Blue Lights by Robert Michael Ballantyne (ebook reader with highlighter .txt) 📕

expression of self-satisfaction gave place to one of horror. He tasted the coffee again. The look of horror deepened. He ran to the boiler, and the mystery was cleared up. The boiler had been filled with salt-water! Our Arab, Ibraim, who carries up seawater daily to fill our baths, had filled the boiler with the same. Luckily there was time to correct the mistake, and when our friends came trooping in at four o'clock they found the coffee quite to their taste.

"You know very well," continued the superintendent, "our rules never to force religion on any of our customers, our object being to _attract_ by all the legitimate means in our power. We have our Bible-classes, prayer-meetings, temperance soirees, and the like, distinct--as at Portsmouth--from the other advantages of the Institute; and are quite content if some, who come at first from mere curiosity or for the enjoyment of temporal good things, should afterwards continue to come from higher and spiritual motives. But if our military friends prefer to read our papers and books, and play our games, and use our bar, they are at perfect liberty to do so, without what I may style religious interference. It's all fair and above-board, you see. We fully recognise the freedom of will that God has bestowed on man. If you don't care for our spiritual fare you may let it alone. If you relish it--there it is, and you are welcome. Yet we hold by our right to win men if we can. In point of fact, we have been very successful already in this way, for our motive power from beginning to end is Love.

"One of our most helpful soldier friends--a sergeant--has brought several men to the Saviour, who are now our steady supporters. One of these men, whom our sergeant was the means of bringing in, was a professed unbeliever of good standing and ability. The first time he was prevailed on to come to a prayer-meeting, he sat bolt upright while we knelt, being a straightforward sort of man who refused to pretend when he could not really pray. He is now a happy follower of Jesus.

"Our large rooms are constantly filled with soldiers, some chatting, some making up for past privations by having a good English meal, and others reading or playing games. Just now happens to be our quietest hour, but it won't be long before we have a bustling scene."

As if to verify the lady's words there came through the doorways at that moment a sound of shouting and cheering, which caused all the staff of the Institute to start into active life.

"There they come!" exclaimed the lady, with an intelligent smile, as she hurried from the room, leaving Hardy to follow at a pace that was more consistent with his dignity--and, we may add, his physical weakness.

The shouts proceeded from a party of sailors on leave from one of the ironclads lying in the harbour. These, being out for the day--on a spree as some of them styled it--had hired donkeys, and come in a body to the Institute, where they knew that food of the best, dressed in British fashion, and familiar games, were to be had, along with British cheer and sympathy.

When Hardy reached the door he found the place swarming with blue-jackets, trooping up at intervals on various animals, but none on foot, save those who had fallen off their mounts and were trying to get on again.

"They're all donkeyfied together," remarked a sarcastic old salt--not one of the party--who stood beside Hardy, looking complacently on, and smoking his pipe.

"They don't steer as well on land as on sea," replied Hardy.

"'Cause they ain't used to such craft, you see--that's w'ere it is, sarjint," said the old salt, removing his pipe for a moment. "Just look at 'em--some comin' along sidewise like crabs, others stern foremost. W'y, there's that grey craft wi' the broad little man holdin' on to its tail to prevent his slidin' over its head. I've watched that grey craft for some minutes, and its hind propellers have bin so often in the air that it do seem as if it was walkin' upon its front legs. Hallo! I was sure he'd go down by the head at last."

The donkey in question had indeed gone down by the head, and rolled over, pitching its rider on his broad shoulders, which, however, seemed none the worse for the fall.

"Ketch hold of his tail, Bill," cried another man, "and hold his stern down--see if that won't cure his plungin'. He's like a Dutchman in a cross sea."

"Keep clear o' this fellow's heels, Jack, he's agoin' to fire another broadside."

"If he does he'll unship you," cried Jack, who was himself at the same moment unshipped, while the owner of the donkey, and of the other donkeys, shouted advice, if nothing worse, in Arabic and broken English.

In a few minutes the sailors "boarded" the Institute, and drew the whole force of the establishment to the bar in order to supply the demand.

"Ah! thin, ye've got Irish whisky, haven't ye?" demanded a facetious seaman.

"Yes, plenty, but we call it coffee here!" answered the equally facetious barman, whose satellites were distributing hot and cold drinks with a degree of speed that could only be the fruit of much practice.

"You'll have to be jolly on mild swipes," said one; "no tostikatin' liquors allowed, Dick."

"H'm!" growled Dick.

"Got any wittles here?" demanded another man, wiping his lips with his sleeve.

"Yes, plenty. Sit down and order what you want."

"For nothin'?" asked the tar.

