Part 18

Then the Lamp-post and his foretopmen, the Hun, the Orphan, and Rawlins, were sent off to clear the jibs and slack away the tops'l gaskets up aloft, and to learn where their proper halyards "ran"; Dr. Gordon, the Pimple, and Bubbles went aft to get the big spanker ready for setting; Barnes and the China Doll were ordered to explore the little cook-house, just under the fo'c'sle; Fletcher had strict orders to keep alight the cigar which the Sub had brought him, and enjoy himself at all costs, and all the others followed Mr. Meredith up on the fo'c'sle to heave up the cable.

In five minutes after getting on board, the Orphan and Rawlins were climbing out along the bowsprit and jib-boom, and the Lamp-post and the Hun were up aloft, out along the tops'l-yard, unlashing the gaskets and having a grand time; whilst the crowd on the fo'c'sle began levering round the old horizontal windlass ("wild cat", Mr. Meredith told them, was its proper name) with two long levers, like crowbars, stuck in the holes at each end of it.

"Let's have a 'chanty'," they called, and the Sub started "We'll rant and we'll roar"; but that did not "fit in", so Mr. Meredith gave them a very old one:

"For the times are hard, and the wages low; Leave her, Johnny, leave her. Last night I heard the Old Man say, 'Tis time for us to leave her."

Whilst he sung the first line to a mournful dirge, they shifted the crowbars into fresh holes, and then, hauling aft on them, joined in the chorus: "Leave her, Johnny, leave her"; shifted them again whilst he chanted the third line, and pulled to "'Tis time for us to leave her"; and each time they pulled the "wild cat" round, the links of the old rusty cable came creaking in through the hawse-pipe, and the metal pawls of the "wild cat" fell, "clink-clank", into the ratchet notches.

In a minute everybody had joined in the chanty, the Orphan and Rawlins out beyond the fo'c'sle on the bowsprit, the Lamp-post and the Hun busy aloft, Dr. Gordon and his "hands" aft. The China Doll, dashing up to have one pull at the levers, chipped in too; whilst Barnes bellowed "Leave her, Johnny, leave her" (thinking it was something about a girl) from inside the cook-house; and old Fletcher, busy with his cigar, beamed at everyone through his gold spectacles.

Presently Mr. Meredith, leaning over the bows, sang out: "She's 'up and down'. Heave away, my hearties! 'Leave her, Johnny, leave her'," and ran aft to take the wheel; the Orphan and Rawlins, scrambling back on the fo'c'sle, hoisted the jib, and in a few more turns of the "wild cat" the clumsy old "tub" began to pay off before the breeze.

Dr. Gordon, the Pink Rat, and the Pimple set the spanker, hauled taut the clumsy "sheet", and the poor old _What's Her Name_ slowly pushed her way through the water.

"Stand by aloft!" Mr. Meredith hailed the fore-top. "Let go gaskets! Overhaul buntlines! Come down from aloft! You on deck, there! Sheet home! Sheet home! Haul taut lee braces! Right you are!" as, somewhat confused and muddled, the foretopmen managed at last to set that tops'l. "Belay all!"

Mr. Meredith made a wry face. "She won't reach to wind'ard much, Doc, with that old fore-tops'l drawing.

"Haul taut your lee braces, lads! Hoist your fore stays'l! Ease off jib sheets!"

The foretopmen were having all the sport, so the maintopmen dashed for'ard to help them; and by the time the anchor had been catted and secured, the _What's Her Name_ was, as Mr. Meredith said, "moving as fast as a snail and as sideways as a crab". "We shan't get far to-day, Doc."

Nor did they; though what mattered that? They were as happy as kings; the "going about" was such fun; everybody had something to do, especially when the Padre, the China Doll, or the War Baby slacked off a wrong rope at the right time or a right rope at the wrong time. It was grand fun, and old Fletcher, sitting on the poop yarning with Uncle Podger, thoroughly enjoyed himself; whilst from for'ard a little column of grey smoke, and an occasional bellow of "Leave her, Johnny, leave her", showed that Barnes, getting tea ready, was also quite happy.

The China Doll stole aft and called up to the Pimple, standing on the main "cross-trees", above the spanker "jaws": "Pimple, I say, Pimple, there are five tins of sausages. Isn't that grand?"

Suddenly, from for'ard, there came shrieks and agonized yells for Fletcher.

"Fletcher! Hurry! Come quickly! Help! Help!"

