By now a number of other residents had arrived, and there was an animated meeting, the pa.s.sengers leaping out and shaking hands. Amid all the excitement, the hand-gripping, the questions as to friends at home, and as to matters on the Gold Coast, no one took notice of the following boats save d.i.c.k, who had greeted his friend and left him to pa.s.s on to others. He watched, therefore, as the second craft approached, and stared at the occupants as the stout vessel lay off the breakers waiting for the propitious moment to arrive when it would be wise to push forward.

There were five pa.s.sengers in all, three of them officers returning to duty, and two others, of whom one seemed to be a man of some fifty years of age, thin and almost cadaverous, while the last by all appearances was a very stout, short man, who found the heat trying, for he fanned his face with an enormous topee, then mopped his brows with an exceedingly red bandana handkerchief, and finally, with a start of surprise, stood up and stared back at the oncoming waves with every appearance of dismay. d.i.c.k heard him shout, and a moment later the tall, thin man had swept him to his seat again with an adroit movement of the arm.

"A stranger, evidently," thought d.i.c.k. "He has never been in the surf before. The other man knows the ropes well, while the officers I recognise as old residents. Ah, they've started. The little fat beggar doesn't like it."

The stout man evidently felt some tremors, for he clutched at the side, pushing his head in between two of the kroo men, till his companion, seeing that he was in the way, dragged him back and spoke sharply to him. After that he remained as if rooted to his seat, staring at the wave which followed, and shuddering as the boat was lifted to the summit of a crest, and again as she as quickly slid back into the abyss behind.

A shriek escaped him as the craft slowly receded, while the harder the paddles worked and their leader shouted, the more did the terror of the unaccustomed situation seem to fill this little stranger. A moment later a shout from d.i.c.k and a chorus of yells attracted the attention of those ash.o.r.e. They turned to find the boat gone. She had been completely engulfed by the following wave, and for a minute nothing but seething water could be seen. Then a black arm shot up, and later the whole of the kroo rowers bobbed to the surface like corks, and knowing what was wanted, merely struggled to keep their heads above the surface while the water swept them ash.o.r.e. Then the three officers appeared, and rapidly followed the example set them.

"Two are missing," shouted d.i.c.k, "the fat little man and the thin one."

"Then one at least has gone for good," replied one of the pa.s.sengers who had just come ash.o.r.e. "The Dutchman couldn't swim if you paid him. The other could, no doubt. Hullo! What's happening, Stapleton?"

"I'm going in," said d.i.c.k, quietly, as he tore at his coat and kicked his shoes off. "Look; there's one, and he's helpless!"

He had no time for more, but coolly nodding to the group, ran into the water, and as a wave crashed into seething foam at his feet he dived into the ma.s.s and disappeared. A minute later he was in the trough beyond, and the wave which followed merely lifted him high in the air.

There was a warning shout from the sh.o.r.e, and a dozen fingers pointed to his right. But did did not see them. Nor did he even hear, for the roar of the surf was so great. But he happened to catch sight of an arm, which was instantly submerged.

"That is one," he said to himself. "I'll get him if I dive."

d.i.c.k had learned to be wary, and knew that it is as dangerous to approach a drowning man from behind as from the front when he is still full of vigour. He dived, struck out beneath the water, touched something, and struggled to the surface, clutching the tail of a coat.

He pulled at it, and slowly the fat face of the stout little pa.s.senger appeared, and close to his that of the thin man, the one with cadaverous cheeks. Then a pair of arms came into sight, and d.i.c.k gathered that the stout stranger had gripped at the nearest person and had dragged him down with him, making escape impossible, making it even out of the question for the taller man to struggle for existence.

"Better get them ash.o.r.e like this," he thought, with wonderful coolness considering the danger. "There's a wave coming. I'll copy the kroo boys and wait for it. Then I'll try to get all three of us flung on the beach."

