Young Tom Bowling: The Boys of the British NavyHutcheson, John C. (John Conroy)
General
Young Tom Bowling: The Boys of the British Navy
Hutcheson, John C. (John Conroy)
Great Britain. Royal Navy -- Juvenile fiction; Seafaring life -- Juvenile fiction
He handed him as he thus spoke the manilla which he had been smoking
throughout our march, as if he were going to some picnic and probably
feeling quite as jovial as if he had been; and, Adams at once setting
light to the end of the rocket, it soared aloft like its compeer the
moment before, with a whish and a rush that must have scared all the
stray baboons within earshot of its flight.
Then we heard tom-toms beating close by, and the clash of brass or some
other metal that had a ring like cymbals.
"They're waking up," cried `old Hankey Pankey' to Mr Gresham, with a
pleased smile on his face. "The column will now advance. Close your
ranks, men. Keep steady. Forward!"
We had hardly taken a dozen paces, advancing in the same formation as
before, when we heard the roar of guns in front and steady volleys of
rifle-fire, whose sound clearly betokened that it emanated from weapons
similar to our own.
"By George, we'll be too late!" cried `old Hankey Pankey,' hobbling
onwards at a fine rate for a moment, and then slewing round to give some
fresh order to those following up behind. "Come on, men--come on at the
double. Spread out your flanks, Mr Gresham! Spread out your flanks,
d'ye hear? Tell Mr Shrapnell to bring up the guns. Spread out there,
men--spread out in skirmishing order, to cover your front! Hang it,
come on, my lads--come on, or we'll be too late!"
Captain Oliver of the _Merlin_ was running us cheek by jowl with his
contingent on the left and Commander Jellaby of the _Bullfinch_ trying
to outstrip him on our right; so, we had hard work to keep our place in
line ahead.
But `old Hankey Pankey' was not going to let any one, junior or senior
in the service, beat him for first place when fighting was on; and no
one who had known how terribly he had been wounded, the muscles of his
legs having become shrunk after the holes made by the matchlock ball had
closed up, would have dreamt him capable of going the pace he did now.
"Forward, men--forward!" he yelled out spasmodically, as he hobbled on
like the wind in front, taking long hops at intervals over any
obstruction that lay in his path. "_Mermaids_ to the front! You're not
going to let us be licked, men, by any other ship on the station!"
How he got out the words between his leaps, and bounds, and hops, I am
sure I cannot tell; but, get them out he did, though he must have been
pretty well pumped out already by his exertions, and his breath nearly
all spent.
But, we hardly needed the stimulus to prompt us to action; for in barely
another half minute we burst out of the bush, going at the double and
spread out in a half circle, so as to catch all stragglers who might
have vainly hoped to escape in our direction, for we were right in the
rear of the Arab town.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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