The Orphan and the Hun flew up the rigging, yelling "that 'Kaiser Bill' had broken loose, and was attacking them"; Bubbles, bursting with laughter, climbed the dangerously weak ratlines after them; the Lamp-post and Rawlins swarmed up the rigging on the other side, and even the little Padre, catching the infection, sprang up as well.

"We won't come down till he's chained up. Look at him! Careering round and snapping at everything. Save us, Fletcher! Save us!"

Old Fletcher, smiling kindly, came along from the poop, asking: "Where is he?"

"There; there--near the water-butt! Do be careful! Get at him from behind. Wave a lettuce leaf in front of him. We've brought a lettuce in case he attacked us. Barnes! Barnes! Bring the lettuce! 'Kaiser Bill' has broken out!"

The old stoker, peering about for the tortoise, found him just where he had left him--his legs and head well tucked "inside"---picked him up, placed him inside his "jumper"; got a lettuce from Barnes, who grunted "they young gen'l'men will be a-breaking their blooming necks afore long, I reckon"; and went aft again, to try and tempt the tortoise to put his head out, and show some interest in the picnic.

Then the Padre and some of the snotties ventured on deck, again, though most of them preferred to lie out on the tops'l-yard, which was so frail, and its "lifts" so badly "set up", that it bent ominously, as did the fore-topmast itself.

"Come down off that yard!" Mr. Meredith shouted. "Only two of you are to be there at a time."

They begged him to let them set the upper tops'l, but that yard was more like a broom-handle than anything else.

"The Hun can do it; no one else. The mast is rotten, and the yard too," Mr. Meredith shouted. (The Hun was the lightest of all the midshipmen.) So the others gathered in the "top" and watched the Hun swarm up the topmast, and so out on that tiny yard, casting off the gaskets of the tiny sail.

Then they dashed down on deck, before Mr. Meredith's voice bellowed out: "Let fall upper tops'l gaskets; overhaul your buntlines; sheet home, sheet home. Belay all!"

Then came the "pipe": "Clear lower deck! All hands 'bout ship'!"

When once the ship had tacked away from the shore, most of them made some excuse or other to find their way aloft again or out on the bowsprit; and though it may have looked curious to see the _What's Her Name_ slowly beating to wind'ard, backwards and forwards, across the harbour, with most of her crew up aloft or clinging to the bowsprit all the time, what did anything matter? They all enjoyed themselves hugely; those up aloft sniffing as the fragrant odour of cooking sausages floated up to them from the cook-house.

Tea-time came before they knew it.

"Seven bells, Bos'n," Mr. Meredith called out. The Pink Rat found an old tin and beat it. Everybody sang out for Barnes, came down from the mast, the bowsprit, or the poop, and rushed to help bring aft all the luxuries.

Old Fletcher fidgeted and looked at the Sub.

"Right you are, Fletcher!" he said, knowing that the old stoker would enjoy his tea more with Barnes than with them; so whilst they all sat round the poop and had a gorgeous tea--what a tea!--Barnes and Fletcher and "Kaiser Bill" had tea by themselves at the break of the fo'c'sle, and Bubbles, good-natured Bubbles, steered. However, there was so little breeze that it did not much matter whether anybody steered or not; and Dr. Gordon, finishing his meal quickly, relieved him.

"Where are we going to have our bathe?" Bubbles asked.

"Nowhere, my jumping Jimmy! I'm not going to weigh that anchor again, it is too much like work; we'll just sail about," the Sub said.

When nothing but empty plates, empty tins, and an empty teapot remained, and they were just going to fill their pipes, Dr. Gordon at the wheel called out: "Fetch my surgical bag, someone. I knew it would be wanted."

The Hun fetched it, opened it, and inside were three tins of pine-apple.

"You _are_ splendid, sir," they shouted, as they opened the tins and cut the pine-apples into fat slices. "Won't these fill up odd corners?"

What a grand feast that was!

Then it was time to go back. The breeze had fallen still more, so the helm was put up, sheets were eased, the foretops'l and its little upper tops'l squared away, and the _What's Her Name_ wafted slowly back to her anchorage, whilst everybody lay back, contentedly smoking and thoroughly happy.

They came abreast the _Achates_; sail was taken off her; the anchor let go; the "wild cat" whirled round (they knew then why it was called a "wild cat"); and there was nothing to do except pack up and stow away everything "shipshape", and wait until the Officer of the Watch sent the cutter across for them.

