Cover art
THE SKIPPER RECEIVES THE MANDARIN
Ford
of H.M.S. Vigilant
A Tale of the Chusan Archipelago
BY
STAFF SURGEON T. T. JEANS, R.N.
Author of "Mr. Midshipman Glover, R.N."
ILLUSTRATED BY WILLIAM RAINEY, R.I.
BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED
LONDON GLASGOW DUBLIN BOMBAY
1910
Preface
This story is written more or less on the same lines as my previous story of naval adventures—Mr. Midshipman Glover, R.M.—and describes events subsequent to those narrated in that book.
The proof sheets have been carefully read by messmates of different branches of the Service, and I am much indebted to them for correcting many technical errors.
Practically all the characters are drawn from life, and the cruisers and gunboats, British, American, and Chinese, taking part in the various operations are actual ships under altered names.
I therefore hope that the story gives an accurate representation of life in the Service under the war conditions described.
T. T. JEANS
Staff Surgeon, Royal Navy
H.M.S. ALBION
TO
E. R. W., K. G., AND E. M.
AS A SLIGHT RETURN FOR THEIR ASSISTANCE
WHILST WRITING THIS BOOK
Contents
CHAP.
- [How Dick Ford went to Sea]
- [Introduces Sally Hobbs]
- [The Vigilant under Orders]
- [The Loss of Lieutenant Travers]
- [Midshipman Ford's First Command]
- [The "Sally" goes into Action]
- [Mr. Rashleigh takes Command]
- [The Vigilant Sails Again]
- [Mr. Hoffman's Secret]
- [The Vigilant under Fire]
- [The Landing Party]
- [Midshipman Ford on his Mettle]
- [Mr. Ching to the Rescue]
- ["Old Lest" takes a Hand]
- [The Retreat]
- [Ford saves "Old Lest's" Life]
- [Goodbye to the Huan Min]
- [A Midnight Adventure]
- [The Captain Receives a Present]
- [Home Again]
Illustrations
[The skipper receives the Mandarin] . . . Frontispiece
["The Skipper took her up in his arms"]
[Plan of Creek (Hector Island)]
CHAPTER I
How Dick Ford went to Sea
Old Gurridge—Appointed to the Vigilant—Dick sends a Telegram—The Vigilant at Last!—"Dear Little Dicky!"—Dicky gives his Messages
Written by Midshipman Ford
I don't expect that you have ever heard of Upton Overy, in North Devon, but it is there where Captain Lester, of the Royal Navy, lives, and, at any rate, you must have heard of him. Everyone in the West Country knows him by name and most of them by sight, and whenever he comes back from sea the villagers won't do any work, and the bellringers ring peals and "changes" on the old church bells all day long, till you'd think that the top stones must be shaken off. The noise always makes my mother's head ache terribly. You see, my father is the parson of Upton Overy, and our house is so close to the church, that the noise seems to go through and through it.
If he happened to be at home, on leave or on half-pay, the Captain sometimes asked my father to go out shooting with him, and when I was quite a kiddy I was so fearfully keen to go too, that once I crept away and followed them. My father would have sent me back, had not the Captain growled out—and he had an awfully deep growling voice—"Let the nipper come along o' us, Padré;" and you may be jolly well certain that I did follow them, keeping close behind the Captain, without saying a word, and with my eyes glued on him, just to see exactly what he did. I got so tired, that if I hadn't been afraid of making a noise I should have cried.
"Send the young 'un to sea. He'll do," he had said when my father, very angry at having his day's sport spoilt, had at last to carry me back.
That is the first I remember of Captain Lester, and is why I remember what he said. Afterwards he would often let me go with him, and when I was big enough would let me hold his great mongrel dog "Blucher". The Captain used to take this dog to sea with him, and always brought him out shooting; but he used to get so excited that he would obey nobody, and if let loose, always ranged ahead of the guns, and put up every bird for miles. The result was that he was kept on the chain nearly all the time.
Although he was so useless, the Captain would never leave him behind. "I've spoilt the dog taking him to sea", he would growl; "I ain't going to spoil his bit of sport", and he always let him have a run "on his own" towards the end of the day.
Sometimes his eldest girl, Nan, used to come too, and as she worshipped her father just as much as I did, we became quite chums, and had many a jolly day together, while we hung on to old Blucher's chain, and he tugged us about.
She worried very much because she was a girl and couldn't go to sea, but of course that wasn't her fault—I told her so, often—and it always made me feel what a jolly good thing it was to be a man, and that I was going to sea. I had made up my mind to that, and had never forgotten what the Captain had said. I simply longed for the sea, and used to spend every moment I could down among the fishing boats, helping to spread the nets out along the shore to dry, and sometimes taking a hand in mending them. I made chums, too, of the boys in the smaller smacks, which worked close inshore, and one of them took me out several times in his uncle's boat.
But just skirting along the coast was not enough for me, so one night I did a very silly thing. Upton Overy owned six deep-sea trawlers, which were generally away on the fishing grounds for a whole week, and one night, I couldn't stand it any longer, and crept out of the house, round by the back of the church, down a cliff path to the harbour, crawled aboard one of these trawlers, and hid myself under the nets. I knew that they were all going out before daylight, and that I shouldn't be found till we were right out of sight of land.
When they did pull me out in the morning, old Gurridge—it was his boat I'd crept into—was rather beastly about it, and jawed at me till he was tired. He'd had some row with my father, and thought it a jolly good opportunity of having a "dig" at him, and the way he'd brought me up; but I didn't mind what he said—not in the least—for all round me was sea, no land whichever way I looked, and I simply felt mad with delight.
It came on to blow, too, and I don't think that old Gurridge could have taken me back, even if he'd wanted to—and he didn't want to either, because of that row with my father—and all the time he made me work, scrubbing and cleaning, and jawing at me for being so wicked as to run away.
Of course I got back safely, had a jolly good beating, and was sent to bed; but, honestly, I couldn't feel wicked, because, right down inside me, I knew that I'd done it because the Captain wanted me to go to sea, and, as I told you before, I simply worshipped him. Most people did—even the "grown-ups"—so it was no wonder that I did.
He heard about it too—my trip in the trawler, I mean—and that was one reason, I fancy, why he gave me a nomination for the Britannia, and when I had passed in, promised to look after me if I did well there.
I can't help remembering the first time I came home in cadet's uniform, and rushed up to the House to show myself to Mrs. Lester and the girls. Nan was most respectful, and she'd never been so before, and that pleased me more than anything else. I expect that I put on a frightful amount of "side", and must have been a horrid little bounder.
I only saw Captain Lester twice whilst I was in the Britannia, and then he commissioned the Vigilant for the China station. Of course, what I really wanted to do was to go to his ship, but I thought that probably he'd forgotten all about me. He hadn't, though; for when, during my last term, my father had to write out to him about some church repairs, he wrote in his reply, "Tell the young 'un he can come out to my ship, if he passes out of the Britannia well".
This news simply made me boil all over, and you may guess how hard I worked that term, and what I felt like when the lists came out. My name—Dick Ford—was seventh of my term, and next below me was Jim Rawlings, my best chum, and we both had just got enough marks to scrape out as midshipmen straight away.
Wasn't that splendid? It was grand, too, to see the little white badges sewn on the collars of our monkey jackets, and to know that we'd finished being cadets.
The next thing to do was to get Captain Lester to apply for me; but I funked asking Mrs. Lester, and my mother stood rather in awe of her too. However, it turned out that the Captain and Mrs. Lester between them had arranged it all, and one morning, after I'd gone home on Christmas leave, there was a large blue envelope for me in the postbag. I tore it open, and the first thing I saw was the name Vigilant scrawled in among the print. I yelled with delight, for there it was at last. It was grand, and at the end of the print was: "You are to embark on board the P. & O. Steamship Marmora by noon on the 14th January".
My mother ran up to her room directly I had read it aloud and she had looked to make certain, and my father frowned at me and said angrily, "You see what you've done? Broken your mother's heart," and that made me miserable again, though I couldn't feel miserable for long, and rushed up to the House to show the appointment to Nan and everyone I met. I shall never forget that day and the next three weeks, and at last driving off to the station, with my sea chest on top of the village cab, really, actually—I could hardly believe it—on my way to China—and Captain Lester.
Mrs. Lester and the girls were at the big gates, and I had to stop and wish them goodbye. Nan looked down her nose and pretended she wouldn't have given her soul to be coming too, and Mrs. Lester, before I knew what was going to happen, actually bent down and kissed me. My mother was so astonished that she left off crying, but I'm almost sure that Mrs. Lester had tears in her eyes. Of course I knew why—because I was off to join the Captain, and would—-with luck—see him in six or seven weeks.
She had a big box of things for me to take out to him too, and it took a great deal of hoisting up alongside my chest.
You can have no idea how many messages were given me for him. Of course everyone in the village knew I was going, and for the last fortnight, I should think, half the village had sent "best respects to the Captain", and news about their children or gardens or the fishing. I stuck them all down in a notebook so as not to forget them—my mother advised me to do this. At the station old Puddock, the station master, gave me a pot of cranberry jam his wife had made—she'd been cook up at the House before she married Puddock—"with our best respects for the Cap'en, Master Dick, and tell him we're both fair to middling, and I got first prize at Barnton Show for the pigs". Out came the notebook again, and we were off at last—my mother and I.
But the funniest thing of all happened at the next station—Bodington—for there Ned the Poacher—he was an awful nuisance for miles round, and spent half the year in prison—came sheepishly to the carriage and asked me to tell the Captain that he and his pals wouldn't be too hard on the pheasants this year, as they knew he was coming home for next year's shooting. "Tell the Cap'en they birds be mighty strong and healthy, and there'll be plenty of 'em next year when he comes home," and he shuffled away. I suppose he hadn't the face to come to me at Upton Overy itself.
I wasn't going to put that down in the notebook, but my mother said I had better do so.
When we went down to the docks next day and went aboard the Marmora, the very first person I saw was Jim Rawlings—on his way out to join another cruiser—and in the excitement of seeing him I hardly wished my mother "goodbye" properly, and it was only when the Marmora shoved off and left her standing alone in the rain, on the dock wall, that I felt what an awful brute I was, and wanted to jump across the bit of water just to say "goodbye" once again.
There were four cadets on board, as well; going out to join different ships. A lieutenant was in charge of all of us, and jolly nasty he made himself too; and we were all jolly glad when we found his ship lying at Singapore, and he cleared out. I'm not going to tell you all about the voyage. It would take too long, and there are too many exciting things for you to hear. For me they began there, and it was Jim who made the discovery. He'd got hold of a Singapore newspaper, and suddenly came flying along the deck, whooping like a madman, and shoved it into my hands. You can imagine how excited I was, for among the telegrams was this:
"Shanghai, February 22nd. Captain Lester, H.M.S. Vigilant, senior officer in the Chusan Archipelago, reports that the Chinese cruiser Huan Min has picked up Mr. Martin P. Hobbs and his daughter, adrift in a boat, and that their steam yacht has been captured by a gang of pirates in possession of a large steamer, and led by a European."
At the end of the telegram followed—"We understand that Captain Lester has been ordered to take the necessary steps to recapture Mr. Hobbs's yacht."
My Aunt! Wasn't that news? You can just fancy how I almost felt sick all over with excitement, and how frightfully important I felt at being the only one going to that ship, with a chance of chasing pirates. How I wished it was possible for Jim to come too. We thought and thought of any number of schemes, and then, "Let's telegraph to Captain Lester," he burst out; and we hunted out every penny we had in our chests, rushed ashore, jumped into a double rickshaw, and went off like mad to the Eastern Telegraph Office. The Marmora was lying at Tanjong Pagar wharf, and we needn't have gone fifty yards, if we'd known, but we drove right into the town.
When we got there our courage began to ooze away, because I knew it was a frightfully cheeky thing to do; but Jim bucked me up, and the telegraph people helped us, and put the best address they could think of. What we sent was: "Midshipman Rawlings chum mine wants come Vigilant—Ford Midshipman", and that took nearly all our money. Neither of us cared a "rap" about that, though, so long as Captain Lester would ask for Jim.
We were half-dead with funk at what we'd done when we got outside the office, but Jim cheered me up by saying, "we couldn't get hanged", and that they wouldn't send us home again, because of the expense, so we drove back fairly happy, though I couldn't sleep much that night for wondering whether the Captain would think me frightfully impertinent. He was terrible when he was angry.
We were a week punching up to Hong-Kong. It seemed a month, and when we did get there, both Jim and I were waiting at the gangway for the officer of the guard to board her, hoping to hear from Captain Lester. Of course there was nothing at all for us from him, and I was ordered to go across to H.M.S. Tyne, store-ship, for passage to the Vigilant, whilst Jim and the three cadets had to go aboard the Tamar, the receiving ship, always stationed there. Jim didn't say anything, but went down the gangway with his lips firmly pressed together, and I, very miserable, went across to the Tyne and wandered about her great ward room like a lost sheep all the afternoon, getting in everyone's way, till I got into a corner, and wrote a long letter home.
I couldn't keep miserable very long, though, because we unmoored directly after dark, and at last I was really off to join the Vigilant, and in the excitement forgot about Jim. Boats had kept coming and going, and I hadn't taken any notice of them, and they must have come over in the last boat, because just as we cast off someone banged me on the back, and there was Jim Rawlings, grinning all over his jolly ugly red face, and behind him was that ass Dicky Morton, the junior of the three cadets, with his silly little eyes almost sticking out of his head with excitement.
"We're both sent to the Vigilant," he squeaked out.
Well, Jim coming too made me just completely happy, although it was a bit toned down by having Dicky Morton with us too. "He's not a bad little chap when you get used to him," Jim told me, but that was Jim "all over". He was the most unselfish fellow you ever met in the world, would have given you his last shirt if you asked him, and was always standing by to give a leg up to silly idiots like Dicky.
He hadn't the least idea why he'd been sent; he'd just been given an order, signed by the Commodore, and he hadn't heard whether Captain Lester had telegraphed or not. We tried to think that our telegram had just done the trick, but then that did not explain why Dicky was here. We didn't worry about anything, though, for long, and simply counted the minutes, and kept our eye on the cherub log all the time. You can imagine what we felt like when we ran into a fog, three days out, and had to crawl along at about five knots, rolling about in a swell on our starboard bow. Our navigator was much too wily a bird to try and make the Chusan group of islands from the south in that kind of weather, and that meant another twelve hours steaming; but at last the fog blew away, the sun came out long enough for him to take a sight, and away we went again.
The fifth day out from Hong-Kong we made the islands—you can bet your boots we were on deck—dodged in between several of them, and then the harbour of Tinghai suddenly opened out, and far away, under a hill, we could just see a white spot. "That's your ship, the Vigilant," a signalman told us as he hoisted the Tyne's number. We got nearer and nearer; she got bigger and bigger. Presently the signalman hauled down the pendants, and we knew that the Vigilant had seen us, and I wondered whether Captain Lester would be frightfully angry or not. I was really in a funk at meeting him, chiefly because of that telegram.
We anchored quite close to her, over to us bobbed a steamboat with a big "V" on her bows—our steamboat—my steamboat some day perhaps—and we were presently bundled in and taken across, the midshipman of the boat winking at us patronizingly.
"Have you caught the pirates?" we all asked him.
"Not yet. You bet! but we're in for some fun. You're lucky beggars, I can tell you. They're only expecting one mid. Where the dickens d'you other two come from?"
The first bit made us fearfully excited, but the last part made me miserable again; for it made it quite certain that Captain Lester had not asked for Jim Rawlings, and I knew he would be angry with us both if he had received that telegram already, or if he ever did get it. We were alongside in a jiffy, I climbed up the ladder, and, in my excitement at being at last on board the Vigilant, I forgot to salute the quarterdeck, and so did Dicky, and the officer of the watch "jumped" on us both and sent us both down below with a flea in our ears. I got red all over with shame, and it hurt me more because Dicky and I were in the same box; it wouldn't have been so bad if it had been Jim. The Captain was ashore—I was jolly glad of that—and the Commander was asleep, and didn't want to be disturbed, so we were left to ourselves, and saw our chests lowered into the gunroom flat, jammed together into a dark corner, and then we sat down on them for company, swung our legs, and felt miserable.
We weren't left alone for long, though, and soon we were hauled into the gunroom, where the Sub-lieutenant—a huge, great fellow—made us stand in a row in front of him, and asked us silly questions, to make all the others laugh. Jim and I got through this all right, but Dicky made a perfect little ass of himself—we were frightfully ashamed of him—squeaking out all sorts of things about his family and his sisters, and everyone roared with laughter.
"What do they call you at home?" the Sub asked him.
"Dicky, sir," the idiot bleated.
"Don't they ever call you 'dear little Dicky'?" the Sub said coaxingly. He was enjoying himself immensely, and I could almost feel Jim grind his teeth with anger when Dicky smiled feebly, and answered, "Sometimes, sir."
There were shouts of "dear little Dicky" all round the room, and the ass never saw what an idiot he had made of himself. He was always called "dear little Dicky" afterwards, by the Sub's orders, though there was no need for orders to make them all do that.
It was a horribly bad beginning.
They hadn't any news of the pirates either to cheer us up. They had had one look for them, but had found nothing, and were now waiting for fresh orders.
Just before it got dark someone sung out that the Captain was coming back with the Fleet Paymaster. I hadn't the courage to go up on deck to let him see me, but just peeped out of a gunroom scuttle as he came alongside.
He was so broad and big, that he seemed to fill the galley's stern sheets. He was wearing the same stained old shooting-suit he always wore at Upton Overy—I never could remember seeing him in any other—Blucher, thinner than ever, was squatting between his knees, and the Fleet Paymaster, with white beard and a still older shooting-suit, was sitting next to him. He threw away the stump of a cigar, helped Blucher scramble on to the ladder, gave a gruff order to the coxswain, and followed Blucher. He looked so stern, and I felt so afraid of him, that I popped my head in again lest he should see me, and waited, hot and cold, expecting him to send for me. I wasn't so silly as to think that he would want to see me, but I knew that he would want to hear all about Mrs. Lester and the girls.
Jim knew how frightened I was, and promised that directly I was sent for, he and Dicky would bring along the packing-case which Mrs. Lester had sent, and put it outside his cabin door, so that I could get at it very quickly.
And then I remembered that pot of cranberry jam, and hunted for it in my chest. I couldn't find it anywhere. Jim asked what I was looking for, and he helped too. Suddenly he stopped, his face quite white.
"Was it a white jar with the top covered with brown paper?"
"Yes, it was," I told him, and knew that something awful was going to happen.
"I emptied it," he groaned; "ate the whole lot, half-way from Aden."
I went cold all over, and just then the sentry sang out that the Captain wanted me, and I shuffled aft, knocked at the door, heard the Captain's growl "Come in!" could hardly turn the handle for fright, went in, and stood before him absolutely speechless.
He was reading a letter—we'd brought a mail with us in the Tyne—and didn't look up for a moment or two, and just in that time, jolly old Blucher stretched himself, came over, smelt me, got up on his hind legs and licked my face before I could prevent him. I could have hugged him, because that did the trick, and made me forget all about the jam and the telegram—for the moment.
"Hello, Dick! Got here at last?" and the Captain looked up, and held out his great red hand. "How's the Missus and the girls? Where's that box of things she tells me she gave you?"
"Outside, sir," I squeaked—like Dicky—and simply rushed out. Jim and Dicky had just brought it along, and I dragged it in.
"Umph! Don't spoil my carpet. Where's Willum? Willum!" the Captain shouted, "come and open this box." "Willum"—I never knew his surname—was his valet, and between us we soon had the box open, the Captain all the time asking me questions.
"I had a number of messages for you, sir, from people in Upton Overy. I've got them all—nearly all of them—down in my notebook."
"Where is it?" he growled. "Read 'em out."
But I'd left it down in my chest purposely, so that I could get a "breather", and when I ran down to get it, Jim was waiting for me.
"Anything about the telegram or the jam?" he asked anxiously.
"Not yet; things are going all right so far;" and I raced back and began reading the messages, till I came to the station master's, and then I got red and spluttered a bit and didn't read it, but went on to Ned the Poacher's about the pheasants.
"Like his darned cheek!" the Captain roared, purple in the face. "I'll shoot him the first time I catch him! He knows that, and keeps clear when I'm about. What's become of his wife and kids?"
I told him, and then—I knew it must come out sooner or later—blurted out, "and Puddock, the station master, asked me, sir, to tell you that they were both 'fair to middling', and 'his pigs have won first prize this year at Barnton'. Mrs. Puddock, sir, sent you a pot of cranberry jam, but—but——"
"Where is it, Dick? She's made me a pot every year since I went to the Britannia. Bring it out."
Well, there was nothing else to be done. I simply quaked with fear and stuttered out: "Jim ate it, sir—I mean we both ate it," and then, before he could say anything, I explained that Jim Rawlings had thought it was mine, and that it would be a good joke to eat it without my knowing.
I suppose I looked so terrified that he hadn't the heart to be angry. He gurgled and growled and got red in the face, and I waited to see whether it was going to be with amusement or anger, and oh! I was so thankful, it was only amusement.
He sent me away then. "You'll shake down all right; glad to have you in my ship;" and though I longed to ask him whether there was any chance of going for those pirates, I hadn't the pluck to do so, and bolted like a rabbit.
H.M.S. "Vigilant"
CHAPTER II
Introduces Sally Hobbs
News of the Pirates—Mr. Hobbs Tells his Story—The Chinese Captain—The Pirates—Three Cheers for Miss Hobbs!—The Skipper gets the Telegram
Written by Commander Truscott, H.M.S. Vigilant.
As I have been asked to assist in writing an account of the events which happened during the last few months of the commission of our dear old tub the Vigilant, I had better explain to you how they first arose.
We had been up to Shanghai, to be handy in case a serious effervescence of native feeling against Europeans should bubble over, and get out of the control of the local authorities. As it happened, the agitation fizzled out without our being required, and I think I can honestly say, to our great disappointment.
From there we steamed down to Tinghai Harbour in Chusan, the largest of the islands of the Chusan Archipelago, and anchored close to Joss House Hill and the tumble-down ramparts of the new town of Tinghai. All the islands of the archipelago simply abound with game. There are pheasants in every valley, and millions of duck, geese, curlew, snipe, and even wild swan are to be found on the marshes, paddy fields, and vast stretches of mud. It was for this reason that Captain Lester had obtained permission to come here, and he had chosen Tinghai because its harbour is the safest in the archipelago, as well as the most important, being the centre for a vast trade carried on with Ningpo and Shanghai on the mainland. Close inshore are always clustered a great number of fine merchant junks, loading and unloading, and anchored off the town is generally a small fleet of war junks. These are supposed to cruise round the islands and keep down piracy—as a matter of fact they don't. As an additional protection to the town and shipping, two little open batteries are built at each end of the harbour, mounting fairly modern breech-loading guns.
Half a mile inland, and only connected to the modern town by a rough causeway through the paddy fields, is the ancient town of Tinghai. It is surrounded by a deep moat and lofty mud walls, which are pierced by four gloomy archways. These are flanked by towers, closed in by heavy, iron-bound gates, and only approached over drawbridges whose rusty chains are probably not equal to the task of hauling them up.
It looks gloomy enough from the outside, but it is still more so inside, and the sullen, scarcely concealed hostility of the inhabitants of its dark, horrid-smelling streets makes one exceedingly glad to get out again into the daylight, with no more indignity than being spat at or hustled.
The natives of the seaport town have grown accustomed to white men, and if they do not exactly welcome them, they tolerate them amiably enough. Indeed, a missionary and his wife—Macpherson by name—have lived here for years, and are always dinning into our ears the number of converts they have made.
You can imagine that everyone who could get away shooting did so, and one evening I came back to the ship after a long day's tramping through paddy fields after snipe. I had been using my new hammerless gun for the first time, I remember, and hadn't quite got into the "hang" of it, and kept on forgetting to push up the "safety" catch. Snipe don't give you much time for fooleries of that sort, so I hadn't been very successful.
I noticed that a Chinese cruiser was anchored close to the Vigilant, but paid no special attention to her, because she often came in. It was getting dark, and I was in a hurry to get aboard, have a hot bath, and change for dinner. The skipper of the Ringdove, one of our gunboats, had been shooting with me; I put him aboard his own packet, and then pulled alongside the Vigilant, where Lawrence, our navigator, met me at the gangway very excited, and I saw at once that there was something the matter. He followed me into my cabin, and whilst I changed into uniform, told me what had happened.
The Chinese cruiser—the Huan Min she was—an old wooden corvette belonging to the Peiyang squadron, had been making one of her regular cruises among the islands, and yesterday morning she had picked up two Americans—an old man named Hobbs and his daughter—adrift in a boat. They had reported that they and their steam yacht, the Sally Hobbs, had been captured by pirates, and that somehow they themselves had managed to escape. Turning out of her course to search for the yacht, the Huan Min had run into a fog, and presently found herself "right on top" of a tramp steamer and the yacht herself. Both had made off inshore as quickly as possible, and the Chinese Captain, following them, had rammed the poor old Huan Min's nose firmly into the mud. He had scarcely commenced to go full speed astern, when she came under a heavy fire, either from the tramp steamer or the shore, a fire to which she was unable to reply with effect. She was hulled several times, and had had some men killed and wounded before the rising tide enabled her to back off into deep water and get out of range. She had come along to Tinghai as fast as she could, and Lawrence told me that the two Americans were already aboard the Vigilant, and that Captain Lester was furious at having to look after them.
"He's had rather a bad day's shooting, sir, and is in a bad temper."
This was Lawrence's story, and excited enough he was about it and the chances of our having a "show". "Strangely enough too, sir," he said, "the First Lieutenant of that ship is an old chum of mine—a man named Ching. He was doing a year's training in the old Inflexible when I was a Mid in her. A jolly chap he was—we all liked him—and he's coming over after dinner to have a yarn, if he can get away."
I had to dine with the Captain that night—he positively refused to entertain the two Americans by himself—and I learnt from the old father, Mr. Martin P. Hobbs—I had seen his name in the papers—he was a wealthy railway magnate—the details of their extraordinary escape. This is what he told me, and you can take it for what it's worth; but he was such a weird, cunning little object, that I, somehow or other, found myself doubting his story. He and his daughter Sally, who was as pretty as paint, although her hair had been clumsily cut off, and who was now trying to twist the dear old bully of a Captain round her little finger, had been wandering about the Northern Treaty Ports, and at Shanghai had met some Boston people who were, what he called, doing a "splash". They'd been somewhere up country with a caravan of their own—somewhere where no one else had ever been—and in order to go one better, nothing would content Miss Hobbs but that her father should buy a small steam yacht, which happened to be for sale, and start away for a thousand-mile trip up the Yangtse. The skipper of the yacht—they'd named it the Sally Hobbs—seems to have been a dare-devil sort of scoundrel, according to Hobbs, and instead of taking them up to Hankow, got them to alter their plans, and brought them down among the islands.
One night they had anchored close to an island, and woke up to find the yacht in possession of a crowd of Chinamen, simply swarming all over the decks. They were forced down below and locked in their cabins, and there they stayed for a whole day, while the yacht steamed away. Some time during the next night Hobbs was roughly gagged and bound, a long, blue, Chinese coat pulled over him, and he was made to get into a boat alongside. He found his daughter lying in the sternsheets, gagged and covered with another blue native coat. He heard a scuffle on deck, but it was too dark to see anything distinctly. He thought he heard the voice of the old Scotch engineer of the yacht, and then someone cast off the boat and they drifted quickly away in the darkness.
In the morning they had been seen by the Huan Min, taken on board, were in great danger whilst she was trying to fight the pirates, and were afterwards brought along here.
That was his story, and as I said before, it did not convince me. If the whole scheme had been arranged, and he implied that the skipper of the yacht was the arch villain, how on earth had he allowed Hobbs to escape so easily? He must have known of his enormous wealth, and would surely have kept close guard on him to extort a ransom later on.
