Chapter XI On the “Scout”
Because Dr. McTavish was a scientist and a thinker was no reason why he should be otherwise than hearty and jolly.
Indeed, he was admitted to be the life and soul of the mess. He had travelled a good deal before joining the Service, but had never quite lost his accent. He rather preferred to retain it. But this was only when chaffed about his tongue, and when little Mr. Sneyd, for example, rubbed it in too hard.
But the anecdotes, often against his own country, which the surgeon used to retail of an evening, couched in this broad accent, were often highly laughable. As a raconteur there was little chance of his being beaten in the Breezy for some time to come.
The Captain himself never spliced the main-brace; it was his duty or pleasure to ask the surgeon if the men needed that extra glass of grog. But Mac loved the old tales of the sea that he had read when a boy, and sometimes, especially on a Saturday night, he would inform Captain Breezy or the first lieutenant that the men looked rather pallid from the heat of the day, and that splicing the main-brace would do good.
The Captain laughed at the idea of his men looking pale, for they were as weather-beaten as New Forest oaks, and as red in face as a full moon setting in a fog.
But on certain Saturday nights, if the weather was all that could be expected, Captain Breezy himself came as an invited guest into the ward-room, and often thus assembled the officers would have what was called a night with Burns. At dinner the band—a string one, and led on such occasions by Kep himself—played little else save Scottish music.
Kep would play a solo on piano or piccolo, and then recite, as he well could do, selections from Burns, notably “The Cottar’s Saturday Night,” or “Tam o’ Shanter.”
The anecdotes must all be Scotch, some serious and terrible enough, but some highly ludicrous.
More than once did McTavish play solos on his great Highland bagpipes, or dance the sword-dance, if the ship were steady enough.
Pibrochs such as this sailor-surgeon could play were not simply the jig sort of pieces you find in books, and labelled “Pibrochs.” No, they were real Highland battle-pieces. And nowhere else would he play these except high on the bridge, where he could walk slowly to and fro, and a fine figure he looked arrayed in the full Highland dress. In these Highland pibroch pieces you seemed to hear everything connected with the gathering of the clans and the raid, from end to end.
There were the wild cries of the men who ran through the glens holding the fiery cross in their hands, the hurrying hither and thither of the clansmen, then the farewells to their wives or the girls they left behind them, for as the music welled forth they were marching away
Maybe to return to Lochaber no more.
But soon, wild and terrible, you seemed to hear the slogan cries of the Highlanders, as a quick-step was changed into a charge, then the shouts of battle, the cry of the victor, the groaning of the wounded; then a brief pause, succeeded by the most mournful music it is possible to listen to, the coronach or lament for those who had fallen in battle in their country’s cause.
There was no Englishman in the ship who did not sympathize with music like this, and Scottish sailors forward did not seek to hide their excitement, or even their tears.
The band would play up again after this, and both officers and men, the latter forward, the former aft, would mingle in the mazy dance.
Kep, as interpreter, was dressed in very neat uniform, that of a midshipman, but without distinctive marks. He frequently went forward of an evening with his marvellous piccolo to play hornpipes to the men, and give them a change of swinging their legs about, and really to witness the motions of some of the Breezy best dancers one could not have helped wondering why they did not shake their legs off, as the jellyfishes sometimes do.
So we must admit that the Breezy was a merry as well as a happy ship.
There were times, however, when there was very little merriness in their heads.
Terrible storms sometimes raged, especially in the regions round Madagascar, where surveying had to be carried on day after day, if possible, for weeks at a time.
Into gulfs or bays the surveying boats had sometimes to fly, and probably barely save their lives, so suddenly did squalls, that ended in fierce hurricanes, come on.
The squalls would come first, and, raging and tearing hither and thither for a time, churning the sea into a chaos of froth or spume, suddenly retire, when there would be an ominous lull for a time. They had been but acting as vanguard to the advance of the great army of cloud and storm that followed, startling the fish of the sea and beasts of the mountains with its thunders, lighting the darkness of day with the red-blue blinding glare of the electric hurricane—the thick and fearful darkness of the day.