"For _next_ to nothing!" was the prompt reply. Meanwhile, those whose appetites were not quite so urgent had distributed themselves about the place, and were already busy with draughts, billiards, etcetera, while those who were of more sedate and inquiring temperament were deep in the columns of the English papers and magazines.

"I say, Fred Thorley, ain't it bang up?" remarked a sturdy little man, through a huge slice of cake, with which he had just filled his mouth.

"Fuss-rate!" responded Fred, as he finished a cup of coffee at a draught and called for more. "Didn't I tell you, Sam, that you'd like it better than the native grog-shops?"

"If they'd on'y got bitter beer!" sighed Sam.

"They've got better beer," said his friend; "try some ginger-pop."

"No thankee. If I can't git it strong, let's at least have it hot. But, I say, what's come o' the lobsters? Don't seem to be many about. I thought this here Institoot was got up a-purpose for _them_.

"So it was, lad, includin' us; but you don't suppose that because _you_ are out on the spree, everybody else is. They're on dooty just now. Wait a bit an' you'll see plenty of 'em afore long."

"Are all that come here Blue Lights?" asked Sam, with a somewhat doleful visage.

"By no manner o' means," returned his friend, with a laugh; "tho' for the matter o' that they wouldn't be worse men if they was, but many of 'em are no better than they should be, an' d'ee know, Sam, there are some of 'em actually as great blackguards a'most as yourself!"

"There's some comfort in that anyhow," returned Sam, with a pleasant smile, "for I hates to be pecooliar. By the way, Fred, p'r'aps they may be able to give you some noos here, if you ax 'em, about your friend Jack Molloy. _He_ was a Blue Light, wasn't he?"

"Not w'en I know'd 'im, but he was a fuss-rate seaman an' a good friend, though he _was_ fond of his glass, like yourself, Sam."

It chanced that at this point Sergeant Hardy, in moving about the place, taking profound interest in all that he saw, came within earshot of the two friends, to whom he at once went up and introduced himself as a friend of Jack Molloy.

"Indeed," said he, "Molloy and I fought pretty near to each other in that last affair under General McNeill, so I can give you the latest news of him."

"Can you, old man? Come, sit down here, an' let's have it then," said Thorley. "Jack was an old messmate o' mine. What'll you take to drink, mate?"

"Nothing, thankee. I'm allowanced by the doctor even in the matter o' tea and coffee," said the sergeant. "As to bein' an' old man--well, I ain't much older than yourself, I daresay, though wounds and sickness and physic are apt to age a man in looks."

Sitting down beside the sailors, Hardy told of the great fight at McNeill's zereba, and how Molloy and others of his friends had gone to rescue a comrade and been cut off. He relieved Fred's mind, however, by taking the most hopeful view of the matter, as he had previously relieved the feelings of Marion. And then the three fell to chatting on things in general and the war in particular.

"Now don't this feel homelike?" said Sam, looking round the room with great satisfaction. "If it wasn't for the heat I'd a'most think we was in a temperance coffee-house in old England."

"Or owld Ireland," chimed in a sailor at the neighbouring table.

"To say naething o' auld Scotland," added a rugged man in red hair, who sat beside him.

"Well, messmate," assented Fred, "it _do_ feel homelike, an' no mistake. Why, what ever is _that_?"

The sailor paused, and held up a finger as if to impose silence while he listened, but there was no need to enforce silence, for at that moment the sweet strains of a harmonium were heard at the other end of the long room, and quietude profound descended on the company as a rich baritone voice sang, with wonderful pathos, the familiar notes and words of "Home, Sweet Home!"

Before that song was finished many a warrior there had to fight desperately with his own spirit to conceal the fact that his eyes were full of tears. Indeed, not a few of them refused to fight at all, but, ingloriously lowering their colours, allowed the tell-tale drops to course over their bronzed faces, as they thought of sweethearts and wives and friends and home circles and "the light of other days."


CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.


LED INTO CAPTIVITY.

We turn once more to the Nubian desert, where, it will be remembered, we left several of our friends, cut off from McNeill's zereba at a critical moment when they were all but overwhelmed by a host of foes.

The grand-looking Arab who had so opportunely appeared on the scene and arrested the spears which were about to finish the career of Jack Molloy was no other than the man who had been saved by Miles from the bullet of his comrade Rattling Bill. A kind act had in this case received its appropriate reward, for a brief though slight glance, and a gracious inclination of the Arab's head, convinced our hero that the whole party owed their lives to this man's gratitude.

They were not however exempt from indignity, for at the moment when Jack Molloy fell they were overwhelmed by numbers, their arms were wrenched from their grasp, and their hands were bound behind their backs. Thus they were led, the reverse of gently, into the thick bush by a strong party of