CHAPTER I

Off to the Seat of War

"WELL, we've seen something of the fun," exclaimed Hugh Frazer, as the last of the 89th Regiment of Infantry filed through the jealously-guarded gateway of the Naval Yard at Naples. "Come on, let's get back to the front, and we may see the transports leave the bay."

Hugh Frazer and his stanch companion, Gerald Kit-by, were staying with the former's parents at the Hôtel des Etrangers. Both lads had been spending their summer holidays in Italy, and were leaving for England at the end of the week. They ought to have been already at school, but a slight attack of malaria, which with the utmost impartiality had affected both boys, had prevented them from returning to Rossall at the commencement of the term.

Hugh, more generally known to his companion as "Rags", a nickname bestowed upon him by reason of his hot-headed impulsiveness, was fifteen years of age, tall, well-proportioned, and dark-featured. Gerald, on the other hand, was three inches shorter, slightly inclined to stoutness, and of a fresh, ruddy complexion. His face almost invariably wore a smile, with the result that his schoolfellows promptly dubbed him "Sunny Jim", a nickname that eventually was fined down to "Jim". He was six months younger than Hugh, and so even-tempered that he seemed eminently suited to his companion's impulsive and masterful nature.

Threading their way through the dense crowd of enthusiastic Neapolitans who still pressed round the now fast-closed gates, the two lads set off at a quick pace, in spite of the sweltering heat of that October afternoon.

"Look out, Rags!" shouted Gerald, pulling his chum backwards just in time to escape being run down by a motor car that, packed with officers of the Bersaglieri, was pelting down the Strada Marina at a break-neck pace. The lads drew back, and found themselves under the noses of a couple of mules, which a fluent-voiced Neapolitan cabby was urging in the opposite direction. Lustily tugging at the ropes that did duty for reins, the man succeeded in pulling up, to the accompaniment of a volley of abuse directed towards the cause of the obstruction. The sudden halt caused the sole occupant of the ramshackle cab to thrust his head through the open window in order to ascertain the reason for the delay, and to Hugh Frazer's surprise he recognized an old friend of his family, Arthur Reeves.

"Whoever would have thought of meeting you in Naples, Hugh?" exclaimed Mr. Reeves genially. "Jump in--your friend too, of course--and tell me as much as you can in less than a minute. My time's precious just now."

The two lads were not slow in availing themselves of the invitation, and the lumbering vehicle resumed its way.

When Arthur Reeves was in England, he lived in a bungalow not far from the Frazers' home at Shoreham, where he was a frequent and welcome guest. He was six feet in height, of fairly light build, long-limbed and thin-featured. He was partially blind in his left eye and nearly deaf in his left ear, but in spite of these defects he succeeded in passing the doctor in an examination for the Accountant Branch of the Navy. How he did it could never be satisfactorily explained, though he strongly asserted that it was sheer bluff. But he was "ploughed" in the educational examination, and took to journalism. By another supreme piece of bluff he succeeded in getting a post as war correspondent in one of our petty border wars. This was his bent. He did so well getting his "copy" through a good two hours before his rivals that his success was assured. In the Boer War he made the circulation of his paper increase by leaps and bounds, succeeding by more bluff in gaining exclusive information and adding to his fame. He came home with a splendid reputation, a touch of enteric, and a Mauser bullet wound in his left leg; but in spite of the fact that the left part of his anatomy was seriously crippled, his energy, resource, and marvellous descriptive powers made him in great request as a special correspondent. In this capacity he had been dispatched to the ends of the earth, often at a few hours' notice, always adding to his laurels; and, being a born linguist, he had a thorough knowledge of French, German, and Italian, and more than a smattering of Turkish, Arabic, Hindustani, and Swahili. Ten days previously he had been enjoying a brief but well-earned rest at Shoreham, after an exciting time in a revolution in Central America; then, like a bolt from the blue, came the news of Italy's high-handed declaration of war against Turkey.

Reeves was ready within an hour of receiving a telegram from his chief. Wearing a worn yet serviceable suit of khaki, and light, strong boots and puttees, and carrying a small portmanteau containing his trusty Mauser pistol, fifty rounds of ammunition, writing materials, and a change of linen--the old war correspondent knew the importance of carrying but little impedimenta--he caused no small sensation amongst the scribes of Fleet Street. His visit to the editorial offices was also of brief duration, and, having secured his letters of introduction, and drafts upon the Bank of Italy, he caught the boat train from Victoria by just thirty seconds.

Two days later he was in Rome, presenting his credentials to the Minister of War. That high official was most urbane, and gave the correspondent permission to embark on any of the transports, "if convenient to the exigencies of military service". At Taranto no vessels were available; at Bari it was found that the last transport had left for the concentration base; at Brindisi the transport officers, charmingly polite, regretted that every vessel had already its full complement as allowed by State regulations. Arthur Reeves found that for once he had been fooled. He rushed to the telegraph office and wired to the Minister of War. After a tedious delay of three hours came the reply: "Regret; can offer no further suggestions". The correspondent was angry: he did not want suggestions--he wanted a passage to Tripoli. The rebuff only urged him to greater efforts, and without further dallying he took train to Naples.

Here again he met with the same polite apologies and regrets, while, to put the finishing touch, he was shown a recent order from the Minister of Marine forbidding transport officers to grant passages to civilians.

Arthur Reeves tried "bluffing". He produced the order from the Minister of War, and, arguing that a war correspondent was not a civilian in the accepted sense of the word, demanded that he should be given a passage. For once bluff failed. With deprecatory shrugs and reiterated professions of deepest regret, the naval officer superintending the transport arrangements replied that he was acting under the direct orders of his chief. Why not telegraph to the Minister of Marine?