But the boats that were away surveying usually had a pleasant time. Kep was always on board one of these, for his gift of tongues often came in handy with the natives, many of whom were French or Portuguese.
Once no less than three men were washed overboard from a boat, which was almost capsized. No, their bodies were never recovered, and there would be sad hearts somewhere in England when the news reached home.
From the ship itself in many places soundings were taken, and the executive officers and navigating lieutenant had plenty to do in the making of fresh charts.
For a country like ours to know every part of the sea’s bottom is highly important, because in a naval battle, say somewhere round the coast of the Mauritius, or in coral seas of the far Pacific ocean, the side that had the best charts of reefs and deep water would almost surely manoeuvre the enemy into a tight corner, from which there would be no exit.
The Breezy carried a new invention in the shape of a diving bell with strong plate-glass windows, with a telephone by means of which the officer on board could converse with the workmen below. In this wonderful bell men could examine the bottom either by night or by day, and wonderful were the sights they saw at times, and awful nightmare faces used often to glare in at them.
All sunken wrecks were sometimes examined with the aid of the bell, and more than once gold was found. This was treasure trove; nevertheless, though it belonged to the king, much of it would be paid back in prize-money to the officers and crew.
For two long months did the Breezy haunt the eastern shores of Africa. There were men in the Admiralty then, and they would have things done well, no matter what the cost might be.
It is needless to say that the ship received mails periodically from home, and a tiny dispatch boat—a kind of steam-and-sail dhow—used to be sent to seek for the Breezy, and deliver the letters, papers, and sealed orders to the crew.
Needless to say, it was a red-letter day when a mail-bag came, and though both officers and men sometimes received news that did not please them, or even caused them grief, no one, unless asked, was unmanly enough to speak of his own troubles. It was the custom rather to seek to know the sorrows of others, and try to console them.
Kep’s letters from his sister were always long and delightful. But one day he was startled to be told that his father was in difficulties, and in terrible grief in consequence.
“And oh, dear Kep,” the letter went on, “though I am eighteen, I feel but a child. I care for nobody now save father, but two years younger I thought I did care for some one. I have never told you this; I would not even now, but father considered him unworthy to marry the daughter of a wealthy Drummond, and forbade him the house. He never came again; but if a girl of sixteen, my age at the time—you were in Scotland, dear—can love, he took my heart with him. My grief was more poignant and lasting than when our dear mother passed away.
“But, Kep, to save us from the ruin that like a thunder-cloud must burst over Martello Castle, father wants me to, almost commands me to, marry a wealthy Jew, whom I can never, never love. He is not only wealthy, but handsome and distinguished, and my union with him would save the situation, and perhaps poor father’s life. I cannot, oh, I cannot, yet do not be surprised to find that I am driven to it, etc., etc.”
The steam dhow was to wait for letters, and Kep had to write against time. But the gist of his letter was—“Marry no one you cannot both respect and love. Death is to be preferred. Trust in God, Sissie dear. I am very young, but I do think God will forsake no one who puts his trust in Him. If father is so ill-advised as to try to force you into a marriage with this man, leave Martello, and reside with some friend or friendly relative until my ship comes home.”
Kep was naturally a happy-minded, hopeful boy, and though he prayed longer that night in his hammock than usual, and even in his fervour shed a few tears, he fell soundly asleep, and next morning was his own old self again, feeling satisfied that no storm would ever burst on the Martello estate.
For many years there had been a lull in the slave-trade. Few dhows were now captured, and it was believed the Arabs had almost given up the terrible game.
But lately, strange to say, it had broken out with greater vigour than ever.
There was some secret power behind the daring raids of these Arab gentlemen. This was supposed to be Portugal, for she—though ever fair-tongued and cringing to the British—had always been in favour of slavery, and would have given a good deal to see even Germany predominant along the shores, and on the sea as well.
But there had very recently been a new Sultan raised to the throne of Zanzibar, and so frequently was he found to be in league with the German Consulate there, that acting on orders from home the Captain of the Breezy paid the Palace a visit.
His arrival was by appointment made by the Sultan, and the visit paid was, to all appearance, unofficial.
