"Young Milvaine's."

"Right, we're safe."

Mr Dewar looked at Captain Wayland for a few moments.

"You believe in that youngster, sir?" he asked.

"I do. He's faithful, bold, or rather brave--"

"Yes, sir, he's as plucky as a bantam. He thrashed big Crawford the first day he came on board. Crawford has been good-natured ever since.

He showed fine fighting form when we brushed against those Arabs above 'Mbasa, and he jumped overboard, you know, and saved Raggy's life off the Quillimane river."

"Raggy die some day for Ma.s.sa Milvaine," put in the n.i.g.g.e.r-boy.

"Hush, Raggy, when your betters are talking."

"Raggy die all same, though," the boy persisted.

"The young scamp will have the last word. Yes, Mr Dewar, young Milvaine ought to have a medal for that; but, poor fellow, he won't, though I'm told there were sharks about by the dozen."

"I saw it all," said young Dewar. "It was my cap that fell off, just before we crossed the bar. Raggy made a plunge for it, and over he went; Milvaine threw off his coat, and over he went. The coolness of the beggar, too, amused me."

"Don't say 'beggar.'"

"Well, '_fellow_.' There was a basking shark in the offing, with its fin above the water, and a bird perching on it like a starling on the back of a sheep. The cap--the very one I wear now, sir--was between this brute and Milvaine, but no sooner had he got Raggy-- c.o.c.kerty-koosie, as he called it--on his shoulder, than he swam away out and seized the cap with his teeth, then handed it to Raggy. And the young monkey put it on, too. We picked him up just in time, for the sharks looked hungry, and angry as well."

Mr Dewar helped himself to another half-tumbler full of claret.

"There is a wine-gla.s.s at your elbow," said the captain, with a mild kind of a smile.

"Bother the wine-gla.s.s!" replied the middy. "Pardon me, sir, but I'd have to fill it so often. My dear Captain Wayland, there's no more pith and fooshion in this stuff than there is in sour b.u.t.termilk."

The captain laughed outright. Mr Dewar was an officer of a very old and obsolete type.

"Why, my dear sir, that is my very best claret. Claret Lagrange, Mr Dewar; I paid seventy-five shillings a dozen for it."

"Raggy," he added; "bring the rum, Raggy."

"Try a drop of that, then."

"Ah! that indeed, captain," exclaimed Mr Dewar, with beaming eyes.

"That's a drop o' real ship's."

He was moderate, though, but he smacked his lips. "I feel in famous form now," he said. "I hope we'll come up with that rascally dhow before long. With my good sword now, Captain Wayland, and a brace of colts, I think--"

At this moment Midshipman Milvaine--our Harry--entered, cap in hand.

He has greatly improved since we last saw him, almost a giant, with a bright and fearless eye and a most handsome face and agile figure. His shoulders are square and broad. He is very pliant in the waist; indeed, the body above the hips seems to move independent of hips or legs.

Harry had now been four years in the service, and was but little over sixteen years of age.

"Anything occurred, Mr Milvaine?"

"Yes, sir, something is occurring, something terrible, murder or mutiny.

The night is now very still, and the stars are out I can't see anything, but from away over yonder, two or three points off the port bow, there is fearful screaming, and I can even hear splashing in the water."

Captain Wayland sprang up, so did young Dewar.

"The scoundrels!" cried the former. "It is the dhow. They are lightening ship to get away from us with the morning breeze."

"Mr Milvaine," he added, hurriedly, "we'll go to quarters. Do not sound the bugle.--Let all be done quietly. Keep her, Mr Milvaine, straight for the sounds you hear, and tell the engineers to go ahead at full speed."

"The moon will rise in half an hour," said Harry.

"Thank Heaven for that," was the captain's reply.

For the boats of a small ship like the _Bunting_ to board a heavily armed fighting dhow like the one they had been giving chase to, is no mean exploit even by day: by night such an adventure requires both tact and skill and determination as well.

But the thing has been done before, and it was going to be tried again now.

The captain himself went on deck.

There was already a faint glimmer of light from the rising moon on the south-eastern sky.

But the sea was all as silent as the grave; there was the rattling of the revolving screw and the noise of the rushing, bubbling, lapping waves as the vessel cleaved her way through them. Further than this, for the s.p.a.ce of many minutes, sound there was none.

"In what direction did you say you heard the cries?" asked Captain Wayland of young Harry Milvaine.

"We are steering straight for it now, sir, and--"

Suddenly he was interrupted. From a point still a little on the port bow, and apparently a mile distant, came a series of screams, so mournful, so pleading, so pitiful, as almost to freeze one's blood.

"Ah-h! Oh-h-h! Oh! Oh! Oo-oo-ok!"

The last cry was wildly despairing, and cut suddenly short, as I have tried to describe, by the letters "ok."

A moment or two afterwards there came across the water the sound of a plash, and next minute there was a repet.i.tion of the dreadful yells and cries.

The captain took two or three hasty turns up and down the deck. He was a very humane and kindly-hearted officer.

"I hardly know what to do for the best," he said.

"Suppose, sir," replied Mr Dewar, whom he seemed to be addressing, "we fire a gun to let her know we are near?"

"No," replied the captain; "there is still wind enough, and time enough, for her to escape in the dark. We'll keep on yet a short time. Stand by to lower the boats. They are already armed?"

"Yes, sir."

"Escape in the dark!" muttered the captain to himself through his set teeth. "Dark indeed will be the work as soon as our lads get on board of this fiend's ship."