Chapter XIII Preparing for the Fight
Two weeks passed away, and happy though he was, Kep was longing for his ship to return in order that he might report what he had found out, and so frustrate the plans of the savage Arab chief.
He watched for her in vain however.
But one evening while alone with his friends, the door was quietly opened, and Bungle himself entered as silently as a gecko lizard.
That he had something important to communicate could, however, be seen in his very look and gesture.
“Hist!” he said, pointing towards the door, which he had carefully closed. “P’haps bad man he follow Bungle.”
He spoke in a solemn whisper, and coming nearer to Kep’s side, uttered just two words that caused our little hero’s heart to rejoice.
“Ship come.”
“Truly?”
“Foh true, sah. She dere now.”
Kep forgot everything else in his excitement. For the time being even his little Zeena counted for nothing.
He hurried beachwards alone.
There was a ship in the roadstead certainly, but it was not the Breezy.
He was not even certain she was British, but he waited and waited. And not far off Bungle was waiting too.
By and bye a white boat came rushing through the water shorewards, and Kep could tell even by the sturdy thump-thump of oars in rowlocks that they were hearts of oak who manned her.
She was smartly hauled up, and a young lieutenant sprang out.
Kep rushed up to him.
“You wantee one boy guide, sah? I plenty goodee guide, plenty goodee!”
The lieutenant looked down.
“Thank you, little man, but I know my way. I am going no further than the Consulate to-night.”
But Kep followed, as if importunate, and when they were alone—
“One moment, sir,” he said in a low voice, “I am not what I seem, but interpreter to H.M.S. Breezy. I have most important news to give or to send.”
“Can you not come off with me then, and see our Captain?”
“No, sir, if I did so I should be suspected as a spy and my throat cut, for I must remain in this town until the Breezy returns. I will now pretend to be guiding you to a hotel, and tell you all as I trot along by your side.”
“All right, boy. You seem to be trustworthy.”
“I am true as steel.”
Then he shouted as Arab guide boys do.
“Dis way den. Dis way, sah, to de best hotel in Zanzeebar.”
And in this clever way he was able to tell the officer this whole story.
The ship lying in the offing, the officer told Kep, was the cruiser gun-boat Marten, and she was on her way to the Cape with important despatches to the Admiral of that station. But he must first see the British Consul, and report to him what had already happened. The Marten was on her way, it appeared, from Bombay, and had received orders to look out for and capture if possible a large three-masted ship called the Annabel Lee. This capture the Marten was only to effect if she fell in with the ship (which was flying American colours), before she, the gun-boat, reached Zanzibar. However, the Marten had broke down for a time, and while undergoing repairs a current had drifted her nearer to the coast than she ought to have been, and her fore-foot got on a bank. This was bad enough, certainly, but what made it all the more provoking was the fact that it came on to blow to the extent of a ten-knot breeze, and that during the night—it was one of the brightest moonlight—a large ship, answering in every way to the description given of the Annabel Lee, sailed past within a quarter of a mile of her.
The Marten had fired a gun or two; but the vessel took not the slightest notice, simply keeping on her course. She was seen, however, to hoist more sail, and soon she disappeared. After a delay of a day, the Marten got off the bank with merely the loss of a portion of her false keel, and made the best of her way to a town not far from Zanzibar; but only to find that the American ship—if she was American—had been there and had hurriedly bought and shipped stores; after which she speedily hoisted sail and bore up for the south. It was the opinion of every one, therefore, that the Annabel Lee was a slaver. So the Marten, hardly delaying an hour, set off in chase, but in three days’ time came here unsuccessful, to Zanzibar roadstead, and anchored.
So Kep promised to meet this officer next day, meanwhile going as far with him as the British Consulate, for everything bordering on suspicion must be avoided. The Arabs even then might be watching.
Kep then returned to his home, and thinking that something terrible had happened, for it was now long past eleven, the Arab had sat up for him with little Zeena, who was on the ottoman weeping when the lad entered.
He had to tell all his story now with the girl on his knee.
