Chapter Twenty Seven.
A Regular Scrimmage!
I believe the delicious perfume that permeated the air had almost lulled me to sleep for the moment, when I was rudely roused up by feeling the grip on my throat. “Belay that, Larry,” cried I, fancying that my practical-joking friend had stolen a march on me, thinking to catch me napping, speaking without even taking the trouble to open my eyes. “A lark’s a lark, old chap: but you needn’t squeeze my throat so beastly hard, Larry!”
The pressure of his fingers, as I thought, continuing and absolutely causing me considerable pain, as well as throttling me, while I felt myself drawn up, as I have stated, into the lower branches of the tree against which I had been leaning, I quickly opened my eyes.
Heavens, I was horrified!
The hand that I fancied was the hand of Larry and which he had clasped round my neck in joke, was one of the great hairy paws of a huge baboon, who, with his grinning face shoved close to mine, was trying his best to choke me in grim earnest; while, getting a purchase with the other paw on to a projecting limb of the juniper-tree, he was slowly hoisting me aloft.
His grip was so strong that I felt powerless in his grasp; but, all the same, I was not going to give in to a brute of a monkey without making a fight for it!
So, feeling for the lanyard of my knife, I drew this out of its sheath and gave Jocko’s elder brother a slash across his wrist that must have tickled him up a bit, the blood from the beast’s paw shooting over my face in a stream, while he let go his hold of me.
Hardly had I reached the ground, however, touching mother earth again with a jerk that nearly dislocated my ankles, besides making me fall sideways all a-sprawl, than the baboon, giving vent to a vicious snarl, caught hold of my left leg with both his paws, just as a dog might seize a bone, and bit me savagely with his tusk-like teeth.
Fortunately, all of us were in full marching rig with gaiters on, and this protection prevented the baboon’s teeth from penetrating far into my flesh, though he made his mark on my unfortunate calf.
Then, on my prodding him in one of his hind legs, which I clutched in my turn, thinking such a procedure only fair play, the beast dropped the gaiter he was busy gnawing up, and made at me with a howl, endeavouring to clutch me again in his hairy hug.
But, dropping on one knee, I gave him an upper cut with my doubled fist right under the brute’s chin, which prevented this movement; and the next moment, falling back, when I jumped on top of him, he and I were rolling over and over, locked together, the baboon and I, in each other’s arms, and engaged in one of the biggest rough-and-tumble fights I ever had the pleasure of participating in!
The big brute, though, was so strong and muscular that he got the better of me after a bit, tearing all the clothes off me with the long nails he had at the ends of his toes and human-like fingers, besides biting me in the most savage fashion wherever he saw an opening.
I thought my last hour had come.
But, help was at hand.
As I gasped and struggled frantically with the ferocious monster, feeling my strength ebbing away so fast that I had hardly power enough to protect my face from the brute’s cruel claws, I heard a hoarse shout and a rapid footstep near me crunching on the ground.
Then.
‘Bang!’ came, the report of a rifle close to my ear, and the baboon’s bloody body fell back on top of me, the beast having been shot as dead as a herring.
“Lor’, Tom,” exclaimed Larrikins, hauling away the carcass of the baboon, which I subsequently learnt was a species of the mandrill, common in the north-eastern and central parts of Africa, “I wer’ only in the nick o’ time! Why didn’t yer call out, chummy?”
“How could I, Larry?” said I, after he had put his water-bottle to my mouth and brought me round a bit, so that I was able to sit up and speak. “The beast had me round the neck and I couldn’t have shouted or even whispered to save my life.”
“Well, ye wouldn’t ’a saved it, me joker, if I hadn’t missed yer all of a suddink,” replied Larrikins, grinning; for I believe he could not have helped laughing, his disposition was so humorous, if a fellow had told him his father was dead! “I wer’ a-wondering where yer wer’, Tom, when I see’d a troop of big black monkeys makin’ fur this very grove where we is. Wonderin’ if they was them beasts that Swahili chap told us on, I follered ’em up; and then, all at onst, I see’d ye, Tom, a-strugglin’ with that beast theer, and I comes up at the double and puts my rifle inter his ear and blows his bloomin’ brains out, jest as ye was well-nigh spent, me joker.”
“Thank you, Larry,” said I; “you’ve saved my life.”
“All right,” he replied jokingly, pulling me up and rubbing me down, helping to arrange my tattered jumper and trousers, which that devil of a baboon had nearly torn to pieces; his bites, luckily for me, not being as bad as they had seemed, now that the blood was rubbed off. “I hopes, Tom, ye’ll remember me in yer will when ye’re dead, me joker!”
