had five wounded, the coxswain
seriously; while Larrikins had a bullet through the fleshy part of his
forearm, and I received a knock on the knee from a friendly Arab which
made me limp for more than a month afterwards.

The second cutter, however, came off the worst, Mr Doyle, our junior
lieutenant, having been shot through the lungs with a jagged matchlock
ball in the desperate hand-to-hand fighting that ensued on her first
attack, which the Somalis repulsed, twelve more men of her complement,
besides, being either killed or wounded.

Poor Mr Doyle died shortly after we effected the capture of the
batilla; but, being a quiet, inoffensive sort of man, I don't think his
loss affected any one very much, while Mr Chisholm the middy, who was
made an acting sub-lieutenant in his place--such is the fortune of war--
was the reverse of sad when he came up to us presently in the whaler,
towing the smaller dhow, which he had very pluckily captured to his own
cheek.

The rest of the Somali craft had been run ashore on the rocks to escape
our clutches, reminding me of my old chum Mick one day, when we were
walking along the Gosport ramparts and it was raining, proceeding
carefully to take off his clothes and go into the water, to `kape
himself dhry,' as he explained to me in his Irish way.

So now the Arabs had knocked their dhows to pieces to save them; but the
men who manned them, as well as the poor slaves with which the majority
of them had been crammed, we found, on pulling inshore to examine them
later on, had all got safely beyond our reach, far away amid the khors
of the desert coast of the barren and inhospitable Nogal country.

To make matters certain that they should not be able to get the dhows
afloat again in the event of their returning, as well as to revenge
ourselves at being prevented from towing these off ourselves, so that we
might obtain the usual bounty given by the Zanzibar prize court for
their capture, we set fire to every single one of them, burning the lot
to the water's edge.

The whaler assisted us at this job, the second cutter being sent back to
the ship by Mr Dabchick to convey all our wounded comrades thither for
medical treatment, as well as the body of Mr Doyle, and that of another
poor fellow who had not gone overboard; we ourselves not yet returning
to the _Mermaid_, not rejoining her until our task was done, late in the
afternoon.

We buried the lieutenant and bluejacket who had fallen,