But the Englishman would waste no more time. He determined to charter a steamer, regardless of cost, and proceed to the seat of war. Enquiries at the various shipping offices, however, elicited the same reply--all steam vessels were ordered to be held at the sole disposal of the Italian Government. At last one agent suggested a sailing craft. With the prevalent strong north-west wind the passage would be soon made. He had a swift felucca, the _Victor Strozzi_, which would be at the signor's disposal.

"Have her ready by five o'clock, then."

"Impossible, signor!"

The Englishman was obdurate.

"Five o'clock, or not at all."

The "patron" protested, but finally gave way, Mr. Reeves agreeing to the proposal that the _Victor Strozzi_ should provision at Capri, where supplies had not yet reached war prices. The correspondent was on his way down to the bay when his conveyance nearly bowled over his young acquaintance Hugh Frazer and his companion.

Arthur Reeves was a man of few words. What he did say was brief and to the point. But he was a rare listener. The biggest bore in creation he would endure uncomplainingly, for in the torrent of vapid small talk he would never fail to pick up some information to add to his vast store of knowledge of men and matters.

"Sorry I didn't know before that you were staying in Naples. I should have liked to have had a yarn with your pater, Rags," he remarked. "Look here; it's not too late. Cut off back to the hotel and ask him, to come on board. Bring your chum with you. I'll take you across to Capri--you will enjoy it--and there are plenty of boatmen to run you back."

"I will," replied Hugh, as the cab came to a halt at the quay. "But where shall we see you?"

"I will be on board the _Victor Strozzi_. Get a man to row you off. Don't forget--five sharp, if you're coming."

"No one would think that you lads were recovering from a bout of malaria," exclaimed Mr. Frazer, as Hugh and Gerald, hot and breathless with running, burst into the loggia of the Hôtel des Etrangers. "What are you so excited about?"

"Whom do you think we met, Dad? Mr. Reeves! He's off to the front."

"What front?"

"Why, Tripoli, of course. He sent us to ask if we--that is you, Gerald, and I--could go with him a part of the way."

"Bless my soul--go part of the way to Tripoli! Of course it's impossible. I should like to have seen him, though. Ask him up to dine with us this evening."

"He's leaving at five," glancing at the clock, the hands of which pointed to a quarter to three. "Besides, he's only going as far as Capri to-day."

"Oh, that's different!" replied Mr. Frazer. "That's only that little island out in the bay. Yes, you can go."

"But won't you go too, Pater?"

"I'm afraid I cannot. Signor Calasso has an appointment with me at six. By the by, what vessel is Reeves going in? Perfectly safe, I hope?"

"He didn't say," replied Hugh. "I remember that he mentioned her name. It was the----"

"_Victor_ something," added Gerald.

"Not the _Victor Stroggia_, by any chance? She's quite a large steamer."

"That's the name," replied Hugh confidently.

"I always heard that Reeves would never let money stand in his way," remarked Mr. Frazer. "There's one thing--he has a sound Concern behind him. Well, if you're going, you had better be off. You have money with you?"

"About ten lire."

"Then take other twenty. You may not require that amount, but it is best to be on the safe side."

Bidding Mr. Frazer goodbye, the lads scampered off. At the quay they had no difficulty in finding a boat, for their appearance was hailed by a chorus of shouts from a score of watermen.

"To the _Victor Stroggia_, as fast as you can," said Hugh, addressing an old man who seemed less importunate than the rest of his fellows.

"_Si, signor._"

The lads stepped into the high-prowed craft, and the boatman, turning his back on his youthful fares, stood up as he urged the boat towards the centre of the bay. There were nearly twenty large ships at anchor with steam up, while a fleet of smaller craft, mostly sailing vessels, lay closer inshore.

Amongst the latter was the _Victor Strozzi_, the felucca Arthur Reeves had chartered; but unwittingly Hugh and his chum were being taken off to the _Victor Stroggia_, a subsidized merchantman about to leave for the African coast.

Paying and dismissing their boatman, the lads threaded their way up the steep accommodation ladder, which was crowded with the relatives of the army officers, who, having bade their relations a long farewell, were slowly and reluctantly descending to the boats waiting at the foot of the ladder.

In the confusion, Hugh and his chum passed the quartermaster at the gangway unnoticed, and found themselves standing on the packed troop deck. The warning bell had already sounded, and the visitors were nearly all gone, but the grey-clad infantrymen, eager to take a last glimpse of their beloved Italy, were too engrossed to notice the two bewildered lads.

"Can you tell me where I can find Signor Reeves?" asked Hugh, in his best but execrable Italian, addressing a corporal.

The soldier, being a stranger to the ship, passed the question to a seaman.

"Signor Riefi? Ohé!" Beckoning to the lads to follow, the man turned and dived down a hatchway. Through the semi-gloom of a badly lighted alleyway Hugh and Gerald kept at the heels of their guide, till he stopped and knocked at the door of a cabin on the half-deck aft.

Receiving no reply, the man knocked again and opened the door.

"The signor is out; but if the signori will be pleased to wait, I will find him," said the sailor, and the next instant Hugh and Gerald were alone.

They waited and waited, but still no Mr. Reeves appeared. Presently came the dull thud of the propeller revolving.

Gerald glanced at his watch. It was a quarter to five.

"We're off, and we shall be at Capri before we've seen anything," he exclaimed. "I thought Mr. Reeves was going to start at five? We should have been nicely sold if we had turned up sharp at the stated time."

As it happened, at that particular moment Arthur Reeves was standing on the deck of the felucca _Victor Strozzi_, with his glasses bearing on the shore, in the expectation of seeing his guests, while Hugh and Gerald, in Lieutenant Riefi's cabin on board the transport _Victor Stroggia_, were being borne rapidly southwards to the seat of war.