captain had furnished the agent with a slip of
paper upon which Will had, at his request, signed his name. This
had, with the money, been deposited at the bank; so that his
signature might be recognized, and honored.

On reaching the Euphrates, Will was at once taken charge of by
Sergeant Ringwood; who took him before the doctor, to whom the
colonel had already spoken. The medical examination was
satisfactory, the doctor remarking:

"You are rather slight yet, but you will fill out, in time."

The age was asked, and given as under nineteen; and eighteen was
inscribed against him, in the books. Then he was taken before the
colonel, and attested; and was, from that moment, a member of the
regiment. A uniform was served out to him, and the usual articles
of kit. The sergeant saw that his belts were put on properly, and
his knapsack packed; and half an hour afterwards he fell in, with
his musket on his shoulder, among the troops paraded on the deck of
the Euphrates, prior to embarkation.

So quickly had it all been managed that Will could hardly believe
that he was awake as, feeling strangely hampered by his belts and
accouterments, he descended the accommodation ladder, and took his
place with his new comrades on board one of the great native boats,
and rowed to the shore. The regiment was marched direct to the
railway station, where the heavy baggage had been sent, on the
previous day. The men took their places in the long train which
stood in readiness and, half an hour later, steamed north from
Calcutta.

Hitherto, none of his comrades had spoken to Will. In the bustle of
landing, all had enough to do to look to themselves; and it was not
until he found himself, with eight comrades and a corporal, in the
railway carriage that he was addressed.

"Well, young 'un," one said, "what's yer name, and where do you
come from? Calcutta isn't much of a place for recruiting."

"I was on my way to China," Will replied, "and got wrecked among
the Malays; then I got picked up by a vessel, and we had some hot
fighting. Then I was landed at Calcutta and, seeing nothing much to
do, and hearing that there was a chance of a fight with the
Afghans, I thought the best thing to do was to enlist.

"My name is William Gale."

"I wasn't quite sure that you were an Englishman. You are pretty
nigh as dark as them copper-colored niggers here."

"So would you be," Will laughed, "if you had been living, as I
have, for ten months among savages, without even a shirt to your
back."

"Tell us all about it," the soldier said.

"This is a bit of luck, mates, our having someone who can tell us a
tale, when we have got such a long journey before us."

Will made his story as full as he could, and it lasted a long time.
When it was finished, the men expressed their opinion that he was a
good sort and, Will having handed over to the corporal a
sovereign--to be expended on drinks by the way, as his footing in
the regiment--he became quite a popular character, and soon felt at
home in his new position.



Chapter 9: The Advance Into Afghanistan.


There was but little talking in the middle of the day, in the
train, for the heat was excessive. All the men had taken off their
coats, and sat in their shirt sleeves. But they were, nevertheless,
bathed in perspiration.

Late at night, the train arrived at Allahabad. Here there was a
stop, till morning. The men alighted from the train; and lay down
on their folded blankets, with their knapsacks for pillows, on the
platform or in the waiting rooms. A plentiful supply of water had
been prepared for their use, at the station; and outside were
several water carriers; and many of the men stripped off their
shirts, and had water poured over their heads and bodies. Will Gale
was among these and, greatly refreshed, he enjoyed some fruit and
cakes which he purchased from native vendors; and then, lying down
on a bench in the station, was soon asleep.

Four days' traveling brought them to the end of the railway. They
were ferried across the Attock, and then their real work began.
Although it was now late in September, the heat was still intense.
Tents were struck an hour before daybreak and, by eleven o'clock
each day, the column was at its halting place. It was, however,
hours before the tents and baggage arrived.

Many of the draft cattle were very poor, forage was scarce, and the
arrangements far from good. The consequence was that great numbers
of the oxen broke down and died, and many of the troops were often
obliged to sleep in the air, owing to the non-arrival of their
tents. The defects of the transport were aggravated, as the time
went on; and the Norfolk Rangers fared much better than some of the
troops which followed them.

The regiment was destined to operate in the Khuram valley, under
the command of General Roberts. The advanced column of this
division consisted of the 7th company of Bengal Sappers, the 23rd
Bengal Pioneers; a battery of horse artillery, one of Royal
Artillery, and two mountain batteries; a squadron of the 10th
Hussars, and the 12th Bengal Cavalry. The first brigade of infantry
comprised the 2nd battalion of the 8th Foot, the 29th Bengal Native
Infantry, and the 5th Punjaub Infantry. The second brigade
consisted of the 72nd Highlanders, the 21st Native Infantry, the
2nd Punjaub Infantry, and the 5th Ghoorkas. The place of assembly
was Kohat. The Norfolk Rangers were to act as a reserve.