However, there was his daughter, and no doubt her hair had been roughly cropped off, and from what I know about women, especially pretty ones, they wouldn't lose their hair if they could possibly help it, and when I looked across at her, the very picture of innocence, and heard her tell the Skipper how they'd shorn it off, putting her hands through the irregular bits left, her lips quivering, and her eyes filling with tears, I was bound to believe that there was some truth in it.
It was amusing to watch the change in the Skipper's manner. He had sat down to dinner with a scowl on his face that would have melted the paint off the bulkhead, and snarled whenever he spoke; but now he was telling her all about his wife and daughters, and she was holding up her wrists to show him where they had been bound and bruised, and had completely mollified him.
Presently Hobbs ventured to ask him if he would try and recapture the yacht, and then the Skipper flared up again and roared at him, "that American citizens should get their own ships to do their own dirty work". The Skipper's language was never too refined, but the little man wasn't to be browbeaten. "Guess the Sally Hobbs was flying your own red ensign, Captain," he answered defiantly.
"Darn my rags! Why didn't you say so before?" shouted the Skipper, and got purple in the face. "Those pirates dare touch anything under our flag? I'll go after 'em to-morrow."
"I rather fancy she was," put in Miss Hobbs. "Poppa and I were in such a hurry, we'd only time to paint Sally Hobbs on the stern and the lifebuoys, and didn't reckon it counted, altering the registration."
Well, that put matters in a new light, and I felt pleased at the prospect of our taking a hand in the game.
I happened to think of Lawrence finding his chum on board the Huan Min, and told the Captain about the strange coincidence. "He's probably on board now, sir; he was coming over after dinner, if he possibly could."
"Umph! I'd like to see him. He would probably be useful," growled the Skipper, and sent "Willum" for him.
He came in presently, a fine-looking fellow in his black silk tunic with gold dragons round the sleeves, tall and upright, with a determined, prize-fighting jaw, which took the Skipper's fancy directly.
He sat down, couldn't keep his eyes off Miss Hobbs, and told us the story which you know already. He was very bitter about everything: his guns were worn out, his ammunition rotten, and his shells wouldn't burst, and, he added, wincing, that they had not had sufficient medical stores for their wounded.
The Skipper, who, I could see, was much attracted by him—it was his square jaw that did it—offered to send carpenters over to help repair damages next morning (our doctors had already taken charge of the wounded), and promised that he would take the Vigilant down to investigate the island.
I waited only long enough for the Skipper to make out his orders for raising steam in the morning, and slipped away to bed.
Next day we sent Hobbs and his daughter ashore—they were to stay with the Macphersons at the Mission House—and steamed down to the island, off which the Huan Min had received such a hammering.
Though we spent the whole day examining not only the coast line, but the interior itself, not a trace could be found of the existence of any pirates or any battery. In fact, the island appeared to be uninhabited, and we steamed back somewhat out of patience with ourselves.
The next day the Taotai from the old town of Tinghai came on board in great state, amidst the firing of three gun salutes from the war junks and the Huan Min. The Captain of that ship came with him, and Ching also, to act as interpreter. I don't quite know what their idea was, but they imagined that the Skipper could do anything, and they implored him to do something. The poor, feeble old Taotai seemed to be at his wits' end, and must have stayed a couple of hours on board, pouring his woes into the Skipper's extremely unsympathetic ears. It appeared that he was responsible for the maintenance of order throughout the archipelago, and that piracy had lately been increasing to an alarming extent. From island after island memorials and petitions had been pouring in for the last six months, and the old man quite broke down when he told us how impossible it was to do anything, and how he dare not report the whole state of affairs to his Viceroy on the mainland.
"Why not?" growled the Skipper, glaring at him.
"He'd probably be dismissed, sir, or lose his head," Ching answered.
"And a good thing too. Umph!" the Captain muttered. "Tell the old chap that I'm sending a gunboat up to Shanghai to-morrow or the next day, and will report everything to the Admiral, and must wait his orders. It's no use me looking for that yacht by myself—might as well look for a needle in a haystack. Umph!"
What annoyed him was that the Taotai wouldn't send out his war junks. We didn't know the real reason for some weeks, but the old Taotai almost cried when he said that if the Huan Min could be beaten off by them, the feeble junks wouldn't stand a chance. There was a good deal of sense in that.
Of course, instances of piracy are always cropping up among these islands—we had been long enough in Chinese waters to know that—and we knew, too, that unless they became very numerous in the same locality, the authorities did not take much notice of them. You see it was only in times of bad trade, when perhaps the fishing had been a failure, or when the crops had been destroyed by one of the typhoons which used to devastate the islands lying in its track, that the inhabitants, practically threatened with starvation, would take to piracy as a means of tiding over the bad time.
Just imagine the temptation of seeing some lumbering great junk becalmed off your village, or stuck fast in the mud, if everyone was hungry and desperate, and imagine what an easy thing it was to man all your boats, surround her, and capture her. The chances were that she was full up with foodstuffs, beans, or rice or fish, and there was little to fear from the authorities, far away in Tinghai. They would never hear of it either, if you knocked the crew on the head. That is practically what would happen, and one lucky capture would set a village "up", till next harvest enabled them to carry on their peaceable pursuits.
Sometimes, of course, it happened that their appetites would be so whetted with their success, that they would lay in wait for every favourable opportunity, and every crawling junk which passed. Sooner or later it would be known that it was dangerous to take that channel, and sooner or later, if the trouble continued, a war junk or two, or perhaps one of the Peiyang corvettes, would be sent there to burn the village and hang a few of the inhabitants.
That is what you may call the ordinary course of events, and so long as someone did get hanged and some village was burnt, all went smoothly, and very little notice was taken of it.
But now, according to the old Taotai and Ching, it was a very different pair of shoes. There was organized piracy now; pirate junks cruised in twos and threes, cutting out junks anchored in front of their own villages, appearing from where no one knew, disappearing as mysteriously, but scattering death and ruin wherever they did appear.
A whole fleet of merchant junks, crowded together for safety, had recently been attacked by half a dozen pirate junks, and but one had escaped, throwing her cargo overboard, and flying before the wind to bear the news.
Not only were they evidently organized, but they also must have had spies in the principal centres, because, not two months ago, a war junk carrying the monthly salt tax to the mainland had been surrounded by pirates and forced to surrender, in sight of land. She had put up a good fight, and was well armed—for a war junk—and not the least notice had been taken of several merchantmen sailing with her for protection. This outrage was the real reason why the Huan Min had been sent down.
Merchant junks always do carry four or five small muzzle-loading carronades, and these pop-guns had, up to now, been generally sufficient to scare away any sea robbers. Now, however, these gentry had got possession of such powerful weapons, that antiquated smooth bores were out-ranged entirely.
For months junks hardly dare quit an anchorage, unless they sailed in company with others, and if a strange lateen mat sail was sighted, would huddle together, and be only too glad to escape by disabling one of their own number, and leaving her a prey to their pursuer. You can understand the fright of these poor wretches, as they beat or drifted through the narrow channels, burning joss-sticks on their high poops, to implore the protection of one of their sea gods, and scuttling down below in abject fear when a pirate junk swooped down on them like a hawk, showing no mercy and giving no quarter, if any resistance was offered.
It was then, in this plight, that the Taotai had implored Captain Lester to give him assistance, and you can imagine that he was only too eager to take the matter up, especially as the capture of the Sally Hobbs under our flag gave him the excuse and opportunity he needed.
But he could do nothing till he had communicated with the Admiral and asked for more gunboats. This is what he did immediately, sending despatches up to Shanghai by the Ringdove.
After that we had to be content to await events, and we had to wait for nearly three weeks, as something went wrong with the mails.
During this time the Tyne storeship arrived with a lot of gear for us, as well as three youngsters. Only one of them—Ford—had originally been appointed to this ship, and I was much annoyed at two more being sent, because our gunroom was already overcrowded, and I'm always having trouble there, Langham, the Sub, having peculiar ideas of running the "show" with which I don't always agree. Hobbs and his daughter seemed to have taken up their quarters permanently at the Mission House, and one day, before we eventually sailed, came off to tea with me—they'd asked themselves, and I could not well refuse—and brought with them a German named Hoffman, one of the finest specimens of a man I have ever seen. He caught the Skipper's eye immediately, and the two were soon engaged in trying various feats of strength, at which, as far as I can remember, the German generally won, very much to the Captain's annoyance. Little Miss Hobbs bothered me till I let her go down into the gunroom to have all the "dear little midshipmen", as she called them, introduced to her. She made herself so popular there, that they sang "For she's a jolly good fellow", which made her fly back, in double-quick time, with tears in her eyes, to my cabin, where her father was smoking my cigars, and spitting, most accurately (and frequently), into my fireplace.
Hobbs told me that Hoffman was the original owner of the Sally Hobbs, had heard of her capture from some of the Ringdove fellows at the Shanghai Club, and had come across country to Ningpo, and from there to Tinghai in a junk. Mighty keen, too, he was to get hold of her, because her rascally skipper, who had pretended to be his agent, had naturally never paid over the purchase money.
He rather foolishly asked Captain Lester whether he could be of any assistance to him in his search for her; but this made the Skipper flare up and say that he hadn't orders to do anything, and "if he did get them", he growled, "it was time enough when 'Old Lest'", as he always called himself, "had proved himself a blooming fool". I softened the Skipper's fierceness as much as I could, for Hoffman was evidently hard "hit" by his money loss, and, as he had lived all his life in China, I thought that he very possibly would be of some assistance when we really did come to business.
Well, at last, after we'd almost thought the Admiral had forgotten us, the Ringdove did arrive, and little Rashleigh, her Lieutenant Commander, came on board, purple in the face because he would wear his sword belt too tight, waved some official letters at me, and went down aft.
It was not many minutes before I was sent for, heard the Skipper roaring to Rashleigh to "throw away that cabbage stalk he was smoking", and to Willum, "bring those eighteen-penny Havanas of mine", so knew, before I saw him, that the news was good, and found him rubbing his hands together and grunting with pleasure. "We've got to go for 'em, Truscott, got to go for 'em. The Admiral's sending me a couple more gunboats, as well as the Ringdove, and I'm to have a free hand. We've got to get back that yacht, and Old Lest will give 'em a lesson not to meddle with the British flag. Umph!"
As he went over his correspondence I saw him read a telegram and turn round furiously. "Dash my wig, Truscott, look here, here's impertinence! What the dickens is the Service coming to?" and he handed it to me.
I couldn't help laughing. It read, "Midshipman Rawlings chum mine wants come Vigilant—Ford Midshipman," and was sent from Singapore.
"Well, he's managed to get here somehow or other, sir."
"Both of 'em, drat 'em! and brought that useless rubbish Morton with 'em too! Umph!"
The Skipper was really angry, but I managed to smooth things down.
"Pretty plucky thing to do, sir, and both Ford and Rawlings are not half-bad boys. They don't know much, of course, but will do well."
"Umph!" he grunted. "Plucky, do you call it? I don't. I'll see them both presently."
It was lucky for them that the Admiral's letters had brought such good news. As a matter of fact, we fully expected that they would, and in the meantime the Skipper had obtained a vast amount of information from the Taotai ashore, and had already roughly drawn out his scheme for dealing with the pirates.
"If you want a good day's rabbiting," he said, "stop the holes, stop 'em up, Truscott."
His main idea was that the pirates must have, somewhere in the archipelago, a base from which they operated, where they repaired and revictualled their ships, and where they warehoused their captured goods before selling them. The authorities on the mainland had assured him that no such dépôt existed on the mainland, so he only had the archipelago to trouble about, and now he determined, first of all, to examine every island. The archipelago is roughly divided into five great groups, and his scheme was to examine each group, one at a time. The three gunboats and the Huan Min, which had been placed under his orders by the Viceroy, were to do the exploring work, and he was going to steam slowly, backwards and forwards to leeward, in order to catch anything that tried to escape. You must understand that junks can hardly beat to wind'ard, and would fly "down" wind.
His orders to Rashleigh and to the skippers of the other two gunboats, the Sparrow and Goldfinch, which arrived a day or two later, were—"You fellows, go in and turn out the game, umph! and Old Lest'll bag it when it comes down to him;" and his orders were the same, though not in those words, to the Captain of the Huan Min.
Once the last gunboat had arrived, he did not lose any time, but weighed anchor the very next morning, and with the clumsy old black corvette and the three little white gunboats puffing after him, steered for the north.
He chose to examine the northerly group first, because the winds, at that season of the year, always had a good deal of "northerly" in them, and, as I said before, junks beat to wind'ard so slowly that they would never think of trying to escape in that way.
A Ting Hai War Junk (from a photograph)
CHAPTER III
The Vigilant under Orders
"Seven Bell" Tea Time—Sally Hobbs is Entertained—Mr. Rashleigh—The Pirates Raid a Monastery—A Fire on Shore—"A" Company Lands—"A" Company Doubles—A Fierce Tussle—Mr. Travers is Missing—The Return
Written by Midshipman Ford
Jim Rawlings and I managed to hold our end "up" all right in the gunroom, and hadn't been aboard a week before the Sub begun to leave us alone. We had hoped that that wretched telegram had been lost somewhere, but it turned out that it had only been "hung up" at Shanghai, and when the Ringdove came down with the Admiral's answer to the Captain's letters, she brought it with her. Dicky was on watch, heard Mr. Rashleigh tell someone that he had a telegram a fortnight old for the Captain, guessed it was ours, and rushed down to the gunroom flat to tell us. He looked as frightened as we felt. Jim suggested asking Willum to try and steal it from the Captain's table, and we did, but Willum didn't like midshipmen, and told us that the Captain had his hand on top of it too, so we could do nothing but huddle up on our chests and wait.
Presently someone shouted down that we'd been ordered to recapture the yacht and go for the pirates, and everyone began yelling and shouting and cheering; you could hear the cheers as the news passed along from one mess to the other. It was so exciting, that Jim and I forgot all about that wretched telegram, and we all made a fearful row in the gunroom, and Mr. Hamilton, the big Engineer Lieutenant, hammered out "Rule, Britannia" and "We won't go home till morning" on the piano. It was simply grand.
It was just about "seven bell" tea time when we heard the news, and when we'd let off steam Mr. Langham banged on the table for silence. "Gentlemen," he shouted, "on this great occasion, before you commence to stuff yourselves with bread and jam, we will perform the time-honoured ceremony of 'over the main top', the last midshipman down to have no 'seven bell' tea. Stand by!" and we all tried to get a good position near the door. "One! Two! Five! Go!" and we all scrambled out, helter-skelter up on deck, flattening out the sentry on the Captain's cabin, who did not get out of the way in time, up to the boat deck, into the starboard main rigging, clambered up it, into the fighting top, jumped across in a mob, down the port main rigging, half sliding and getting our hands trodden on, and dashed back to the gunroom, where the Sub-lieutenant and the A.P. were sitting with their watches in their hands, to see whether any records had been beaten.
I was amongst the first few, because I had got a good start, but Jim was nearly last—I'd seen him helping Dicky to haul himself into the fighting top. Dicky and Ponsonby—he was called Pongo for short—a fat little cadet, were actually the last, coming in together and both claiming not to be last. Dicky, like an ass, squeaked out, "He trod on my thumb," and held it up to show the blood, "going up the ratlines," and Pongo gasped, horribly out of breath, "I couldn't climb into the top, I couldn't really; I nearly fell," and we all yelled with delight. "You climb into you hammock fast enough, you fat little beast," said Mr. Langham. "The first three are Mr. Webster, Mr. Smith, and Mr. Johnson. Mr. Pongo and Mr. 'Dear Little Dicky' are last—a dead heat; neither of them will have any seven bell tea. Fall out! Dismiss'"
It had just struck seven bells too, and Ah Man, the Chinese messman, and Hong Cho, his steward, had covered the table with cups and plates, loaves of bread, tins of salt butter, and pots of jam. We all scrambled for places—there wasn't room for us all to sit down together—and grabbed at Ah Man's long white coat as the fat old chap came along, with his big teapot, and tried to get an early whack of tea. "No can do, Gen'l'men! Makee too muchee bobberee; no can do, all same one time," the old chap shrieked in his funny voice, as he pushed his way between the table and the bulkhead.
Poor Dicky and Pongo had to wait on the Sub, cut him slices of bread, spread them with butter, pile them up with jam, and then stand to attention, whilst he very slowly ate them, and made funny remarks with his mouth full—we had to laugh at them, whether we thought them funny or not.
"The great thing in life, Mr. Pongo," he said, stuffing a huge piece of bread and jam into his mouth, "is to be moderate in everything," and when he could speak again, "You, Mr. Dear Little Dicky, may suck your bleeding thumb if you're thirsty, and don't take it out again until I tell you."
So there Dicky had to stand, with his thumb in his mouth, looking an ass, and awfully miserable.
"There is still a chance of your getting some tea, my pet lambs," he went on. "Jones and Withers will be here in five minutes" (they were the midshipman of the watch and signal midshipman, and came off watch at 4 o'clock), "and they'll have to go over the 'main top' before I can make my final decision."
It wasn't much of a chance, and when they did come down and were ordered over the "main top", they were back again in a very much shorter time than Pongo or Dicky had taken.
"I am so very sorry," said the Sub, chaffing them, "but for my sake, do try and keep alive till dinner-time!"
"Now do, just for our sakes!" shouted nearly everyone—except Jim, who was angry, and I rather fancy I didn't, because I was angry too, for it really wasn't fair sport to make fun of such an ass as Dicky.
The buglers sounded off "evening quarters" just then, so Pongo and Dicky escaped any more "rotting", though they dare not have any tea or cake, even when the Sub's back was turned, because that was against the rules.
Directly after the "dismiss" was sounded, Jim and I were sent for by the Captain. All our excitement simply fell out of us, and we were fearfully frightened—Jim was as pale as a sheet. We went in together and stood to attention in front of him, quaking all over.
"Umph!" he growled. "What's the meaning of this?" and he held out the hateful telegram; but we hadn't the pluck to say anything—words wouldn't come. "Infernal cheek, that's what it was, and must have cost you a pretty penny," and he glared at us over his cigar smoke. "A pretty penny, eh?"
Jim managed to tell him "One pound fifteen, sir."
"Umph! silly young fools," and then he hunted through drawer after drawer in his knee-hole table, we didn't know in the least what was going to happen—Jim told me afterwards that he thought he was hunting for a cane—found a couple of sovereigns and gave us each one—I nearly dropped mine, I was so surprised—and growled out, "Off you go; don't do it again."
We just had the presence of mind to say, "Thank you, sir," and streaked out like lightning, feeling happier than I can tell you, for now we hadn't a worry in the world—well, hardly, for the Sub didn't really count, nor Dicky either—and we had nothing to spoil our thinking about the pirates.
That very afternoon Mr. Hobbs and Miss Hobbs came on board to tea with the Commander, and he presently sent down to tell the Sub to have the place "tidied up", as she wanted to come down and see the gunroom. She came, too, in a few minutes, and those of us who could not escape were introduced to her, and then she sat down at our old "jingly" piano and sang nigger songs to us, and we got over being shy, and the others gradually came in, and we crowded round her, standing on the benches and table, and joined in the choruses.
She was so absolutely "ripping", that when she went away we all sang "For she's a jolly good fellow", and did the hip! hip! hooray! part jolly well—because we meant it. She got quite white, I don't know why, some tears actually ran all down her face, she put her hand on Mr. Langham's arm—he looked jolly uncomfortable, but couldn't move away because he kicked up against the gunroom stove—and said, "Guess you're all too sweet for words," and slipped away back to the Commander's cabin, where her father was. That made us quiet again—the tear part, I mean—and she looked such a regular "brick", that we all would have done anything for her, and it made it still more exciting to know that it was her yacht which we were going to try and get back. Jim swore that he'd "scupper" the brute who'd cut off her hair, if he could find him, and I'm certain that we all wanted to have a jolly good try too.
Well, at last we did get away, one exciting morning, the Ringdove, Goldfinch, and Sparrow coming along with us, and the Huan Min simply making the whole sky behind us as black as your hat. The smoke she made was so thick, that it looked as if it didn't like coming out of her funnel.
For a week we wandered backwards and forwards to leeward of one of the groups of islands, all of us in double watches at night, so as to keep a better look-out, but nothing happened, and after that we chose another group and waited outside while the gunboats searched it. Still nothing happened, and I don't mind telling you that this wasn't our idea of excitement and pirate chasing. A third week had nearly gone by when our first news of the pirates came.
Very early one morning the Ringdove was sighted coming towards us very fast, and presently her Captain, Mr. Rashleigh, bounced on board. He was quite purple in the face with excitement, and looked fatter than ever. "The Skipper hasn't turned out yet," the Commander told him, as he took him down below. "You'd better be careful. He's a bit 'livery' in the morning." He hadn't been below three minutes before he bounced up on deck again, looking "down in the mouth", went back to his gunboat without saying a word to anybody, and the Ringdove steamed away.
The Commander had to go to the Captain immediately, and through the open skylight I heard the Captain bellow, "that fat little blockhead has let 'em slip through his fingers. He drives the crew of a junk ashore, and never stops to see what becomes of 'em. I've sent him back, and we'd better follow him." Then I heard him give a terrific "Umph!"
Dicky found out all that had happened from the coxswain of the whaler which had brought Mr. Rashleigh across. He had slipped down the ladder directly, which was rather a smart thing to do. The coxswain had told him that yesterday evening, just as it was getting dark, they had sighted a junk becalmed under an island. Her crew could be seen getting out their sweeps and working at them frantically to try and escape, but Mr. Rashleigh had turned on the Ringdove's searchlight, and, so the coxswain said, thrown a drum of oil on the fires. At any rate, he jolly soon began to overhaul her rapidly, and as she came up, the junk's crew jumped overboard and swam for the shore. Mr. Rashleigh immediately sent a cutter's crew away to board her. Fortunately there had been some little delay in shoving off, and before they could pull halfway the junk blew up, which proves that she must have been a pirate. The cutter was so close that pieces of burning wood actually fell into the boat, and it was jolly lucky that they weren't actually alongside.
Mr. Rashleigh had only waited to pick up the cutter, and had then steamed back to us.
The Vigilant didn't wait long after the Ringdove had gone back again, and followed her to the island, but by the time we'd got there, there wasn't a trace of the junk. Then came more excitement, for "A" small-arm company—that was my company, the left half of it at any rate—was "piped" to fall in. I had to get my gaiters on, and a revolver and a cutlass, and then superintend the serving out of ammunition. Mr. Travers, a tall, very aristocratic Lieutenant, was in charge, and the Commander came too—more excited than anyone—and we were all sent ashore. The Commander sprang into the soft mud with a whoop, and more or less waded ashore, and we all followed him. I got covered with mud up to my knees, and that pair of trousers was never of any use afterwards except for dirty work. It was only a bit of an island, with a small village on the opposite side, so we spread out in skirmishing order and crept down on it, expecting to have shots fired at us every second. There seemed to be a lot of smoke about, and there was a burning smell in the air, and when we'd got within three hundred yards the Commander gave another whoop and sang out, "Rush 'em, boys!" and we all raced down as hard as we could, but the only living things, there, were some pigs and dogs, which ran away squealing and yapping. There was only one hut which hadn't been burnt to the ground—some were still smouldering—-and down on the beach were two dead corpses—ugh! They were the first I had ever seen, and though I didn't really want to do so, I couldn't help going down to look at them closely. Some of my men turned them over with their feet, to see how they'd been killed, and then I had to go away.
Presently some of the villagers began to creep back, and then we learnt from them what had happened, through a Chinaman whom we had brought with us as an interpreter. In the middle of last night a band of men had swooped through the village and set fire to the huts. Whilst the frightened people were trying to escape or put out the fires, they'd cut the mooring ropes of a junk lying close inshore, and had sailed away. It was their only junk, too, and the poor brutes were absolutely ruined. Before we left the village they'd all come back, and were moaning and wringing their hands, but doing nothing to help themselves. I shall never forget one poor old woman, just a wrinkled bag of bones she was, sitting on a stone in front of one of the half-burnt huts. They had brought one of the corpses to her, and she was swaying from side to side, making a funny noise, and looking past everything, as though she was mad. One of the bluejackets gave her some tobacco as we went by. "Here, mother!" he said, "here's a bit of navy prick,"[#] and she snatched it from him, stuffed some of it into her mouth, and went on swaying and moaning.
[#] Navy Prick—Navy tobacco is served out in the raw leaf, and after being rolled and squeezed together by the men, is known as Navy Prick.
When we got aboard again—I'd never been so dirty in my life—the Captain was simply furious. I heard him say, "If that little fool had only stayed where he was, he'd have caught 'em," and we steamed back to our cruising ground.
That didn't end the day's excitement—not by a long chalk—for presently we sighted a solitary junk, thought it might be the one in which the pirates had escaped, and chased her. However, it turned out to be one of the Tinghai war junks looking for us, and bringing letters from the Taotai and Mr. Hobbs.
The news must have been very serious, for the Commander and the Navigator and the Engineer Commander were all sent for, and we could hear the Captain's bellowing voice talking very fast.
We soon knew why; Willum and the sentry told us. The pirates had raided the monastery of Tu Pu, cleared out all the monks' hoards, and left them hardly anything except what they stood up in. The Taotai had written imploring us to go back to Tinghai.
We didn't understand how important this was till the A.P. (Moore, the Assistant Paymaster) heard of it, and then he whistled, "My aunt! you chaps, it's the richest monastery in North China, and you can see it from the top of Joss House Hill—it's not twenty miles away."
Well, that made it exciting enough for anyone, and showed how daring these pirates were becoming; and we all expected to go back at once, but someone heard the Captain growl, "I've made my plans, and I'm not going to fly this way and that way, every other second, for all the blooming Taotais and pirates in the world." So we didn't go back till the Saturday afternoon—as we had arranged. No sooner had we anchored under Joss House Hill, than the Taotai and Mr. Hobbs came on board, the old Chinaman in a great state of funk. They brought two other Chinamen with them, and they turned out to be two of the servants at the monastery. Six days ago the monks had given shelter to some seamen, who had knocked at the great gates and told a yarn of having been shipwrecked. At night these chaps had knocked the doorkeepers on the head, opened the gates, and let in a whole crowd of Chinamen, and while some of them kept the monks in their quarters, the others had looted the treasury and carted away everything of value. One of these two men had been too frightened to notice anything, but the other said that he had managed to escape, had hidden in a swamp down by the sea, and had seen two steamers, one large and the other small, close inshore, and that the robbers all went away in them.
"That's Hobbs's yacht and the tramp steamer, I'll bet you anything," the Sub said.
The Captain came up to see the Taotai and Mr. Hobbs over the side, and we heard him ask Mr. Hobbs: "What's become of that great German chap Hoffman, eh?"
"He streaked across to squint at that collection of old monks right away. Says he'll get information from them at first hand, and means to find that yacht of his before he's much older, I guess."
"Where's Darter Sally?" asked the Captain.
"Staying up at the Mission House. Guess she's gotten a shy fit and wouldn't come on board," and the little man smiled, whilst the Captain snorted, as if that was the last thing in the world he could believe.
We had been away from Tinghai for nearly three weeks, and of course we had run out of fresh grub down in the gunroom, so you can bet your boots the very first thing that Mr. Langham did was to send Ah Man ashore to buy some; and he came back with a sampan loaded down with things, mutton and fowls and ducks and eggs, and any amount of green stuff. We had a grand "blow out" at dinner that night, and afterwards the band played on the quarterdeck, and the ward room officers sent down to ask us to join forces in two double sets of "lancers".
Several officers from the gunboats, and that ripping Chinese friend of Mr. Lawrence, had come on board too, and we had a great time. Jim Rawlings was on watch, so he turned Dicky over to me as my partner, with a handkerchief tied round his leg, below the knee, to show that he was a lady; and though he spoilt the dance, because he didn't much care for the free fight part of it, that did not matter much, as we never finished it. Just when we were in the middle of the "grand chain", down came a signalman to report that there was a fire on shore, and everyone stopped to look at it. Then another started some distance from the first, and then a third, till soon flames were shooting up from several parts of Tinghai, close down by the water's edge, and we could hear a great row going on. Somebody suddenly sang out, "There's a rifle shot", and we all listened, and in a moment or two could distinctly hear rifles going off; and then tom-toms banged furiously all over the town, and one of the junks fired three guns and burnt a red light.