“I will do better than that,” said I, as we both moved off to join some of the other bluejackets scouting away behind us, who had come up during the stoppage of our march through the wild country. “I will remember you, Larry, as long as I live!”
The surgeon accompanying our column presently came up to me and neatly strapped up the cuts which the baboon had inflicted on me with his teeth. He wanted me to retire to the rear and stop with the baggage guard; but, I would have none of that, no, not I!
“I would rather go on, sir, if you will allow me,” said I. “Now that I have rested and you have put that stuff on the wounds, I feel all right again, sir; and I don’t want to be left out of the fighting and lose the chance of paying out those Arab beggars for a few scratches like these. Why, sir, chaps that don’t know me would say that I was a coward!”
“Very good, my lad,” said the surgeon good-humouredly, for he was a rare good fellow, and a prime favourite with all on board the Mermaid; “you can go on with the column if you like. We want such men as you in the battle front; and, I think, we generally have them, too!” I therefore resumed my place in the ranks, though let off scouting duty, as was Larry, the two of us being now relieved by fresh hands from amongst the bluejackets; and so, I now marched along with the column, which pursued its way onward steadily inland, steering the same west south-west course, until we had travelled some fifteen miles away from our base.
We halted for the night on a beautiful grassy plain, covered with red and white clover, with thistles and dog-roses and dandelions intermixed, such as one might see on the outskirts of many an English wood in the south; while, there we were in the heart of Africa, so to speak!
Shortly after we encamped here, a runner brought news from the admiral to our captain, telling him that the other column had reached the position assigned to it in the original plan of operations and that they were now within good striking distance of the Arabs, who, the chief wrote word, were massed in the vicinity of Arabuku, which after executing our long détour we also were near.
All our preparations being thus complete, ‘old Hankey Pankey’ arranged for us to break camp at four o’clock the next morning, and move off to where the Somalis and their allies were said by the natives to be intrenched in strong force, so as to take them in the rear while the admiral made a front attack.
No bugle, though, sounded to rouse us when day broke in the African forest and the rosy light of dawn came peeping through the trees, brightening the green sheen of their leaves and making the dewdrops glisten on the clover, the scene reminding me more of home than anything I had seen since I left Spithead.
But, neither I nor any one else had much time for such reflections that morning as we silently paraded before ‘old Hankey Pankey’ and the other officers; and, after a careful inspection of our arms, we started in a bee-line for Arabuku, the men massed four deep, with the guns in the centre of our column and flanking parties on the right and left, ‘old Hankey Pankey,’ of course, let him alone for that, leading the van.
At five o’clock, just as the old sun appeared in full splendour above the tops of the hills on our left, a halt was ordered by the captain, the word being passed quietly along the ranks from front to rear.
I was on the right flank, close to ‘old Hankey Pankey’ as he brought us up in this sudden fashion, so I heard every word he said to Mr Gresham, who marched by his side; though, for that matter, I almost guessed what was coming, from the captain wheeling round abruptly and stopping the sort of half trot at which he had been going along, the poor gentleman never having quite recovered the use of his legs after the matchlock ball had ventilated them.
“I think this was about the spot, Gresham, eh?” said he to the first lieutenant. “The admiral said we were to proceed four miles due south from our encampment at Kilili, or whatever else that place was called by our Swahili guide.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Mr Gresham. “I think we have about covered that distance by now; and our course has been true by compass, I know.”
“Yes, yes,” said ‘old Hankey Pankey,’ as if thinking over the matter—“yes. Got the rockets ready, Mr—ahem—Shrapnell?”
“Aye, aye, sir,” replied ‘Gunnery Jack,’ who had come up from his guns, on the halt being cried, to see whether the captain might not have any special orders for him. “They’re close at hand, sir.”
“The signal rockets, I mean.”
“Yes, sir, I’m speaking of the signal rockets,” replied Mr Shrapnell, with never a movement on his face, but looking grave as a judge. “I thought you’d want them, sir, so I brought them along with me. Adams here, sir, has them in his charge. The other rockets with the tube for firing them are with the guns in the centre of the main column.”
“That’s right, Mr Shrapnell; tell Adams to get one of the signals ready for sending up at once, for I expect to see the admiral’s every minute,” said ‘old Hankey Pankey’; adding, as ‘Gunnery Jack’ stepped back to prepare the signal rocket with Adams, “That chap thinks himself very smart with his rocket and tube, as if I didn’t know the real difference between the two! It’s just like those gunnery fellows. They think nobody can be as sharp as themselves; but Mr Shrapnell will find himself too sharp for himself as well as for me some day, if he doesn’t look out!”