He took a firm hold of the collar of the stout man, who was apparently unconscious, for his eyes were tightly closed, though his arms still retained their grip. But the hold which d.i.c.k had obtained enabled him to keep the fat stranger's lips just clear of the water, while it also raised the other man's face. Then d.i.c.k lifted his free arm for a second. Those ash.o.r.e saw the movement and shouted, while three or four of them ran down into the sea. A wave was coming. d.i.c.k could see it in spite of the blowing spray which whisked across the water. He took a deep breath and gripped the coat with both hands. The curling crest of a green wave shut out the horizon. There was a crash in his ears. The torrent caught him and almost tore his grip from the collar. Then he felt that he was moving. He and the weight to which he clung shot towards the sh.o.r.e, a foot or more of water covering them. Then there was a second crash, loud shouts from those on the beach, and afterwards--

"Hullo! Does it hurt? Broke just above the elbow and we had such a job. No. Lie down, sir! You are not to move. Lie down, I say! You are safe out of the water."

d.i.c.k collapsed flat on his back and stared indignantly at the individual who had dared to give the order. He was a trim, dapper Englishman, with a small beard, and as he returned our hero's gaze he showed every sign of being a man who meant what he said, and would have no nonsense. He was minus his coat, and his sleeves were rolled to the shoulder.

"That's an order," he laughed. "Remember that, youngster. An order.

See that you obey it."

He shook his fist, laughed merrily, and proceeded to unroll his sleeves and don his coat.

They were in a large, airy room, and when d.i.c.k turned his head, he could catch, through the widely opened windows, a view of the sea, of the ship which had just reached the roads, and a small section of the sandy beach. No one was stirring. The sun was right overhead, and the shadows short and barely perceptible. The atmosphere quivered with the heat. Even the birds and the insects seemed to have succ.u.mbed. An unnatural quiet reigned over that portion of the Gold Coast, and only the surf thundered and roared. But that was partly imagination. d.i.c.k could not shake off the impression that he was even then swallowed in that huge ma.s.s of water, and that he could still hear, was deafened, indeed, by the crash of the billows. He looked again down at the sands.

A solitary Fanti boy languidly sauntered across the view. There was a boat drawn up clear of the breakers, and another lay off the ship, a mile from the sh.o.r.e. Was it all a dream, then?

"I say," he suddenly remarked, and he felt surprised that his voice should sound so low and weak. "Er, I say, if you please, where am I, and what has been happening?"

"Happening?" exclaimed his companion, with elevated eyebrows. "Oh, nothing at all. You acted like a madman, they tell me. You dived into the surf, and, as a result, the surf threw you back as if it objected to you. It threw you hard, too, and wet sand is heavy stuff to fall on.

You've a broken arm, and may thank your stars that that is all. It ought, by rights, to have been a broken neck and hardly a whole bone in your body. Where are you? Why, at the Governor's, of course. In clover, my boy."

The jovial individual laughed as he spoke, and came close to the bed.

"You've been an a.s.s," he said bluntly, and with a laugh. "Seriously, my lad, you've done a fine thing. You went into the surf and brought out those two drowning men. It was a fine thing to do, but risky. My word, I think so!"

He took d.i.c.k's hand and squeezed it, while the bantering smile left his lips.

"A n.i.g.g.e.r is at home sometimes in the surf," he explained; "but when you know the coast as I do, you will realise that to get into those breakers means death to most white men. You want to be a fish in the first place, and you need to be made of cast iron in the second. I'm not joking. I've seen many a surf-boat splintered into bits as she b.u.mped on the beach. Men are thrown ash.o.r.e in the same way, and they get broken. Your arm is fractured, and a nice little business it has been to get it put up properly. The Dutchman is still unconscious, and I fancy he swallowed a deal of salt water. Mr Pepson, the other individual whom you saved, is quite recovered. He's one of those fellows who is as hard as nails. But there, that'll do. I'm talking too much. Lie down quietly and try to sleep like a good fellow."

So it was real after all. He had not dreamed it. He had gone into the surf, and the Dutchman was saved.

"And who's this Mr Pepson?" thought d.i.c.k. "And this fellow here must be the doctor. One of the army surgeons, I suppose. Fancy being at the Governor's house. Phew! That ought to get me the billet aboard the ship." Suddenly he recollected that his fractured arm would make hard work out of the question for a time, and he groaned at the thought.

"Pain?" asked the surgeon. "No? Then worry? What's wrong?"

d.i.c.k told him in a few words.

"Then don't bother your head," was the answer. "The Governor is not likely to turn you out while you are helpless, and the time to be worrying will be when you are well. You've friends now, lad. You were no one before--that is, you were one amongst many. Now you have brought your name into prominence. We don't have men fished out of the surf every day of the year."