She came. They were taken back to the _Achates_, and the poor old _What's Her Name_ left desolate. Never could she have made a more happy voyage or borne a merrier crew than she did that afternoon--not in all her long life.

They had noticed that the motor-yacht had come in and run alongside the _Achates_ soon after they had started on their picnic; and when they went on board, the Officer of the Watch told the Sub that Captain Macfarlane wanted to see him directly he had shifted into uniform. In ten minutes he was ready, went aft, and found the Captain in conversation with Mr. M'Andrew.

"Oh! Come in!" the Captain said. "Had a good picnic? No lives lost? Your crew seemed to spend most of their time aloft. I was afraid that you'd kill someone before you'd finished."

"Everyone all right, sir. We had a grand time."

"Well, we have a job for you. Mr. M'Andrew has brought in two refugees, escaped from a place called Ajano, a little village, up a creek, not far from Smyrna. They say that there is a Turkish patrol-boat hiding up there. I want you to take the picket-boat and "cut her out" to-morrow morning at dawn."

The Sub grinned with delight, and forgetting where he was, burst out with: "My jumping Jimmy! what a show!--I beg pardon, sir. I meant 'what a splendid job.' Thank you, sir, I'd love to go;" whilst the Captain crossed his thin knees, tugged at his beard, and smiled at his eagerness. In ten minutes he had given him all instructions; and the Sub, going out, found the Orphan waiting for him outside his cabin in a great state of excitement.

"What is it? What's going to happen? They're sticking the maxim in the picket-boat, and bolting on those shields in front of the wheel. Jarvis tells me that they are going to fix steel plates all round the stern-sheets as well."

"My perishing Orphan! What a show it's going to be!" And the Sub pulled the Orphan inside his cabin, shoved him down on top of the wash-stand, and spread out the rough chart which Captain Macfarlane had just given him.

"It beats the band, Sonny. We've to go out at midnight. The motor-yacht is coming along with us, and we have to rendezvous with the _Kennet_ at about three o'clock. She will take us to the mouth of the creek--here," and the Sub pointed to the creek marked on the chart. "Two refugees from the village are coming with us to show the way in--up we sprint--cut out a Turkish patrol-boat hiding up there in front of the village--tow her out to the destroyer, and bring her back--a prize. What d'you say to that, my guzzling Orphan? What d'you say to that for a job? Fancy catching them asleep, waking them up, and banging them on the head if they don't hand over their old junk quietly."

"Or toppling them overboard," gasped the Orphan, wild with delight. In his wildest dreams he had never imagined such a grand adventure.

"Well, off you go. See that the boat is all right. Oh," the Sub called, as the midshipman began to run off, "we're to take four more 'hands'. I'll choose 'em. I've got 'em in my mind. Everybody has to take rifle and cutlass. You'd better take a pistol, but don't shoot me with it. That's all. I'll arrange about the grub. Off you go."

The Orphan dashed away to supervise the fitting out of the picket-boat.

*CHAPTER XVII*

*A "Cutting-out" Expedition*

Down in the picket-boat the Orphan found armourers and blacksmiths busily fitting the additional plates all round the stern-sheets.

"That'll make a snug place aft, sir," Jarvis said sarcastically, as the midshipman climbed down into the boat. "What's in the wind now?"

"That's 'summat' like a job," he grinned, when he had been told; "summat like a cutting-out job in the old days--that."

The motor-yacht lay alongside the picket-boat, her crew looking very fierce with their rifles and bandoliers and long knives, and as though they were wildly keen to go and slay Turks, especially so when Mr. M'Andrew spoke a few words to each of them, and set on fire their passionate hatred of the enemy.

He brought the two refugees across to the steamboat, and explained to them that they would have to lie one on each side of the maxim gun-mounting in the bows, and guide the boat in through the creek of Ajano by pointing their hands in the direction of the channel. One of these two the Orphan called "the Bandit"--an oldish man in a fez, dirty white shirt, black voluminous trousers, a black cloth wound round his waist, blue cloth wrapped round his legs puttee-fashion, and clumsy leather boots. He had an honest face, which the other man had not. In fact, the Orphan immediately dubbed this one "the Hired Assassin". His swarthy face, glittering black eyes, and bushy eyebrows gave him an exceedingly treacherous appearance. He was, at any rate, a picturesque scoundrel, with his knives sticking out of the folds of a dirty red sash, and the sunburnt skin of his neck and chest showing through the open, dirty shirt he wore.