Bungle sat thinking.
“He is one devil,” he said at last.
“Who are you talking about, Bungle?”
“About de wicked Chief Abdularram.”
“From what I heard him say that night in the jungle,” returned Kep, “he is not one devil, but a thousand devils rolled into one.”
The Marten was busy coaling next forenoon, but men were allowed on shore after twelve o’clock, and when the liberty boat returned at six o’clock from the shore two of them were missing. Very early next morning a party of marines, under the charge of a sergeant, landed to hunt these men up.
They found them at last, or rather they found their dead bodies. The poor fellows had been inveigled into a compound, some little way off one of the main streets, and then stabbed to the heart, and their faces frightfully gashed and mutilated. They had not been robbed. Both men possessed watches and had money also, but nothing had been abstracted. It was a cases of revenge pure and simple. Not that the Arab perpetrators had borne any personal grudge against these men. They were Britishers, that was all.
Next day, with others, Kep went to the spot where the men were murdered. Bungle was there also, but they pretended not to know each other.
Kep noticed that this clever little fellow picked up something with his toes, and slipped it into his hand, and that same evening he came as before to our young hero’s quarters and showed him the something.
It was a beautiful large ring, set with sparkling stones, and evidently of great value.
When Kep saw it he started.
“Good gracious!” he cried, “that very ring I saw on the chief’s finger as he squatted by the forest fire.”
The Marten started next morning. The despatches would not wait, but the officer left letters at the Consulate for the Breezy, which was now overdue, and left orders also with the Consul to investigate the murder and punish, if possible, the perpetrators of this terrible crime.
Just three nights after this, and at the very time that Kep was thinking of turning in, the boy Bungle again appeared. There was joy on his face this time.
“One oder ship come,” he cried. “’Tis you ship foh true dis time.”
Kep bade the Arab and his little daughter a hurried adieu! He must get on board at all risks immediately.
Poor little Zeena was inconsolable, and he only got away with a promise to come back again some day.
“Ah!” he thought to himself, “that some day may never come!”
Yet he really meant to return to see his little Araby maid, as he called her, if ever he got a chance.
Bungle met him on the beach, and together they walked fully a mile along it, and here they found Bungle’s dug-out, and quickly entering it shoved off.
There was a strong current running, but they managed to stem it, and in due time got near to the Breezy.
“Boat ahoy,” shouted a sentry.
“No, no,” was the answering hail, which meant that the occupants would come on board at the port side.
Most of the officers had turned in. Only the doctor and Wynn sat together, working out some sort of problem.
“I’ll be shot,” cried McTavish, “if that isn’t young Bowser’s voice.”
He didn’t need to be shot, for next moment Kep, still dressed as an Arab, walked in and saluted.
You may be certain the welcome he received was a hearty one.
“May I bring Bungle in?”
“Certainly, lad,” said the first lieutenant, “and meanwhile I’ll report your arrival to the Captain.”
When Wynn returned the captain was with him. The assistant paymaster and the young marine both crept in with only their pyjamas on.
Then the boy told his story, pausing here and there to permit Bungle to work in a word or two.
Then Kep, during the brief spell of silence that followed, handed the ring to Captain Breezy.
“What is this?”
“That is the chief murderer’s ring.”
The chief murderer, however, had sailed days ago, probably to join his brother. Indeed, from further evidence brought next day by an old interpreter, there was little doubt left that Abdularram was in hiding somewhere about the line or farther north, with a fleet of northern or fighting dhows, and also that his brother was marching upon the coast with his slaves, if indeed he had not already reached his barracoon. Their object, therefore, was to strike a blow both on shore and at sea that the Arabs would feel the effects of for many and many a day to come.
Fore and aft, on this very account, the officers and bluejackets were the merriest of the merry; swords and cutlasses were being sharpened; guns received an extra polish; revolvers were cleaned and cartridges were served out; while, though they were all busy attending to the duties that devolved upon them, laughing and joking were heard all day long.
A row was coming, and they would be in it, and from the fight they felt certain they would come out victorious.