In the grip of the Mullah: A tale of adventure in Somaliland

by F. S. Brereton

"Now get ready for the other two," cried Jim. "Pull yourself together, Tom, and when they rush, leave me to manage the first one. You can put a bullet into the second, if necessary, but we don't want to kill them all, if it can be helped. Ah, here they come!"

Undeterred by the quick fate which had befallen their comrades, the master of the dhow advanced cautiously along the deck, accompanied by the steersman, and armed with an enormous double-handed sword, which he held well before him. The steersman snatched at one of the guns which had been loaded in preparation for the attack of the pirate on the previous evening, and sinking upon one knee, took steady aim in Jim's direction. He was in the act of firing it when Tom, who had suddenly come to his senses, took a snapshot at him with his revolver, in the hope of killing him before he could do any harm. But the bullet flew wide of the mark, and striking the bulwarks, buried itself deep in the wood. An instant later there was a loud report, and, to Jim's amazement, the folds of linen which were bound about his head flew high into the air, while he staggered back, feeling as though someone had struck him violently.

But he was not the lad to give way without a struggle, or to cry out before he was hurt. Starting forward a pace or two, he levelled his revolver at the man who had just fired, and who was, at that moment, engaged in reaching for another gun. Sighting carefully, and with the utmost coolness, he pressed gently upon the trigger, and had the satisfaction of seeing the native start to his feet with a shriek of pain, and then collapse suddenly upon the deck.

"And now for the master!" he said quietly, turning to Tom. "Tell him that if he moves a pace forward we will shoot him like a dog."

"Drop your weapon!" Tom at once shouted, advancing towards the man, revolver in hand. "We have already killed two of your number, and will shoot you also, if you show the slightest wish to continue the conflict. Drop your sword, I say, and hands up!"

"You are too strong for us," answered the native humbly, letting his weapon tumble with a crash to the deck. "Spare my life, and I promise not to attack you again."

"That's right! And now, wake this fellow up," continued Tom, pointing to the man who had been stunned, and who was now recovering consciousness. "When you've done that, go aft, and send him into the bows; but before doing so, you can repeat to him what I have said."

Meekly obeying these commands, the master of the vessel went to his fallen comrade and shook him savagely. Then he dragged him to his feet, and shouting words of warning in his ear, sent him forward, retiring himself to the helm.

"And now let us see to these other fellows," said Jim. "I expect the first is dead, for I fired at close quarters, and aimed plump at the middle of his chest. The second was a longer and more difficult shot, and may not have proved fatal."

Keeping their revolvers in their hands, in case of treachery, they crossed the deck to the fallen native, and turned him upon his back, Jim in vain attempting to disguise the horror with which the sight filled him.