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Percy F. Westerman

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Captured at Tripoli is a Tale of Adventure written by Percy F. Westerman. He was a prolific author of children's literature, many of his books adventures with military and naval themes. This book has 20 chapters with illustrated by Charles M. Sheldon.

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Percy F. Westerman

Captured at Tripoli

BookRix GmbH & Co. KG80331 Munich

Captured at Tripoli

A Tale of Adventure

By

Percy F. Westerman

 

Figure 1 "'WHY, IT'S THE RIVER!' EXCLAIMED GERALD"

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

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. 

CHAPTER II. Under Fire

An hour later Lieutenant Chigi Riefi, having completed his watch on deck, returned to his cabin. Both lads sprang to their feet in anticipation as the door opened, and the astonishment of the English youths and the young Italian officer was mutual.

The lieutenant began to pour out a series of rapid questions. Hugh, on his part, with his limited knowledge of Italian, was unable to follow his questioner, whose perplexity increased when he found that he had two foreigners in possession of his cabin.

But by degrees he calmed down, and, when in broken words Hugh explained why they were waiting there, the lieutenant told the lads that a serious mistake had occurred—far more awkward than it appeared to be at first sight.

"There is no Signor Reeves on board this ship," said Riefi. "It is against strict orders for any civilians, especially foreigners, to be on board. You must be brought before the captain at once. But do not be alarmed on that score; we can see that a real mistake has been made. Unfortunately, you must come with us to Tripoli. No doubt the Commander-in-Chief will have you sent back by the first available ship."

"But our friends—they will be in a terrible fright!"

The Italian shrugged his shoulders.

"Corpo di Baccho!" he exclaimed; "there will be many terrible frights before this affair is over. But stay here; I must inform the captain."

"We're in a hole," remarked Hugh dolefully, when the two chums found themselves once more alone.

"Never mind, Rags! We're here, and all the moaning in the world won't alter the case. Perhaps they will send a wireless message."

"I won't mind so much if they do. In fact, I would rather enjoy the fun. What will the other fellows say when they hear we've been to a real war—none of your public-school field days? Besides, Mr. Reeves will be there to give an eye to us."

"I'm afraid Mr. Reeves will have other things to attend to," replied Gerald. "But here they come, so stand by for a good wigging."

The lieutenant returned, accompanied by the captain of the ship and an army officer; but, greatly to the lads' relief, the Italian officials treated them with every consideration. To their disappointment, however, the boys were informed that the Victor Stroggia was not fitted with "wireless"; but directly she came within signalling distance of any of her consorts thus provided, the news of their presence would be sent for transmission to Naples.

"You may go on deck if you wish," continued the captain, speaking slowly and distinctly, so that Hugh could follow him. "We will provide you with meals, and Lieutenant Riefi is willing for you to sleep on the floor of his cabin. But don't, for your own sakes, get into mischief."

Hugh thanked the captain on behalf of Gerald and himself, and when the officers had withdrawn, the lads lost no time in availing themselves of the permission to go on deck.

It was now nearly sunset. Away on the port quarter could be discerned the rugged outlines of the mountainous Italian peninsula. Astern, the island of Capri was a good ten miles off, while a thin column of smoke, standing out clearly against the bright sky, marked the position of the smouldering volcano of Vesuvius. Quite three miles ahead, four transports were ploughing steadily along, their funnels belching out clouds of flame-tinged vapour; while two more ships followed the Victor Stroggia at about the same distance astern.

Up to the present, being in safe waters, there had been no fear of interruption from the Turkish torpedo vessels which, according to Italian reports, had left the Golden Horn. Nevertheless, had a daring Turkish commander made a raid upon the struggling and unescorted transports, the result would have been disastrous to the Italian arms.

At night, however, precautions were taken against attack. The transports steamed with screened lights, silence was strictly enjoined, and the troops were forbidden to smoke. But nothing untoward happened, and when the two lads arose from their comfortable bed on the floor, and looked through the now open scuttle, they saw that they were still within sight of land—the island of Sicily.

Here was the transports' rendezvous, and under a powerful escort of battleships the fleet headed for the African shore; and just after sunrise on the following morning the lads had their first glimpse of the glaring white houses and minarets of Tripoli.

