LITMIR.BIZ

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others. There was, one would have thought, no method in the madness of these strange but lovely creatures: it looked as though they were doomed to keep moving, doomed to keep on working, and doing something, no matter what.

      In the great river itself sometimes small herds of hippopotami would appear, especially in parts where the water was shallow. They came but to enjoy a sunshine bath and siesta.

      But at night both forest and river seemed to awaken from their slumbers.

      The river cows now came on shore to feed, and their grunting and bellowing, that often ended in a kind of shriek, mingled (Two pages missing here).

      “Well, my friend, how much for your bananas, and that bottle of honey, and those eggs, and fowls? Come, I’ll buy the lot,” said the boatswain.

      “De Arab chief come in big ship, two three week ago. De ship he hide in de bush. He come to-night when de moon am shine. He come on board you big ship, plenty knife, plenty spear, plenty gun, killee you all for true. Den he take all de money and all de chow-chow. Plenty much bobbery he makee, plenty much blood he spillee, plenty much murder. Sweeba tell you for true.”

      While this conversation was going on the fruit, eggs, and fowls were being handed on board and money thrown into the boat, which was quickly concealed by the natives in their cummerbunds.

      They found themselves richer than they had ever been before in their lives.

      “But why do you come and tell us?” then inquired Roberts. (Roberts, by the way, was the only one the native would converse with. He had eagerly requested the captain and officers to keep away, for fear of exciting the suspicion of those who he averred were lurking in the forest.)

      “What for I come and tellee you?” he replied. “English have been good to me many time ’fore now. Arab chief he bad man. He come to my house, he tie me to a tree by de neck. He think I dead. Den he takee my poor wife away, and all de poor piccaninnies. My poor ole mudder she berry bad. She not fit to trabbel away to de bush, so he cut her head off, and trow her in de blaze. He burn all my hut, all my house. I not lub dat Arab chief berry berry much.”

      “I shouldn’t think you did,” was the reply; “but now, my friend, if all goes well come back to-morrow, and we will reward you.”

      About eight o’clock that same night, the full moon rose slowly up over the woods, bathing the trees in a soft blue haze, but changing the river, ’twixt the ship and the distant shore, into a broad pathway of light that shimmered and shone like molten gold. There was hardly a cloud in the heaven’s dark blue, and the stars shone with unusual brilliancy.

      No one was visible on the Niobe’s decks, and never a light burned aloft, but, nevertheless, sentinels were watching the water on all sides, and down below the crew, fully armed, were waiting. The guns were all ready to run out, and there was no talking save in whispers, and when any one had occasion to cross the deck he did it so lightly that you could scarcely have heard his footfall.

      Except the officers of the watch, all others were in the saloon or ward-room. They too were armed, but passing the time in quietly playing draughts and other games. Instead of being in his cabin, the captain was there along with his officers.

      Presently the boatswain, whose duty it was to keep one of the night-watches, came quietly in to make a report.

      “There are no signs yet, sir. The forest is quiet enough, except for the birds and beasts. It is very bright now. If they do come, we will have light enough to give ’em fits.”

      “I hope they will, then,” replied the captain; “I sincerely trust that tall native wasn’t a-gammoning us.”

      “I feel sure enough he wasn’t, sir.”

      “Hark!” cried the captain.

      It was the sentry’s hail. Next moment his rifle rang out on the night air. It seemed to be caught up by the echoes of the forest, and the sound multiplied indefinitely, but there was instant evidence that this was no echo.

      A long line of fire swept across the forest shore, and bullets rattled through the rigging or on the vessel’s sides.

      The attack was about to commence.

      Guns were speedily run out in the direction from which the volley had come, and just by way of showing the enemy that the Niobe was prepared, two loaded with shrapnel were fired.

      The yell of rage and pain that rang through the forest, told plainly enough that some of the savages had bitten the dust. The battle had begun.

      But it was not to be a fight of rifle against big guns. The Arabs, unless at close quarters, are ever at disadvantage. The chief who led this particular band bore a fierce and implacable hatred to the English race, more especially to those who wore the blue uniform of the Royal Navy. Many a time had he been thwarted in his designs by the ubiquitous British cruiser, and, sword in hand, he had sworn by Allah – sworn on his “book” – to have revenge.

      His time, it almost seemed, had come to-night. Though far south when the first news of the disaster to the Niobe had been brought to him by a swift-footed Somali spy, Zareppa had lost no time in setting sail in his largest dhow – he was the proud owner of many – and making his way north.

      It was no trouble for this daring piratical slaver to cross the bar even on a light wind. He had stolen up the river by night unseen, and soon after planned his attack.

      Now at the very moment that a whole fleet of canoes filled with armed Somalis and Arabs left the forest shore, under cover of volley after volley from the bush, Zareppa, the pirate chief, was stealing round the corner of the bay with over a hundred of his best warriors, who were lying down so that they might not be seen, to attack the Niobe on the other quarter.

      Swiftly came they while guns thundered forestward, and all hands lay on the port side to repel boarders. It looked as though the fate of the good ship were sealed.

      Till this moment the soldier sergeant – my father – had lain apparently helpless and apathetic in a screen berth on the main deck. But the sound of warfare will stir the blood of even a dying soldier, as the blast of a bugle does that of the aged and worn-out war-horse. No sooner had the firing commenced than he started from his cot and speedily dressed himself, often tottering as he did so.

      Captain Roberts tells me that even then my father could hardly have known what he was about: that all he could have been certain of was that a fight was going on, and it was his duty to be in it.

      Grasping sword and pistol, he rushed on deck. Still staggering, and gazing wildly around him, almost the first thing he saw was the approach of Zareppa’s boats. He was all alive now, he rushed across the deck, and more by gesture than by voice made the commander aware of the terrible danger.

      None too soon. Already the heads of the foremost boarders were appearing above the bulwarks. But our men were speedily divided into two parties, and in a minute more the battle was raging fiercely on both sides of the deck.

      “Deen! Deen! Deen!” was the fierce and shrill Arab war-cry.

      “Hurrah! hurrah!” was the bold and answering shout of our marines and bluejackets.

      The tall form of Zareppa seemed everywhere. It towered high on the bulwarks. It was seen springing down on deck, and vaulting backwards, and wherever it came death followed in its wake.

      Soon no sound even of pistol was heard. It was a hand-to-hand fight on deck, for the Niobe had been boarded: hand to hand, and breast to breast; cutlass and sword ’gainst Somali dagger and Arab spear. There were the shrieks of pain, the cries of exultation, and horrible oaths as well, I blush to say, mingling with the groans of the dying in this dreadful mêlée.

      How peacefully the moon shone – how quiet and lovely and still the forest looked all around! How great the contrast ’twixt man and nature!

      But, see! the fight is finished. The enemy are borne backwards into the sea. Our fellows hack them down as they fly, for they are wild with the excitement of the strife.

      But high on the poop a young soldier is engaged in a deadly strife with the Arab chief himself. All his skill

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