It was on the 2nd of October that the Rangers arrived at Kohat,
heartily glad that their march across the sandy plains of the
Punjaub was at an end. The other regiments comprising the force
poured in rapidly and, on the 9th, the general arrived and assumed
the command. The next day the Punjaub regiments were sent forward
to Thull. It was not until the middle of November that the European
regiments followed them; and the six weeks were, by the Rangers,
for the most part employed in drill for, after their voyage and
journey up the country, their commanding officer considered it
necessary to work them hard, to get them to the highest state of
discipline.

William Gale was worked exceptionally hard; as he had, in that
short time, to learn the manual and platoon exercises, and to pick
up enough of drill to enable him to take his place in the ranks.
Fortunately he carried himself well, and required far less drilling
than the majority of the recruits. By the time that the regiment
moved forward, he was able to take his place in his company; and
had mastered all the movements which were likely to be necessary,
in the campaign.

The road between Kohat and Thull runs in a valley between
mountains, those on the right being inhabited by the Waziries, a
fierce and independent tribe. The regiment which had first marched
had exercised every precaution against an attack. The convoys of
stores and provisions sent forward had always been accompanied by
strong escorts, and orders were issued that officers going forward
on duty should not travel without protection. The Waziries,
however--contrary to expectation--remained quiet; probably waiting
to see the turn which matters took for, had we suffered a repulse,
they would assuredly have taken part, at once, against us; and
would have aided in massacring fugitives, and robbing baggage
wagons.

The march to Thull occupied five days, which were very pleasant
ones to William Gale. His heavy work at drill was now over. He was
no longer considered a recruit, but ranked as a soldier. The
marches were not long and, for many hours in the afternoon, the
high hills threw the valley in shade; and the soldiers, after
pitching their tents, were able to stroll about, or to lie under
the trees in which the valley abounded. The regiment reached Thull
on the 18th of November and, on the morning of the 21st, the column
advanced.

The river, whose bed was 500 yards wide, was fortunately now low,
being reduced to a stream of 40 yards wide by 3 deep. A trestle
bridge had been thrown across it, for the use of the infantry. The
river was distant a mile and a half from the town. No opposition
was expected but, as a small Afghan garrison was stationed in a
fort at Kapizang, a short distance beyond the river, an attempt was
to be made to capture it.

The 29th Punjaub Infantry first crossed the river, at the bridge.
The 10th Hussars forded the river and extended, in skirmishing
order, to cut off the retreat of the garrison. When they reached
the fort, however--which was a square enclosure, with round towers
at the corners--it was found that the garrison, who had doubtless
received warning from spies in Thull, had abandoned the place in
the night.

The cavalry were now sent forward to reconnoiter, the infantry
following; and the advanced force halted at Ahmed-I-shama for the
night. Not a single habitation was passed, during the nine miles
march. The road was generally a mere track, 6 feet wide; passing
through tangled brakes of dwarf palms, intersected by stony
gullies, except when it ran along the steep bank of the river.

The following day the rest of the first brigade marched up to
Ahmed-I-shama; while the advanced force, under Colonel Gordon,
moved on to Hazir-pir. The Rangers were with the first brigade, but
not with the advanced party. This was composed wholly of native
troops, consisting of the Pioneer regiments and the Sappers and
Miners. These had hard work, for the road--which was fifteen miles
in length--was scarcely passable for wheeled carriages, and the
guns could not be taken along until the boulders and blocks of
stone, which strewed the way, were removed or blasted into pieces.

On the 23rd the Rangers, with the Horse Artillery battery and two
native regiments, marched towards Hazir-pir; but the difficulties
of the road were so great that they had to camp, for the night,
four miles short of that place. General Roberts and the
headquarters went forward the same day.

As the general passed along the road, the headmen of all the
villages near came and paid their respects; and the villagers lined
the roads as the troops passed, offering fowls, eggs, milk, and
dried fruit for sale. As William Gale had brought a supply of money
with him, he was able to indulge in all those luxuries and, indeed,
as the men had had few opportunities of spending money at Thull,
all were well supplied with cash.

