He was moderate, though, but he smacked his lips. “I feel in famous form now,” he said. “I hope we’ll come up with that rascally dhow before long. With my good sword now, Captain Wayland, and a brace of colts, I think—”
At this moment Midshipman Milvaine—our Harry—entered, cap in hand.
He has greatly improved since we last saw him, almost a giant, with a bright and fearless eye and a most handsome face and agile figure. His shoulders are square and broad. He is very pliant in the waist; indeed, the body above the hips seems to move independent of hips or legs. Harry had now been four years in the service, and was but little over sixteen years of age.
“Anything occurred, Mr Milvaine?”
“Yes, sir, something is occurring, something terrible, murder or mutiny. The night is now very still, and the stars are out I can’t see anything, but from away over yonder, two or three points off the port bow, there is fearful screaming, and I can even hear splashing in the water.”
Captain Wayland sprang up, so did young Dewar.
“The scoundrels!” cried the former. “It is the dhow. They are lightening ship to get away from us with the morning breeze.”
“Mr Milvaine,” he added, hurriedly, “we’ll go to quarters. Do not sound the bugle.—Let all be done quietly. Keep her, Mr Milvaine, straight for the sounds you hear, and tell the engineers to go ahead at full speed.”
“The moon will rise in half an hour,” said Harry.
“Thank Heaven for that,” was the captain’s reply.