"You are going in first," Mr. M'Andrew said, "and, if necessary, I shall come along afterwards. I expect that it will be difficult to keep back my chaps. Watch that old 'grandfather man'."

The old Greek with the burning eyes sat under the motor-yacht's awning, with his rifle across his knees, and his wizened old head turning from side to side, looking exactly like a vulture that has sighted some likely carrion.

The Sub, coming down, sent the Orphan and Plunky Bill aboard with the cutlasses, to have them sharpened on the grindstone.

That was a grand job--with half the crew looking on.

"I pity the poor Turk who gets that on 'is 'napper'," Plunky Bill grinned, as he felt, with his great horny thumb, the new edge on one of them.

By eight o'clock everything had been done, so the Orphan went down to the gun-room to get a "watch" dinner, and ate it amidst a babel of gramophone tunes and noisy horse-play as the Honourable Mess wound up the day, after their joyous picnic in the _What's Her Name_.

"You've got a job in front of you. Come along with me," said the Sub when he had finished. He took him to his cabin, gave him a rug and a pillow to lay on the deck, climbed on his bunk, and turned out the light. "Now coil down and go to sleep," he growled.

The Orphan did sleep after a while--slept until the sentry banged on the door and sang out: "Seven bells just gone, sir!"

"Come along, my jumping Orphan! Come along! Wake up! Show a leg!" the Sub cried, turning up the light. "Now we're off for our picnic."

They pulled on their boots, buckled their revolver-belts round them--the Orphan feeling a funny sensation of emptiness under his belt, just at first--and went on deck, creeping under the hammocks in the half-deck, and hearing Bubbles snoring luxuriously.

They climbed down into the picket-boat and found Jarvis.

"Everything ready, sir! Old Fletcher 'as just gone up to bring down that there hanimile of 'is--the old 'umbug. 'E'll be along in a minute. I've got some 'ot cocoa for you two officers--down in the cabin."

Alongside, in the motor-yacht, the Greeks were coiled up asleep, and Mr. M'Andrew could be seen, walking round in his usual ponderous way, waking them. A little oil-lamp in her engine-room showed the Greek engineer overhauling the motors.

The Bandit and the Hired Assassin, with rifles and bandoliers, were brought across and taken down into the forepeak.

From the dark gangway above them the Captain's voice called down: "Everything ready to start?"

"Yes, sir," the Sub called back.

"Well, good luck to you! I hope you'll bring back a prize by breakfast-time."

"We'll have a jolly good try, sir," the Sub answered.

"It's time for you to shove off, Mr. M'Andrew," the Captain sang out. "Good luck to you!"

The motor-yacht let go her ropes; there was a smell of petrol, and a tut-tut-tut from her stern, and off she went in the dark.

"That there old 'umbug ain't come back yet," Jarvis told the Sub. But just as he was about to send a "hand" to look for him, Fletcher came climbing down.

"Very sorry, sir, but I can't find 'Kaiser Bill' anywhere. The picnic must have made him so giddy that he's started climbing over the boat deck."

"Bad luck, Fletcher!" the Sub said sympathetically.

"Well, he did seem a bit of a mascot--as the saying goes."

"The old 'umbug!" snorted Jarvis. "'E ain't no blooming mascot."

"Well, off you go! Good luck!" called the Captain.

"Shove off for'ard!" cried the Sub.

The Orphan rang "ahead" to the engine-room, and the picket-boat followed the motor-yacht out through the narrow, very dark channel into the open sea. The two boats then changed places, the picket-boat leading and the motor-yacht following, because Mr. M'Andrew's compass could not be trusted. This was the first time that the Orphan had ever had a twenty-mile "run" in a picket-boat before him, and, with no lights showing (except the tiny little glow in the compass-box), on such a dark night it was rather eerie work.

By half-past twelve they were clear of the harbour. In a couple of hours they expected to pick up the destroyer _Kennet_. By twenty past three there ought to be enough light to see a mile and a half ahead, and by that time they hoped to be close in to the mouth of the creek. By half-past four the job might be over--should be finished--and they ought to be on the way home, with the Turkish patrol-boat in tow.

"My jumping Orphan! It's a grand show, isn't it?" said the Sub, swallowing some of the cocoa. "Nothing like ship's cocoa to stand by one's stomach."

The Orphan, awed by the solemnity of the night and the blackness and emptiness of everything, and too excited to talk, gripped the steering-wheel and peered into the compass-box.

