“Speak, you heretics!” he cried, stamping with rage.
The two midshipmen cast their eyes about them to assure themselves that what was taking place was a reality—the whole scene appeared so like some horrid dream that they could scarcely believe it true. As they looked up they discovered that a strong breeze had sprung up, and that the vessel was moving rapidly through the water. The deck was crowded with seamen, many of whom held lanterns, so that the whole ship was lighted.
“It is time to begin,” cried the Don. “Come, as you will not choose for yourselves, I must choose for you. Here, seize that lad, and run him up to the main-yard-arm.”
He pointed at Adair. Several of the ruffian crew rushed forward and seized poor Terence, and dragged him up to the rope which hung from the yard-arm. They were about to take hold of it to adjust it round Adair’s neck, when down by it came gliding an apparition which, in the uncertain light cast by the lanterns aloft, looked so like old Don Diego himself, that the superstitious Spaniards, believing that it was his wraith or ghost, let go the rope and sprang back to the other side of the vessel. The old Don was not less astonished than the rest, but, not exactly recognising himself, it occurred to him that some spirit of evil had come on board to watch his proceedings. Queerface meantime, for the apparition was no other than he, seeing the confusion he had created, shinned up the rope again, and on reaching the yard-arm, finding it slack, hauled it up after him, and there he sat chattering away and wondering what the strangers were going to do to his master. The wicked old Don, though astonished at first, was not altogether overcome, and, soon recovering himself, began to get an idea of the true state of the case. Once more he ordered the crew to go on with their cruel work, but no one would venture aloft to overhaul the whip, and Queerface showed no disposition to help them. The Don began to swear and stamp with rage, calling them all by certain uncomplimentary epithets, in which the Spanish language is so rich. The crew swore and abused him in return. In the midst of the confusion a voice hailed them through a speaking-trumpet.
“What schooner is that? Heave-to, or I will fire into you.”
“We are in the hands of a set of bloody pirates. I’m Jack Rogers,” sung out Jack, at the top of his voice. Never had he sung out louder.
“Take that for speaking,” exclaimed the little Don, levelling a pistol at his head. He pulled the trigger. It missed fire, and before he could again cock the lock, Needham, who had been working his hands free, sprung aft, and with a blow of his fist levelled him with the deck. It was the signal for the Spaniards to set upon them, and they would all have been cut down, but the next instant a loud crash was heard, and the dark hull of a man-of-war brig with her taut masts and wide spread of canvas was seen ranging up alongside. The next instant twenty or more stout English seamen, led by Alick Murray, came pouring down on the slaver’s deck.
The brig which had thus providentially fallen in with them was the Archer. She was on passage to the north with dispatches for Captain Lascelles, recalling him and his frigate homewards. The news was received by all hands with unmitigated joy. The tables on board the schooner were quickly turned. The Spaniards were all handcuffed, and a strict guard set over them. The midshipmen and their followers went on board the brig, where they were cordially welcomed, and their wounds looked to. The felucca escaped, but as she was never again heard of, it was supposed that she was lost in a fierce gale which occurred two days afterwards. The schooner was found to be full of slaves, and proved a rich prize. Don Diego escaped hanging, but was reduced to abject beggary, for he had not even the means of leaving Sierra Leone, and very soon afterwards was found dead on the beach.
This was the last adventure the three midshipmen met with on the coast of Africa. They were all three pretty well tired of it, and delighted indeed were they when they once more found themselves in sight of Old England. The frigate and brig were paid off about the same time, and Alick and Terence accompanied Jack to that often-talked-of and well-loved home of his in Northamptonshire. It must not be forgotten that they had in their train the most sensible of travelled apes, Master Queerface, who, by his amusing antics and performances, and extraordinary monkeyish sagacity, gained the admiration of the whole surrounding neighbourhood.
* * *
* * *
Chapter Twenty Three.
The Dugong and Blenny.—The three midshipmen sail for China.—Bully Pigeon again.—A would-be philosopher put down by a parrot.—Jack’s new charge.—Singapore.—News of a merchantman attacked by pirates.—The frigate and brig sail in search of them.—A boat expedition.—Master Queerface again.—Pirate villages.—Hoddidoddi, the pilot—A pirate fleet—The British boats make a gallant attack on it.
