“I only hope there may be no Arab fort up the river, or we may find it a difficult job to cut out the slaver after all,” observed Charley.
“An Arab fort! What made you think of that, youngster?” exclaimed Rhymer, looking somewhat blank. “If there is we shall have more fighting than we bargained for, but it will never do to go back without attempting to secure the dhow.”
“I should think not,” remarked Ned.
The men of course were ready for any work their officers determined on. The excitement of the chase and the prospect of fighting before them was greatly increased as the dhow got higher up the river; the wind falling, and sometimes becoming baffling, the boat gained on her. Ned was sent forward to look out for the fort, but he could discover no signs of a stockade; at any moment, however, a bend of the stream might disclose it to view.
“Get out the oars!” cried Rhymer; “before long I hope the wind will fail the dhow altogether and we shall soon be up to her.”
The men gave way, in a few minutes the boat got the dhow within range of her gun.
“We must try to bring her sail down,” exclaimed Rhymer, giving the helm to Charley and springing forward to the gun. He fired, the shot went through the sail, but the chase stood on as before; the gun was quickly loaded, but the second shot, though well aimed, produced no more result than the first. It was pretty evident that the Arabs expected to reach some place of shelter, and that they would run on until they had gained it. This made Rhymer doubly anxious to come up with them before they could do so. He continued firing away as fast as the gun could be run in and loaded. Though the sail was riddled with shot, the yard and rigging remained uninjured.
“Get the muskets ready, Garth!” he cried out. “We shall soon be near enough to send a shower of bullets among those fellows, and they will then, I have a notion, heave to pretty quickly.”
Scarcely, however, had he spoken than the breeze freshened up, and to his disappointment he found that the boat was no longer gaining on the dhow. Still he kept firing the gun, hoping that a fortunate shot might bring down her yard. Some way ahead, on the south side of the river, he observed a small bay, where the bank was steeper than in any other place and free of trees; the dhow appeared to be edging away towards it. “I must knock away that fellow’s yard. I’d give a hundred guineas to see it come down,” he exclaimed, as he again fired.