We all stopped dancing and watched the flames. We could see them eating their way along the water front, bending and curling as the breeze swept them in front of it, and spreading up the sides of Joss Hill. Seen through our telescopes, it was a very grand sight, for the native houses burnt fiercely, and soon the whole of the harbour between us and the town was glowing with the fire. We could see the trading junks hurriedly trying to cast off from the shore before the flames reached them, drifting across the reddened water, and disappearing like black ghosts. We could also presently hear the actual crackle and splutter of the fire, and even the shouts of the Chinese. The Commander had been all this time fidgeting round the Captain, evidently wanting to suggest something, but not quite liking to do so, and I heard him whisper to the Gunnery Lieutenant to get everything ready to land the fire engines. Mr. Whitmore went away with a grin on his face to do this, very quietly, and we all watched the Captain to see if he was going to give the order, and almost shivered with excitement at the prospect of being sent ashore—at any rate, I know that I myself shivered. The Commander still fidgeted round the Captain, when suddenly there was such a furious burst of flames, that he plucked up courage, and we—we were all listening and longing for him to speak—heard him say: "It's getting pretty bad, sir. It seems to be working its way uphill towards the Mission House, and there seems to be a good deal of rioting going on, sir."
"Umph!" the Captain growled, sticking his cigar into the corner of his mouth, so that he could use his night-glasses better. The Commander knew that it was very inadvisable to actually suggest landing the fire engines, because the Captain hated anything being suggested to him; but we saw that he was getting more and more nervous, and at last he broke out again: "It's not more than half a mile from the Mission House now, sir, and a native crowd is very apt to get out of hand. I hope the mission people and those Americans can clear out in time."
"I suppose you want to land and put it out, do you?" grunted the Captain. "All right, do what you like, umph! Teaching your grandmother to—— Umph!"
You may be pretty certain that we all heard every word, and were off that quarterdeck in a twinkling, rushing down below to change into our oldest uniform, even before the bo'sn's mate, who was standing by to pipe it, yelled out: "Away fire engines for landing," and then "'A' and 'B' small-arm companies fall in," whilst the bugler sounded off the marines' call.
Dicky came down to help me find my things—he was not to land—and the strange little beggar excitedly strapped on my gaiters, to save time. As you know, I was one of the Mids of "A" company, and was on deck again in a brace of shakes to see my half company of twenty-five men fall in, my heart simply thumping with delight when I saw one of the gunner's mates passing round ball cartridge. I don't know anything which gives you more of a thrill than the feel of a handful of loose cartridges, when you know that you may have to use them, in a few minutes, for the real thing.
In twenty minutes we were halfway ashore, towed by the steam pinnace. Looking back, we could see the sides of the Vigilant and the gunboats, simply looking as if they'd been painted red and glowing; and as we drew nearer the shore, it seemed to us that the whole town was on fire, the flames roaring and crackling in the most terrifying manner. Right up above the flames and the smoke we saw the Joss House on top of the hill all lighted up too, and perhaps what was the weirdest thing of all, was that funny strange sound that a frightened mob always makes.
Mr. Travers, the lieutenant of "A" company, formed up directly we landed, about fifty yards from the edge of the water, and we had to keep back an excited crowd which began to gather, while "B" company and the marines scrambled ashore and dragged the fire engines and hoses out of the boats.
I don't think that I had ever been so excited in my life. It was rather nervous work too, for the Chinese began pressing against us—an evil-looking crowd they were, come from the old town, we learnt afterwards—but Mr. Travers was simply splendid. He is a tall, thin, frightfully lackadaisical and aristocratic-looking man, and he stood there, in front of "A" company, and never stirred a muscle, though the natives thronged around him and hustled him. You would have thought that he did not even see them. Presently some stones began flying amongst us from somewhere at the back of the mob, and my men began to get impatient—you could feel that, even without watching them shuffling from one foot to the other, or jamming their caps down on their heads, or pulling their chin stays down, as if they were getting ready for a scrap. The crowd got bolder then, and began to press still more closely. I was nearly separated from my half company, and was really rather nervous, when Mr. Travers sang out: "'A' company, at 'shun! Fix swords!"[#] I repeated: "Left half company! Fix swords!" and was very relieved to do so, I need hardly tell you, and drew my dirk. The men all bent down to the left, and it was very comforting to hear the rattle of their bayonets being snapped on the rifles. "'A' company! Stand at ease!" sang out Mr. Travers, and you could see the two lines of bayonets, like streaks of light, looking jolly sharp and pointed.
[#] Bluejackets' bayonets are always spoken of as "swords" in the navy, and the order is always, "Fix swords". The Royal Marines give the order, "Fix bayonets".
The Chinese didn't stay too close after that, especially as the remainder of the men had landed by this time, and we began to advance up the beach and into the town. It was very unpleasant at first, because the flames seemed so close and almost scorched us, roaring in places so loudly that we could not hear any orders. We had to move aside, too, every now and then, to avoid burning pieces of wood that fell, but we gradually worked round in front of the fire, to make our way uphill towards the Mission House, and pressed along through the streets which had not yet been attacked. A Chinese street is bad enough in the daytime, but it was perfectly horrid now, and we had to force our way along, pressing a yelling "smelling" mob in front of us. These streets were almost dark, too, which made it all the worse, and I don't know how we managed to get along as well as we did, stumbling at every other step, and lurching into each other. I tried to keep as close to Mr. Travers as possible, but it was almost like a free fight, and we shoved and pushed for all we were worth, sometimes having even to use our fists to clear a way. More often than not, I was simply carried forward by the pressure of my men behind me, and all the time we could hear the fire roaring and crackling only two or three streets off. We had first to make a wide sweep round to the right, then go uphill to get round the fire and above it, and then back again to the left in order to get between it and the Mission, where, of course, we knew that the missionary, his wife, Mr. Hobbs, and his daughter must be in great danger. We fought our way along as fast as we could, and presently got into a broader street, where the crowd did not bother us so much, and where we made much better progress, but were right to leeward of the burning town, and were smothered with smoke and sparks. Just then Jim Rawlings rushed up—he was acting as "doggy" to the Commander—bringing with him a native, covered with blood. "The Commander wants you to hurry on as fast as you can," he told Mr. Travers; "they're looting the Mission. This man will show you the way; he's one of the Mission servants."
"My God, that's what I feared!" groaned Mr. Travers, and shouted to the men to "double". "Double, men! double!" and 'A' company, spitting and choking and coughing, because of the smoke, commenced running. From somewhere in the rear the Commander joined us, Jim panting behind him. He had his sword drawn, and looked terrible. "I've brought ten more men, Travers," he gasped, and had enough breath to shout: "Keep it up! Keep it up, men! There are women to be saved!" The men yelled, and went even faster than before, panting and sweating. We'd got above the town, well clear of the fire, but we could still feel its heat, and were wet through with sweat. The Chinese servant couldn't keep up with us, but that did not matter, for we suddenly turned a corner and saw, three hundred yards ahead of us, the white walls of the Mission House, and saw that it was surrounded by a howling mob of natives.
I heard the Commander give a groan, a funny kind of sob it was, and he and Mr. Travers and Jim and I simply tore along. We hadn't more than four men with us, because the others, with their rifles in their hands, were not able to run so fast; but I don't think anybody would have stopped, even if he had been alone, and the mob had been twice as big. You thought of nothing but pretty little Sally Hobbs with her great eyes and her cropped hair. Suddenly, from a street on our left, darted a tall figure, brandishing a sword and followed by twenty or thirty more. They rushed out from the dark shadows of the houses, and we thought they were going to attack us—at any rate, I did—and I don't mind confessing that I felt frightened, though chiefly, I think, because a scrap with them would hinder us from rescuing Sally Hobbs. One of our men fired his rifle, we heard a yell of pain, and then, before we could do anything more, the leader came out into the firelight, and we saw that it was Lieutenant Ching, of the Huan Min. "Come on, sir!" he shouted, and we all mixed together in a crowd, and ran as fast as we could. Two huge Tartar bluejackets panted beside me, their felt boots hardly making the least noise, and I don't think that I shall ever forget them, or their white faces, or the sound of their breathing as they ran alongside me, making not the least noise with their feet.
The mob was so busy, trying to fight a way for itself into the Mission, that they didn't see us till we were right among them. Mr. Ching got there first, then the Commander and Mr. Travers, and I and the two Tartars plunged in after them, and fought our way towards the little gate. Just as we plunged in, the mob gave a great howl of delight, and I saw flames shoot out from the downstairs windows. This took their attention away from us, but it was awful, and we hit all the harder. They didn't oppose us much till we got to the gateway, and there we met a stream of them coming back from the house, loaded with chairs and clothes and all sorts of things. We had a fierce tussle for a minute or two, knocked them over or brushed them aside, and rushed up the path to a verandah. It was then that I missed Mr. Travers. I had simply been following close behind, squeezing into the gap he made in front, but now, all of a sudden, I missed him.
A FIERCE TUSSLE
The remainder of "A" company had arrived by this time, and we could hear them at the back of the mob, fighting their way through to us. Some of them began shooting, so the Commander sent me back to steady them—a jolly difficult job, too, and I didn't like going through the crowd by myself; but they seemed to clear aside, and I managed to get hold of one or two of the petty officers, and gradually got the men into something like order. There wasn't any need to shoot, because the crowd had now fallen back in alarm, and were only booing and yelling and throwing stones.
Then I saw a commotion in the crowd, and suddenly that big German, who had come on board once with Mr. Hobbs, and beaten the Captain at weight-lifting, burst through and rushed past me, his face all drawn and haggard. "She's lost, mein Gott! She's lost! Too late!" and he dashed into the burning house, and I heard him roaring, "Sally!"
Jim Rawlings came up panting and asking for ten men, and disappeared with them among the sparks and smoke, into the darkness behind the house, which was now a mass of flames from top to bottom, with big flames licking out from every window. The heat was intense. It was really a most awful time, with the burning house behind me and that mob of wild people below, all longing to cut our throats, only not daring to rush us, because they had no one to lead them. I could still hear the Commander's voice bellowing inside the house and calling the missionary and Mrs. Macpherson, and Mr. Hobbs and Sally, by name—but no one answered, and there was no sign of any of them. For one moment Mr. Ching appeared at an upper window, then the roof began to fall in, but they both crawled out on to the verandah before it collapsed altogether with a crash.
They would have been buried and burnt alive if they had stayed another second.
"That German man has just gone in, sir."
"He's dead by now," the Commander answered grimly, and my blood seemed to go quite cold, as the flames rushed up into the sky, hundreds of feet up, and I knew that Mr. Hoffman was being burnt to ashes.
The rest of our people—the marines and "B" company, with the fire engines—came up now, and the crowd split in two to let them pass, and I had an insane hope that even then they might be able to save that German; but by the time they had dragged the hand pumps up the path, and got their hoses led to a little stream at the back of the house, they might just as well have tried to put the fire out by spitting at it.
Seeing that there was no chance of looting any more, the crowd seemed to melt away. Probably they went off to loot elsewhere. They were more of the old town mob, and weren't going to waste time, I expect.
The Commander ordered the pumps to stop heaving—it was really silly to go on with them—and then we scattered in little parties to search the hill behind the house. The Commander was fearfully angry because Mr. Travers was not there to take charge of his men. "He's never where he's wanted," he said, and took most of "A" company away with him.
"Where can Mr. Travers have gone?" I kept on wondering, but hadn't much time for thinking, as I only had been left a very few men to guard the burning house, and there were still a good many prowling Chinese sneaking round, and I had to make my men keep them away. It seemed an awfully long time before suddenly we heard a shout and a cheer from somewhere up the hill. "Thank God, sir, they've found that pretty little American lady!" one of my petty officers said. "It's worth spoiling our clothes for that;" and in a minute or two Mr. Ching came out from the darkness into the glare, bearing in his arms a woman. It wasn't Sally Hobbs, however, but Mrs. Macpherson—I could see her black hair. As he came into the light I saw him look down at her face with a strange expression, and then he gave a groan—I was near enough to hear—laid her on the ground somewhat roughly, and disappeared again. Her husband came too—he was a "rotter".
"Where's Sally Hobbs?" I asked, jumping across.
He shook his head, as he supported his wife. "Don't know. She and her father went out to see the fire directly it started, and we've not seen them since."
That sent the blood to my feet again and I felt terrible, and almost thought of taking my men down into the town to try and find her, though, of course, that would have been idiotic; and, too, I had to stop where I was till the Commander came back. However, I sent an able seaman to find the Commander, and presently I heard the bugles sounding the "retire" and the "fall in", and gradually the men came scrambling out of the dark and formed up in the road in front of the ruins of the house. Lieutenant Ching and his men came back too.
"What's to be done now," the Commander asked, when he had heard the missionary's story. Mr. Ching turned a haggard face towards the town, where the fire had nearly burnt itself out, and the greatest noise was the noise of the mob, and I saw him shake his head in a terribly sad way, "You no good there. I take my men down and try and find news." He had no sword—he must have dropped it—but in his hand was a grey tam-o'-shanter hat, and I recognized it as the one Sally Hobbs was wearing that day she came down into the gunroom. He was clutching it very tightly, and suddenly fell on the ground. Our Surgeon, Dr. Barclay, was over him in a moment. He had only fainted, but then it turned out that he had been struck by that bullet, which one of our men had fired, just as he and his men had joined us on the road. It had gone clean through his left shoulder, and he had lost a tremendous lot of blood. How he had managed to keep "going" all this time, Dr. Barclay couldn't understand, and I wondered how he had managed to carry Mrs. Macpherson, and then remembered that he had put her down rather clumsily, and understood why. He called to one of his men, gave him some hurried orders, and then they all disappeared towards the town. "Sent them to try and find news," he told the Commander. It was practically dark now because the fires had gone out, but presently the Vigilant's searchlights were turned on to us and made it less horrid. Some Chinese soldiers also came running up, followed a little later by the Taotai himself from the old city, in his sedan chair, and surrounded by more soldiers.
He was in a terrible fright when he found that he was too late, and that Mr. Hobbs and his daughter had not been found. He did not stay long, and took his men down to the town to keep order and find news of them.
As there was nothing more to do till daybreak, the Commander sent most of the men back to the ship with the fire engines, and I had to go back with "A" company, as Mr. Travers had not appeared. It was horrid work finding our way back to the sea, but I hardly remember it, for I was very sleepy and awfully miserable, and simply stumbled back, half asleep, thinking of Sally and her father and that German, and of what could have happened to Mr. Travers.
We got aboard about half-past three in the morning, and I turned into my hammock, tired and miserable, and pretended that I was asleep when Dicky tried to ask for news, although I wasn't able to sleep for thinking, and for being so miserable.
CHAPTER IV
The Loss of Lieutenant Travers
No News of Sally Hobbs—A Discovery—Those Villainous Pirates!—The Skipper is Furious—Weary Waiting—The Skipper Rages—"I'll do 'em yet"
Written by Commander Leonard Umfreville Truscott, R.N.
You have already heard of that disastrous fire at Tinghai, and of our failure to rescue the American, Mr. Hobbs, and his daughter Sally, the strange disappearance of Travers, and the death of that German fellow, so that I will tell you of what happened afterwards.
After sending Whitmore, our Gunnery Lieutenant, back to the ship with the fire engines, the marines, and "A" company, I waited for daylight, guarding what was left of the Mission House with "B" company. Our failure to save little Sally Hobbs and her father cast a great gloom over my men, which was still further increased when it became evident that something serious must have happened to account for the absence of Travers. Young Ford was most positive that he had seen him enter the Mission gate, but after that no one seems to have seen him. However, we fully expected him to turn up at daybreak, and could do nothing to assist him till then, if he had in some way or other lost his way in the darkness.
But I don't mind confessing that to protect Sally Hobbs was uppermost in the minds of every officer and man who had landed that night, and the thought of her, surrounded by a howling mob of maddened Chinamen, was the spur which had urged everyone so wildly through the streets. Our failure and her probable fate, down in the burning town, made us bite our lips in great agony of mind. Fifty times during the night was I implored by my men to take them down into the town itself; but I knew that it would be useless, and that lost among those narrow, straggling streets, and unable to keep in touch with one another, we should be simply courting disaster. If I had been alone I suppose that I should have gone, and it was a great strain not to go, and take my eager men with me; but I had no right to risk their lives uselessly. It was quite another pair of shoes for Ching and his men, because they were among their own countrymen, and ran little risk by doing so. Ching, himself, as soon as Barclay had dressed his shoulder—it was most unfortunate that one of our people had wounded him—followed his men there and left us to ourselves. I told him that we should remain near the Mission all night, and resume our search in the morning. Poor fellow, I think he was as distressed as any of us were at the fate of the little American girl, for even his thin, usually expressionless face showed traces of the anguish which we all felt. In the house he had found a grey tam-o'-shanter cap which she had worn, and I saw him stuff it into his tunic, and, you may be sure, was in no mood to chaff him about it.
Mrs. Macpherson told me, before her husband took her away to the house of some native convert, that directly the fire had started down in the town, Sally Hobbs, poor little girl, had made her father take her down to see it, throwing a shawl over her head and hurrying away, just as she would have done in America, in spite of the earnest entreaties of Macpherson himself.
As day dawned, Ching brought his men back, their faces and uniforms blackened and torn. "I have no news, sir. Not a trace of her to be found;" and then he threw himself down on the ground, utterly exhausted. His men—Tartars of splendid physique—were as worn out as he was.
As I expected, Captain Lester sent me a fresh lot of men, and food for the few I had kept with me. I therefore started with them to make a more systematic search than it had been possible to make in the darkness, leaving my other fellows to share their food with their Chinese comrades. We searched the ground behind the Mission, examining every hut and outhouse as we went, and gradually spread out towards the left and towards a little bay or sweep of the coast, which here ran into the land. For an hour we searched without result, but then a seaman came running back with a uniform glove which he had picked up by the side of a small path running down towards the sea and that small cove. The glove might or might not have belonged to Travers, but I knew that he was probably the only one of us who would have worn gloves—he was rather eccentric about dress—so hoped that this might be some clue to his disappearance, and followed the path. Almost immediately another man picked up a handkerchief. The initials in one corner were H.C.L.—those of Lawrence, our navigator—but though he had not landed, I knew that Travers had a weakness for borrowing other people's things, and my hopes were again raised. I am afraid that my brain wasn't working properly—the terrible night was responsible for that—and for the life of me I could not imagine what reason could have brought Travers along this path. We yelled his name, my bugler boy blew the "close", but without result, except that all the mongrel curs in the neighbourhood started yapping and howling.
I followed that path till it dipped over the crest of a ridge and then led down to the little bay below us—a little bay with a curved mud beach. My men were on the point of rushing down to it, when Trevelyan, the Lieutenant who had brought them ashore and relieved Whitmore, suggested that we might find traces of footmarks to help us. I therefore sounded the "halt", and he and I went down alone. Trevelyan was quite right, the muddy shore was covered with footmarks in one place, and there were also three long furrows in the mud, evidently made by the keels of boats. These furrows led right up to high-water mark, and my brain was not too dense to appreciate the fact that three boats had been there at high water. We could trace the furrows for fifteen feet or more down the shore, and one went much farther than the others. "They shoved them off and had to push hard, sir," cried Trevelyan, bending down and showing me how deep some footmarks were, and how the mud was piled up at the back of them. "It was at the last tide too, sir, otherwise they would have been washed flat again." That was evident enough, but I couldn't think what he was driving at.
"When was Travers last seen, sir?"
"About one o'clock in the morning—there or thereabouts," I told him.
"Well, high tide was at about midnight, so these boats must have been shoved off about an hour and a half afterwards, half an hour or so after you lost Travers." He was getting quite excited, but, honestly, my brain wouldn't work.
"And this boat must have been later still, sir," and he pointed to the longer furrow.
Then there was a yell above us from some of the men who had been wandering about, and we saw several of them stooping over a clump of scraggy bushes, and one came down to tell me that they had found some dead Chinamen.
I went up and saw two—disgusting objects they were—with their noses and lips cut off. I couldn't stand the sight; I'd had no breakfast, and walked away, feeling dazed and sick, and opened my mouth and drew in the sea breeze to drive the smoke fumes away from my head.
Trevelyan joined me in a few minutes. "One of those fellows has been shot at very close quarters, for his clothes are singed and blackened, and the other has had his head battered in. Look, sir! they must have been dragged along there," and he pointed to a broad mark, running along the mud from the bushes to the furrows.
He ought to have been a detective, ought Trevelyan, and was off in a "jiffy" to search for fresh traces. "Footmarks! bootmarks! plenty of them, sir," he shouted presently, and I saw him bending down and measuring them with his handkerchief. "Ours, I expect," I sang back; but he shook his head, and presently came up to me in a great pitch of excitement—he had taken his own boots off by this time to avoid making any more marks—"There are at least three different sizes down there, sir! European bootmarks too. One of them might belong to Travers, but there are some very much larger ones than his, and I don't think that one man made them all. There must have been several Europeans down here early this morning. This must be where the pirates landed and shoved off again, sir—two of the boats more or less together, and the third half an hour or so later—but I'm bothered if I can make out those two corpses, and what they are doing here."
I dragged him away. He was very reluctant to go, and kept turning back and scanning the shore with his glasses. Suddenly he took me by the shoulder—I was so "jumpy" that his touch gave me quite a shock—"Look there, sir! What's that?" and before I could say anything he darted back, began to undress, and then wading and swimming, and clinging to some fishing stakes which jutted out from the shore, he made his way to where something hung from the farthest fishing stake. I could see that it was something coloured, and as he came back with it I recognized it as a shawl belonging to Mrs. Macpherson, and remembered that she had told us that Sally Hobbs had borrowed one before going down to the fire.
I knew what it all meant now—her disappearance—the bootmarks on the shore—the furrows of those boat keels—and the shawl—and that the poor little girl had again fallen into the hands of those fiends of pirates. One cannot explain, or describe, how one feels on occasions like this, though I do know that when Trevelyan rejoined me presently, blue in the face with cold, and with his teeth chattering, but bringing the shawl, and intensely eager to solve the mystery, I felt as though I wanted to hit him, and hated to have to tell him all it meant.
"Give it to me," I said harshly.
"No, sir; I cannot. I found it, and if it turns out as you say, I'm going to give it back to her."
We said not a word as we trudged back to the Mission House, neither of us caring to speak of what we feared. Ten minutes ago I should have been inexpressibly pleased to have found Travers, but now I eagerly hoped that he had been kidnapped too, and that, in some way or other, he might be able to protect her—for her father I cared not two straws, nor did I place reliance on any effort of his to save either of them.
Fortunately Captain Lester was waiting for us near the ruins of the Mission House, and it was a relief to find him in a bad temper. He didn't wait to hear what I had to tell him, but, shaking his fist at me, bellowed out, "This is the work of those villainous pirates"—he was hardly able to speak for rage. "Set fire to the town—right under my nose—made a fool of Old Lest, and cleared out again without a scratch. And that little lass too! What's become of her and of that fool Travers? I can't trust a single one of my officers. Umph! Here you go ashore to put out a fire, don't save anyone, and shoot that chap Ching. Umph! I'd like to—— Umph!"
I rapidly told him all that had happened.
"Poor little lass! Poor little lass!" he groaned, and all the anger died out of his face. He came down with me to that bay, saw the bodies and the marks on the shore, sent people to scour all the neighbourhood; but nothing more could be discovered, and we went back again.
Presently the missionary came up—he'd been down to see those bodies too. He was shaking like a leaf, and his sunburnt face was quite ashen in colour. "Ah, mon!" and he wrung his hands, "but one o' those puir dead things was my servant. I know him by his clothes—the one with his head fair smashed in."
I had had too many puzzling events suddenly sprung on me that morning, and, honestly, couldn't try to explain this last, and could only say feebly, "Poor chap! Poor chap!"
"A vairy faithful mon, an' vairy leetil expense," moaned the missionary. Trevelyan showed him the shawl, and he recognized it at once as the one Sally Hobbs had thrown over her head before leaving the Mission, so our last faint hope vanished.
Fortunately young Rawlings relieved the grimness of everything just then. He is a most pugnacious youngster, and though I had sent him on board with Whitmore, he had managed to come ashore again. He had got into trouble with two coolies—I suppose he had found them looting—and had gone for them with his fists, and was laying about him in fine style. One had taken to his heels, but the other stood his ground, and kept banging at him with a piece of wood. The Skipper caught sight of them too, and, for all the bad temper he was in, smiled grimly, and chuckled out, "Go it, youngster!" Rawlings had already received a nasty cut over the forehead, and would have been "knocked out" in another minute, if I hadn't stepped forward and knocked the fellow down. I don't mind telling you that I put more "beef" into that blow than was absolutely necessary. Somehow or other I felt I must hit somebody, and it was unlucky for that Chinaman.
"Go down to the boat, Mr. Rawlings. Umph! what d'you mean by brawling?" growled the Skipper, suddenly remembering himself.
The Skipper told me, as we walked back to the landing-place, that several Europeans had been seen during the night, and that they were evidently in command of parties of Chinamen, who had prevented the inhabitants extinguishing the flames when they first started. This made it positive that it had been the work of the pirates, and confirmed the rumours that Europeans had frequently been seen among them at different times, and when any outrage on a large scale had been carried out.
What made the Skipper so furious was that they had so completely outwitted him; and he became purple in the face with fury at their daring to swoop down on the town, under his eyes, as it were, burn half of it, kidnap Hobbs and his daughter, probably Travers too, and get away scot free.
He took it as a personal insult, and I can't tell you all the mad things he suggested. He felt very much as I did—he wanted badly to batter somebody's face, but he soon quieted down, and walked beside me with great strides, grunting and growling, and screwing up his face, and I knew that he was trying to work out some plan in his bull-dog brain.
But you can't hit a man till you've caught him, that was the difficulty, and we had to catch him first, and knew well enough that among these islands were a thousand places where those two steamers—the tramp and the yacht—could lie concealed for years.
"Unless they want to make money over 'em, they're as good as done for," the Skipper said, as we went on board. "Poor little lass, not more'n a couple of years older than my lass Nan!"
I had served with "Old Lest" seven years, and I would do any mortal thing for him. He pretended he was a thundering bully, and was really as gentle as a child; and the men worshipped him, his gruff voice and great red face—even his bad temper. I was extremely sorry for him too, because the responsibilities resting on him were so great, prompt action so necessary, and the difficulties so enormous.
He did what I suppose was the best, and sent the gunboats and the Huan Min cruising, whilst we remained at Tinghai, with fires "banked". Leave to officers and men was forbidden, and that meant, of course, that the Skipper himself did not go ashore, and had to give up his shooting, which was the one thing for which he lived. The Vigilant was, in fact, kept ready to start within an hour of receiving any news.
Meanwhile natives—as trustworthy as Ching and the Taotai could procure—had been scattered through the archipelago, and the war junks also had been induced to leave Tinghai and endeavour to procure information. The Skipper seemed to depend upon these particularly, because they had naturally more intimate knowledge of the islands and the character of the people. They could cruise, too, without attracting so much attention as our gunboats. They generally cruised for a week, and at the end of that time came sailing back to Joss House anchorage, covered with flags and firing off guns, but with never a particle of news.
Week after week went by, and not a trace of the pirates could be found. Indeed, they seemed to have disappeared off the face of the seas, and not a single outrage had been reported since they had burnt Tinghai. Rashleigh, coming back in the Ringdove, did certainly report that he had one night heard what he thought was the sound of guns somewhere off the Chung-li Tao group, but had discovered nothing when he steamed in the direction of the noise. "Silly fool!" roared the Skipper to me, "he don't know the difference between thunder and guns."
These weeks of weary waiting were most depressing, and the constant confinement on board, without any exercise, most bad for our health—and tempers.