Her Majesty’s frigate Dugong was fitting with all despatch for sea at Portsmouth; so was Her Majesty’s brig-of-war Blenny, just commissioned by Commander Hemming, well-known, as the papers stated, for his gallantry on the coast of Africa, and on every occasion when he had an opportunity of displaying it. The papers spoke truly, and well had our old friend won his present rank. Both the frigate and the brig were destined, it was supposed, for the China seas; but this was not known to a certainty. The Dugong had been commissioned by Captain Grant, Alick Murray’s old commander in the Archer, who had some short time before received his post rank. Captain Lascelles, with whom the three midshipmen first went to sea, commanded at this time a line-of-battle ship on the Indian station.
Who has not heard of the Blue Posts at Portsmouth, to be found not far from the landing-place known as the Point, now sadly encroached on by new batteries and a broad wooden pier?
One afternoon, at the time of which I am speaking, a cab stopped at the door of that well-known inn, with a portmanteau outside, and a cocked-hat case, a sword, a gun-case, and several other articles, including a young naval officer inside. He nodded smilingly to the waiter and boots, who came to get out his things, as to old acquaintances, and then, having paid the cabman, entered the inn. No sooner had he put his head into the coffee-room than another young officer, in the uniform of a mate or passed midshipman, jumped up, and, seizing him by the hand, exclaimed—
“I am delighted to see you, my dear Jack. You’ve come to join the Dugong, I hope.”
“If you belong to her, Adair, I wish I was,” answered Jack Rogers, for he was the newcomer. “But I am not. The fact is, Hemming has got command of the Blenny, and I applied and got appointed to her. It can’t be helped now. Any news of Murray? He wrote me word, some little time ago, that he expected to get appointed to a ship. I wish that I could have had him with me; but we three have been on the same station, and mostly together all our lives, and we can scarcely expect the same good fortune to continue.”
“We tried to keep together, and we succeeded,” answered Adair. “There’s nothing like trying, in my opinion.”
“You are right there, old fellow; there isn’t a doubt of it,” exclaimed Jack Rogers, who had been a little out of spirits, and inclined to take a somewhat gloomy view of affairs in general.
No wonder, for he had just left as happy a home as any to be found in Old England. It was a cold March day too, and he was chilled with his journey. He took off his greatcoat, which, with his other things, Boots carried to his room, and then the two old messmates sat down before the fire. They had been talking on for some time while their dinner was getting ready, when Adair observed a young man sitting at a table a little way off, narrowly observing them. Terence looked at him in return.
“Do you know, Jack, I do verily believe that there sits no other than Bully Pigeon,” he whispered. “What can he be doing down here?”
The stranger, seeing them looking at him, got up, and approaching them with his hand extended, said—
“What, do I see some old friends? Rogers! Adair! Very glad to see you. How de do? How de do? You remember me, surely. I’m Pigeon.”
Thus addressed, it would not have been in the nature of either of the two midshipmen to have refused to shake hands with their old schoolfellow, bully though he had been. They invited him to join them; and when they had dined they all three sat over their wine together, talking merrily of former days.
“I’m going out to China in the diplomatic line,” observed Pigeon, in his old tone. “I have a notion that I shall be able to manage the Celestials. There are few people who can deceive me.”
These, and a few other similar remarks, showed that Pigeon in one respect was little changed from what he had been in his early days. When or how he was going out to China he did not say.
They had been chatting away for some time when another cab rattled up to the inn, and presently at the door of the coffee-room who should appear, to the delight of Rogers and Adair, but Murray himself. They dragged him into the room, each eager to know what ship he was come to join. Paddy gave a shout of delight when he heard that he was appointed to the Dugong. He told them besides that she was certainly under orders for China, to sail as soon as ready for sea, and that the Blenny was also to be sent there.
The old schoolfellows, as may be supposed, passed a very pleasant evening, their pleasure being heightened by the anticipation of being together in whatever work they might be engaged. Even Bully Pigeon was sufferable (as Paddy observed), if he was not altogether agreeable. He had a number of strange adventures to narrate, of which he was the hero. Although his accounts were not implicitly believed, it was agreed that, at all events, they were possible, which was somewhat in his favour.
Two weeks after this, Her Majesty’s ships Dugong and Blenny were gliding under all sail across the Bay of Biscay.