The halt at Hazir-pir was, then, a very pleasant one. Supplies of
grass, fuel, and provisions were brought in, in considerable
quantities, there; but much difficulty arose in settling the terms
of purchase, as coin was almost unknown in the valley and,
therefore, there was no established price--one native being ready
to sell, for a few coppers, articles for which another demanded as
many pieces of silver. On the hills around a considerable number of
sheep were seen grazing; but the natives did not care about selling
these which, indeed, belonged for the most part, not to the
Turis--the tribe which inhabit the valley--but to nomad Ghilzais
who, like the Swiss shepherds, move about with their charges among
the mountains, wherever fodder is to be obtained.

Khuram valley, itself, is bare and monotonous. With the exception
of fruit trees planted round the villages, scarce a tree is to be
found; but each village is marked by a huge chunar--or oriental
plane--beneath which the villagers rest during the noonday heat.

But if the valley itself was bare and desolate, the scenery around
was lovely. The great range of mountains known as the Safaid-Koh
bound the valley on the east and north. This range averages 14,000
feet high, from which spurs run out at right angles, enclosing
narrower valleys, with broiling torrents rushing through boulders.
The slopes of these valleys are covered with luxuriant vegetation,
till the limit of trees is reached at a height of about 11,000
feet; above which, in winter, the snow lies thick while, in summer,
it furnishes the finest pasture to the Ghilzai flocks and herds.
The valley lands and the lower slopes of the hills are laid out in
terraces, and irrigated rice fields extend near the rivers. Valley
and hill are alike covered with stones and boulders, Afghanistan
being probably the most stony country in the world.

On the 24th the headquarters, with the cavalry and two regiments,
moved forward ten miles and encamped at the south end of the
Darwazi Pass--the road leading to open, broad valleys, covered with
dwarf palms, and wholly uncultivated. On the 25th the advanced
force crossed the pass, which was a gentle slope and offered no
great difficulty and, at night, encamped at the Khuram fort, which
had been evacuated by the enemy. The buildings--which would have
been useful for the troops--had, however, been wrecked by the
Turis; who have a deadly hate for the Afghans--their masters--and
who were also animated in their work of destruction by a desire to
obtain wood, which is exceedingly scarce there.

At Khuram there are two forts, the one 120 yards and the other 100
yards square. Inside these were quarters for the governor, and huts
for the garrison and officers; and in the smaller forts were
stables for the cavalry forces. This place was made the
headquarters of the forces in the Khuram valley.

The general now rode on, with two squadrons of the 12th Bengal
Cavalry, to reconnoiter in the direction of the Peiwar-Khotal;
towards which the enemy were supposed to be retreating, and where
they were expected to make a stand. As they approached the village
of Peiwar, two villages were seen in flames; and news was brought
in that three Afghan regiments, with twelve guns, had lately passed
through. The natives reported that they were encumbered by their
guns, and that forced labor was procured for the purpose of
removing them. Later on, a rumor came that the twelve guns were
stuck in the ravine at the foot of the Khotal, or pass.

With but a small force of cavalry at his command, the general could
do nothing; and so returned to Khuram, and determined to hurry up
the troops faster than he had intended, so as to capture the guns
reported--as was afterwards proved, falsely--to have been left
behind by the Afghans. The sick and all superfluous baggage were
left behind at Khuram and, on the 28th, the troops moved at
daybreak; the two brigades marching in parallel columns.

The cold was now severe at night, although it was hot in the
daytime. It had been intended to halt at Halid-Kitta, four miles
from the Khotal; but the intelligence arriving--that the Ameer's
troops had abandoned their guns, and were in disorderly
retreat--decided the general to push forward at once to the
Peiwar-Khotal--seven miles further--instead of waiting, and giving
the enemy time to strengthen their position. A mile from the foot
of the actual ascent of the Khotal lies the village of Turrai, two
miles and a half beyond Peiwar. Turrai is situated in a valley, the
ground at whose entrance is very much broken up by the shoulders
and spurs of the hill.

The left column--the 5th and 29th Punjaub in advance, with the 2nd
battalion of the 8th and the 23rd Pioneers, the Rangers, and two
guns of the Number 1 mountain battery in support--were sent to the
left, with instructions to turn a ridge forming the south boundary
of the valley, and to seize the village of Turrai. They were also
to follow up, closely, any body of retreating Afghan troops that
they might come across. The light brigade were to march up the
regular road to the Peiwar, thus supporting the attack of the left
brigade.