We now felt sure that someone, probably the dead Mission servant, had guided Travers down to the shore that night; that he, like the mad fellow that he was, had rushed off alone, hoping to rescue Sally and her father single-handed, and that he had been kidnapped with them. I forgot to tell you that Barclay, our Surgeon, had found the bullet in the body of the mutilated Chinaman, and that it was a service Webley revolver bullet, so it was quite possible that Travers had shot him. There probably had been a scuffle, and the Mission servant, not being worth capturing, had been killed and mutilated to prevent recognition.
We all were so worried and depressed, that two days of strenuous work, coaling ship from a collier, and another day of cleaning ship afterwards, came as a welcome relief. It's precious seldom that one does welcome that job, but we did then.
For some long time I had not heard the noise of the gunroom piano. Someone or other would be banging it at all hours of the day, and as the gunroom was immediately beneath my cabin, the noise was a continual source of annoyance to me. My messenger used to be always taking down fiery messages to the Sub, Langham. The absence of this noise was now a blessed relief, and when I mentioned it to Langham, he asked me to go down and see for myself the reason of it. I went down, and found that the piano was shut, and that Vigilant cap-ribbons had been glued across, to prevent it being opened. "Miss Hobbs was the last to play it, sir, and the Mids and all of us have sworn that no one shall play it again till she does, and till she cuts those ribbons with the senior mid's dirk."
"Who suggested that?" I asked, smiling.
"Mr. Langham, sir," several of the mids cried; but he, getting red in the face, said it was Hamilton, the Engineer, and he put it on to Moore, the A.P., so I left them settling the subject, and only too glad that the piano was so effectually sealed.
I think that everyone did feel, as the gunroom did, that some day we should see them all aboard again—Travers, with his mad, chivalrous notions and "tired" manner, and the pretty little girl, with her winsome face and funny twang.
At the end of the third week after the fire at Tinghai, the United States gun-vessel, the Omaha, came down to place herself under the Skipper's orders and assist us in our search. She was larger than our gunboats, very much more modern, and was rather quaint looking, with one mast and an enormously long, thin smoke-stack.
"If that chap comes along here giving Old Lest advice, Old Lest will—— Umph!" the Skipper growled when she was sighted.
Her captain, a man named Parkinson, was a tall, gaunt, disappointed man, with grey hair, and as old as Captain Lester himself, though actually junior in rank to me. He came across to report himself, and I heard him say, "Guess my boys thought the old Omaha was a fixture in the 'chow-chow' water at Shanghai, and our mud-hook could never be hauled out again. Say, Captain, we are right pleased to come and assist you."
He was sent away cruising.
Another weary week went by, and still no news came.
Then it turned out—one of the gunboats actually caught them at it—that those war junks, on which the Skipper relied so greatly for information, simply went out of harbour, round the corner, and hid in a neighbouring creek till their provisions ran out, and they had to come back again for more.
This news put the finishing touches to the Skipper's bad temper, and he was mad with rage, and sent for the Taotai at once.
"Umph! A pretty how d'ye do! Those lumbering junks of yours simply skulk out of sight round a corner," he roared; and when this had been interpreted to the Taotai—I wondered how much the interpreter understood and passed on correctly—the frightened old man gesticulated feebly, and then out it came: "Taotai speaks, sir! If junks caught by Pilons, he makee buy new ones—he no caree."
So that was it, was it—the old chap didn't intend to risk losing them? He was given so much a year to keep so many in good order, and if one was lost he would have to replace it. No wonder that we could gain no information from them.
You should have seen—and heard—the Skipper when he understood this, and you should have seen the old Taotai hurry down to his state barge, hide under his red umbrella, and shove off for the shore—glad enough he was to get away, too.
Late that evening the Skipper sent for me. He was beaming all over his face, puffing out his cheeks and working his shoulders, as I hadn't seen him do for a fortnight. He banged me on the chest and nearly knocked me over. "Willum, where the dickens is Willum? Willum, you scoundrel! bring the Commander one of my eighteen-penny Havanas," he roared.
It was half past eleven; I wanted to turn in, and didn't care to smoke, but it had to be done.
"Hit on a scheme, Truscott; I'll wipe the old Taotai's eye; I'm going to put our own people aboard those junks, and see if we can't make them useful like that. Umph! What d'you say to that?" and he thumped the table with his huge fist, and glared at me.
"Six of 'em I'm going to take."
"Won't the old chap object, sir?" I asked.
"Object! I'll teach him to object! He's got it down in black and white from his boss at Ningpo to put all his forces at our disposal," and the Skipper winked at me from behind a cloud of blue cigar smoke. "He'll be pretty sorry he tried to pull Old Lest's leg before he's done with me. Umph! Our only sporting chance is to catch some of these rascals, and I'm not going to be too particular how I get information from 'em when I do catch 'em."
Fortunately the Huan Min came in that night, and Ching helped us negotiate with the old gentleman in the walled city. He, I am certain, did his best; but he told me, very candidly, that if we persisted in our demands, we should touch their pride very greatly, and that it would increase the already hostile feeling of the Chinese towards us, and would very possibly prevent any information coming in from private sources.
Captain Lester was much annoyed at the attitude he took up, and always thought that he was the cause of what happened, though, personally, I am sure that he had acted honestly by us. At any rate, the Skipper had blurted out, "If he won't lend 'em to Old Lest, Old Lest'll borrow 'em;" and somehow or other this threat got to the Taotai's ears, and so scared the old gentleman, that next morning not a war junk remained in harbour.
Ching came across directly, and protested that neither he nor his Captain had any knowledge of their going to sea. I believed him, and so did everyone, except the Skipper, who flew into a terrible rage, and I was very glad to get Ching away and soothe his ruffled feelings, but could not induce him to stay to breakfast.
"Made a fool of Old Lest again, have they? Umph! I'll—I'll—" he stuttered and bellowed when I reported "divisions" to him, "I'll do 'em yet. I'll buy half a dozen of their big merchant junks and man 'em myself! Old Lest'll sell a farm or two, if the Admiralty don't pay for 'em."
"D'you mean that, sir?" I asked.
"D'you ever hear me say anything I didn't mean?" he roared; and though I must confess I had done so, I dare not say so.
I slipped away directly in my gig, and went across to the old Huan Min. I saw her Captain and Ching pacing gloomily up and down the poop, and it was very pleasant to see their faces open out again when they heard the news, and that their country's honour was not to be disturbed.
Ching gripped me by the hand—"You English, sir,"—and the muscles of his face were working strangely—"do not understand how these things, these slights, and—these little insults to our country hurt us. All you Western nations think we have no such love and pride of country as you have, and do not feel it. We do, sir! We do!"
I have always been glad that I did go aboard that morning, for my ideas of the Chinese were very much changed.
Ching himself came of a very old fighting stock—his people had always belonged to a high military caste, and his father had fought against the French well and nobly. He himself—Lawrence had told me this—had fought against the Japanese in the Yalu battle, and when all his senior officers had been killed, and his ship almost a wreck, had taken her out of action and staggered across to Wei-hai-wei, keeping the light cruisers, which hung round him, at a respectful distance with the one gun that was able to fire.
Japanese naval men had told me the story, in admiration of his plucky ship, but it was not till Lawrence told me that I knew who had commanded her.
I knew Ching a good deal better after that. He had done more fighting than I ever hoped to have the luck to do, and when one's job is to fight, and one gets paid to keep oneself ready for it, one always admires a man who has earned his pay.
Ching took me into his cabin once, a strange kind of barn, half Chinese and half English, with two old faded photographs hanging on the bulkheads, one of the Inflexible and the other of her Mids, Ching in the middle, and Lawrence, a fat little chubby-faced youth, by his side.
I often chaffed Lawrence about that photo—he looked so angelic.
CHAPTER V
Midshipman Ford's First Command
The Junk—H.M.S. "Sally"—"Here's Luck to the 'Sally'"—Ready to Start—Under Way—In Command—Night at Sea—The Strange Junk
Written by Midshipman Ford
If anybody had told me a week ago that by this time I should be captain of my own ship, I should have called him a blithering Ananias, and probably punched his head if he was anything like my size, and made him jolly sorry for trying to pull my leg.
But there it is. I am the captain of the Sally, converted junk, two guns, tender to H.M.S. Ringdove, and who, do you think, is my first lieutenant? Why, Dicky Morton, "Dear Little Dicky" of all chaps in the world, and he's turning out not to be half such a silly fool as he looks—I often tell him so, just to buck him up.
I must tell you how it all happened.
The Captain had found out that those war junks never cruised at all, simply hid round a corner out of sight, and as he depended a great deal on them for news of the pirates, he was simply furious when he heard of it, and sent ashore and bought six of the biggest merchant junks.
I was with the party of men under Mr. Whitmore sent to bring them off. The steam pinnace was to tow them, one by one, but got a rope round her screw, and delayed everything whilst it was being cleared. I happened to be on board one of them with six men, preparing to be taken in tow, and it struck me that it would be a jolly good "wheeze" to sail off. Mr. Whitmore sung out that I might try, and I did, and got her off quite comfortably, without breaking anything when I came alongside.
I had had a jolly lot of experience in sailing at Upton Overy, both before and after going to the Britannia, and I don't want to be cheeky or anything like that, but it seemed to come quite naturally to me to sail any boat, and I always seemed to be able to feel exactly what was wanted to make it sail its best.
The Captain was very pleased with me for doing this, and that is how I got the command of my junk.
He had all of us Midshipmen and Cadets fallen in on the quarterdeck, glared at us and growled, "Now, you young gentlemen, you've got a job to do at last—no skrim-shanking about it either—jolly hard job—and I want those of you who can sail 'em best to take charge of 'em. You've got to get hold of some of those pirate fellows for me—don't care how you get 'em, but get some of 'em alive. Can't get anything out of the dead 'uns, umph!"
You can't imagine how excited that made all of us, and when the six junks had all been lashed alongside, we had to clean them first and fit them out afterwards.
The Commander told me that I could have the one which I had sailed off, and told me that I could choose one of the cadets to go with me. Dicky came and offered to do any mortal thing for me if I would take him—he was nearly blubbing with keenness—so I said I would, and we both had to start the job of cleaning her out. The Commander gave me twelve hands, and it was a jolly beastly job. She was perfectly filthy, and we had to scrape away half an inch of stuff from her inside with shovels before we could even commence scrubbing. The smell in the holds was almost enough to knock anyone down, and we worked till long after it was dark, and they had hoisted big yardarm group lights to make it easier for us.
It rained too, but we didn't worry about that in the least, because we were so jolly happy. I'd never seen Dicky like it before. He was chirping about like a bloated sparrow, and was much too happy even to speak.
You can see what the junk was like by the picture. The great stern place was where we all had to live, and it was something like a huge pigeon loft with three sliding-door places in it. One opened from the deck into a fairly big place, where the rudder head came up through the stern and the long tiller worked. The ten bluejackets were to live there. Above it and under the poop deck were two little places about eight feet square, and only just a little more than four feet high. In one of them Dicky and I were going to live, and the two petty officers who were coming had the other.
H.M.S. Sally
A narrow platform was below the two upper doors, with a ladder running down on deck at one end, and one running up to the poop at the other. It looked exactly like a pigeon loft.
All the time we were busy scraping and shovelling and scrubbing, the carpenters and blacksmiths were busy fitting two great balks of timber with some cross-pieces to take a six-pounder Hotchkiss quick-firer and its mounting. They were bolting them down to the deck and the sides of the junk, just in front of the mainmast, and on the top of the poop they mounted a Maxim gun. The Vigilant hadn't enough Maxim guns for all six of the junks, so three had had Nordenfelt machine guns from the gunboats. I had never seen the ship so busy; she was humming from morning to night, and for most of the night too, for four whole days. Besides the carpenters' and blacksmiths' work, the anchor gear and all the standing and running rigging had to be refitted or overhauled. I only wish, as you will know by and by, that more of it had been refitted, because it really was not strong enough.
You can just imagine how excited Dicky and I were when they did at last lower a six-pounder down into our junk, and we saw it sitting in its mounting, and knew we might soon have to use it.
We got most of the filth out of ours by the middle of the second day, and the holds didn't smell so badly, though we could never get the Chinese kind of smell out of the living places under the stern. What troubled us most were the fleas and bugs and cockroaches. They were perfectly awful, and we couldn't get rid of them in the few days we had. We must have drowned thousands of them, but there seemed to be just as many left, and we were itching all over and covered with bite marks, even whilst we were only working in her.
The cockroaches would watch us cleaning the bottom boards, and when we went on to another spot they would swarm down over the clean places, and squashing the brutes made them dirtier than ever again.
It was Dicky who first thought of giving our junk a name. I wanted to call her Nan, because Nan was my chum, but then I thought perhaps the Captain wouldn't like it, and Dicky suggested Sally instead. It turned out that all the others wanted the same name, but Dicky was the only one of them that got it. You see, the letters had to be cut out in wood first, and as all the carpenter people were so frightfully busy, it was almost impossible to get anything extra done at all. But Dicky had made great friends with the old Boatswain and Carpenter. He used to go and yarn with them in their cabins on the other side of the gunroom flat, and used to take refuge there sometimes when we had driven him out of the gunroom with our chaff, and sometimes hide there when he was afraid of being bullied, and Jim was not there to protect him. It was really owing to this that we were the only ones who did manage to get it done, and then Dicky actually had the pluck to ask the Commander for some gold leaf to gild the letters. He volunteered to do that too, and I went with him to the Commander's cabin—outside the door—to give him courage. When he knocked timidly, and we heard the Commander sing out, "Yes, what is it?" in his gruff voice, Dicky looked as if he would have bolted away—I expect he would have done so if I hadn't been there and the sentry as well—but he just squeezed his lips together, wriggled in at the side of the curtain, and squeaked out, "Please, sir, gold leaf," and couldn't say another word, he was so frightened. I went in then, "Please, sir, we've got Mr. Williams, the Carpenter, to cut out Sally for our junk—in big wooden letters—and we want gold leaf, please."
The Commander grinned at us—he was a perfect ripper—took a book of gold leaf out of a drawer, and gave it to Dicky. "D'you boys think I'm made of gold leaf?" We didn't even thank him, we were so excited, but rushed for'ard to the "paint shop" under the fo'c'stle to see old Modley, the painter, and ask him to put the gold leaf on for us. We couldn't get anything out of him, though. He was a bit of a sea lawyer, and he "wasn't going to do nothink but what he'd orders to do from the Commander or the First Lootenant".
We didn't know what to do then, and went on deck and climbed down to the junk, feeling miserable. Scroggs was there screwing the letters on to a board—Scroggs was the petty officer who was coming with us—and we told him all that had happened, and how we'd got the gold leaf, but couldn't get Modley to gild the letters.
"You just give it to me, sir," he said; "that 'ere Modley be a bit of a 'ard nut, but we both comes from the same village down Dorset way, an' 'is missus goes to the same chapel as my old missus, and 'e may do it for me."
He managed to get round him somehow, and when, next morning, Dicky and I ran up on deck in our pyjamas, as soon as it got light, to have another look at the junk, the first thing we saw was the board on her stern, and the letters all beautifully gilded. We had to climb down, just as we were, and lean over and look at them. They looked simply gorgeous, and there were Scroggs, and Sharpe, the other petty officer, and one of the carpenter's crew, and old Modley grinning at us. They had just finished fixing the board to the stern. "Thank you very much," was all we could think of saying; and when we all climbed up aboard the Vigilant again, the ship's cocoa was just being served out, and Scroggs brought us a bowl of it and said, "Here's luck to the Sally," and we all sipped it, and Modley said, "May the Lord have mercy on the little lass!" but the carpenter's crew didn't say anything religious, because he burnt his mouth.
Then we jumped down below before the Commander could see us on deck in pyjamas, and rolled ourselves in our hammocks again—we were jolly cold.
We had a good bit of gold leaf left, and I nudged Jim, whose hammock was next mine, to tell him that he could have it. I knew he wanted it very badly to make his junk look smart, and when we woke him and he knew about it he gave a whoop! and tumbled out and woke the others; and Dicky and I watched them having a grand pillow fight, till we couldn't stand it any longer, and joined in, and got splendidly hot—even Dicky joined in!
All that day we were busy getting ammunition on board, and it was simply grand to see the boxes being lowered into the hold and jammed there, so that they would not fall about. There were 200 cartridges for the six-pounder—the long brass cartridge and the little shell all in one—and three thousand rounds for the Maxim gun. Then there were the casks for the water, and a boat's stove to be secured, and one of the Vigilant's dinghies to be lashed down amidships.[#] We took the native boat, which you can see in the picture hanging over the stern, so that we should look more like an ordinary junk. Then there was all our own gear and boxes of biscuit and corned meat, and any amount of stuff. Dicky and I got heaps of things from old Ah Man—jam, sardines, ginger-bread biscuits, and things like that—and when we'd got them all into our little square pigeonhole, and our sea boots, mackintoshes, greatcoats, and a uniform tin case between us, there was hardly any room left for our hammocks, and, of course, it wasn't possible to stand up inside—it was much too low. When everything was ready we took her away to practise sailing, and the Captain came with us, and was jolly pleasant, and Mr. Whitmore, the Gunnery Lieutenant, came too, and we tried the guns and, I must say, made very wretched shooting.
[#] See page [77].
After that we had to wait for the gunboats to come back from cruising, fill up with coal, and take us away in pairs.
The only thing that did make Dicky and me feel rather sad was that Jim hadn't a junk all to himself. But he was going with Mr. Trevelyan, and as he was a splendid chap, we knew that they would have a grand time together.
They called their junk the Ferret. The Captain had said, "Ferret 'em out for me, Trevelyan," so we all thought the name was jolly appropriate. They only had it painted on the stern, not done with big wooden letters as ours was. They had tried to use the rest of our gold leaf, but had made a mess of the job and wasted it all, which was rather a pity.
The Commander sent Mr. Langham a list of all the fellows who were to go in the six junks, and he stuck it on the notice board in the gunroom.
This is a copy of it, and will explain how they were "told off", and who were to go in them.
H.M.S. Vigilant,
Tinghai Harbour.
The six junks will be told off as tenders as follows:—
Tenders to H.M.S. Ringdove—
Junk No. 1, { Lieutenant Mervyn L. Trevelyan.
{ Midshipman James Rawlings.
{ Naval Cadet Richard F. Morton.
Tenders to H.M.S. Goldfinch—
Junk No. 3, { Lieutenant Ronald G. Forbes.
{ Midshipman the Hon. Talbot Withers.
{ Naval Cadet W. D. St. G. Ponsonby
Tenders to H.M.S. Sparrow—
Junk No. 5, { Lieutenant Benjamin Langham.
{ Midshipman Percy Jones.
{ Naval Cadet John E. Smith.
Two petty officers and nine seaman ratings and one signal rating will be detailed to each tender, also one native pilot.
The tenders will act under the orders of the Commanding Officer of the gunboat to which they are attached, and will be prepared to leave Tinghai after the gunboats have completed with coal and provisions.
CHAS. E. LESTER,
Captain.
We had nothing to do now but wait for the Ringdove, so Mr. Trevelyan took his junk and our junk the Sally away sailing every day, till we really got quite good at managing the clumsy gear and the huge matting sails. We did some more gun practice as well.
The Goldfinch and Sparrow took their junks away before our gunboat arrived, and we gave them a jolly good send-off. At last our turn came, and the Ringdove finished coaling, and we were given orders to be ready to start at daybreak.
The evening before we had to start there hadn't been a breath of wind, and Dicky and I sat up whistling for it till very late. This was the first time we had spent the night aboard, and we really couldn't sleep because of the excitement and the fleas. The wind did come by the morning, but from the wrong direction, and the Ringdove, to save time, simply towed us away behind her.
It wasn't a very glorious start, but they gave us a grand cheer, and the Captain had shouted, "Good luck, Dick! pull your pound for the good old West Country," and that made me gloriously happy, because he had never called me "Dick" since the first day I joined.
When we had got round the corner, out of sight of the Vigilant, and knew that we were in for any amount of adventures, we felt simply ripping, and the sun came out too, and we sat on deck and dried our things.
We were so close to the Ferret that we could talk to Jim, and presently he came out of his "kennel"—he called his a "kennel", and we called ours a "rabbit hutch"—and yelled across to us to look. He had a huge cake in both hands. "You've got one too, I expect," he shouted, and we crawled into our hutch; and in a corner, under the sea boots, was just such another, all covered with icing, and "Chin Chin Joss from Ah Man" scrawled on it in sugar. Wasn't that jolly decent of the old messman? Of course we'd spent no end of money getting sardines and jam and biscuit from him—those sovereigns the Captain had given Jim and myself had come in jolly useful—but we never expected anything like this, and it just made us completely happy, and we had a piece each on the spot, and waved across to Jim whilst he and Mr. Trevelyan had slices too.
The pilot who came to us was named Ah Chee, a funny-looking old chap, and I'm sure you wouldn't have guessed his age within twenty years. He could talk a little "pidgin" English, and volunteered to do the cooking—in a tiny little galley place over a brazier belonging to the junk, and that boat's stove which we had fitted up—and did it jolly well too, except when he'd been smoking too much opium.
As I told you before, Scroggs was the name of one petty officer, a fine great chap, and Sharpe, a fat, good-natured little man, the other. They were both jolly good at their job, and the Commander had given us a good lot of seamen too.
When it got dark they started a "sing song", and Dicky and I each sang a song. I sang "We'll rant and we'll roar", and Dicky sang "Clementine", and we had an awfully jolly time, and were just as happy as anything, but for those wretched crawling and jumping things.
The Ringdove towed us along for two whole days, and on the morning after the second night Mr. Rashleigh had towed us to wind'ard of the Chung-li Tao group of islands. He then stopped her engines and hauled us alongside for orders. We took our charts with us, Mr. Trevelyan and I, and he told me I was to cruise to the eastward and search all the channels, and rejoin him to leeward of a certain island within four days—I forget the name of the island; and he told us a lot more of what we must do in case the weather or the wind changed, but as he had written it all down, it was not necessary to remember it. Then he said goodbye, wished us good luck, and his final orders were: "Keep your guns covered up with old tarpaulins, don't let your people show themselves when you're close to a village or a junk, and don't attempt to look too smart. Don't hoist your sails as if you were in a blooming hurry, and if you're not sure where you are, anchor for the night. You're intended to be ordinary merchant junks, and you're just bits of bait—sprats to catch a whale—and you have to get hold of some of these fellows for the Captain, and get 'em alive too—he doesn't want dead 'uns. If you meet more than you can tackle, just run down to me, and," he added solemnly, "if other things happen, keep one cartridge in your revolvers for yourselves."
That made me feel rather creepy and coldish, but not exactly frightened, because Mr. Rashleigh is so plump and so—well—funny looking that, however solemnly he tried to say anything, you really wanted to laugh.
Just before we went away Dr. Hibbert, the jolly Surgeon of the Ringdove, gave Mr. Trevelyan and myself two big wine bottles each. They were marked "Foretop" and "Maintop". He winked cheerily at us: "You'll find 'em useful, you fellows. If any of your chaps gets a pain below the belt, shove in a big whack of the 'Maintop' bottle; if he gets a pain above the belt, give him half a dozen whacks of the 'Foretop'."
I marked mine "Above" and "Below", and stowed them away very carefully in a corner. He gave me some tobacco too; for though I oughtn't to have smoked—I wasn't eighteen—it was rather different when I was away from the ship. I had brought my pipe with me, but, like an ass, had forgotten any tobacco.
Well, we shook hands and then off we went, the "Ringdoves" cheering us, and all of us cheering each other. She steamed off to the north'ard to get to leeward of the islands, we went away towards the sun, and the Ferret the opposite way, Jim waving from the poop and sending a last "Luck to Sally!".
There was quite a good breeze blowing, and when we'd got all our sails hauled up and the leeboard down, we went flying along, heeling over till the lee gunwale raced through and under the water. It was simply grand. The sun came up too, and made it all the more cheerful, although there wasn't much warmth in it, and when the Ringdove and the Ferret had both got out of sight, Dicky gave a great sigh of contentment.
I must say that, at first, I felt frightened at being alone, and should have been jolly pleased to see the Ringdove's masts and funny little funnel sticking up over the horizon; but presently I forgot to be nervous, because the junk sailed so well, and it was simply ripping to be in command, all by myself, with a six-pounder and a Maxim gun, and all those two hundred shells down below, and to think of the surprise we should give any junk which tried to take us, because, you see, none of them had ever known what a bursting shell was like. There was Scroggs to fall back upon too, if one really got into a tight fix and couldn't make up one's mind. He was such a huge chap, that he could have lifted Dicky and me up with each hand; but he would always talk about his missus and his "kids" if we gave him the slightest opening, and—well—neither Dicky nor I were the least enthusiastic about them after the second day, and I'm quite certain that Sharpe felt just the same—he had to live with him, too—because I heard him say, "Now chuck it, if you don't want to drive me off'n my blooming rocker."
To show you how the pirates had scared everything off the sea, we never saw a single junk all those two days we were being towed by the Ringdove, and now we had the sea all to ourselves. Our first island was right ahead, and we soon got up to it, and Ah Chee came out of his pigeonhole and sniffed and looked, and sniffed and looked again, and smiled, so we knew everything was all right, from the "running-on-rocks" point of view. I didn't tell you before, but Mr. Trevelyan had had a great idea before we left Tinghai, and bought enough loose-fitting blue Chinese short coats, and enough native caps to go round his men and mine too; so now, as we got quite close to the land, we made the men stick them on, and Dicky and I put ours on, and looked jolly funny, I expect. I couldn't help thinking what my mother would imagine had happened if she'd been able to see me rigged up like this, and I was pretty sure that Nan would say something to make me get red and angry. But it was grand fun, all the same.
We had one of the Vigilant's dinghies, besides that native sampan hung over the stern, and it had to be covered up with a tarpaulin, so that its shape wouldn't show through. Good old Ah Chee seemed to understand our game, and ran in quite close, and when we were nearing a small village, began gesticulating and signing to me to lower the sails a little. "Too plenty quick—plenty too quick—pilons thinkee you no got"—and he pointed down to the hold, and I suppose meant "cargo"—"no good makee catchee." We lowered our mizzen altogether—it wasn't doing much good anyhow—and slacked off the sheets, and went past very slowly, Dicky and I looking through our telescopes, and hoping to see something coming after us. There was nothing there, though, and Ah Chee shook his head—"Too plenty good fellow can do."
One or two small junks were hauled up above high-water mark, with their masts out—to make it all the more difficult for pirates to carry them off, I suppose—a few children were playing with the dogs and the pigs on the shore, and one or two miserable wretches were hauling in handlines and picking small fish off the hooks—we could see them glitter in the sun as they wriggled.
Then Ah Chee signed to us to go faster, so we hoisted the mizzen again, and hauled in our sheets and boomed along. We spent all that day doing this, running down one channel and beating up another, and only once saw any junks. There were two beating to windward very slowly, and when we sighted them Dicky and I were very excited, and brought Ah Chee out to look at them. He only shook his head and repeated, "Plenty good fellow can do."
Dicky suggested that we should see how fast we could sail and try and overhaul them, and we were getting on finely, gaining every minute, though we could see them doing their best to go faster; but presently Ah Chee, who had borrowed my telescope, made us slow down, shaking his head, "Plenty bad joss can do—if too plenty quick go—him Chinaman," and he pretended to dive overboard. Dicky understood what he meant first—that the Chinaman would think us pirates, and would jump overboard if we overhauled them, so we lowered our foresail, just to comfort them, and eased down.
We had to keep under way that night, because the next lot of little islands which we had to examine were about nine miles away, and the breeze had fallen considerably. I slept jolly soundly till midnight—I rolled myself in my blanket and slept on deck, to escape the bugs under the poop—and then relieved Dicky for the middle watch.
It was jolly cold, but the stars peeped out every now and again, and it was just light enough to see rocks or land a hundred yards ahead, so there was very little danger of our running ashore.