He spoke the truth, too, and d.i.c.k soon realised that his gallant action had brought him much honour and many friends. The Governor came that very afternoon to congratulate him, while the members of the household, the ladies of the Governor's party, fussed about their guest. Officers called to see the plucky youngster, while, such is the reward of popularity, two of the traders on the coast made offers for d.i.c.k's houses and the good-will of the stores. It was amazing, and if our hero's head had hummed before with the memory of his buffeting in the surf, it hummed still louder now. He was in a glow. The clothes on his bed seemed like lead. The place stifled him. He longed to be able to get out, to shake off the excitement.

"An attack of fever," said the surgeon that evening, as he came to the room and found d.i.c.k wandering slightly. "The shock, hard times for the last few weeks, and thoughtless exposure to the sun, are probable causes. That's what many of the youngsters do. They think that because an older hand can at a pinch work during the heat of the day and in the sun, they can do the same. They can't. They haven't the stamina of older men. Here's an example. He'll be in bed for another week."

And in bed d.i.c.k was for more than that time. At last, when the fever had left him, he was allowed to get into a chair, where for a few days he remained till his strength was partially restored. Another week and he emerged into the open. And here at length he made the acquaintance of the men he had rescued from the surf.

CHAPTER THREE.

A MINING EXPEDITION.

d.i.c.k could have shouted with merriment as the two strangers whom he had rescued after their upset in the surf came up the steep steps of Government House to greet him, and still more was his merriment roused as the stout little man came forward to shake him by the hand. For this rotund and jolly-looking individual was dressed in immaculate white, with an enormously broad red c.u.mmerbund about his middle, making his vast girth even more noticeable. His round, clean-shaven face beamed with friendly purpose, while there was about him the air of a leader.

He struggled to appear dignified. He held his head high, and showed no sign of feeling abashed, or ashamed at the memory of his conduct aboard the boat.

"Ah, ah!" he gasped, for the climb had taken his breath away. "Bud id is hod for walking, Meinheer d.i.c.k, and zese steps zey are sdeep. I greed you brave Englishman as one brave man would anozer. I render zanks for your aid. I am proud to shake ze hand of mine comrade who came into ze wild sea to give me ze help."

"Goodness!" thought d.i.c.k, "he speaks as if he had actually been attempting to save his friend, and had not really been the means of almost drowning him."

He glanced furtively at the second stranger, as the fat man grasped his hand and pumped it up and down, while at the same time he vainly endeavoured to mop his streaming forehead. But d.i.c.k could read nothing in the face of Mr Pepson. Perhaps the keen sunken eyes twinkled ever so little. Perhaps that twitch of the thin lips was a smile suppressed.

Beyond that there was nothing. Mr Pepson gazed at his rescuer with evident interest, and seemed barely to notice the presence of his companion. At length, however, he moved forward a step and addressed himself quietly to d.i.c.k.

"Let me introduce our friend," he said, with a quaint little bow, removing his topee as he did so. "This is Meinheer Van Somering, of Elmina."

"Dutch by birdh and a Dutchman to ze backbone, Meinheer," exclaimed the stout man, as he released d.i.c.k's hand. "I am one of ze residents of Elmina, which was in ze hands of mine coundry till ladely, you undersdand. Id is a spod to visid. Ah! zere you will find comford.

But I have nod zanked you."

"Indeed you have. You have said enough. I did nothing to speak of,"

exclaimed d.i.c.k, hastily. "How are you? None the worse for your adventure?"

"None, we thank you," answered Mr Pepson, interrupting the voluble Dutchman as he was in the act of launching forth into a speech. "We grieve to hear how badly you have fared, and we hope that you are now on the mend. You do not like thanks. I see that plainly. Then I will say very little. I owe you my life, Mr Stapleton, and I and all consider your action to have been an extremely plucky one. Now, may we sit down?

It is hot, as Meinheer says. And these steps are steep."

"Sdeep! Mein word! In Elmina zere are none like dese. Here, in Cape Coast Castle, everyzing is sdeep. You climb or you run downhill. Zere is no level. Id is derrible!"

The fat little Dutchman threw his hands into the air with a comical expression of disgust, and then flung himself back into a basket chair, causing it to creak and groan and bend to one side, till d.i.c.k thought it would certainly collapse.

Mr Pepson smiled. "Our friend does not think greatly of this English possession of ours," he said, "and there I agree with him, for Elmina is by contrast a charming spot. You have been there, Mr Stapleton--d.i.c.k I think they all call you?"