But after the usual courtesies, and meat and betelnut, Captain Breezy, with his first lieutenant, and Kep as interpreter, opened the real “talkee-talkee.”
There was much shilly-shallying, and much untruth and fighting shy of the subject on the part of the youthful potentate, so that the honest sailor was disgusted, and through Kep told the Sultan that as the British had placed him on the throne, so the British would pull him down if he attempted to kick over the traces.
“Down goes the Palace about your Sultanic ears, and up goes another Sultan, if you do not within twenty-four hours sign a treaty with us, and henceforth leave Germans and Portuguese severely alone.”
That treaty was signed, for the Sultan was little more than a boy, but the intriguing was continued from another direction.
For the city of Lamoo on the equator, and many miles up the river, had of late years become greatly improved and powerful.
It had been but a protectorate of Zanzibar and its Sultan. Now it suddenly began to be independent, and shortly after the events I am now going to relate showed signs of unusual activity.
Rich diamond mines had been found, it was said, in the far interior, and why should not Lamoo go in for its navy as well as Zanzibar.
I fear that most of Zanzibar’s ships were put there by means of British coin, and not diamond mines, so if Lamoo’s men-o’-war were lent her or given to her by Portugal or Germany, it would be simply a matter of diamond cut diamond when the crisis came.
Meanwhile Britain was, to all appearance, hoodwinked. On the coast of Africa her only policy appeared to be to sweep slaving Arab dhows from off the Indian Ocean.
In this she was assisted by other ships of the station, all of which by means of wireless telegraphy were within hail of each other.
Officers going on shore from a ship are usually met by a nigger, who may be of any age from fourteen to forty, only he is always called a boy, and acts for the time being as a city guide or guide through the beautifully-wooded island.
The gentlemen Arabs had their own plan of espionage. In intellect they considered themselves far above a Briton, and in this same art of espionage they undoubtedly were, as well as in every devilish device that might be applied to it.
Never an officer who landed on the white sands but was shadowed, and never even an ordinary seaman. Of a party of these latter they took but little heed, well knowing that as a general rule they betook themselves to some hotel, where they might drink a glass or two, have a song and smoke and yarn and be down in time to the beach to meet the liberty boat. A single officer, or even two, were warily followed whereever they went.
Kep’s boy was a clever little rascal, not a day older than himself. A Somali he was, but knew a little English, and plenty of Arabic. As they generally set off to the woods to gather butterflies or lizard-hunting, the Arabs took very little heed of them.
But all the while Kep was picking up the Swahili or Somali language. Out in the forest the two together performed all kinds of monkey tricks, and Kep could soon climb cocoa-nut trees and pitch down the fruit as cleverly even as quick young Bungle. He had some other name, but Bungle suited him well enough, and the lad was rather proud of it than otherwise.
Kep on these little rambles managed to mix a good deal with both low-class and high-class Arabs, but he always kept his ears pricked and his weather-eye lifting.
When in an Arab’s house, presumably to drink the splendid coffee which only an Arab can make, Kep pretended not to know a single word of either Somali or Arabic, and thus he gained a considerable deal of information, which was of great use to Captain Breezy.
The Arabs watched the Breezy put to sea to the nor’ard. They had counted every man and officer who went on board, then they sighed sighs of relief, and thanked Allah that the villainous Britons had gone.
But one thing none of them had noticed, for when night had fallen, and the Breezy was opposite a wooded point of the island, she was stopped.
A light was flashed over her side just once, and presently out from the dark forest shadows stole a tiny black out-rigger boat, and was rowed silently across the star-lit sea, till she reached the ship’s side.
“Good-bye, dear lad; good-bye, and Heaven bless and keep you.”
It was Kep whom the officers were saying farewell to and seeing over the side.
He was an adept at disguise, and now it seemed no longer Kep that was standing among the officers, but a very handsome Arab boy. He had even stained his feet, legs, arms and face an olive tint. He wore sandals on his feet, a little turban on his head, and carried a spear.
It was McTavish himself that spoke the last farewell.
“Take care of yourself, boy,” he said. “May God bring you safe back to us. Good-bye.”
And waving a salute, Kep passed silently over the side, and the ship went on.