It was the first night I had spent at sea under sail since the Upton Overy days, and this made me think a lot of the old village, and to wonder what they were doing at home. It was so jolly to know, after all the time—the years, in fact—that I'd been longing to come to sea with the Captain, that I was now doing quite an important job for him, and that I might be lucky enough to help him, and even be able to find Mr. Travers and Sally Hobbs and her father. It was grand, and I did so enjoy myself that night, with, everyone, except myself and the men at the helm and a lookout man for'ard, sound asleep.
I had only the foresail and mizzen set, because there was no reason for going fast, and I was rather nervous about squalls. You couldn't see them coming at night—at any rate I couldn't, because I'd had so jolly little experience.
I stood up alone on the poop, near the Maxim gun, and kept my eye on the sails and the long, narrow deck below me, and I don't know whether you will understand what I mean, but I felt frightfully proud and conceited. I'd felt like that ever since we left the Ringdove, but I'd done my best not to let it ooze out, for fear that Dicky and the men should think me an ass, or too cocky, and now it seemed to swell up from my boots, and gave me an awfully funny feeling all over.
We sighted the island about six bells, and then I tacked away again, as it was no use to go in close till daylight. Scroggs relieved me at four o'clock, and I felt almost sorry, but crept in alongside Dicky, as it was raining, and went to sleep directly, without disturbing him.
It didn't seem many minutes before Scroggs woke me. "The breeze is steady, sir, and the island's on our port bow, and I think, sir, that something is following us and just smelling 'around'."
I crawled out like a shot. It was raining gently, and the sails were all damp and dripping, but I couldn't see anything at first except the long dark line of the island to the east.
Scroggs pointed down to leeward, and I thought I made out, just for a second, three great sails.
"She's there, sure enough, sir; I've seen her, off and on, for the last half-hour, and she's working up to wind'ard, as if she wanted to have a look at us."
I watched and watched, my heart thumping like mad, and presently I caught sight of her dark sails again.
We went off on the other tack, and, sure enough, the next time I saw her she'd done so too.
I knew then that she must be following us.
"She don't quite know what we are, sir," Scroggs chuckled. "She'll know a bit later."
Presently, as it grew lighter and she got closer, we could see her all the time. She looked huge in that light, and had four masts and four immense sails, not three, as we had thought at first. She was heeling over tremendously, sailing two knots to our one, and overhauling us fast.
If you think that I was frightened you are jolly well right.
H.M.S. "Ringdove" Towing the Junks 'Sally' and 'Ferret'
CHAPTER VI
The "Sally" goes into Action
The Chinaman draws Nearer—First Shots—The Maxim Gun—A Near Thing—Four to One—Running the Gauntlet—"Well Done, Sir!"—At Close Quarters—The The Grappling Iron—Left Alone
Continued by Midshipman Ford
"What shall we do?" I whispered to Scroggs. "Go down and have a look at her?"
"Beggin' your pardon, sir, you'll just keep straight on, and edge a bit more up in the wind, if she'll do it. Once you've got the wind, sir, and can keep it, you can do about what you like; keep away if you want to, run down to her if you want to, and she'll have to do what you want her to, and when you want her to."
Then I remembered reading all about fights in the old time, and when we were in the Britannia, and learnt about actions in the old sailing days, how each side always tried to get to wind'ard first, before fighting, and that the man who was to wind'ard could fight or not just as he pleased. I'd never thought much of it before, but now that Scroggs had put it so plainly, I saw, all at once, how practically everything depended on having the wind'ard position.
"How about giving her the mainsail?" I asked Scroggs. "She's gaining very fast."
"She's doing all right, sir! We doesn't want to run away. Just you edge up a bit more in the wind and wait for her. Time enough for the mains'l if she be a pirate, and we have to chase her."
So we edged up into the wind again and began to stand out to sea, beyond the island.
I pointed that out to Scroggs—I felt fearfully excited and nervous.
"That's all right, sir, never mind about the island; you'll be getting her out in the open, and she'll think you're just trying to give her a wide berth." Then I remembered Dicky, and shouted through the little sliding door for him to come and see the fun. He scrambled up on the poop, rubbing his eyes, and we both stood looking at her, feeling frightened because she looked so big and came on so like a ghost, and didn't notice that we were getting wet through. I did wish then that the Ringdove was in sight.
"How about letting the hands have food, sir? Maybe, if we've luck, we're like to be busy later on, sir!"
Of course Scroggs was right, and Dicky said that Nelson always gave his men food before going into action—he squeaked again, he was so nervous—and that settled it; and the men were turned out, and were almost too excited to eat anything. Ah Chee was quite stupid and silly when we tried to wake him—he must have been smoking opium during the night—and the men had to make their own cocoa. Dicky and I managed to gulp some down, and had a couple of gingerbread biscuits each. We didn't like looking at each other for fear of giving away our—well—funk, though it wasn't exactly funk.
By this time it was quite light, and the island was about three miles away, right under our port bow, and the huge Chinaman was about half a mile astern, and still a little to leeward.
We dragged Ah Chee out of his hole again, but he hadn't recovered, and staggered about, shaking all over; and when he'd steadied himself, got both eyes to focus properly, and seen the junk, he simply let out a howl and crawled back, yelling "Pilons! Pilons!" which made me feel creepy, although I had to pretend it didn't. I had to pretend jolly hard.
"He'll kill himself with that pipe, sir, and we'll want him later on," Scroggs said, but I didn't know what to do. "You leave 'im to me, sir," and Scroggs dragged him out again, took away his pipe and tobacco and opium, and then shut him down in the forehold and jammed the hatch cover over it. Glad enough too he was to crawl into it.
The strange junk was coming up finely, heeling over and splashing through the water. We could only see one man on board, standing on the poop watching us, and he looked peaceable enough.
"She's got guns—I can see them sticking out!" Dicky squealed; but that didn't make it certain that she was a pirate, because all merchant junks carry guns too. "Couldn't we go for her now, Scroggs, don't you think? She isn't half a mile off."
Dicky and I were so excited and "quivery", we could hardly breathe, and this waiting for her to catch up with us was the worst part. But Scroggs wouldn't alter course, and said: "Just you 'oist the mains'l, sir, and get them tarpaulins off the guns, and stand by. When she sees that 'ere mains'l creaking up, she'll guess we're frightened, and maybe she'll let fly at us."
We got the tarpaulins off, and the men began working the clumsy windlass which hoisted the mainsail, and the great "clammy" thing went squeaking up the mast. That made us go faster and heel over more.
The guns were all painted a dirty grey, so didn't show up at all, but just what Scroggs had expected happened. The junk all at once luffed up, shot up into the wind, came on to an even keel, her great sails began flapping, we could see men pouring up from below, and four white clouds of smoke shot out from her port side, and before we could say "knife", there were four splashes in the water behind us, and one shot came ricochetting over us, humming like a top, and fell into the sea ahead of us.
Dicky and I ducked, and then we looked up to see if the ricochet had done any damage, and Scroggs pointed out a hole in the mainsail, close to the mast, where it must have gone through, and a piece of sail flapping down.
I'm certain that I wasn't frightened then, for I thought more of the mast than myself, and knew what a bad "egg" it would have been if the shot hadn't missed it.
I looked at Scroggs.
"Give 'em one, sir! Give 'em one!" he was beaming all over his face; "we can 'ardly miss 'er, sir."
I shouted for the six-pounder to open fire, but the mainsail was in the way, and they couldn't get the sights on.
"Gun won't bear, sir," the captain of the gun shouted, and I jumped for'ard to see for myself that he was right.
"What shall I do now?" I asked Scroggs, and felt stupid, and could just see the pirate junk paying off again to give us her other broadside.
She seemed so close that there wasn't time to think.
"Put your helm down and come into the wind yourself, sir."
I shouted to Dicky to do so, and the Sally came up all shaking.
"Now you've got her," Scroggs said, and as he spoke the junk shot off her starboard guns, and we could hear them yelling and beating tom-toms. There was too much to do this time to "duck", and besides, they had fallen astern by luffing and then paying off again, so their shots didn't come so close.
Then Fergusson, the captain of the six-pounder, fired. The little shell burst as it touched the water halfway across, and we heard the pirates yell again. Scroggs let out a dozen oaths, and told him to steady himself; and his next went nearer, and the next burst close alongside, and they didn't cheer that—they'd never seen shell burst before, I expect, and wondered what it was, and how we could fire so fast.
"Take your time," I shouted, and was so excited that I bit a great piece out of my lip. We fired again, and must have hit her, for a cloud of smoke came out of her bows, and a very different kind of yell came back, and we yelled too; but she'd loaded again by this time, luffed up, and gave us her port guns. There was a crash and a whistling sound, and out through the poop bounded a round shot, struck against a big chock of wood at the foot of the mainmast, and bounced overboard. It only missed one of the men at the tiller by a hair's breadth, and he let out a squeal, he was so surprised, and then got red and tried to pretend that it wasn't him. "They're only smooth bores," Scroggs shouted. "Who's squealing like a furry rabbit?" and Fergusson fired again—she wasn't four hundred yards away—and missed her. They started easing off rifles at us too, and the bullets went splattering through the sails and splashing into the water.
The Sally had been jumping about up to now—that was why Fergusson had kept on missing—but for just about two minutes she was quite steady. She almost seemed to know things were not quite all right, and Fergusson must have got off a dozen rounds, and nearly all of them hit. I was so excited, I yelled every time, and we could see smoke coming out and pieces of wood flying, and though she turned to give us her starboard broadside, she didn't fire them, and fell right off the wind, with her stern facing us. She wasn't three hundred yards off, and suddenly remembering the Maxim gun, I rushed aft; but before I could climb up the poop, Dicky turned out "trumps" and began firing. "Tut tut—tut tut," it went, and you could see a lane of bullet splashes; and as we lifted our stern they must have poured into her, and we heard shrieking, and could see the Chinamen throwing up their arms and falling, till the roll of the Sally took the sights off again.[#]
[#] A Maxim gun is an extremely difficult weapon to use, unless the gun platform is absolutely steady.
Then the signalman shouted, "They've had enough, sir!" and we saw that they daren't turn round again, and were easing off their sheets to run down wind.
You should have heard us cheer; and there wasn't any need to tell the men at the helm to "hard a-starboard", for they did it of their own accord, and we eased away our sheets and ran after her.
"I thought he'd be sorry for it, sir," said Scroggs coming up. "Look up there, sir; that does one real good."
I looked, and saw that we had the White Ensign flying from the mizzen peak. Dicky and I grinned with delight. We'd been told not to hoist it—they'd not even given us one—but there it was—grand!
"I did that, sir," the signalman said bashfully. "Stole it aboard the Vig., sir," and he grinned, and everybody grinned at everybody else, and looked to see what damage that round shot had done, just for curiosity.
My aunt! we did just bubble through the water, half burying our bows; the breeze must have freshened up without our noticing it. The pirate was digging out too, and had got a good start, and it wasn't any use firing at her, because we had a funny corkscrew rolling motion, and couldn't be certain of hitting anything. We only had two hundred rounds of shell to begin with, so I didn't dare to waste them, and waited till we could draw up closer and make certain of hitting. She was making straight for the island, and at one time we thought that we must try and disable her before she ran herself ashore. Dicky and I began to talk about capturing her. We were little fools, as it turned out.
Presently we saw that a channel opened out, right in the middle of the island, and she was making straight for it. I got out our chart, but couldn't find the island—not to make sure of it—so hauled Ah Chee out from the forehold. He was plucky enough now the pirate was running away, and nodded his head and said, "Vely good—vely good—plenty good," and pointed to the channel, so I knew we were all right to follow her.
She was almost in it before we began firing at her, and we hit her big square poop time after time, and saw pieces of wood flying in the air; but it didn't seem to make any difference to her, and she still kept on steadily.
In another three minutes we shot into the channel ourselves—between high cliffs—and as the tide was running with us and the strong wind behind us, we scooted along at a tremendous pace. We were catching her up fast, too, and had got to within two hundred yards, and Fergusson began pouring in six-pounder shells. I really wanted to frighten her so much that she would surrender, and I would be able to tow her back to the Vigilant, and give her up to Captain Lester. And I wanted to take back some of the crew as well, for Captain Lester had told me, "Don't want dead 'uns; dead 'uns don't tell things".
The noise our little gun made was tremendous, now that we were in between high rocks. You could hear a crash! crash! and then a rolling sound and another crash after every shot. It must have frightened the pirates, if it did nothing else; and whatever happened I don't know, but we suddenly saw her main shrouds on one side give way, her fore mainmast bent over like a whip, and before they could do anything, down it came with a snap, and the great sail with it, and the foremast and foresail went too a moment later, and she simply seemed to stop dead, turning her broadside to us and unable to move—just like a huge bird with one wing broken.
I had an insane idea of running alongside, but Scroggs put our helm hard down, and we swung round like a top, not fifty yards from her, and slid up into the wind. I rushed aft, furious with him.
"You'd have been atop of her in another second, sir."
"That's what I wanted," I said angrily. "What d'you mean by touching the helm?"
"Begging your pardon, sir, if you once got alongside, we'd be done for! She's got a hundred men aboard, and we twelve wouldn't 'ave stood a chance."
But I was so excited, that I never thought of that, and was just going to give him a piece of my mind about his cheek, when the pirate let off his broadside right in our faces. We were so close that the noise seemed to knock our ears in. I was half stunned and dazed, felt something hot all over me, and was thrown against the mast. I picked myself up, and found my hands and my clothes covered with blood. Scroggs was nowhere to be seen, two of the Hotchkiss gun's crew were lying near the gun groaning, and the dinghy had been smashed to pieces.
Sharpe, the second petty officer, was bringing the Sally round into the wind again, and Dicky was busy with the Maxim gun, but the six-pounder wouldn't bear—the mainsail was in the way.
"Heaps of time, sir," Sharpe said, looking at me in a funny way. "They daren't go near their guns to reload 'em. I thought you'd been killed, sir!"
"What happened?" I asked him, trying to shake the blood from my face and eyes; I felt quite stupid. "Where's Scroggs?"
"Scroggs is gone, sir. One o' them round shot took him in the middle, just as you were standing by, and carried what was left of him overboard, and another struck some of the six-pounder cartridges, and they blew up and knocked over Adams and Cooke, and threw you up ag'in that mast, sir."
Poor old Scroggs! and I'd been beastly to him too. I have always been sorry for that.
Dicky gave a yell when he saw me. He looked funny about the eyes—rather mad—and burst out crying, just for a second. "I thought you'd been killed," he stuttered, "and I've killed dozens of those brutes to revenge you."
I shouted something, and a funny hot kind of feeling came up inside me, and the only thing I thought of was to go on killing; and we edged up, just to leeward of the junk, and fired at her with the six-pounder as fast as Fergusson could load—Sharpe had sent him two more hands, and had hauled Adams and Cooke aft, out of the way.
Not a single live Chinaman could we see on deck—they'd all gone down below out of sight—but every now and again we could hear shrieks coming from inside her, and knew that our shells were finding them out. I felt mad, and Dicky was mad, and only Sharpe kept his head. We must have made some holes in her below the waterline, because she was now much lower in the water, and I simply longed to see her sink and drown all the crew—I'd forgotten all about trying to capture her.
Then suddenly, as we were expecting her to go under, someone pointed down to leeward, down the channel, and, looking there, I saw four great junks beating up towards us. They were about a mile away, and had covered themselves with pendants and streamers—all the colours of the rainbow—and began firing guns to frighten us, I suppose.
I went cold all over, for I knew we couldn't manage four more, and I saw that Sharpe thought so too. Dicky didn't seem to be quite right in his head, for he shook his fist at them, and yelled to me that there were more for him to kill. "Off out of it, sir; we can't tackle that lot. We're only nine all told, not counting orficers, sir. Back again, sir; beat up to wind'ard, sir; and get away into the open sea."
We hadn't a moment to lose, either, and I knew he was right, and stood away from the sinking junk, and started to beat up the channel, through which we had just entered. The entrance was about half a mile to wind'ard of us, the tide was against us, and jolly slow progress we made, though I knew it was the same for those who were chasing us. We'd sailed so much more quickly than that sinking junk, when we ran before the wind, that I hoped we should be as good when we were beating; but I soon had a most horrible feeling that we were not pointing so high as they were, and not going so fast through the water, either.
We had time to look after Adams and Cooke now—Adams had one thigh broken, and I knew that that wasn't so bad; but Cooke had his hands and face and legs all badly burnt with the explosion, and was in awful pain. We made them as comfortable as we could down below under the poop, but it was horrid to hear Cooke moaning and shrieking sometimes.
We soon got so close inshore that we had to go about on the starboard tack, and we swung round and plugged away for the entrance, which never seemed to get any nearer. The junks behind us were still gaining, two of them very quickly. These two were leaving the others a long way astern, and just to show you what asinine ideas come to one, I thought for a moment that we might draw them on and on, till they were so separated that we could tackle them one at a time.
The breeze had been gradually freshening, and was now blowing down the channel quite hard, and as we went off on the starboard tack, we heeled over till the deck seemed almost upright (we were heeling over to port—the left side).
But then an awful thing happened. Suddenly, above my head, there was a noise like a pistol shot, and, looking up, I saw that one of the starboard main shrouds had parted, and that the mainmast was beginning to bend over. If I held on for another minute, the other two would be certain to go—the strain on them was awful—and the mast would have gone too. There was only one thing to be done, and I shrieked to "Hard a-port!" She heeled over, another shroud uncurled and parted, but before the last could go she staggered round into the wind, the strain was taken off, and the mast straightened again.
Sharpe came running aft; he was as white as a sheet. "It will take us an hour to repair, sir! What can we do?"
It was plain as a pikestaff that we couldn't beat out. Everyone on board knew that at once, and they all looked to me, but knew what would have to be done just as well as I did, and I could see them watching the pirates out of the corners of their eyes.
The current was taking us down towards them, and they were all coming along at a tremendous rate. It was no use drifting among them helplessly; we couldn't beat out with only the mizzen and foresail, so the only thing to do was to get before the wind again, with our sails out to starboard, so that most of the strain came on our port rigging, and try to run past them. Clarke and another man sprang up the mainmast, going up the big bamboo hoops which kept the sail close to the mast, and began reeving a temporary rope to act as a backstay, and we swung round, gybed very carefully, and the little Sally went bounding back to them.
The only one on board who wasn't—well—frightened was Dicky. He'd have charged an express train; he was so mad with fighting and killing people with that Maxim. We moved Cooke and Adams from under the poop, and put them down below in the big hold, out of danger, and by that time we were abreast the sinking junk; and as we went rushing by she gave a lurch, we saw her guns slide overboard, she went under, and we could see at least fifty Chinamen struggling in the water. Dicky yelled and shook his fist at them, and called them all the names he could lay his tongue to.
I had tried to keep my eye on those four junks all the time, and though I was still feeling "silly" after being "bashed" against the mast, I could see that they didn't seem to know quite what to make of us. The leading ones were half a mile ahead of the others, and we were coming down so fast towards them that we didn't give them much time to make up their minds. We saw them run into the wind for a second or two, and then they came along, on the other tack, straight for us, the leading one about two hundred yards in front of the second. They were almost as big as the one we had sunk, but only had three masts, so didn't look quite so ferocious.
I thought that we could slip by and pass the first two to port (our left-hand side), but as we got closer it seemed to me that the first one was trying to ram us, and I had sense enough to know that if she did, our masts would probably go overboard, and that all would be U P with us. Sharpe was still up aloft, reeving that temporary shroud, so I couldn't ask him what to do, and began to feel very frightened. Fergusson kept on firing the six-pounder very fast, and kept on hitting her, but that didn't seem to have any effect, and she didn't alter course. We were hardly fifty yards away now, and Fergusson let off that gun faster than ever, and we could actually hear the shells bursting and see the pieces of wood flying out of her bows, and gashes opening out in her foresail. Her crew were yelling most awfully, and making such a banging noise with tom-toms and brass clappers, that that frightened me all the more. We were simply tearing along, with the water bubbling along the sides like a mill stream. We should be into her, or she into us, in a moment, and I held my breath and clutched hold of something, not knowing what to do. The men at the helm were looking at me for orders—they looked scared, too—and I was just going to tell them to "starboard", when I saw her begin to luff up. I yelled to them to "steady", and before you could say "knife", she slid along our port side, with her huge sails leaning right over us. The horrid brutes were all hanging on and glaring at us, and they shrieked and yelled, and I saw some of them throw things at us, and some of them fire off rifles. She couldn't fire her guns, because she was heeling over so much; but I knew she would let them off directly she was on a level keel, and I saw a lot of them scrambling over each other to get at them, and knew they would fire almost directly—right in our faces. But as they slid past, like an express train, Dicky began firing the Maxim right down in the middle of them.
I shall never forget how they screamed and fell down in heaps; and then, whether I gave the order or not (Clarke said I did, but I think that the men who were steering did it of their own accord), we put our helm "hard a-starboard", and flew round under her stern. Fergusson fired two shells straight into her poop, and in their fright they let off their guns—right away from us.
The battle between the Sally and the pirates
We put up our helm and flew away down wind, and left her standing still, all her sails shaking, and in any amount of confusion.
"Well done, sir!" Sharpe shouted from aloft, and that seemed to wake me again, and Dicky and his Maxim gun's crew were yelling with delight, and then everybody cheered because the second junk wouldn't face us, but luffed up and popped off her guns. She was too unsteady, or too much in a hurry, and we were going too fast, to give her a chance of hitting us. "Passed two of 'em, sir," Sharpe sang out cheerily; "get those stink things overboard, sir." That was the first thing which made me notice that I'd been coughing, and choking, and running at the eyes, and that there was a horrid smell.
There was a round basketwork thing spluttering and fizzing, and the beastly stinking smoke coming out of it, lying jammed in a corner close to me. I got it overboard somehow, and heard it fizzle as it fell in the water—ugh! the stink was awful. The others which had come on board were got rid of somehow or other—the men had thrown them or they had rolled overboard—but everyone was coughing and wiping their eyes, especially the six-pounder gun's crew, who were to leeward, and so had got most of the smoke.
When I could see out of my eyes properly, there was Dicky grinning at me from the poop, and I did really think, at the time, too, that he must have either gone off his head or was actually enjoying himself. The two junks which we had passed were coming along after us now; the first one was a long way astern, and the second broad on our port quarter. Fergusson had got the smoke out of his eyes too, and began banging at this cowardly second one; and we could see that she was trying to edge away out of range of his shells.
But now we were rushing down towards the last two junks. They were lashing along on the port tack, heeling over till we could almost see their keels, and were coming straight towards us on the other side—to starboard (our right-hand side). I couldn't see them at all from the high poop because our sails were in the way, so went down close to the men steering, and could then see them by looking under the foot of the mainsail. Sharpe came and stood by me, and I didn't feel so nervous.
The nearer one was about a hundred yards off.
"Wait a little, sir! Wait a little!" Sharpe said. We were both peering under the sail, and Dicky had gone for'ard to see if he could get the six-pounder to fire. "When she's a leetil bit closer, turn away from her, sir."
There was only fifty yards between us now, and we were rushing to meet at a point.
Thirty yards! Twenty yards! I couldn't breathe. They yelled and shook their arms about; we could see them all clinging to the weather gunwale.
I looked at Sharpe. "Now, sir!" he cried, and I sang out, "Starboard!" and our bows slewed away from her.
"Haul in the sheet, sir! Quick, sir! or she'll be on to us and carry away the sails," and everyone jumped to the sheets and began hauling in the huge booms of the foresail and mainsail. The Sally heeled over, with the wind on her beam, and seemed almost to give a leap through the water. We thought that we should just shoot past the third junk, and were going to cheer, but the next thing I knew (the sails hid her now) there was a bump, and the junk suddenly appeared right on top of us. I was flung down—we all were—the Sally seemed to rebound, and there was another crash under her poop. I bent my head down, expecting the masts and sails to come toppling on top of me; but she must have only struck us grazing blows, because they didn't, and when I looked up again we had cleared her. "For God's sake, ease off those sheets!" Sharpe yelled, "or we'll gybe," and I had enough sense left to know that if we did gybe we should either capsize or carry away all our damaged starboard main rigging and lose our masts. The men at the helm scrambled to their feet, and had enough wit left to "starboard" a little. The sails were just shaking, uncertain whether they would swing right across to port, but that extra bit of starboard helm just did the trick and saved her. They were all too busy with the sheets to fire the Maxim or the six-pounder, and the next I knew was a roaring hot noise right in our faces—she had fired her broadside at us. My head and ears seemed banged in, and I shut my eyes, wondering where I should be hit. Then I heard Sharpe yell, "Mr. Morton's down, sir!" and I opened them to see Dicky lying on the deck where the dinghy had been, with his face and head covered with blood. I forgot about everything else, and jumped across to him, and tried to stop the blood with my dirty handkerchief, and make him say something; but Sharpe sang out, "For God's sake, sir, look where you're going!" and I heard the most awful noise of yelling under our port bow, and there was the fourth junk, towering above us and rasping along our side. I was knocked over again. I saw some iron things, like grapnels, thrown on board, with ropes fastened to them. One near me caught in the starboard gunwale, but jerked itself free; another missed the main rigging, but two caught somewhere on the poop, and I could see the lines on them tautening and the pirate junk turning after us, to ease the strain.
There was a horrid feeling that the Sally wasn't going so fast. Sharpe rushed past me with an axe in his hand, and I found myself on the poop next to him. He was hacking away with all his might, and cut through one rope; but there was the other grappling iron, caught in the damaged woodwork, and it had about six feet of chain secured to it, and he couldn't break that. He hacked and hacked, and we all tried to pull the grappling iron itself free, but couldn't move it, because the crew of the junk were hauling on the rope at the other end of the chain, and there was a tremendous strain on it; the rope and chain were as taut as a bar.
"HE HACKED AND HACKED"
I can't quite tell you what happened for the next few seconds; they seemed like years.
The third junk was firing her broadside guns, and the one that had got hold of us was firing rifles; and we were covered with smoke, and could hear woodwork smashing somewhere all round us, and how it was we were not all killed I don't know to this day.
"I can't do it; God help us, sir!" Sharpe groaned, and left off hacking at the chain, and began to try and cut away the side of the poop where the grappling iron had fixed itself; but the edge of the axe was all blunted, and would hardly even cut wood. It was perfectly awful, and you could see the cruel brutes in the bows of the fourth junk hauling in the rope, hand over hand. They thought that they had caught us, and were making the most tremendous noise, shouting and yelling.
They had hauled themselves to within twenty feet of us, and would be alongside in another few seconds. We could see them crowding for'ard, waving swords, and getting ready to pour on board. They began throwing stink balls, too, but these fell into the water, or, at any rate, we were too terrified to notice them.
I suddenly wondered why the Maxim wasn't working—I'd not thought of it—and looked round and saw why. It was all battered in a heap, and two of its crew were lying underneath it.
I don't know what I did, or quite what happened then, but I found myself under the poop, hunting among all the wreckage for my revolver.
I didn't find it, but got hold of a cutlass and was rushing up again, when I heard Sharpe give a yell of joy, and was just in time to see that awful rope "part", and the people in the bows of the pirate junk fall on their backs in a heap.
"We're away, sir!" Sharpe shouted, and, darting for'ard to the six-pounder, sang out to the men steering to turn her round a little, and fired four times right into the pirate's bows.
They came round, too, and fired their guns at us; but we were beyond worrying about gunshots now, after all we'd been through, and paid off again before the wind, the third and the fourth junks following us close behind, and the first two a long way behind.
My head was simply going round and round, and my ears were ringing and buzzing. We were still in a cloud of powder smoke from the junks, and our poop was a perfect wreck.
I had time to look round now—the Maxim gun was lying there, knocked to pieces, the two men near it were quite dead, horribly smashed up one was, and there was hardly an undamaged plank to be seen. The native boat hanging over our stern had been smashed to pieces, and the wreckage of it was trailing in the water. We cut it adrift. Bits of wood and sail and rope were lying all over the decks, and up above our sails were full of holes. The main gaff was hanging down and beating against the sail, and tearing long strips out of it; but the mast still stood, and the rudder wasn't damaged, and we were simply roaring through the water again.
