No, for even now from away to windward yonder, unseen by those on board, comes the bore, the hurricane wave. High as houses is it, fleet almost as the wind itself, onward it rolls, downward it comes; and now it is on the reef, it lifts the ship aloft as gently, as easily as a mother lifts her baby and bears her away to safety.

Almost immediately afterwards the fury of the squall is completely spent, the waves no longer break on board, nor the foam and the froth, and the spume. Men can see each other now, and hear each other talk, and orders are given by the captain himself to cut away the wreck, for the foremast has gone five feet above the board.

Half an hour afterwards steam was up, and all was still around the ship, while in the sky calmly shone the moon and stars. But a narrow escape indeed it had been for the good little vessel and the gallant crew that were in her. Though not scathless, the ship had escaped destruction on the reef in that terrible hurricane-squall.

"If ever," said Captain Wayland, solemnly, "we have had cause for thankfulness to that great Being who rules on earth and sea, it is this night."

The captain was standing near the wheel with uncovered head and upturned gaze, the soft light of the moon falling on his face.

There was something very beautiful in this simple, silent, thankful adoration; both the doctor and Dewar, who were standing not far off, felt its influence. Ay, and rough old sailors, who had weathered many a storm and braved many a danger, bared their heads even as the captain did, and breathed that little word that means so much--"Amen?"

The loss of her foremast did not improve the appearance of the _Bunting_, but as they would now complete the voyage under steam, and repair damages at Calcutta, it did not matter very much.

She was kept more in towards the low sandy coast, for north here never a tree or shrub may be seen, while away down south of the line the ocean is edged with a cloudland of green, the leafy mangroves growing on the beach--yes, and in the water itself.

Low sandy hills, and mountains and rocks beyond. Sometimes they come in sight of a squalid Somali-Arab village, but there was no inducement to land.

But see, what is that stealing out round the point? A dhow, and a very large one; a two-masted vessel.

She notices the _Bunting_ as soon as they notice her, and immediately puts about and stands away northward before the breeze.

This is suspicious, and the _Bunting_ gives chase. The dhow has a four miles' start and goes swinging along at a wonderful rate.

"Go ahead at full speed," is the order.

The _Bunting_ is gaining on the dhow, but in another hour it will be dark.

Mr Dewar slips slyly down below. He goes to the store-room, and a few minutes afterwards he appears at the engine-room door, bearing in his arms half a side of fat bacon.

He winks to the engineer. The latter cuts off a huge junk and sticks it in the fire.

"If you'd like Raggy to come and sit on the safety valve," says Mr Dewar, "I'll send him."

The engineer laughs heartily at the idea, and answers--

"The fat'll do the job," Mr Dewar, "without poor Raggy."

So it does, and just as the sun is dropping like a red-hot cannon-ball into the sea, and turning the waves to blood, the first shot goes roaring through the rigging of that doomed dhow.

Another and another follow, still she cracks on. Then a sh.e.l.l or two are fired and burst right over her.

The Arabs cannot stand that. They lower sails at once.

But behold! almost at the same moment a boat leaves the dhow, and impelled by st.u.r.dy arms goes bounding away sh.o.r.eward.

"Ah!" says Captain Wayland, "the Arabs won't stop to reckon with us, and they will soon be where we can't follow them."

"Never mind," replies Mr Dewar, laughing, "we'll have the prize."

"And, sir," he adds, "it is all owing to a bit of fat."

"All through what, Mr Dewar?"

"A bit of fat, sir. I'll tell you again, and beg forgiveness in due form."

The saloon of this huge dhow was furnished with truly oriental magnificence.

Lamps, mirrors, carpets, curtains, ottomans, and bijouterie, all in taste, all luxurious in the extreme.

The hold was filled to the hatches with moaning, pining slaves.

Hardly was there enough rice on board her to keep them alive for even a three weeks' voyage, and scarcely water enough to keep them out of agony for a week.

But all this was changed now. The poor creatures were had up in batches, their irons were knocked off, they were washed and fed.

Finally, everything was made clean and comfortable for them below, and when all was done that could be done, a prize crew was put on board, under the command of Harry Milvaine, and the dhow and the _Bunting_ parted company with three ringing cheers three times repeated.

The gunboat steamed away north and by east, while the dhow spread her great wings to the breeze and went tacking away for Zanzibar.

Just two months after this, the _Bunting_ was nearing Symon's Town, all having gone as merrily with her, since leaving Calcutta, as marriage bells. Dr Scott and Dewar were chaffing each other, as they very frequently did.

The doctor had a long string floating overboard from the stern, and every now and then he caught and hauled on board a Cape pigeon, which he had managed by skilful manoeuvring to entangle with his tackle.

He had them running about the deck to the number of twenty or more.

"What are you going to do with all these birds?" asked Dewar. "You silly old Sawbones!"

"I'm merely catching them for sport, you mouldy old logarithm," replied Scott. "I'll let them off again presently, that will be more sport."

"Strange, isn't it, my dear Dr Fungus," said Dewar, "that they can't fly away after they once alight on deck?"

"Not at all," returned the surgeon, "not at all strange, Mr Five-knots-an-hour; the explanation is simple. They are attacked by _mal de mer_--seasickness, you know--"

"Yes, yes, I know that much French, Mr Sawbones."

"Well, old Binnacle-lamp, I'm glad you do know something. The birds get seasick and can't fly, and don't care much what becomes of themselves."

"Humph!" said Mr Dewar, walking away laughing. "Very little is fun to fools--beg pardon, doctor, I mean to foolosophers."

In another twenty-four hours the saucy little _Bunting_ was lying safely at anchor in Symon's Bay. And what a lovely place is this same bay with its surrounding scenery! Oh! the beauty, the summer beauty, the spring and autumn beauty of those grand old hills that mirror their purple heath-clad heads in the placid waters of that enchanting bay! How gorgeous the flowers that blaze on its trees, how golden the sands on which the waves break in streaks of snowy foam! Its very rocks are tinted, and bronzed with the sunshine of ages, even its most barren spots, where, high up among the mountains, the soil peeps through, are rich in brooms and lichen-grey, for Time himself has been the artist here.

Captain Wayland had half, or nearly wholly expected to find Midshipman Milvaine here waiting for him. He was quite uneasy when a steamer straight from Zanzibar and Seych.e.l.les came in, and reported that no slave dhow with a prize crew had been seen at the former town.

The _Bunting_ lay at Symon's Bay a fortnight, and during that time, first a French man-o'-war, and next an English trading steamer arrived from Zanzibar straight away. But still no tidings of the missing dhow.

The _Bunting_ then bore up for home, arriving in good time in Plymouth Sound, duly reported herself, and in less than a week was paid off.

Captain Wayland took the pains to go all the way to the Highlands of Scotland to report correctly the story of the dhow.