The Three Midshipmen

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“We must have a prize somehow or other,” cried Adair; “it will never do to return without one.”

“Just such a one as you and I took in the Mediterranean when we first went to sea,” said Jack, laughing. “However, we’ll do our best: what do you say to it, Master Queerface?” There sat the monkey in the stern-sheets, dressed in a broad-brimmed straw hat, nankeen trousers, a light blue jacket, and a red neckcloth, just as Don Diogo had appeared when Jack had last seen him. Queerface seemed in no way to disapprove of the hat and jacket, but his lower garments at times somewhat puzzled him; however, he altogether behaved himself very well. There was so little wind that Jack did not even step his masts. He thus hoped to get close to any slaver, should he see one, without being discovered. He had his trusty rifle ready, and from frequently practising he was even a better shot than before. Adair had picked up a very fair rifle at Sierra Leone, but he could not pretend to equal Jack as a shot. They both well knew that they could not hope to take a prize without exerting themselves, and they were, therefore, constantly standing up and looking about on all sides in search of a sail. They were off a part of the coast whence numerous cargoes of slaves were still embarked. A short time before sunset they made the land. Soon after this, as Jack was standing up on the stern-sheets, his eye fell on a white spark glistening brightly in the oblique rays of the departing luminary. He brought his glass to bear on the subject. Adair took a look at it, and so did Needham. They all agreed that the sail in sight was a square topsail schooner standing off the land.

“Then she must pass close to us,” cried Jack. “We’ll be on the watch for her.”

Another look they all took before the sun sank below the horizon confirmed them in this opinion. The last few hours of daylight were spent by the crew in examining their pistols, in seeing that their cutlasses were ready at hand, and everything prepared for boarding at a moment’s notice. All hands then turned to and had a good supper, after which, as they said, they were up to anything.

The boat floated quietly on the almost calm waters, for though the men lay on their oars, they did not pull a stroke. Not a word was spoken above the lowest whisper. There were sounds, for the ocean itself is never, even in a calm, altogether silent. Ever and anon there was a splash, sometimes caused by the boat as the smooth undulations rose up as it seemed from the depths below, and made her roll lazily for an instant from side to side, or some fish rose to the surface with wide-open mouths, or leaped up into the air, or one of the monsters of the unfathomed waters came to have a gaze at the strange thing which floated over their liquid home. A slight mist came over the land with the night air, damp and unwholesome enough, but Jack and Terence little regarded that point, as it contributed much to conceal the boat from the approaching stranger, though they had little doubt that her more lofty sails would easily be seen above it. Time passed on. They calculated that the schooner must be drawing near them.

Once more Jack stood up. “There she is,” he whispered, as he sank into his seat. “Away to the northward. Out oars, lads, as gently as possible. In ten minutes we shall be alongside of her.” The oars had been muffled, and with the long, steady strokes made by the men, scarcely a splash was heard. They might well hope to be up to the stranger without being discovered. On glided the boat. It was an exciting moment. The sails of a large topsail schooner rose up out of the mist before them.

Jack and Adair thought they saw a little beyond her the pointed tops of another craft slowly moving over the bank of fog. If they should both prove enemies there would be fearful odds against them. They numbered only eleven people in all—eight pulling, Needham, and themselves. Still they did not hesitate.

“We’ll take one, and then be ready for the other,” whispered Jack.

Adair nodded his assent. Still discretion might have been the best part of valour in this case.

“That further craft is a felucca,” again whispered Jack. “I can see the tops of her lateen sails above the mist. Perhaps she’s the old Don’s craft. Never mind, we’ll be ready for him.”