Then the third junk began creeping up on our starboard quarter, not overhauling us very fast, which showed that our speed wasn't much decreased; and directly the six-pounder would bear, Sharpe, who had taken charge of it, began firing into her, and hit her several times. We could see her trying to edge away.
Right astern was the fourth junk, and half a mile astern the first and second. The third and the fourth kept on yawing, so that they could bring their guns to bear and fire at us, but lost ground doing this, and only made a few more holes in our sails.
My people began to cheer—the seven who were left—because the open sea showed right in front of us; and then they cheered more loudly, because the first junk, which seemed to be very low in the water, suddenly shot up into the wind, the second junk, which had always given us a wide berth, followed her, and both of them began tacking over to the island.
That left us only two to tackle—the fourth, which was about three hundred yards astern, and the third, which was broad on our starboard quarter, but was edging away to try and get out of range of Sharpe's little shells, and was quite out of it, as far as her own guns were concerned.
But before she could get out of range, something happened which made her gybe badly—we were all running before the wind, you must remember. Whether Sharpe had smashed her steering gear or not, I don't know, but, at any rate, she lowered her foresail and hauled into the wind as if to repair something, and lost a great deal of ground before she paid off, and came after us again.
Something, whatever it was, must have been very badly damaged, for she hauled her wind again; and the fourth did so too, sailing close up to her, and then—hurrah! how we cheered!—they both began beating to wind'ard towards the island, and we were left alone.
I don't know how the men felt, but I felt giddy and weak and horribly sick, and had to hold myself up against the mizzen mast, because my knees trembled so much, and my head was splitting, and my mouth felt absolutely dry, and my ears were all buzzing and humming, and very painful.
I jumped down to Dicky; he was lying just where he'd fallen, and he was quite unconscious, and had an awful gash across the side of his head. Some splinter must have struck him.
The signalman said he knew something about "first aid", and brought the "first aid" bag, and bandaged him up, and wiped the blood off his face, and we brought him aft.
Please don't think that I was cool enough to have written this down right on the spot. I couldn't possibly have done it. Everything went so fast, that you had no time for thinking, and really, after being thrown against the mainmast, when Adams and Cooke had been injured, I wasn't any use at all.
I was shaky and "jumpy" for days afterwards, and it wasn't till I got back to the Vigilant that I could write this down, and then I had to get everyone who was on board the Sally to help me.
It was Scroggs, and after he was killed, Sharpe, who had done it all, and but for them—well—I shouldn't have been able to write about it, or any of us either, for the matter of that.
And if, after Scroggs and Sharpe, you asked me to tell you who did next best of the men, I should say the two able seamen who stood to the tiller ropes and steered for that horribly long hour, and did things—right things—at the proper time, even without orders. They hadn't had the excitement of firing back, either, to keep them keen and from getting in a funk. One was John Corder, and the other William Young, and they both got their ratings as leading seamen some time afterwards, and I only wish that my father were a rich man, and could do more for them.
CHAPTER VII
Mr. Rashleigh takes Command
Tired Out—Mr. Trevelyan Assists—A Trying Night—On Board the Ringdove—The Sally in Danger—The Sally Disabled—Dicky is Better—Open Fire!—A Surprise—The Sally is Done For
Written by Midshipman Ford
It must have been some time between seven bells and noon when we found ourselves clear of that hateful channel and the smoke that seemed almost to fill it, and the last of the pirates had given up the chase. We hadn't even enough energy to cheer, but we all wanted to lie down. Not a single one of us had escaped bruises or cuts from bits of splinters, and I know that I felt almost dead, as if I'd been bruised all over—being thrown against the mast, when poor old Scroggs was killed, did that.
I would have let the men sleep, but Sharpe shook his head and said that there was too much work to be done, and of course he was right. All the wounded had to be looked after, and the rigging and sails to repair temporarily. When we'd got well away from the island, we found that the wind had begun to go round to the west, and what bothered us most was a plank, under the starboard side of the poop, which had been smashed in when the third junk collided with us. The breeze going round to the west was good, because it brought all the strain on our port rigging, and the fore and main rigging on that side hadn't been injured; but it was bad for us, because it made us heel over to starboard, and this smashed plank kept on going under water and letting a lot in.
We had to turn the Sally round into the wind and lower her sails, and stayed like that for nearly an hour, all the time looking to see whether any junks were coming after us, and standing by to scoot off again if they did. But none tried to follow us, and when Sharpe had nailed some canvas and some of the dinghy's broken planks over the hole, we hoisted our sails again and sailed away for the island where we had to meet the Ringdove.
Ah Chee was plucky enough now, and began to cook something hot for us all over the big brazier. It had been knocked over and emptied, but there were so many bits of wood lying about, that he made a fire out of them. He kept pointing to himself and jabbering, "Ah Chee belong plenty blave fightee man," and then to the island, shaking his fist, "Pilons all same pig."
I had crawled under the poop to look at Dicky. I was almost afraid to go there, because I thought I should find that he had stopped breathing; but I watched him very carefully, and could just see his chest moving, and his lips too sometimes, when he breathed in and out. I crept back again, feeling very funny and glad. Adams and Cooke were moaning and groaning, and it was awful not to know the proper thing to do for them. Sharpe had wrapped the two dead men in their blankets and put them down below out of sight, and we had put Adams and Cooke and Dicky in the men's part of the poop, because all the upper part, where Dicky and I and Scroggs and Sharpe had lived, was simply a wreck. My hammock and bedding had been carried halfway through the bulkhead by a shot, which was still fixed in it, and my uniform tin case was almost doubled in half, and I couldn't open it. I know that you will think me an ass, but when I found Ah Man's cake, with only a gash across the icing, I could have whooped with joy, and divided it among the men, leaving a bit for Dicky, if he ever got well—I knew he wouldn't mind. That was the first thing we had to eat after the pirates left off chasing us. You should have seen us drink. I had never been so thirsty in my life, nor the men in theirs either, I should fancy.
Our compass had been smashed, but we could guess our course roughly, and Ah Chee knew his way pretty well among the islands, so we didn't worry much about that.
We were really too "played out" to worry about anything. By the middle of the afternoon it was blowing very hard, and we were plunging, and shaking, and heeling over so much, that we had to lower the mainsail altogether, and could only carry the foresail hoisted halfway up, and the little mizzen sail. That eased her, and made her much more comfortable, and I should have let the men go to sleep, but Sharpe wouldn't hear of it. "No, sir. It's going to be a dirty night, and we'd best set up that damaged rigging tempor—arily." So he and the four hands—all that were left, if you don't count the two men at the tiller—worked wearily away till it was nearly dark.
But long before that I'd gone to sleep myself. I was very ashamed then, and am still ashamed of myself; but I had got into a corner, more or less out of the wind and the spray, propped up between the poop and the side of the junk, close to the men at the helm, and must have simply gone to sleep standing up, and slipped down without knowing it.
"The Ferret is in sight, sir!" I suddenly heard, and there was Sharpe standing over me, and trying to shake some life into me. "She's asking for news."
I hardly dared look at him, because I felt such a "worm", and got on my feet again. At first I thought he meant the Vigilant, but it was only Mr. Trevelyan and Jim in their junk. Oh! I felt so stiff and sore, and had to rub my eyes to get properly awake; but then I was frightfully glad, for I thought that Mr. Trevelyan might know something about doctoring. She was slanting down towards us, with only a bit of her mainsail hoisted, and flying some signal.
"We've given her our name, sir," the signalman said, "and now Mr. Trevelyan wants to know what news you have, sir."
I told the signalman what to say, and he semaphored, "Captain to Captain" (that didn't even make me smile, or feel proud, so proves how tired I must have been). "We have sunk one pirate junk, and escaped from four more in the channel between East and West Nam Chau Islands" (we had found the name on the chart, after all). "Petty officer Scroggs killed, two able seamen, Midshipman Morton and able seaman Cooke badly wounded, and able seaman Adams has leg broken."
We saw them take it in, and I knew how unhappy Jim would be about Dicky. Then they hoisted a signal which meant "heave to", and we lowered the bit of foresail and swung round, with our mizzen to keep us in the wind, whilst Mr. Trevelyan came lurching down, swung up into the wind just ahead of us, lowered his mainsail, and hoisted a tiny bit of mizzen. I could see them all looking at us, and Jim was standing on the poop waving to me, and I waved back to him. They got out their dinghy and two men, and Mr. Trevelyan began dropping down towards us. We threw them a rope and they caught it, swung in under our stern, and Mr. Trevelyan clambered up over our poor old wrecked poop. It was a jolly tricky thing to do, because a big sea was running. I was so awfully "done up", that I could almost have burst into tears when I saw him. I was never so thankful to see anyone in my life before.
"Holy Moses! Ford, you've been and smashed up the Skipper's junk, and no mistake! My jumping Jupiter! you must have had a warm time, and you look like a blooming butcher yourself."
"It's not mine, sir," I told him; "it's Scroggs's." I had been too tired to wash my face and hands and my clothes, and the spray hadn't done it either; it was all caked and brown by now. I implored him to come and see Dicky and Adams. "I don't know a blooming thing about doctoring," he said, scratching his head, and looking awfully serious; but he picked his way across the smashed-up poop, and where the Maxim gun had been, and we crawled in to see Dicky. He was still unconscious; he wouldn't even look at me, though his eyes were open, and we shouted his name, and every time the junk flopped about, both Adams and Cooke moaned terribly. Mr. Trevelyan did make it more comfortable for them all, because he made us roll Cooke in blankets, so that his legs did not stick together, and he made us tie Adams's legs together to keep the broken one steady; and then we put them in their hammocks and slung them, somehow or other, and after that it didn't hurt them so much when the junk rolled and pitched.
All this time I had told Mr. Trevelyan everything, just as I have told you, and he was fearfully excited, and made us show him on the chart exactly where we had been, as far as I could make out. "You have had luck," he kept on saying; "and I'm going to have a go at them." You see, I hadn't really got any information—none worth having—and no prisoners. I had been much too excited to notice anything on the islands themselves, and, as Mr. Trevelyan said, "They might have their whole bally 'fit out' there."
"Don't bother about that, you lucky little beggar" (I suppose I looked miserable); "you can't do every blessed thing! Now you shove along to the Ringdove, and I'll beat up to your pirates, if my crazy old 'ditcher will face it—she won't sail for nuts, Ford—and just 'makee look see' first thing in the morning. Give old Rashleigh my love, and if I'm not back again by to-morrow night, or the morning after, get him to come along and pick up the scraps."
He was just as excited as you can imagine. I wanted him to take back all the Maxim ammunition I had left—of course it was no use to me now—and he jumped at the idea, and we hauled the dinghy under the stern and passed the boxes, with the unused cartridge belts, into her.
The Ferret had dropped down to leeward of us, so that he would not have to pull back to wind'ard; I don't think he could have done so even if he had tried. "Goodbye, my sucking Nelson; keep your pecker up, and I'll give 'em 'beans' in the morning," he said as he slid down into the dinghy. He was always so awfully cheerful and "buckish". "What d'you think of Dicky?" I asked him before he let go. "I'm jiggered if I know!" he shouted. "Get him to the Ringdove and Hibbert as quickly as you can."
He was just casting off, when he happened to look up, and sang out to the bow man to hold on. He had seen our white ensign, and shouted out to me: "I say, Ford, let me have that, there's a good chap; you'll have no more fighting, and I'd like it so much." I had it hauled down and passed it into the dinghy, though the signalman wasn't half pleased.
Back he went, alongside the Ferret. I saw the flag and ammunition boxes and then the dinghy hoisted on board, a man hauled himself up the mizzen and made the flag fast there, and then she hoisted part of the mainsail again and began to pound away back to our islands. We cheered her and she cheered us, and the last shout I heard was a "tiger" from Jim.
Then I hoisted the foresail halfway up, and off we went again; and by this time it was nearly dark, and we soon could only make out where the Ferret was by the white splash when she flopped down on top of a sea, and in a very few minutes we couldn't even see that, and felt awfully lonely.
I should never have found the way back, and I don't think that Sharpe would have done so either, but for Ah Chee. He was a grand chap, when there wasn't any fighting to be done, and seemed to know every island we passed that night, and just where we could trust ourselves.
Sharpe and I had to be on deck nearly all night, it was blowing so hard, and of course there were those islands to avoid. Sharpe wouldn't leave off talking about Scroggs and the family he had left behind him, and that made it more miserable still, that and hearing Adams and Cooke groaning, and knowing that Barton and Hicks, the two men who were killed, were lying down in the hold. We got a little lee from one of the islands some time during the middle watch, so then we made better weather of it. It must have been soon after that when Sharpe woke me—I had fallen asleep again.
"Who's that?" he cried, his voice all of a shake, and I listened, and all of a sudden could hear someone singing out "Dick" from under the dark poop. All the blood rushed to my head, and I could have blubbed with delight, for it was Dicky's poor little bleating voice; and I crept in with a lantern, picked my way over the men asleep, held up the lantern, and there he was looking at me and asking for a drink. Well, I did blub then—just for a second—and don't mind saying so, I was so happy, and went and found a little water and gave it to him; and Sharpe stirred up the hot bits of wood in Ah Chee's brazier, which the wind had kept glowing, and we warmed some tinned milk and gave that to him. When he'd drunk it he turned over and went to sleep, without asking anything, only just saying, "Thank you".
Still, that was enough, and I do believe that Sharpe was a little bit husky too; and I wanted him to let me shove on a little more sail, so that we could get back to the Ringdove all the more quickly, but he wouldn't let me do it. "She's carrying all she can do with, sir, and the men are asleep." He was right, too, because we should have had to turn them out to hoist more sail.
Ah Chee knew all right where he was going, and at daybreak we sighted the island at which we had to meet the Ringdove, and two hours later saw her three masts and her funny little funnel sticking up.
I had signalled across all my news, and you can imagine how thankful I was to run the Sally alongside her, and to see Dr. Hibbert clambering on board us over her "nettings", smoking his pipe and looking jolly.
"Find my medicine stuff any use?" he asked me.
"Both bottles were broken, sir," I told him, "so I hadn't the chance," and took him under the poop, and a lot of men came and hoisted all three of the wounded on board the Ringdove.
Dicky woke up and managed a bit of a smile as they took him away, but he was still dazed and half silly. They took Hicks's and Barton's bodies on board too, and before we went off again buried them overboard.
Then Mr. Rashleigh sent for me. He was angry that I hadn't reported to him directly I had come alongside. I told him all that had happened, and how Scroggs had done nearly everything, and when he'd been killed, how Sharpe had practically done everything, and how Mr. Trevelyan had taken all my Maxim ammunition and gone back to have a look at the pirate place himself. The last bit seemed to make him jolly angry, and he muttered something about "confounded disobedience".
The wind, too, had gone round to almost due north, so that Mr. Trevelyan couldn't possibly get back for at least three days.
"That ass Trevelyan would put his head into a lion's mouth, if he thought he could get any news there," he said, and swore angrily. "I'll have to go and haul him out by the feet, and hope the pirates won't have snapped his head off. If they haven't, I will."
We had to go back with him, he couldn't leave us there, and as soon as his people had set up some more rigging, and done a bit more to make our poop water-tight, and the stern as well, we had to follow the Ringdove back again. It was a fair wind for us, and we didn't delay her very much. Mr. Rashleigh had offered to let me sleep aboard his gunboat, in order that I could get a good rest; but I had had a jolly good feed in the ward room, and had had a bath, so this made me rather angry. "Just as you like; I don't care a tuppenny biscuit," he said, and gave me another petty officer to take Scroggs's place, so at last Sharpe was able to get a little sleep.
I must say that I felt frightened about Jim and Mr. Trevelyan, because neither of them would have thought twice of taking on all the pirates in the world; and they had already had nearly thirty hours to themselves, and I wondered what had been happening. By noon next day we were two miles off the islands, and the channel from which we had escaped; but we had heard or seen nothing of the Ferret, and thought that we might possibly have passed her beating back to the rendezvous during the night.
Presently someone shouted that they thought they had heard the noise of a gun. Everyone listened, and in a few minutes we could hear three sharp bangs. "That's the Ferret's six-pounder," someone said, and we were all frightfully excited.
The Ringdove signalled us to follow as fast as possible—she had heard them also—and shoved on for all she was worth.
She had all her little sails set, and smoke was pouring out of her funnel.
We saw her enter the channel, half a mile ahead of us, and just as she got into the mouth of it, two clouds of white smoke jumped out from the left-hand side, down by the water's edge, we saw two great splashes of water leap up behind her stern, and then came the roar. If you've never heard the roar of a gun, it's awfully difficult to describe it; but with cliffs all round, you can hear the noise smashing up against them with a crash, and rolling about and crashing again.
"They've got some guns there, sir! Now we've got some information as will please the Captin, sir, when he hears of it, sir, eh?" and Sharpe winked at me.
We kept our eyes glued on the Ringdove, and saw that she was clearing for action. I have always thought that Mr. Rashleigh might have done that before; and the two guns had reloaded before he could commence firing, and they plugged in two more shots. "One's hit her," the signalman sang out, "close to the foremast, sir." But she didn't seem to be badly damaged, and started off with her four-inch guns (three she had on each side, one on the poop, one in the waist, and one on the fo'c'stle). They made an awful noise in the narrow channel; and we could also hear the rattle and see the spurts of smoke from under her bow and stern, and knew that she was working her Nordenfelt machine guns. "They're digging up the ground all round them pirates' guns," one of my men sang out, though, as far as I could see, most of the Ringdove's shells were falling in the water—at first, at any rate.
I couldn't find the guns, but soon the "Ringdoves" made better shooting, and I could then spot them. Just as I had spotted them they fired again. "Short," yelled a man. "Two hundred over," another shouted.
"They're too much bothered by those 'Ringdoves' to do much aiming, sir," Sharpe said very coolly. Then I began to wonder what would happen whilst we were passing them, and whether the Ringdove would wait for us. She didn't, however, and you can imagine how frightened I was to see her steaming away out of range, and cease firing, after the shore guns had fired another round at her, which fell a long way astern. She was almost hidden in powder smoke too. "They'll just have time to reload before we get abreast of them," I said to Sharpe; and I don't mind telling you that I felt in a horrid funk, and, if there had been no one to know anything about it, should have turned the Sally round and run away.
"All right, sir!" Sharpe said; he didn't look frightened. "Keep her across as far as you can, and send all of 'em who aren't wanted down below. Mr. Rashleigh will be back in a minute." He took charge of the six-pounder, with one man to help him load, and, "my eye!" he did let off quickly. I sent everyone else down below into the hold except Fergusson and another man, who looked after the tiller tackles, and went amidships myself and stared at those two guns reloading—I couldn't take my eyes off them—and—and—then they began slowly to train round, till I could only see the black muzzles pointing straight at us, with Sharpe's little shells bursting on the ground in front of them. I've told you how frightened I was, so I must tell you that I did not get behind the mainmast. I would have done anything to get there, but something inside me prevented me, and I have been awfully proud that I didn't, ever since.
It's bad enough standing behind a big gun and waiting for it to go off, but it was awful standing in front of two; and I felt that they couldn't possibly help hitting me—to say nothing of the junk—because, although we had crept over to the far side of the channel, we were only about four hundred yards away. Then off they went, the smoke and the flashes and the roar, Sharpe's yell, "Look out, sir!" a crash somewhere in our poop, and another crash up above; all seemed to come together.
"The tiller's smashed, sir! We can't steer," Fergusson shouted, and I saw that one side of the poop had been blown clean out, and the whole of the upper part of the mainsail had fallen down, and the top of the mast with it.
Sharpe rushed aft and cut the mizzen halyards, and down that sail came. You must understand that we were sailing very fast before the wind, and, of course, if we had only the foresail set, we should have blown along in more or less of a straight line, but the mizzen made us yaw from side to side.
This steadied the Sally a little, and we were going to lower the rest of the mainsail too, when there was a tremendous roar, and the Ringdove came splashing back, in between us and the guns, with all her sails flat "aback", and she didn't give those guns a chance to fire again. She ran in quite close, and we could see men running away from them; and then round she turned, still firing, and followed us as we staggered this way and that way up the channel.
"Lower that cursed fores'l or you'll be ashore," Mr. Rashleigh shouted, "and we'll take you in tow." Jolly coolly he did it, too, and everyone hauled in the grass hawser and made it fast.
In five minutes we were out of range.
"What the furies is the matter?" he shouted from the poop.
"First shot carried away our tiller," Sharpe shouted.
"Anybody hurt?"
"No, sir," he answered. I was too excited to shout.
Still there wasn't a sound or sight of Mr. Trevelyan's junk, and we went very slowly up the channel, almost as far as where we had sunk that first pirate junk.
Then all of a sudden we could hear the six-pounder banging away somewhere on our left, and the tut—tut, tut—tut of the Maxim, and in a little opening in the rocks I caught sight of the white ensign I had given Mr. Trevelyan, against the dark shore, and could make out the Ferret herself, jammed at the foot of some rocks, and people on board waving their arms.
The Ringdove had spotted her as well, and we all cheered and steered straight across towards her—at any rate, the Ringdove steered and we were towed round—and the gunboat dropped her anchor about a hundred yards off.
The poor little Ferret was all over to port. She had only her mizzen mast standing, and was evidently hard and fast on the rocks, right in the middle of a small creek.
Mr. Rashleigh went across in the whaler at once, and as he got close to her we could see his boat's crew pulling very fast, and noticed some bullet splashes round the boat, and the Ferret's Maxim spluttered out. We couldn't see what they were firing at, and it was most exciting.
"Mr. Trevelyan, he's bottled 'em, sir; that's what he's done, sir," Sharpe said. He was busy repairing the tiller, and going about the job as if he was on board the Vigilant at Hong-Kong, or Portsmouth, or anywhere else where there was no chance of a scrap.
Well, that was just what it turned out to be. Mr. Trevelyan had fetched the mouth of the channel the morning after he had left me, hadn't been fired at by the battery, but had coolly crawled through and examined the shore on each side. He had found this creek, sailed up it right past a bend, and found himself in sight of a dozen or more junks all anchored together. He had carried on and opened fire on them, but found that they were too much for him. He had lost his mainmast, had two men killed when it fell, had to haul out again, and, not being able to avoid the rocks in the middle of the creek, had run hard and fast on them.
Jim told me the story, and how they daren't try and get her off again because she had such a big hole in her bottom, and how the junks had tried to come and capture her, but had to come singly, and couldn't face the six-pounder shells and the Maxim, and had drawn back. Last night they had tried to rush them in boats, but Mr. Trevelyan had rigged nets all round, and it blew very hard, and many boats were stove in on the rocks, and the nets and the Maxim gun drove off those that did not get alongside.
"It was a most awful night, Dick," he said, "but I wouldn't have missed it for the world, now it's all over. And what we should have done without that ammunition you gave us, I don't know."
All that day the pirates had been firing rifles at them from both sides of the creek, and only one man at each gun was allowed on deck, and they had had to be changed, because three of them had been wounded. Everyone else had kept down below in the hold, with the dirty water up to their knees.
"We couldn't have stuck it for another day," Jim told me, "and Mr. Trevelyan was going to attempt to land the guns on one of the bigger rocks, which had some trees on it, that very night, and try and cut them down and make a breastwork of them, and hold out till you came."
Mr. Trevelyan had sent him across to that rock during the night to see if it was all right, and he had waded and swam across, and then in the dark slipped down on his way back, and cut himself against the rocks. His hands, and face, and chest, and all over, in fact, were all scratched—great long scratches—and he was so stiff, he could hardly move. He had to be bandaged pretty well all over, but was as happy as anything. "Mr. Trevelyan is a fine chap," he kept on saying. "He's always thinking of some new dodge. It was grand."
"What are you firing at?" I asked him. "Can you see the junks from the Ferret?"
"No, they're round the corner, but the cliffs are full of the brutes with rifles."
Dr. Hibbert wouldn't let us see Dicky. "He's asleep again," he called out from the Ringdove's poop. "Don't you come aboard, bothering round. He'll do all right." He had a lot of work to do, because one of the "Ringdoves" had been very badly smashed "up" by that shot which had hit her, and four or five of Mr. Trevelyan's men had been more or less badly wounded, and had come across with Jim in the whaler. Dr. Hibbert, and the Paymaster, and the sick-berth attendant were busy in the ward room patching them up.
They had got up steam in the Ringdove's little steam cutter, and Mr. Rashleigh and Mr. Trevelyan steamed up past the rock and out of sight round the corner.
The Ferret fired her Maxim and the Ringdove her Nordenfelts to keep down the rifle fire, and they got past the entrance safely and out of sight, but came back very soon.
I could see that Mr. Rashleigh was puffing out his cheeks with importance, and that Mr. Trevelyan was looking very vexed about something, as they went aboard the Ringdove, and I heard afterwards that Mr. Rashleigh had wanted to steam back to Tinghai at once to report that he had found the headquarters of the pirates. Mr. Trevelyan, however, wanted to burn the pirate junks first, and, if the Ringdove wouldn't go in and try, had offered to do the job with her boats.
Eventually Mr. Rashleigh gave way, but he wouldn't take the Ringdove in till his Sub-lieutenant had surveyed the creek, and he sent him away in the whaler to take soundings, although Mr. Trevelyan swore that there was enough water.
The whaler was all right whilst she was in sight, but directly she got round the corner she lost a man wounded, and came hurrying back again. There was another row then; but Mr. Trevelyan had his own way, and a Nordenfelt machine gun was put in the bows of the Ringdove's cutter and another in the steamboat, and we saw that they were going to follow the whaler and protect her.
Jim and I were supposed to be getting some sleep all this time, but we couldn't—of course we couldn't; and just then Mr. Trevelyan shouted to us that I had to go away in charge of the cutter, and Jim in charge of the steamboat, if we'd had enough sleep. The boats dropped down alongside the Sally, and we were aboard in a jiffy, Jim grinning with delight. We shouted that we'd had all the sleep we wanted and were quite wide awake, and shoved off after the whaler, Jim taking me in tow and I taking the whaler astern of me.
The steamboat towed us past the Ferret, quite close to her. She was an absolute wreck, and all one side looked as though it was smashed in by a big rock. She fired a shell or two to prevent the brutes firing rifles at us from the shore, and the five men left aboard her cheered us. We got past without being fired at, and then we were out of sight of the Ringdove, and the steamboat cast us off, and we had to pull in towards the starboard side of the creek and search that with our Nordenfelt, if anyone fired. The steamboat did the same on the other side, and the Sub in the whaler went on taking soundings between us.
"Cutter!" the Sub had shouted, and I held up my hand (he didn't know my name), "open fire directly you hear rifle shots;" and I sang out, "Ay, ay, sir!" and you may bet we were keen as mustard, and "stood by" with the Nordenfelt's hopper full of one-inch cartridges, and the lever all ready to jerk backwards and forwards.
You should have seen us watching the banks. I had borrowed the signalman's field glasses, because my telescope had disappeared in the wreckage of the Sally's poop, and watched every bit of rock or bush, and saw several Chinamen creeping about. They had rifles, but didn't fire them.
"There's a shot, sir!" cried the coxswain, and I saw a splash near the steamboat, and Jim began banging away with his Nordenfelt, but stopped after he'd fired three times, and we had never another shot fired at us. I was rather pleased. To make up for it, we suddenly came in sight of the whole fleet of pirate junks, and a whole crowd of ordinary junks lying behind them. They weren't more than five hundred yards away, and, when they saw us, began beating drums, and clashing brass things, and yelling, and letting off crackers to frighten us. One of the nearest had her side turned towards us, and began letting off her guns as well, and the din was simply hideous.
It was just like going up to a peaceful wasp's nest and stirring it up with a stick.
We were both close to the whaler, and the little round shot began to come rather too near. I heard Jim shout, "Couldn't we go for them, sir?" and my boat's crew bent forward to be ready for a spurt; but the Sub, who was standing up in the whaler, shook his head, and ordered Jim to take us in tow again. He looked as if he'd jolly well like to have tried, but he had to obey orders.