The left brigade followed out its orders, except that the regiment
in support did not go round the southern side of the spur, but kept
to the north. No enemy was seen on the south side of the spur so,
when a track leading across to Turrai was reached, the troops moved
down towards the village; the regiments in support advancing at the
foot of the open, on the north side. The mountain path that the
advanced troops were now filing down did not lead directly to the
village, but fell into the valley ahead of it, at a point where it
widens out into what was known as the "punch bowl valley," at the
foot of the Peiwar-Khotal.

As soon as the head of the column reached this spot, they came in
sight of the Afghans; who showed themselves in great numbers on the
crest of the mountain, far above their heads. As the troops had no
orders to attack so formidable a position, they fell back towards
Turrai, which was about a quarter of a mile to the rear. At the
sight of this movement, the Afghans swarmed down a spur of the
hill, and commenced an attack on the regiments that were moving
towards the village. The 29th Punjaubees climbed the hill and a
sharp skirmish ensued, the two mounted guns coming into action.

While this was going on, the main body of the troops arrived at
Turrai. The advanced troops were recalled, and the 5th Ghoorkas
were advanced to cover the movement. As it was now seen that the
story of the abandonment of the guns was false, orders were given
to pile arms in the village, and to encamp there.

This step was an imprudent one, as the Afghans speedily showed.
While our men were sitting or lying upon the ground, waiting for
the baggage to arrive, the Afghans brought up a mountain gun from
the main ridge--about three-quarters of a mile distant--to the
point of the spur overlooking the village of Turrai, and opened
fire at 1700 yards range.

The astonishment of the troops, when the first shell fell among
them, was great. Every one jumped to his feet, and seized his
rifle; and the guns of the Royal Horse Artillery were brought at
once into action. It was four o'clock in the afternoon when the
Afghans opened fire. Had they waited for a few hours, brought up
another gun or two, and made a night attack immediately after
opening fire, it is morally certain that the imprudence of camping
in such a position would have been punished by a disaster, which
might have vied with that of Isandula. Huddled together in a small
village surrounded by scrub; and impeded, as the troops would have
been, by the baggage animals and native followers, rushing in
terror in all directions, our men would have been taken at an
immense disadvantage.

Fortunate was it that the enemy opened fire before the darkness set
in. The troops were at once ordered to fall back a mile and a half,
and to pitch on fresh ground. There was much confusion in the
retreat, as the road in the rear was crowded with the baggage
animals. The spot chosen for the camp was a rough one; for the
ground was covered with scrub, and a scattered growth of hill oak
and thorny bushes, and was broken by the remains of some ancient
terraces but, as the jungle and broken ground extended for three
and a half miles, there was nothing for it but to take up the best
position possible, under the circumstances. The troops bivouacked
on the ridge of a ravine, with steep banks; which formed a line of
defense in front of the camp, while the view in every other
direction was obscured by trees.

The regiments passed a wretched night on the rough ground. Most of
them were unable to find their baggage, which was wandering in the
scrub in the dark; and the greater part of the troops lay down on
the bare ground, and went supperless to sleep, after their
fatiguing march of twenty-one miles.

In the morning, both men and cattle were greatly exhausted by their
long marches and almost sleepless nights; and General Roberts
determined to wait, for a day or two, to reconnoiter the formidable
position of the enemy before undertaking its attack. The camp was
shifted to a more secure site, the brushwood and trees were cleared
away, the tents pitched, and the troops were again comfortable.

A reconnaissance was made by Colonel Perkins--commanding the Royal
Engineers--with two companies of the Pioneers. He ascertained that
a deep ravine lay between the ridge on which they were encamped and
the Khotal itself, and that it was impossible to direct an attack
on that side.

Major Collett also, with two companies of the 23rd, proceeded to
reconnoiter the route known as the Spingawi--or Cow--Pass. This,
instead of going straight up the hill in front, wound round its
foot to the right of the valley. Ascending the mountain at a point
some three or four miles to the east of the Peiwar-Khotal, the
reconnaissance reached the summit of a ridge about five miles
distant from the camp, and overlooking the Spingawi-Khotal. It was
ascertained that the road up the pass seemed easy and practicable,
for all arms; that the top of the pass appeared to be on the same
ridge as the Peiwar-Khotal; and that a force, working from it
towards the Peiwar, would pass over a series of dominating
positions. It did not appear to Major Collett that the enemy held
the Peiwar-Khotal in force; although there was a gun on a
commanding knoll on the south, and there seemed to be one at the
top of the pass. The road from the village of Peiwar to the top of
the Spingawi Pass seemed perfectly easy, for troops of all arms.