Almost as he said this, we could hear the ‘whis–s–ish’ of a rocket going up in the distance, the sound seeming to come from a point in the bush about a mile or so ahead of us; and then, the bright blue and red globules of fire that followed the burst of the warning signal were seen the very next moment, high in the air above the trees in front, slowly sinking as their light died away out of sight.
“Stand by there!” shouted ‘old Hankey Pankey’ to Adams, who had our return signal rocket all ready, slung on to a handspike for a stick. “Here’s my cigar, set fire to it with that.”
He handed him as he thus spoke the manilla which he had been smoking throughout our march, as if he were going to some picnic and probably feeling quite as jovial as if he had been; and, Adams at once setting light to the end of the rocket, it soared aloft like its compeer the moment before, with a whish and a rush that must have scared all the stray baboons within earshot of its flight.
Then we heard tom-toms beating close by, and the clash of brass or some other metal that had a ring like cymbals.
“They’re waking up,” cried ‘old Hankey Pankey’ to Mr Gresham, with a pleased smile on his face. “The column will now advance. Close your ranks, men. Keep steady. Forward!”
We had hardly taken a dozen paces, advancing in the same formation as before, when we heard the roar of guns in front and steady volleys of rifle-fire, whose sound clearly betokened that it emanated from weapons similar to our own.
“By George, we’ll be too late!” cried ‘old Hankey Pankey,’ hobbling onwards at a fine rate for a moment, and then slewing round to give some fresh order to those following up behind. “Come on, men—come on at the double. Spread out your flanks, Mr Gresham! Spread out your flanks, d’ye hear? Tell Mr Shrapnell to bring up the guns. Spread out there, men—spread out in skirmishing order, to cover your front! Hang it, come on, my lads—come on, or we’ll be too late!”
Captain Oliver of the Merlin was running us cheek by jowl with his contingent on the left and Commander Jellaby of the Bullfinch trying to outstrip him on our right; so, we had hard work to keep our place in line ahead.
But ‘old Hankey Pankey’ was not going to let any one, junior or senior in the service, beat him for first place when fighting was on; and no one who had known how terribly he had been wounded, the muscles of his legs having become shrunk after the holes made by the matchlock ball had closed up, would have dreamt him capable of going the pace he did now.
“Forward, men—forward!” he yelled out spasmodically, as he hobbled on like the wind in front, taking long hops at intervals over any obstruction that lay in his path. “Mermaids to the front! You’re not going to let us be licked, men, by any other ship on the station!”
How he got out the words between his leaps, and bounds, and hops, I am sure I cannot tell; but, get them out he did, though he must have been pretty well pumped out already by his exertions, and his breath nearly all spent.
But, we hardly needed the stimulus to prompt us to action; for in barely another half minute we burst out of the bush, going at the double and spread out in a half circle, so as to catch all stragglers who might have vainly hoped to escape in our direction, for we were right in the rear of the Arab town.
This was already all ablaze from the rockets and bursting shells of the admiral’s brigade, the straw-thatched houses as they looked, though they were really covered with dry plantain and banana leaves, burning up like so many fierce bonfires in our front, and right and left; while the sharp rattle of musketry and loud banging of the guns of the first division was mixed up with the platoon-like reports from the matchlocks of the Somalis, who were urging on their somewhat reluctant allies, the slave-traders of the interior, with hoarse yells and shrill screams, bolstering up their courage likewise by the beating of innumerable gongs and clashing cymbals, the consensus of sound making din enough to have wakened up all the dead dervishes of the desert for generations past, and caused them, had they come to life, to have proclaimed a ‘Jehad’ or holy war against us, and thus roused up all the fanaticism of all those of the Moslem race yet left alive!
Such was our grand rush, however, coming as it did on top of the cleverly planned combined attack of the admiral’s columns in front of the town, thus taking the Arabs between two fires, that even Saladin would not have saved them.
Hundreds of them were shot down behind their stockades, which I must say they defended gallantly to the last; while those who were not potted by our bullets, were ‘put out of action’ by the bayonets of us bluejackets, who carried their intrenchments by storm.
So far, I was only one of the crowd, loading and firing my Martini as I advanced or halted on the word of command being given by ‘old Hankey Pankey’; who, plucky as a lion, was in the forefront all through, his uniform cap tumbled off and his face all blackened with powder, ‘potting’ this chap with the revolver that he held in his left hand, or sticking another Somali through the gizzard with his sword, which was always thrust out straight before him as he went onward, and always ‘at the point.’