Suddenly a burst of cheering came from one of the transports. The shout was taken up by the other vessels, till the air re-echoed to the tumultuous roar. Tripoli had been bombarded. The powerful ordnance of the modern battleships of the Italians had been let loose against the crumbling brickwork and mud walls of the antiquated defences. A glorious victory! Adowa was avenged!

Already the town of Tripoli was in the hands of the victorious sailors and marines. The Italian tricolour floated over the forts, while several of the timorous inhabitants did not hesitate to display the red, white, and green flag from the flat roofs of their closely-barricaded dwellings.

"Mr. Reeves will be too late after all," remarked Gerald.

"It seems like it. However, I think the troops are beginning to disembark. I wish they would let us go ashore."

But no: to the lads' entreaties the Italian captain gave a polite yet firm refusal. No foreigners, other than accredited war correspondents, were allowed to land, pending definite orders from General Caneva, the Commander-in-Chief.

Four days passed. The transport, denuded of troops, still lay in the roadstead. Occasionally a few shots were fired by the Arabs and Turks, who had retreated to an oasis on the fringe of the desert, to which the Italian troops would reply by frantic volleys. But most of the time was spent by the invaders in throwing up earthworks and erecting wire entanglements; for, in spite of their numbers, the Italians did not treat their fierce and swift-moving foes with a contempt that other civilized nations have had to pay dearly for under similar circumstances.

Meanwhile, the lads had contrived to send a message to Hugh's parents at Naples, and, having fulfilled their obligations as best they could, they settled themselves wholeheartedly to making the best of their novel experience.

On the morning of the fifth day they were called from the cabin, where they had been temporarily installed, and to their delight found that Mr. Reeves was awaiting them on the deck.

"You're a fine pair of rascals," he exclaimed; "causing your people no end of anxiety!" The war correspondent had heard the particulars of their adventure almost as soon as theVictor Strozzi reached Tripoli. The news of how two English lads had evaded the Commander-in-Chief's express orders had spread through the fleet, the transports, and the army; and Arthur Reeves heard of it from a fellow correspondent directly he set foot ashore.

"The dad knows all about it by now," replied Hugh; "so he won't mind."

"He'll be glad to see you back," said Mr. Reeves grimly. "You are to return by the Aleppo. She sails for Brindisi the day after to-morrow."

"Hard lines!" ejaculated Hugh. "But since we've one clear day, couldn't you take us ashore? There's not much doing at present—I mean, you're not very busy, are you?"

"Not more than usual," replied Mr. Reeves meaningly. "However, if you promise not to get into mischief, I'll see what can be done."

In less than half an hour the war correspondent returned with the welcome news that the lads could go ashore as soon as they were able, with the proviso that they were to be under Mr. Reeves's direct supervision, and were not to approach within one kilometre of the firing line.

"That's fair and reasonable, you must understand," concluded their newly-appointed guardian. "The Italian officials are trusting you, and if anything goes wrong I must be responsible; so remember! Boys will be boys, I know; but don't betray the confidence that is placed in you."

Hugh and Gerald gave the required promise. A boat was lying at the gangway of the Victor Stroggia, and into this the three Englishmen stepped. As the boat shot under the stern of the ship, Mr. Reeves pointed to a small craft of about twenty tons, painted black, with felucca rig.

"That's the Victor Strozzi," he announced. "Not much resemblance between the two vessels, eh?"

"She's rather small to make such a long voyage."

"But perfectly seaworthy. She was as lively as a top. My bones haven't ceased to ache yet."

On landing, they were stopped by a sentry, who demanded the Englishman's permit. This was immediately produced. The man looked at it as if he understood, and returned the document.

"When I landed just after sunrise this morning I found that I had left my permit on board," said Mr. Reeves. "As I did not want to return for it, I gave the sentry the first piece of paper I came across in my pocket. That passed me all right; but what do you think it was?"

"An hotel bill?"

"Good shot, but not quite right. A receipted account for a hundred cigars!"

"There's not much damage done!" remarked Gerald.

"Disappointed, eh? It's a good job there isn't, or the natives wouldn't take things so calmly. Look at that benevolent old chap!" Mr. Reeves pointed to a tall Arab with an almost Hebraic cast of features, who, swathed in white from head to foot, was calmly sitting on an empty ammunition case and eating dates.