The next two days were spent in clearing the camp and, so far as
possible, improving its military position; but it was still
surrounded by thick oak jungle, which would have afforded cover for
an enemy making a sudden attack.

A further reconnaissance was made of the Spingawi Pass and, as the
examination confirmed Major Collett's report, it was determined to
attack by it. Orders were issued, on the 1st of December, for a
march that night. The regiments which were to form the main attack,
by the Spingawi plateau route, were the 29th Punjaub Infantry and
the 5th Ghoorkas--commanded by Colonel Gordon--in advance; these
were to be followed by the mountain battery, a wing of the 72nd
Highlanders, a company of the Rangers, the 2nd Punjaubees, and the
23rd Pioneers, under Brigadier General Thelwall. Four guns, on
elephants, were to proceed with the column. The 5th Punjaub
Infantry, the 8th Regiment, two guns Royal Horse Artillery, three
guns Royal Artillery, and the 5th Bengal Cavalry--the whole under
the command of Brigadier General Cobbe--were to make an attack on
the Peiwar-Khotal direct.

The rest of the force was to remain to guard the camp and--in order
to convince the enemy that a front attack upon the Peiwar-Khotal
was intended--a party of pioneers, with an engineer officer and a
covering party of the 8th Regiment, were to construct a battery
near the village of Turrai. Frequent reconnoitering parties had
also been sent out in this direction and, so well was the secret of
the general's intention to attack by the Spingawi Khotal kept, that
everyone in camp who had not been let into the secret was confident
that the Peiwar-Khotal would be stormed, on the morrow.

The enemy--although those in camp were ignorant of the fact--were
reinforced, on the 1st, by four regiments of infantry, with a
mountain battery and, on their side, were meditating an attack upon
the British camp. The regiments which had freshly arrived were,
however, fatigued by their long march; and the assault on our camp
was postponed until the next day, and the chance of its coming off
was, therefore, lost for ever.

To William Gale's great satisfaction, a company of the
Rangers--that to which he had been posted--was the one selected by
the colonel to accompany the column marching up the pass. He did
not, indeed, know that this was the route by which they were to
advance; but he was pleased at not being left behind, with the
regiment, in charge of the camp.

"Well, young 'un," a corporal said to him, that evening, "we are
going to be under fire, at last; and a nice climb we shall have of
it. It puts one out of breath, to look at that steep road running
up the hill and, when it comes to fighting one's way up it, with
cannon and Afghans on the top, we shall find it hard work."

"I expect," William answered, "that we sha'n't go up it at any
extraordinary pace. If we skirmish up--as I expect we shall--from
rock to rock, we shall have plenty of time to get our wind, at each
halt. We are not to take our knapsacks; so we shall fight light,
and we have not much extra weight to carry. What with the heat, and
what with the long marches, I should think I must have lost a stone
in weight, since we landed in Calcutta."

"I don't think you have lost weight at all," the corporal said; "it
seems to me that you have grown and widened out, in the two months
and, only yesterday, when I was sizing the company, I had to move
you two men higher; for a young 'un, you stand the fatigues well."

"I am all right," Will said, "except that I have got some frightful
blisters on my feet. I was not going to say anything about it,
because I should have been kept in hospital, and left behind at
Khuram; but I have hardly known how to march, the last few days. I
don't think I could possibly have managed it, if I had not adopted
the native dodge of wearing putties--which I have greased well on
the inside, and wear instead of stockings."

Putties, it may be said, are slips of woolen cloth, about two and a
half yards long and three inches wide, with a tape sewn into one
end. They are wound round and round the leg, from the ankle to
below the knee, and secured by the end being tied with the tape.
Nearly every one, officers and men, wore them through the campaign.
For a long march there could be no doubt that these bandages--wound
round the foot instead of stockings--are very preferable, as they
obviate the liability to foot sores. Even with well-made boots all
pedestrians may, at times, suffer from sore feet; but the liability
is immensely increased when--as in the case of the Br

Showing first 200,000 characters. Full text: gutenberg.org/ebooks/21979