"There's enough bally water for an ironclad," he shouted, "all the way up, but we must go back, or it'll be too late for the Ringdove to do anything."
So back we went again, the men pulling their oars to make it easier for the steamboat, and the round shot bobbing about in the water astern of us, till we'd got out of sight.
But Mr. Rashleigh wouldn't move for anything the Sub or Mr. Trevelyan said to him. It would be dark in half an hour, and he wasn't going to risk anything in the dark, and would wait for daylight. I was ordered to take my cutter alongside the Ferret, and transfer her guns and stores to the Ringdove. This took nearly two hours in the dark, and Mr. Trevelyan came in charge. He was simply bubbling over with anger. "She's got a searchlight, and the old Vigilant could go up there without winking. I bet 'Old Lest' would have cleared out the whole blooming crowd by now. My aunt! fancy wasting the whole jumping day! Call himself Rashleigh! My blessed grandmother!" and he spat in the water to show his contempt.
The last thing I took away was my white ensign, and although it was nighttime, I hoisted it on board the Sally again. It had several bullet holes through it, and was torn and looked jolly warworn. I thought even then that I'd keep it—if the signalman didn't collar it himself—for my mother, or perhaps give it to Nan when I got home.
We had cast off from the Ringdove, and had anchored close to her. My orders were to make the cutter "fast" along-side, man it in the morning with all the Sally's crew who were left, and follow the Ringdove up the creek directly it was light.
I was very excited, but managed to find some place to lie down, and slept jolly well, which only shows how very tired I must have been.
Sharpe woke me at six, half an hour before sunrise. We all had some hot cocoa and some biscuit, and then we got as many rifles and revolvers and cutlasses as we could find, and filled the Gardner's hopper with cartridges. We crept about in the dark without making any noise, could presently hear the hands "turning out" aboard the Ringdove, and took our places in the cutter and waited to shove her off. When it was light enough to just see the rocks, Mr. Rashleigh called out that he was not going to weigh for another half-hour, and there we had to sit, and the longer we waited the less brave we felt—at any rate, I felt. I don't believe that anyone can feel brave on a dark cold morning.
It seemed like hours before we heard her cable "clanking in", and that woke us up again with a funny, cold feeling, and in a few minutes the water under her stern began to swirl, and she started very slowly for the entrance, and we pulled away from the Sally after her.
Then there came a surprise, if you like. My aunt! it did startle us.
Right on top of the cliffs, over our heads, a terrific roar broke out, and splash went a shot right under the Ringdove's stern, and the water fell right aboard her.
"They've hauled a gun up there—on the right, sir," Sharpe said very quietly, and somehow or other I felt certain that this would decide Mr. Rashleigh not to go up that creek. I am certain that he never really wanted to go there.
He yelled to me to come alongside, and then he yelled for me to go back to the Sally, cut her cable, and clear out of it.
I was very frightened, and hurried back to the Sally—Ah Chee was the only one aboard her—when another roar came from above, the shot fell between the Ringdove and ourselves, and wetted us all. I saw the Ringdove hurrying towards the foot of the cliffs, where the gun couldn't touch her.
"We must be nippy, sir," Sharpe said, very excitedly for him.
Just as we were going to run alongside, someone sang out, "What on earth's that, sir?" pointing to a small rock on the other side of the creek. We all looked, and could see someone standing there and waving his arms. "He's trying to semaphore," several men cried, and a moment after, "It's Lootenant Travers, sir."
None of us thought of that gun then, and we shoved off towards him as hard as we could—there were only six of us in a ten-oared cutter—and gave a shout.
"Swim towards us, sir," I yelled, as we got closer and bullets came round, though I didn't really notice them much. There was a Chinaman with him, and they both waded out as far as they could, and we grabbed them and hauled them in, and pulled back again with another shout, Mr. Travers taking one of the spare oars, and the Chinaman, who was almost dead of fright, hiding under the gunwale.
As we hauled Travers on board he asked, "Have you found Sally Hobbs?" but I shook my head, and hadn't time to think what that all meant, and shouted to Sharpe, "Cut the anchor rope directly we get aboard and hoist the fores'l." I needn't have troubled, because that gun above us fired again, and we saw the stump of poor little Sally's mainmast come toppling down, big pieces of her deck went flying about, and she began to heel over as we ran alongside. Mr. Travers and I jumped aboard, but I saw that she was done for. Her deck was absolutely smashed up amidships, the six-pounder had fallen on top of the cartridge boxes in the hold, and water was bubbling up through two great holes in her bottom.
"We shall have to leave her, sha'n't we, sir?" I asked.
But there was no doubt of it, and I only just had time to haul down the white ensign and get back into the boat and shove off, before she settled right down, and with a bubbling noise slid under.
"'Twill drown all them cursed bugs and cockroaches what's been biting at us, curse 'em!" Sharpe said coolly, and we shoved off for the gunboat under the cliff. You bet that Ah Chee had jumped into the cutter directly we'd got alongside!
The Ringdove was waiting for us, and we were all aboard in five minutes. She sneaked out round the foot of the cliffs—Mr. Rashleigh didn't wait to take soundings now—ran out of the channel past where the two guns had been, without being fired at, and started off for Tinghai.
I saw Mr. Rashleigh rubbing his hands, and heard him chuckling, "I've rescued Travers, and the 'Old Man' will be jolly pleased." He seemed to be awfully proud of himself, but Mr. Trevelyan told Jim angrily: "Of course the Skipper will be pleased; everyone knows that; but he might have burnt the whole nest of them as well, wiped out the whole boiling crowd, if he'd only had the pluck to go in yesterday. Instead of which he gives those chaps time to haul their guns up over his head, where he can't touch it. Confound him!"
Mr. Travers came up on deck soon afterwards, shaved and clean, with some of the Sub's plain clothes on. He shook my hand. "Long time since you shoved me in the back in that crowd outside the Mission House, Ford. Thought they would have plugged some of you in that boat. They were firing pretty fast." That was tremendously demonstrative for him.
It was jolly good to have got him back safely, but we were all awfully disappointed that we hadn't found where Sally and her father were. We had thought we had done so, but he told us they weren't there, and he hadn't the faintest idea where they were. The Chinaman who'd helped him to escape, and had come along for his reward, didn't know anything about them either. Ah Chee found this out.
Dicky was a jolly lot better, and could talk, but hadn't the faintest remembrance of anything after we'd sighted those four junks beating up to wind'ard after us. He remembered the junk running away from us and the masts coming down, but nothing after that.
Dr. Hibbert wouldn't let him talk to us much. Poor Cooke died before we had got out of sight of land, and we stopped our engines and buried him at sea.
That brought the killed ones in the two junks up to six—two of Jim's and four of mine—and there were six wounded besides Dicky.
I managed to hide away the ensign before the signalman could claim it, and felt rather a beast; but I meant to keep it and get it home—some day. Jim lent me another monkey jacket. It was quite "sopping" wet, but it was clean, and we soon dried it, so that I looked more respectable, and didn't feel so horrid as I had felt in my bloodstained one.
CHAPTER VIII
The Vigilant Sails Again
The Padré Complains—Mr. Hoffman Returns—Under Way Again—Good News—"Good Old Dicky!"—Mr. Rashleigh's Report—A Unfair Report
Written by Commander Truscott
I had had an extremely busy ten days superintending the fitting out of those junks, and getting them and the gunboats away to their cruising grounds. I think that I had offended pretty nearly everyone in the ship, from the Fleet Surgeon, who disliked parting with so many sick bay stores, to the youngest cadet, who thought that he ought to have been given a chance.
The Skipper was positively in a vile temper all the time, and I, myself, and old Bax, the Fleet Paymaster, who came from the same part of the country as he did, were the only ones who dared to approach him. He simply spat fire whenever anyone spoke to him, and the simplest thing used to bring forth a torrent of oaths, and it was best to beat a hasty retreat.
Don't think that I minded, or anyone else—really. "How's 'Old Lest' this morning?" they would ask, after I had reported morning "divisions" to him, and I must say that I generally had to say "Worse than ever". They would all chuckle at that.
For some reason or other everyone, except the Skipper himself, seemed to be proud of his temper, and the more he roared and swore, the more the men liked him.
"He's the worst-tempered man in the service, I should imagine," the young Padré had remarked one morning, when he and I and Mayhew, the Fleet Surgeon, were walking up and down the quarterdeck, and could hear him storming at "Willum" down below.
"For worst-tempered read best-tempered," Mayhew had replied fierily. "You've only been a 'dog watch' in the service, and when you know something about it, you'll know that you are wrong. Why, man, he's the best Skipper to serve under in the whole blessed navy. Call him bad tempered! Why, great snakes! that's the temper coming out of him instead of being bottled up. It's only fools and rotters who have tempers that don't come out."
I fancy that the Padré's knowledge of human nature was of the slightest, and I also must admit that it was probably very difficult to preach a good sermon to the accompaniment of the Skipper's snores, but he hadn't quite shaken down in his new surroundings.
When he first joined the ship his sermons were full of "my dear brothers", or "dear brethren", and it was as good as a play to see the Skipper's face when he happened to be awake and first heard himself called a "dear brother". I thought he would have had a "fit", and after church he stalked down below without saying a word, Blucher at his heels, and sent for me.
Then out it came. He had bottled it up for nearly twenty minutes, and he pretty well excelled himself. "That little—little—whipper—snapper call 'Old Lest' his 'dear brother'! Don't let him come near 'Old Lest'. I'll 'dear brother' him if he does it again!" and he glared at me and shook his huge fists in my face absolutely unable to say anything more.
"Very good, sir; I will speak to the Chaplain," I had answered, and fled.
For some reason or other I forgot to do so, but, after lunch that morning, the younger people in the mess spread him out on the sofa, very gently, and sat on him. I happened to go into the ward room at the moment, and found eight of them and Old Bax in a heap, with bits of the young idiot showing out here and there under them, and heard them sing out, "Here's another dear brother," as they bumped him and he gasped for breath, and implored them to leave off. I slipped back to my cabin, and, as I expected, there was a knock at my door a few minutes afterwards, and in he came, very dishevelled, and complained of the indignity.
"You surprise me, Padré," I told him. "I can only say that I happened to go to the mess, and saw you 'scrapping' with your brother officers in the most unbecoming manner, and endeavouring, as far as I could make out, to break up the mess furniture. I trust that such conduct will not occur again."
He got very red and confused, and was going away, when I called him back: "Of course, Padré, you must remember that if they do dislike any of your expressions, you often enough complain of some of theirs, and I should advise you to humour them. It's often a great effort on their part to humour you, and you should be proud that they do try. I will speak to them, but strongly advise you to drop the 'dear brother' part of the show."
I'm glad to say that he did, and eventually became quite proud of relating the bumping incident as "a stepping-stone in my education for a life so strange, and at one period so apparently uncongenial, ah!"
As a matter of fact, he was always called "dear brother" after that, so never had the chance to forget it. To come back to my yarn, the absence of three watch-keepers and so many petty officers and men, to say nothing of the midshipmen, made it difficult enough to carry on the ordinary work of the ship. This was a constant source of irritation to Lawrence, Whitmore, and myself, and above all, there was the added overwhelming anxiety at the fate of Travers, Sally, and her father. It was now five weeks since they had disappeared, and I assure you that these weeks had only increased our anxiety and the feeling of utter helplessness at our inability to discover their whereabouts and rescue them. Somewhere, but whether north, south, east, or west, we had not the faintest notion, they were waiting for a sign of our coming, and every evening, as the sun set and the dark clouds and grey twilight shut out the islands all round us and wrapped them in darkness, the feeling of depression used to become still more acute, and we used to imagine them beginning another dreary night of waiting, and longing, and praying that the morning would bring them rescue, which we all knew it wouldn't. These things, and the want of exercise on shore, were excuses sufficient to account for any irritability of temper.
The Skipper used to tramp the quarterdeck from after "evening quarters" till sunset, but then the sight of the long skeins of ducks, geese, and swans flighting across the harbour to the mud flats round some of the smaller islands used to drive him down below. He used to growl: "Umph! That's what 'Old Lest' came down here to do, to shoot 'em, and he's only made a fool of himself so far. Umph!" and he'd send "Willum" round for three of us to go aft to make up a rubber of whist.
But at last the long period of inaction came to an end. One morning, just a week after the Ringdove and her two junks had left, I had turned out with the hands, and was walking up and down till my servant had made my morning cup of tea, the quarterdeck men scrubbing and holystoning round me in the dismal light.
I noticed a little native sailing boat beating up to Tinghai, and I remember that I thought it strange for so small a boat to have been out at night time. As it came towards the harbour, I watched it idly through my telescope, and presently saw that there were three men in it—a Chinaman steering and two people pulling lee oars, one a Chinaman and—I looked again to make sure—the other a tall gaunt fellow with a shaggy black beard. "That's a rum go," I thought, and was still more surprised when I saw them lower the sail—they were directly to leeward of us—and begin to pull straight towards the Vigilant.
"What on earth's going to happen now?" I thought, as the boat crept alongside, the men pulling very feebly. The gaunt European half crawled up the ladder and advanced towards me, and for a moment I did not recognize him.
"Hoffman!" he said.
Good heavens! I recognized him then, even with that black beard, and with his face sunken and starved looking. "We thought you'd been burnt," I said, holding out my hand, as he tottered on to the quarterdeck.
"Give me some drink and food, and those men too," he gasped; and I led him down below to my cabin—I thought he would have fallen down the hatchway, he was so weak. Fortunately my servant had just brought my tea and some bread and butter, and he drank and ate as if he had not touched food for a week.
I sent for another plate of bread and butter, and when he had finished that, and drunk all my tea and two tumblers full of water, he didn't wait for me to ask him any questions, but, clutching at the chair, and with a wild look in his eyes, began, "For God's sake, Commander, get the Captain to start at once! I know where Hobbs and his daughter are, or were, six days ago, and if you are quick you may rescue them before they can be hurried off somewhere else."
"Good heavens, man! and Travers, do you know where he is too?" I shouted, jumping up.
"Yes, I do; but he's not with them," he answered.
"Is she safe?" I asked eagerly; and he nodded, "Yes; up to the present."
"How the dickens did you escape being burnt? We've actually read the funeral service over the ruins of the Mission."
"Wait," he half moaned. "Go and tell your Captain I am here, and give me a cigarette—I haven't tasted one for a month."
I woke the Skipper. "That German, Hoffman, has come aboard, sir. Says he knows where Sally is and Travers."
"What?" roared the Skipper, opening his eyes.
"That German chap Hoffman has come aboard, sir."
"Well, don't wake me," he grunted, not hearing me properly.
"He's that man we thought had been burnt in the Mission House. He knows where Hobbs and Sally and Travers are," I repeated in a louder voice; and he jumped out of his bunk, swearing angrily, "Why didn't you tell me before?" and roared for "Willum" to help him dress. "Bring him aft in five minutes' time," he growled.
"For goodness sake, don't suggest anything to him! Don't attempt to give him any advice," I implored Hoffman. "Ten to one, if you do, he'll put obstacles in the way. Just tell him what you know, and nothing more."
"I'll remember," he said wearily, as I took him aft. He had to steady himself with one hand on my shoulder, he was so weak; his clothes simply hung in loose folds.
I slipped away and turned out Hutton, our Engineer Commander, telling him what I knew, and that the Skipper would be sending for him in a minute or two. In fact, he hardly pulled his trousers over his pyjamas before he was sent for. "How long will it take to get up steam?" I asked him, as I helped him on with his monkey jacket. "An hour; we're still under banked fires—have been all the time," and then I went round, turning everyone out. It was such a godsend to have at last some news to tell.
"D'they know where Mr. Travers and the pretty little lady be, sir?" the captain of the quarterdeck asked me; and I heard him tell his men, and they left off scrubbing to discuss the situation. "Little lady or no little lady," he sang out, "just you go on with your 'olystoning."
In less than half an hour we had steam on the capstan, and were shortening in the cable, and in another hour were under way. It was glorious to feel the engines moving round again and the beastly steam steering gear rattling under my cabin once more, and to know that at last our long six weeks of inaction were at an end.
There wasn't a long face or a sour face in the ship that day.
The Skipper had filled his pockets with his beloved Havanas, and pulled one out for me on the fore bridge too—a sure sign that he was in the best of tempers.
"That chap Hoffman couldn't lift a hundredweight now," he chuckled. "I'll take him 'on' when he's had a bit of sleep—the only chance I'll get," and he gurgled and croaked with laughter. "He don't exactly give himself away, does he, Truscott? Couldn't get him to suggest a single thing."
"I told him not to, sir," I said, smiling.
"Umph! Think 'Old Lest' an obstinate old fool, do you? Think you know 'Old Lest' better'n he knows himself, do you? That's the worst of having a commander who's been shipmates for seven years. Umph!" And he glared at me, and was in a grand humour.
As a matter of fact, there were several reasons which made it inconvenient to leave so hurriedly. For one thing, we were, as you know, very shorthanded, and for another, we expected the gunboats to return at any moment with their tenders, and it would, at the best, be a tedious business to call them all in. Fortunately we met the old Huan Min pounding back to Tinghai for more coal; judging by the smoke she made she seemed to grind it into dust and then blow it up her funnel. We stopped her, and the Skipper sent on board to tell her Captain where the Vigilant was going, and to ask him to communicate with the other gunboats, and with the Omaha, which had gone off by herself.
Ching evidently wrote the letter which came back, promising to do this, and he sent a private one to his chum Lawrence to say that they were all immensely pleased to hear that there was a chance of rescuing the captives, and that the Huan Min would come along after us as soon as possible.
"He says that his shoulder is practically all right again now, sir. He's made a jolly sight less fuss about it than I should have done." Lawrence smiled when he'd finished reading this letter. "I wonder how much he cares whether we ever see Hobbs or Travers again? He doesn't hurry the old Huan Min round these islands to find them, I bet you anything you like, sir. He's hunting for Sally. He's simply head over heels in love with her."
"More power to his elbow," I said. "We all are, more or less."
We had left orders for the gunboats to follow us—left them with Macpherson the missionary, so felt sure that they would fetch up, sooner or later, even if the Huan Min missed them.
The island for which we were now steering was right away in the SE. corner of the archipelago, one of a group marked on the chart as the Hector Group (it was so named after a transport which was wrecked there in 1851).
It was there that Hobbs and his daughter were reported to be by Hoffman, and it took the Skipper but a very few minutes to determine that he would go there first and leave Travers till later.
As it happened, by great good fortune, there was no necessity to regret his decision, because just after dark we sighted the lights of a steamer, flashed the "demand" from our masthead lamp, and it turned out to be the Ringdove on the way back to Tinghai. I wasn't on the bridge at the time, and had only just reached the deck after she was reported to me, when I heard men cheering, and a midshipman rushed up, "Mr. Travers is on board, sir, and well, sir! Isn't that grand?"
It's extraordinary how good—and bad—news comes in lumps together, and this seemed suddenly to make me feel ten years younger. I was up that bridge in a "brace of shakes". We had stopped our engines, and the Ringdove was flashing across a long signal, and everyone bent eagerly forward to try and take it in, whilst the signalman wrote it down, and clicked the shutter of his hand lamp to show the Ringdove that he had taken it in correctly.
Most of us were so much out of practice that we only got a word or a number here or there, but enough to know that she and her junks had lost a lot of men. At last the Ringdove had finished, and the signalman brought his signal pad to the Captain.
"Read it out, Truscott; your eyes are younger than mine."
Someone held up a lantern, and I read: "Have rescued Lieutenant Travers uninjured from island of Chung-li Tao Group. No news of whereabouts of Hobbs or daughter. Tender Sally sunk by gun fire; tender Ferret wrecked and abandoned, guns saved. Losses—Ringdove, one man wounded, since dead, two wounded; Sally, four[#] men killed, Mid Morton, two men wounded; Ferret, two men killed, five wounded."
[#] Cooke, A.B., had died as a result of his injuries.
"Phew!" whistled the Skipper. "They've had a hot time! Read it again."
I did so.
"Do they mean young Morton's killed or wounded?"
"Ask them."
Click, click went the shutter of the signalman's lamp.
You could not hear a sound whilst the Ringdove light twinkled the reply, and we all gave a gasp of relief when we read—W-O-U-N-D—O-F—S-C-A-L-P—O-U-T—O-F—D-A-N-G-E-R.
"Get 'em all aboard," the Skipper told me; "best send both cutters," and he sent a midshipman running aft. "Tell the Doctor—ten wounded coming from Ringdove."
We signalled across for her to "close", and that we were sending for the wounded and for the rest of the crews of the two junks.
This was a jolly ticklish job, because a rather heavy sea was running; but we ran our searchlights, and I sent Lawrence and Whitmore away in charge of the boats, and we managed to transfer them all without anything happening worse than breaking one or two oars.
We gave Travers a cheer when he came across, and all crowded round and congratulated him; and we cheered Trevelyan, young Rawlings and their men, and Ford and his. They had come over in the first boat, and Rashleigh had come as well—to report personally.
Whilst he was down below I got a list of the names of those killed and wounded from Trevelyan, and had it stuck on the lower deck notice board. Scroggs was a serious loss to me—the captain of the fore top, and a fine reliable man—and the others were all good men; they wouldn't have been sent there, of course, if they hadn't been.
Ford and his six men had lost everything except what they stood up in, but every one of them was in the best of spirits. The second cutter came along-side with the wounded, and young Morton was the first to be carried up the ladder, managed a smile from under his bandages, and we gave him a cheer.
The mids who'd been left behind sang out, "Good old Dicky". I knew perfectly well that he had been called "Dear Little Dicky", and that the inoffensive, harmless little chap hated it, and was glad to hear them drop it for once. I knew a good many more of the "ins and outs" of what went on in the gunroom than the Mids used to give me credit for.
The rest of the wounded were carried up, or hobbled up the ladder, and they all went for'ard to the sick bay.
Then Rashleigh went back, simply bubbling over with importance and excitement, the Skipper actually coming up to see him over the side. He didn't often pay anyone under the rank of post captain that compliment.
"I thought that chap a blooming blockhead—told you so often—but he's done a jolly sight better than I gave him credit for; that he has, Truscott, that he has. And he's found a place where they're as thick as thieves—big guns mounted, and all that. I've sent him back to keep his eye on it. Jolly smart chap! Things are just coming along now, eh? They'll find 'Old Lest' ain't such a fool as they think, eh?"
"We've made a good start, sir, although we've lost rather heavily."
"Put up a subscription list, Truscott; some of those men have left families. Stick me down for twenty-five 'thick 'uns'. It's more than 'Old Lest' can afford, but stick 'em down. If the Admiralty don't pay for those junks, and the others get knocked about or lost as well, 'Old Lest' 'll find himself in the Bankruptcy Court, umph!"
"Make a signal: Captain Lester to Captain, officers, and men of the Ringdove.
"The Captain, officers, and men of the Vigilant congratulate you on the plucky rescue of Lieutenant Travers and the two junks' crews."
He sent for'ard to tell the Fleet Surgeon to let him know directly he could come down to see the wounded, and then stalked along the upper deck to the bridge, swinging his great shoulders and striding down an admiring lane of men, who made a gangway and stood to attention as he passed. You could see, even by the little light there was, how they worshipped him.
We hoisted in our boats and steamed off towards our island, the little Ringdove turning back to hers and signalling, "Captain, officers, and men," to ditto. "Thank you very much. We are very proud to have the honour of serving under your orders."
That pleased the Skipper—the last part, I mean—for he was simply a huge simple-minded baby, and he grunted, and puffed at his cigar.
"He's tickled to death with that," Lawrence whispered to me. "Old Rashleigh knows how to get the soft side of him, doesn't he?"
Rashleigh had brought over a written report of his proceedings, a copy of which I give you, so that you may draw your own conclusions. He had not had time to finish it properly, and I hardly think that he could have read it over either, after having written it.
H.M.S. Ringdove,
Off the Chung-li Tao Group, Chusan Archipelago,
May 7th.
SIR,—In pursuance of your orders, I have the honour to report that I towed the two tenders, the Ferret, Lieutenant Trevelyan, and the Sally, Midshipman Ford, to a position five miles to wind'ard (the wind being SSW.) of the Chung-li Tao Islands, arriving there at 8 a.m. on the 2nd May.
At 10 a.m. I despatched the Sally to search to the east'ard, and the Ferret to the west'ard, and repaired to a rendezvous to leeward of them, giving them instructions which should meet any probable eventualities which might arise.
I waited at the rendezvous till the morning of the 4th May, and then sighted the Sally, and ordered her to come alongside. She reported that she had three men killed, Mid Morton and two A.B.'s severely wounded, and that she was much damaged by shot above the water line. She had chased a pirate junk and sunk her, but had then most unwisely attacked four others, and only escaped with the above losses. Her Maxim gun had been destroyed, and she had expended practically all her six-pounder ammunition.
Mr. Ford also reported having met the tender Ferret the night before, and that Mr. Trevelyan, contrary to my orders, had at once altered course to the island where the Sally had been attacked. The wind had veered to NW. by N. during the night, and was now blowing a strong breeze. As it was therefore impossible for him to beat back to me under three days, I took the wounded on board my ship, buried two of his men at sea, and steamed towards the island and channel in which Mr. Ford had engaged the four junks. The Sally followed me at all speed.
I arrived off the entrance to the channel at noon of next day, and on entering it was fired at by a two-gun battery at close range. One shot came aboard me and wounded two men—one, Edward Larking, ord. sea. No. 867037, has since died. I silenced these guns, and proceeding up the channel, discovered that Mr. Trevelyan had wrecked his junk at the entrance to a small creek, and was in a desperate position, being attacked by rifle fire from both sides of the creek.
I made a hasty exploration of the creek, and found that a quarter of a mile inland it opened out, and that anchored there were a number of war junks, and a very large number of merchant junks.
I determined to attack, but first deemed it necessary to survey the channel, which operation was successfully performed, under a heavy fire, by Sub-lieutenant Harrow, who worked with great coolness, and lost one man wounded.
By the time the channel was reported as being sufficiently deep to allow the passage of the Ringdove, it was dusk, and I determined to take her in at daybreak of the following day. Meanwhile I transferred the guns and most of the stores of the Ferret to my ship.
At daybreak I weighed, and was at once fired upon by a gun, mounted on the cliffs three hundred feet above my head, to which it was impossible to reply.
I immediately recognized that it would, under the circumstances, be impossible to force the entrance, and stood off, ordering the Sally to follow me.
She was, however, struck by a large shot or shell, and commenced to sink, and I had only sufficient time to bring off her crew, and could not save any of her stores.
The cutter which brought off her crew sighted a man on the rocks, who semaphored that he was Lieutenant Travers, and most pluckily brought him off under a heavy fire.
I then altered course for Tinghai with the crews of my tenders on board.
My officers and crew behaved with gallantry and coolness under trying circumstances.
I am, Sir,
Your obedient Servant,
-
S. T. RASHLEIGH,
Lieut. and Commander.
To
Captain CHARLES E. LESTER, R.N.,
H.M.S. Vigilant,
Senior Officer, Chusan Archipelago.
It was no doubt written hurriedly and finished off abruptly after sighting the Vigilant; but from what I learned afterwards, hardly gave a correct, or rather fair account of the doings of his tenders.
I was rather amused by young Ford coming to my cabin next morning. He had a boat's ensign under his arm, looked very sheepish, and wanted to know if he might keep it. "The signalman of the Sally borrowed it, sir, and hoisted it, without my knowing, whilst we were fighting those junks—he didn't know that it was against orders—and I do want to take it home 'so badly'."
I told him to run and hide it, and he could not have been more pleased.
CHAPTER IX
Mr. Hoffman's Secret
Bored Travers—Bored Travers Continues—"Old Lest" in Form—"We've Got 'em at Last"—A Dirty Night—"Old Lest" Unfolds a Tale—Mr. Hoffman's Tale—"Old Lest" and Hoffman—A Marvellous Old Chap
Written by Commander Truscott
At the time of parting company with the Ringdove the weather was extremely unpleasant—heavy rain squalls and a bitterly cold northerly wind—but it was snug enough down below, and, to celebrate the return of Travers, we gave him a great dinner in the ward room.