But, now, I had a little diversion on my own account.
“Left turn!” shouted our company leader Mr Chisholm, whose sharp eye detected through the smoke a body of the Arabs attacking an officer and a detached party of our men who had escaladed the fortifications on the right of the town; and seeing that they were hard pressed, though making a gallant stand of it against heavy odds, our officer quickly called out, “Double! Charge, my lads!”
By George! We did charge; and then, the bronze-coloured beggars, who had thought to make an easy prey of our before isolated comrades, turned savagely to receive us, a whole horde of them!
Larrikins, who was next me, got his right arm transfixed by one of their light spears or jereeds, a lot of which came whistling through the air into our ranks like a flight of sparrows.
This made Larry drop his rifle like a hot potato; but, nothing daunted, he kept alongside of me all the same, drawing his cutlass as we raced along together.
“Lor’, Tom, that wer’ a nipper, that wer’!” he cried, with a grin on his face, as if the wound were rather a joke than otherwise. “But I’m jiggered if I don’t pay out the joker who skewered me then!”
At that moment a couple of the Arabs made at the pair of us; and I had quite enough to do to guard off the shower of cuts one of them delivered round my devoted head, his curved scimitar whirling about me in all directions and the sunlight from above making it flash so that it dazzled my eyes.
However, a lucky drive with my sword-bayonet through the rascal’s throat stopped his little game; for the swarthy Arab dropped his scimitar instanter, with a gurgle of rage and an upward roll of his eyes, “like a dying duck in a thunder-storm,” as father used to say, tumbling down all of a heap as dead as mutton.
Hardly had I done with him when, strange to say, I heard the bark of a dog.
This was very unusual, all Mahometans hating dogs and believing them to be possessed of the Devil.
Besides, somehow or other, I seemed to recognise the bark as familiar to me; for, believe me, the voices of dogs and their respective expressions of grief or joy, though sounding the same to alien ears, are as distinct to such as are accustomed to hear them frequently as the voices of human beings of our acquaintance or any individual.
Before I had time to think, however, though my senses were all on the alert from hearing the dog’s bark, I saw that the naval officer whom we had rushed up to help at Mr Chisholm’s instigation, was engaged in a fierce hand-to-hand fight with two Arabs, one of whom, a tall, lean Somali, with a peculiar sort of turban round his head, unlike any of those sported by the rest of the gang, I was certain was no less a personage than the man, or ‘sheik’ as he was called, Abdalah, the leader of the Somalis.
As I noted this, the officer fell; but, ere the big Arab, who drew back a long spear that he wielded, could give him the fatal thrust he intended, I was upon him.
Clubbing my rifle, I dealt a vicious blow at the savage brute’s head which shivered the spear wherewith he tried to guard it.
The rascal, though, was not discomfited; for, clutching hold of a tulwar he carried loosely in a sash of the old dressing-gown-like garment he wore, he almost slashed my nose off, the barrel of my Martini only just preventing me from losing all my good looks!
The shock sent me on my knees; and then, seeing a sword lying on the ground in front of me, I gripped hold of this more by instinct than anything else, and I rose to my feet again as quick as lightning.
Quick as I was, however, the brute of an Arab was quicker; and, aiming a terrible slashing cut at me with the tulwar, which had it landed would have decapitated me as clean as a whistle, and the last word of my history been told for good and all—aye, but for a wonderful interposition just as I thought my end had come.
With a piercing yelp, that was succeeded by a deep, savage growl, a white dog bounded up from the ground beside the officer, who had not yet recovered from the effects of the blow that had struck him down.
Would you believe it, this dog was ‘Gyp’!
Making a jump which no one could have imagined a dog of his size capable of doing, he clutched the Arab chief by the throat as he slashed at me, making him stumble back, thus causing the cut that would otherwise have sliced off my head like a carrot to be wasted in the air.
As the big murdering rascal stumbled back, I thrust forth my arm holding the officer’s sword and sent the blade right through the beggar’s stomach up to the hilt.
“Be the powers, me joker,” cried a voice behind me, as sheik and ‘Gyp’ and I all fell together on the ground in one batch, “ye did that well, alannah! Begorrah, it wor roight in his bri’d-basket, sure!”
“My goodness!” I exclaimed, recognising a voice that sounded as familiar to my ears as the bark of ‘Gyp’ just now. “Who’s that?”