“The frigate looks something like a dowager with her small daughter following in her wake, sir,” observed Jack, glancing his eye from the brig to her big consort, as he walked the deck with his captain.
“We must try to make the little daughter win a name for herself out among the Celestials,” said Captain Hemming in return.
“That we will, sir, if we get the chance,” answered Jack.
“Ay, Rogers, but we must make the chance,” remarked his captain with emphasis.
“So we will, sir,” said Jack warmly. “There is not a man on board who’ll not be glad of it.”
Captain Hemming had a sincere regard and respect for Jack, as Jack had for him. They had both seen each other well tried and never found wanting, and they could thus converse frankly and without reserve. Neither Hemming nor Jack were people to talk without fully intending to perform. Indeed, those who knew them felt sure that when dash or cool courage, or perseverance and intelligence, were especially required, they would show that they possessed them all. Jack liked his ship and most of his brother officers, as well as his captain, and was a general favourite with them.
He had brought two companions; Adair’s old African follower, Queerface, which he had given to Jack; and a fine Newfoundland dog, Sancho by name. Jack had intended leaving Queerface at home, as Paddy remarked, to remind his brothers and sisters of him. The compliment was somewhat doubtful. But the monkey had played so many curious tricks, and had committed so much mischief, that no one would undertake the charge of him; and therefore, like a bad boy, he was sent off to sea again in disgrace. As was natural, Sancho and Queerface became very intimate, though not, at the same time, perfectly friendly. Each, it appeared, was striving for the mastery. Queerface, monkey though he was, gained the day; and one of his great amusements was to mount Sancho’s back, and to make him run round and round the deck with him, whipping him on and chattering away all the time most vociferously, to the great amusement of the seamen, if not always to that of the first lieutenant.
Jack had another charge to look after, a young midshipman, Harry Bevan by name, who had been especially committed to his charge. The little fellow had been a petted, somewhat spoiled child, an only son, yet go to sea he would; and his parents never had refused him anything, so they let him have his will, though it almost broke their hearts. Jack promised to take the best care of him he could. Harry was not exactly a pickle, but he had very little notion of taking care of himself; so Jack had quite enough to do to look after him, in addition to Queerface and Sancho.
Harry and Sancho were very great friends, but Queerface evidently looked upon him as a rival in his master’s affections, and bore him no good will. This feeling of the monkey was increased by the tricks which the young midshipman played him whenever he had the opportunity. At last he was never able to approach Queerface without a rope in his hand, which he held behind his back, or doubled up in his pocket. The monkey, in the most sagacious way, would skip about till he had ascertained whether the weapon was there or not. If it was there, as soon as he caught sight of it he would spring up into the rigging and sit on a ratline, as quiet and demure as a judge, without attempting to retaliate.
On board the frigate there was little to interrupt the usual routine. Murray had carried one of his parrots with him, and the sagacious bird afforded almost as much amusement as did Bully Pigeon, who soon showed that he was very little altered from what he had been in his youth. He could not bully, but he could give abundant evidence of being still an arrant donkey. Pigeon now called himself a philosopher, and used to be very fond of broaching his philosophical principles, as he denominated his nonsense. One day, when dining in the gun-room, he began as usual. As he drank his wine, he grew bolder and bolder in his assertions. At last he declared that he did not believe that there was a place of punishment after death. He had taken it into his head that the surgeon would side with him.
“I’m sure, doctor, a sensible man like you will not assert that such is a fact?” he continued. “What use would there be in it?”
“I’ll tell you what, ma laddie, there’s one very good use it will be put to, and that will be to stow away all such vicious, ignorant donkeys as you are,” answered the doctor with great emphasis and deliberation.
Pigeon was no way disconcerted at this somewhat powerful rebuke, but continued as before. Indeed, nothing is so difficult as to make a conceited fool cease from talking folly. At last the first lieutenant struck his fist on the table with a force which made all the glasses ring, as he exclaimed—
“I’ll tell you what, Mr Pigeon. This ship belongs to a Christian Queen, and while I’m the senior officer present I’ll not allow you to sneer against religion, or a word to be spoken which Her Gracious Majesty would not approve of. Now, sir, hold your tongue, or I’ll report your conduct, and have you put under arrest.”