A little before half-past two the black outline of a destroyer loomed up. The signalman in the picket-boat, Bostock--a thick-set, criminal-looking man whom the Sub had chosen--flashed across with a shaded lamp. The _Kennet_ flashed back, stopped, and took both boats in tow, then very slowly steamed ahead. By a quarter-past three the coast-line became faintly visible, with a break in it--the creek of Ajano. The destroyer stopped, the towing hawser was cast off, and then the Orphan knew that their time had come. How his heart beat!

"Shove along in!" called the Captain of the _Kennet_, coming aft. "I'll keep an eye on you. Get back as soon as you can. Good luck to you!"

The Orphan had a glimpse of Mr. M'Andrew fumbling with his watch-chain, and of the Greeks springing about and fingering their rifles as though they wanted to let them off then and there; and then the destroyer was left behind, and he was steering for the mouth of the little creek, with the picket-boat throbbing and panting under him.

"You've got your revolver? Yes, that's right. For goodness' sake don't fire it unless you are obliged," the Sub said in a low voice.

Jarvis had already buckled on his cutlass. He, too, had a revolver. The Bandit and the Hired Assassin crept out of the forepeak and lay down on each side of the maxim--they looked very keen on their job. Plunky Bill went for'ard to the maxim, opened a belt-box, and slipped the end of the belt through the breech. The other "hands", including Bostock the signalman and the three extra men--great horny chaps--stirred themselves, and buckled their cutlass-belts round them--they would probably find these more useful than rifles, though rifles also lay handy.

"I'd better have one of these cutlasses," the Sub said. "Got a spare one down there?"

They passed up one and its belt, and he fastened it round him, drawing the cutlass half out of the scabbard to make certain that it would not stick. "Clumsy things," he said, "but mighty good in a scrap; can knock a chap's teeth down his throat with the hilt--fine."

"You men all ready?" he asked. "Two of you go for'ard, abaft the maxim. The others keep down below the plates; and when we run alongside the patrol-boat, and you hear me "sing out", out you jump and give 'em 'beans'." It was almost daylight now, and the picket-boat had entered the mouth of the creek--some four hundred yards wide. The Bandit and the Hired Assassin, lying with their hands pointing straight ahead, were very excited.

"Keep your eye on them," the Sub snapped. "Hello! there's the village; you can see it over the land--masts there too, lots of them."

Everything was absolutely quiet, except for the noise of the engines and the rush of water under the bows. The creek began to narrow rapidly; they were approaching a bend in it, and the two Greeks pointed their hands over one bow, and made a hissing noise to draw attention. "All right; we see you; don't lose your 'wool'. Follow the 'pointer', Orphan."

He touched the wheel, the picket-boat swerved into the channel, and the Sub rang for half speed. Five hundred yards ahead they saw a small building standing some fifty yards back from the bank. It looked like a ferryman's house, or perhaps a small toll-house. The Bandit cried out "Turko! Turko!" but no one could be seen moving about there. He kept pointing away to the left--away from the toll-house--and so did the Hired Assassin.

The Orphan followed the direction they indicated.

"They're taking us mighty close to the other bank," the Sub said anxiously, and sent Jarvis for'ard to look out for the water shoaling. The boat was now not fifty yards from the left bank when, just as Jarvis threw his hand up and waved for the helm to be "ported", she suddenly slowed, the bows gave a heave, she pushed on for some ten feet, and then came to a standstill.

"We're stuck," the Sub muttered tragically, seized a boat-hook, and sounded.

"Deep water ahead," Jarvis, coming aft, reported.

"Turko! Turko!" the Greeks whispered hoarsely.

The Sub ordered the engines full speed astern, then full speed ahead, then astern again, but the boat did not shift an inch.

"Turko! Turko!" the Greeks hissed.

The engines were stopped. "Everyone overboard," the Sub sang out softly, and slid over the side into the water, up to his waist. "It's only soft mud, we'll push her through."

The Orphan let himself down into some sticky mud, and all the men, except the two Greeks, Fletcher in the stokehold, and the stoker petty officer in the engine-room, followed.

"Now get hold of her and shove her ahead."

Nobody required to be told what to do; they shoved hard, but with no result. Then the Sub made them keep time together. "One! two! three! shove!" he called in a low voice. "Ah! she moved then; now another. There she goes!"

She glided off; the black mud swirled up under her stern, and the crew, clinging to the life-lines, dragged themselves on board.