It is hardly necessary to tell you that we were all in the very brightest spirits, and spent a most jovial and riotous evening—all except, funnily enough, Travers himself. He was always a bit bored at these shows, and "turned in" early, only too glad to find himself once more in his own bunk. He was known throughout the fleet as Bored-Travers, or "B.-T.", his full surname being Gore-Travers, and was rather a weird chap, with a superior, supercilious, "Bond-Street-on-a-swagger-morning air" about him, which, somehow or other, gave everyone the idea that he looked "down" upon everybody else. You couldn't help liking him, however, for all that. I had never seen him enthusiastic about anything except a pretty girl or a game of cricket, and now after dinner he looked bored to distraction, leant wearily against a stanchion, and told Lawrence and the others his yarn. It was like drawing teeth out of a horse, to get him to tell anything at all.
"Oh! that night, um! Oh yes! I remember. One of those Mission native chaps got hold of me when I'd got inside the gates—couldn't shake him off—too much bore altogether, you fellows. He was so jolly earnest, I just went along with him. He said something about Old Hobbs and his daughter being carried away, or something. I had to go, you know—had never seen the girl—all you fellows said she was pretty—forgot 'A' company wasn't coming along too."
He stopped in the most irritating way to fill his pipe. "Same beastly old tobacco in the mess—can't get it to draw—never could."
"Didn't you find them, and have a scrap down there on the beach?" Trevelyan asked. "There was a Chinaman down there—dead, with a Webley revolver bullet in him."
"Did I kill him?" he asked, without the faintest display of interest. "I knew the beastly revolver would go off some day and hurt someone. Someone took it away after that—lots of them—shoved a beastly cloth over my head, and shoved me into a boat. They seemed to want me to stay still, so I did."
"Did they knock you about much?" "Didn't you see Sally?" several asked, and Trevelyan very eagerly added, "How many boats did you see? We thought there were three. We saw the keel marks of three in the mud."
He seemed quite amused at their eagerness.
"Well, you chaps, I think they must have knocked me on the head. I didn't remember much about it—didn't see anything I could swear to—rather fancy, though, there were two boats, and, now you mention it, that I did hear a girl's scream just before. Don't remember anything else till I woke up, with a beastly headache, and a mouth like a limekiln, in a jolly sight better cabin than I've got on board here."
"That must have been Hobbs's yacht! What happened then?"
"Nothing at all—couldn't shave—had forgotten to bring my razors and" (yawning) "my dressing case with me—there wasn't a towel there, or water even—and there they kept me till they shoved me ashore, where young Ford found me."
"Ford?" I said, chipping in. "I thought Rashleigh did that." The Skipper had just shown me his report.
"Rashleigh! No, sir. He was shoving out of it as hard as he could go. Young Ford came along and picked me off—he and the rest of his junk's crew—in the Ringdove's cutter. The Chinamen wasted a lot of good ammunition over the lot of us, and I'd have made 'em pay for it if I'd been in" (yawning) "charge of 'em.
"Plucky chap that," he went on placidly, ordering the marine servant to bring him more sugar for his coffee. "I told him so. Hope it won't make him more conceited than he is.
"How about that Chinese cove who came along with me in the Ringdove!" he asked, with some little display of interest.
"He's all right, B.-T.," someone said. "Came aboard with the wounded."
"Um! I thought I'd given him the slip. Promised him a hundred dollars for getting me out of it, and" (yawning several times) "I haven't got a hundred cents in the world."
"That's all right. You've got your last month's pay due to you," Old Bax growled impatiently. "But, man alive, shove on with your yarn."
Travers simply opened his eyes a little more widely, looked amusedly at him, and yawned again.
"What did you do all the time?" "Give you decent grub?" "Did you see the boss of the show?" Questions simply poured in, but he languidly helped himself to more sugar, and stirred his coffee.
"Why the dickens can't our cook make better stuff than this? The grub was beastly, and I grew a beastly beard, and everything was" (yawning) "beastly. There was a chap there—an old Scotch engineer fellow—seemed to belong to the show—came across to yarn once or twice—said he was tired of having no one to talk to—but he bored me, so didn't come often."
"Weren't you excited when you heard the firing?" the young Padré asked.
"Interested," Travers drawled; "I'm never excited—just interested," and he put on his most superior look, and the young Padré retired in confusion. "There was a bit of a shindy—guns, and all that—about a week after I'd been there. It was rather interesting—at any rate the coves there thought so."
I remembered now that Rashleigh had reported having heard the sound of guns in the direction of the Chung-li Tao Group about that time, and had had his head snapped off by the Skipper for his pains. He may have been right, after all. "What happened? Who were firing?" I asked.
"I don't know, sir; think they must have had a bit of a 'pick up' among themselves. I did mention it to the old Scotchman, but he wasn't giving anything away just then, and I never thought of asking him again."
"Was he a prisoner too?" I asked. He was very irritating.
"Oh no! Think he bossed the show—when he was sober. Told me one day that they'd sent the Old Yank and Sally somewhere, where we'd never find them. Seemed to know a good deal about it, and seemed sorry for the girl too."
"I'm going to turn in now, you fellows, if you don't mind. Thank you very much, but I haven't slept in a bed for six" (yawning) "weeks," and he stretched himself and yawned again and went away.
Trevelyan disappeared with him and came back triumphantly. He had that glove which we had picked up behind the Mission House. "We were right, after all, sir! That was his glove, and he had borrowed Lawrence's handkerchief. I've got that much out of him. He says he'll never stuff a handkerchief up his sleeve again. He'd given a couple of pounds" (if there had been anyone to borrow from) "not to have dropped it."
"It's the first thing I've ever got back after he once borrowed it," Lawrence sang out, and we all laughed with him.
The Skipper came in presently (Hoffman had been dining with him, but had turned in directly afterwards), and we dragged Old Bax, the Fleet Paymaster, to the piano and made him sing, "Tam Pearce, Tam Pearce, bring me my grey mare"; and the Skipper joined in the chorus and smoked, and Old Bax "cadged" his best cigars from him and smoked them, one after another. The Skipper grunted and growled, and was redder in the face than ever, took off his mess jacket and loosened his braces, and beat everyone else at feats of strength, and was as happy as a sand-boy. He went down into the gunroom to say a few words, as he put it, and I went with him. He squeezed himself in, and, as they all stood up, growled out, "Umph! Sit down, please! 'Old Lest' will give you all a show—later on. If those two steamers are there when we get in to-morrow afternoon, umph! we'll go in and sink 'em. If there ain't enough water for the boats, we'll swim" (huge yells of delight). "Good night, gentlemen; three of you have done a bit of fighting, the Fleet Surgeon hopes to get Morton off the sick list in a day or two, and I hope you others will do as well. Umph! You can have half an hour's extra lights."
They made a perfect deafening noise, gave three cheers and a "tiger", and then he came back to the ward room, and stayed there till after midnight—the youngest of the lot of us—he and Old Bax chaffing each other in broad West Country dialect. Old Bax had "wiped his eye", the last time they had gone shooting, by bagging a woodcock which the Skipper had missed with both barrels, and never lost an opportunity of reminding him of it.
Whitmore and I slipped away long before the ward room singsong was finished, and the ship quiet again, because we had to make all arrangements for manning and arming boats if necessary. You see, we had so many seaman ratings away, that it was rather difficult to fill their places.
Hoffman had his breakfast in his cabin, and spent two hours alone with the Skipper during the morning, and I did not see him again till we were nearing the Hector Group late in the afternoon. He then came up and helped Lawrence pick his way among the islands towards the one where he said that Hobbs and Sally were imprisoned.
We all hoped to discover the tramp steamer and the yacht anchored there, but very much feared that the prisoners might have been spirited away again in one or other of them. The anxiety grew greater as we drew nearer, and was shared by every soul on board, for everyone knew by this time all that I myself knew.
It struck me as peculiar how intimate and accurate was Hoffman's knowledge of the local pilotage. There seemed to be some strange "bond" between him and the Skipper, and I felt sure, from the Skipper's manner to him, and from his silence to me, that there was something which I did not know, and which would explain a good many things when I did know it.
One thing indeed the Captain had told me, blurting it out when I reported "defaulters" to him, and found him and Hoffman together. "Hoffman tells me that that rascally Englishman, who sold that yacht of his to Hobbs, is bossing this show. He's hanging on to Hobbs and Sally, and trying to force the poor little lass to marry him—umph! or make her father pay a pretty penny. He'll skin him out pretty thoroughly, I'll be bound."
"If you don't get hold of her quickly, Captain, I believe she'll consent," Hoffman said.
"Just to save old man Hobbs's dollars, eh? Poor little lass, eh?" the Skipper grunted.
"Partly that and partly because he is such a handsome, dare-devil scoundrel, that I don't think she'd be unwilling;" and Hoffman moaned and buried his face in his hands. He was still as weak as a rat, and couldn't control his feelings.
"Poor little soul!" the Skipper said softly. "God help us to get her out of his clutches!"
At about five bells (2.30 p.m.) in the afternoon we eventually sighted the island, a low irregular line on the horizon right ahead, a gloomy enough prison under its dark sullen banks of rain clouds. The wind had gone down during the morning watch, and the sea was fairly smooth, but the rain still came down mercilessly, and everything was dripping with moisture and extremely uncomfortable. "Masthead lookout!" roared the Skipper from the fore bridge, "keep your eye lifting for two steamers lying under the land," and to assist him sent up the sharpest eyed signalman.
In spite of the drenching downpour, the fo'c'stle and under the fore bridge was crowded with men, all their eyes glued on the land as we very slowly forged towards it through the muddy yellow water. I don't suppose that there was a single field glass or telescope in the ship not in use.
Then there came a yell from the masthead which made us all look up. "Yes, sir, I can see them—two steamers under the land, right ahead, sir;" and we all stared ahead, and in a few minutes could see them ourselves, and, quite without orders, everyone cheered and waved his cap, looking up at the Skipper from the fo'c'stle to see whether he was looking happy. The cheers were as much for sighting the steamers as for knowing that now "Old Lest" would have a chance of paying off old scores, and the Skipper, looking bigger than ever in his dripping tarpaulins, roared out to ask me if I'd ever been aboard a man-of-war before, and knew what discipline was; so I sent my midshipman down to stop the noise.
"Umph! Truscott, we've got 'em at last;" and he slowly dug his fingers into the palms of his hands, as if he was crushing something, glared at me, and shook them in my face.
We slowly steamed along, till we took soundings under six fathoms, and then anchored. "Can't go in any farther," I heard Hoffman tell Lawrence, and again wondered how he had picked up all this knowledge.
The cable had scarcely finished rattling out before the Skipper, turning to me, said, "Man and arm boats, Commander; I'll go in directly. Old Lest ain't going to let grass grow under his feet."
"We've only got about two hours more daylight, sir," I told him, thinking that there was scarcely time for the boats to get ashore.
"Umph!" he growled, and went down below.
In forty minutes I'd got them all away, the steam pinnace, with the Skipper and Hoffman aboard, towing the launch and sailing pinnace, and the steam cutter towing the barge and the two cutters. We were so short of men that Marshall and his marines had to man the sailing pinnace, and very few men were left aboard to give them a cheer as they shoved off, only about half a dozen seamen, a few marines, and the stokers.
I had thought of keeping Trevelyan on board, but the Skipper growled out, "Send him in with me. 'Old Lest's' brain's not as sharp as it was. He'll smell out something."
It was still raining hard, but the sea remained smooth. Personally, I thought it rather unwise not to wait for the morning; but the Skipper was so anxious not to give the pirates a moment's rest, and to start by sinking those steamers or driving them ashore—to do anything, in fact, to prevent them escaping—that the risk was probably worth taking. The steam pinnace had her fourteen-inch torpedo dropping gear fitted, and the Skipper's main idea was to blow holes in the steamer and the yacht, and so effectually to prevent them moving. Once more, it was not so much our chief object to destroy the pirates or recapture the yacht, as to rescue the little American girl and her father. We hoped that we had now found where they were concealed, and our first object was to prevent them being smuggled away again.
We kept the boats in view till they disappeared in the gathering dusk and the heavy rain, and then could only wait for them to return. It was so cold on deck, that I went down to warm myself in front of the ward room fire. Mayhew, the Fleet Surgeon, was sitting cosily in front of it, and made room for me. "Heard or seen anything?" he asked. "I shall have them all on the sick list if they ever do come back. I've never seen a night I should less like to spend in an open boat."
I hadn't been there five minutes, when the quartermaster came clattering down from the quarterdeck in his dripping oilskins and sea boots. "We can see some flashes ashore, sir. I think our boats are firing as well, sir."
Both of us ran on deck. Several dull "booms" gave us the direction in which to look, and every now and again we could see the twinkle of a gun flash a very long way off, generally a single one, then perhaps two or three quickly, one after the other. It was just as if someone a hundred yards away was striking matches, which the wind blew out as they were struck. The reports came along a few seconds later, and among them we could hear quite distinct sharp cracks. These were from our boats' guns, I expect. In spite of it being so wet, every soul on board was on deck, staring through the darkness and the incessant rain, to try and make out the boats returning. We ran a searchlight, throwing the beams vertically upwards to guide them, and could do no more. This beam lighted up the raindrops, and made everything even more depressing than it was before.
I only wish that all men were obliged to supply themselves with oilskins or thick pea-jackets, for, as it was, hardly one in twenty away in those open boats had them, and I could imagine pretty plainly the state they were in now.
By ten o'clock there was no sign of them whatever, and I was very anxious. Midnight came (I don't know what foolhardy ideas hadn't occurred to me in the meantime), and shortly afterwards we heard the sound of more guns, and a muffled, long-drawn-out "boom", which made me almost jump out of my skin, my nerves were so very much on the stretch. "That's a torpedo, sir," the signalman said. I didn't much care what it was; I really was so thankful to know that they were still in existence.
The noises ceased almost immediately, and I again trusted that they were on their return journey. A long, dreary wait followed, and then one of the people on the bridge spotted flames from the steam pinnace's funnel. We watched them flicker out every now and again, drawing steadily nearer, and I sent down to Mayhew to have everything ready in case there were any wounded. Presently she came close enough to hail, and to see that she was towing the launch, sailing pinnace, the barge, and the cutter. She had a good deal of "list" to port, and I thought at first that she must have been damaged, but then saw, as she rounded up to come alongside, that she had dropped her starboard torpedo, which accounted for it. The boats ran alongside, and the Skipper came up the gangway.
"What luck, sir?" I asked him. "Where's the steam cutter and the second cutter? Anyone hurt, sir?"
His face was purple blue with the cold, but he was in the highest spirits. "Blown a hole in that tramp steamer; made the little yacht run up inside the creek. That's a good beginning for 'Old Lest', eh? Haven't had a man touched, and left the second cutter and the steam cutter inshore to come off at daybreak. Got the galley fires alight?" he asked, before he went below. "The men are pretty well dead with the cold and the wet."
"I'd thought of that, sir," I told him; "they shall have some hot cocoa and pea soup directly they have fallen out."
I had never seen such a washed-out crowd of people as clambered on board that night. Even though those in the boats had pulled their oars on the way off to the ship, they were simply blue and shivering and stiff. You may guess that I got all the gear replaced, and the men dismissed to their messes as quickly as possible.
When I went in to report to the Captain, he was standing in front of his blazing fire in a thick dressing gown. He had a great bowl of pea soup in his hands, and Blucher was leaning up against his legs. "Umph! that's good," he said, smacking his lips and rubbing himself. "Warms one's inside, eh?" and he roared to "Willum" to bring his eighteenpenny Havanas, and made me smoke one: I should have very much preferred a pipe.
"Willum" had been sent round to collect all those officers who had been away, and they came trooping in in all kinds of rigs, all looking jolly pleased with themselves, and Willum served them out hot drinks, and the Skipper said, "Here's luck to the little lass and the old Vig," and when they were thoroughly warm sent them all away to turn in.
"They're not going to turn in yet, sir," I told him; "they are going to have a sardine supper in the ward room."
"Umph! Good idea that! 'Willum'," he roared, "make me some sardine sandwiches, and put plenty of onions in 'em."
"How about sending the steam pinnace inshore with some hot soup for the people in the boats you left behind?" I asked him, after he'd devoured a plateful of sandwiches and had sent Willum for more.
"No good; couldn't find 'em in the dark. I've stuck 'em right in under the guns, in the middle of the creek which runs up there. They've got to fire a Very's[#] light, if the yacht tries to get away, so tell 'em to keep a good lookout on the bridge."
[#] A Very's light is somewhat the same idea as a Roman candle firework. It throws out one very brilliant ball of coloured light.
"It was grand work in those boats," he continued; "they couldn't see us, and went on firing and wasting ammunition. I kept on running away in the steamboat, easing off a few shells at them, and then going back again, and they'd fire off twenty or thirty rounds where she had been."
"I expect you had some pretty narrow shaves, for all that, sir?"
He growled out "Umph!" and winked at me very slowly.
Now that he and I were alone, I saw that he had something which he wanted to tell me, and when presently he had sent Willum to bed, he lighted a fresh cigar and began. "You know that man Hoffman? What d'you think of him, eh?"
"I can't quite say, sir. Can't quite 'place' him."
"What would you say if I told you he is the pirates—bosses the show, or did. What d'ye say to that?"
I supposed I looked surprised. I certainly felt so.
"He's told me all about it. He is running this show, or was."
"What d'you mean, sir?" I could hardly understand him.
"It's this way, Truscott," and, puffing his cigar, and grunting and growling, the Skipper told me the most extraordinary yarn I had ever heard.
Hoffman had for years owned quite a small fleet of merchant steamers, and had endeavoured to compete with the native junks for the coastal trade between Ningpo, Shanghai, and the Chusan Archipelago. Local prejudice and the hatred of the white foreigner had been too much for him, and he had failed. The idea then occurred to him that if he could make a clean sweep of the merchant junks throughout the islands, he would have the monopoly of the carrying trade.
"That explains why we have seen so many small steamers about lately," I burst out, absolutely dumbfounded.
"Umph! It does," the Skipper nodded, and went on to tell how Hoffman had built and armed a fleet of large junks, and carried out the raids of which we knew so well.
"But what's he doing now?" I exclaimed. "Coming on board here half starved?"
The Skipper explained. "That rascally skipper of the yacht was his first lieutenant. It was he who did most of the work, headed most of the expeditions, and thought himself as big a 'pot' as his master. He thought he would strike out a new line for himself, too, and kidnapped Hobbs and Sally. Thought he'd get enough ransom to make his 'pile' in one swoop."
The Skipper went on to tell me that this wasn't Hoffman's idea of doing business, and that it was owing to him that they escaped, that time they were picked up by the Huan Min. It meant finally breaking with the Englishman, and (Hobbs told us, I remember, that he had heard a scuffle that night) they actually had come to blows, Hobbs and his daughter being shoved off alone in the boat during the confusion.
Next morning Hoffman had found himself practically a prisoner. Nearly the whole of the Chinese sided with the good-looking scoundrel, who had so often led them on their forays, and the German had to clear out, and was lucky to find a junk whose crew remained faithful to him. That is how he first came to Tinghai, and it was there that he saw Hobbs and his daughter for the first time. The girl reminded him of his wife, or daughter, at home in Germany. He hadn't seen either of them for twenty years, and the daughter would have been about her age. At any rate, whatever it was that made him take such a fancy to her, he wasn't going to let her fall into that chap's hands again. Directly he had heard of the raid at the Tu Pu Monastery, he had gone across to endeavour to regain his influence over his men, found that impossible, but learnt that they were going to raid Tinghai itself and kidnap Hobbs and the girl again. He had come back in his junk as fast as he could, but too late to save her.
That accounted, then, for his sudden appearance at the burning Mission. He had landed in the same bay as the pirates themselves, an hour or more behind them, and rushed up to the Mission, but too late to save her.
"Travers says that he saw two boats there, sir. Probably those were the two close together, and probably Hoffman's made that third mark we saw farther along the shore."
"Dare say it was," the Skipper grunted; "and he tells me, too, that he got away about half an hour after they had left."
"Trevelyan is a regular Sherlock Holmes," I said. "I must tell him; he'll be very pleased."
But the Skipper scowled and growled, "No, no; I don't want anyone to know yet;" and went on with his yarn, whilst I listened, wideawake enough, you may be sure, although it was past two in the morning.
"Hoffman thought that the people at his dépôt in the Chung-li Tao Group would still stand by him, so packed off there," the Skipper went on to tell me, "and found the old Scotch engineer in charge of the place. It was this man who had separated him and the Englishman—that night they fought. He was a friend of his, and gave up the place and the junks; and everything was going well, till one morning the Englishman appeared off the town, fired a few rounds from the tramp steamer, the junks' crews wouldn't fight, and Hoffman had to surrender. He was eventually taken to the Hector Group, and kept there till he managed to escape to us again."
"Travers heard some fighting, but never saw Hoffman," I interrupted.
"Well, Hoffman was hardly likely to give himself away by interviewing him. At any rate, that was the reason he gave me when I asked him," the Skipper said. "He was waiting until he felt more sure of his people before trying to get him away—he couldn't trust any of them—and the chance never came."
"By the way, sir," I said, suddenly remembering that he had not come back, "where is he now?"
"Umph! I left him and one of his Chinese fellows in the boats. They're going to try and get ashore to-night at low water, find their way across the mud, and see if Sally and Old Hobbs are still there. The boats are to wait for them for half an hour after daybreak. If Hoffman and his man don't turn up then, the boats have to come back to the ship, and I've told him I'll have another waiting at the back of the island for him. There's a big rock somewhere there—can't mistake it, he says—and I want you to send a boat round there in case he can't get back this side."
"He's not strong enough for much hard work, I fear, sir," I said.
"'Fraid not, Truscott; 'fraid not."
"Whenever did you know all about this, sir?" I asked. I was a little nettled that I hadn't been told before.
"Only this morning," the Skipper replied; he was lighting his third cigar since coming back. "Only this mornin'—couldn't keep it to himself any longer—came and told me. Umph!" (I suppose that he saw I looked as if I might have been told too) "I'd have told you then, Truscott, but I wasn't certain of him till to-night, and wasn't going to let you think 'Old Lest' had had his leg pulled again, if he turned out a wrong 'un."
"What happened to-night, then, sir?" I asked.
"Directly they saw us coming along, the yacht began to push inland—close up to the town, up a bit of a creek—and just as it was getting dark, we saw the tramp steamer trying to do the same. I wanted to shove along after them, but he wouldn't let me, said we should have to pass within twenty yards of a battery, and they had had plenty of time to man the guns. He said it didn't matter either, as the tramp couldn't get up there, and would be aground before she'd gone fifty yards. He promised to find her, too, later on, and I took him at his word. They blazed off a few rounds at us, I kept 'em busy for a few minutes, and then lay off, out of sight, as if I'd gone back again."
"I didn't know what had happened, sir, when I could neither hear nor see anything of you. I was in a bit of a 'stew' when you didn't come back.
"I wanted to go and torpedo her, but he wouldn't let me. Said she'd be half out of water in another two hours, and he'd do the job then, without getting into danger."
"He did, too; guided us in—how he did it, beats me—somehow or other got her in between us and the battery, and we let rip a torpedo right into her bottom, just amidship. We weren't fifty yards away, and not a soul saw us till we'd fired. I tell you, Truscott, that man's straight. 'Old Lest' don't often make a mistake when he's sized a man up and seen him under fire. He's as straight as a die. It was his own steamer he blew up."
"Well, he's the first man's advice you've ever listened to, sir," I said, smiling.
"Umph!" he growled, "but 'mum's' the word;" and he patted old Blucher, who was squatting between his knees and yawning.
"If he can't get back to that cutter—and I don't know how the dickens he means to do so—he'll go across to the back of the island."
"What boat shall I send, sir?" I asked, getting up, for it was time to be off; it was nearly three in the morning.
"Send the other cutter, and Trevelyan; I believe in that chap," he growled. "Umph! You are going to turn in, eh? Umph! All right! I'll write home to the Missus and the Admiral. Don't know when I can send 'em. Umph!"
"Have you read Rashleigh's report?" he asked me, as I was going out. "I've read it again. He don't say much about Trevelyan and Ford."
"No, he doesn't, sir; and I've heard their accounts. They throw rather a fresh light on the loss of the two junks. Well, perhaps not quite that, but they seem to have done better than we thought."
"Umph! Good night! Tell 'em to send their reports to me—to write 'em."
I left him lighting a fresh cigar—a marvellous old chap he was—and warned Trevelyan and his boat's crew before I turned in myself.
On deck they had seen nothing of the two boats, still remaining inshore, and I felt extremely sorry for the drowned rats in them.
CHAPTER X
The Vigilant under Fire
A Foolhardy Undertaking—"Who's Captain?"—Mr. Trevelyan Returns—Taking Precautions—The Skipper's Plans—A Ticklish Job—The Commander's Show—The Skipper's Few Words
Written by Commander Truscott
I sent Trevelyan away an hour before sunrise, and told him where to lie off and wait for any sign of Hoffman and the Chinaman—they were to wave a piece of red bunting—and then turned in for another forty winks, and was called as it grew light. I went up to the fore bridge and found the Skipper already there. He was smoking, even at this hour, and looked as fresh as paint, although he probably had had no sleep at all.
Hardly had I reached the bridge before we heard guns firing again, strained our eyes to see what was happening, and presently saw the steam boat puffing towards us, with the second cutter in tow.
"Get their breakfasts ready for 'em, Truscott; they'll want 'em, and 'Old Lest' wants his too;" and he went down below.
In twenty minutes the boats ran alongside, and pretty well worn out all the people were. Hoffman was the first to come aboard. I have never seen such a dirty object in my life. He was covered with mud from head to foot; even his face and hair were caked with it. He looked terribly exhausted. I felt a strange feeling of curiosity in speaking to him, now that I had learnt his history and the part he had played in shaping the events of the last two months. "Found out whether they are still there?" I asked him anxiously; but he shook his head, "Couldn't do it; too weak, Commander; had to give it up."
The Captain coming up then, took him down below.
"Brought back the steam cutter and the second cutter, sir," Whitmore reported. "I waited as long as I could, but that Chinaman never came back, and I daren't stay any longer, sir, as they began to plank shots all round us."
"What happened to Hoffman?" I asked. "He looks as if he had had a bad time."
Then Whitmore told me that Hoffman and his Chinaman had tried to get across the mud flats at low water, and find their way ashore in the dark. It was a foolhardy undertaking, because Hoffman was evidently not strong enough; but they lashed flat pieces of wood to their boots. Whitmore ran the cutter's bows into the mud, and they had crawled overboard and soon disappeared.
Whitmore backed the cutter into deep water and waited for them to return, and in about half an hour had heard a cry coming out of the darkness and had answered it, and rammed the boat into the mud again. Presently Hoffman came stumbling back, falling and scrambling to his feet, and floundering through the mud. He had lost one of his flat pieces of wood, and was unable to reach the shore. Sending on his Chinaman, he had tried to retrace his steps, and had had an awful time before he heard their hail. He only just had sufficient strength to get back to the boat, and had to be hauled in.
"That Chinaman didn't come back at daylight, sir. I don't know how he intended to do so, but, at any rate, we saw nothing of him."
I told him that Trevelyan had gone round to the back of the island, in case he tried to get off there.
"I hope you don't think I shoved off too soon, sir?" Whitmore asked me anxiously. "We were very nearly hit several times—as it was."
"My dear chap, of course not. Go down, have a hot bath and some food; you look as though you wanted both pretty badly. You've not had much of a time, I should fancy."
"I've never spent such a night in my life," Whitmore said, and I could quite believe him.
"That steamer is as safe as 'eggs', sir. She's right over on her side," he called out as he went below.
That was one thing accomplished satisfactorily.
As it turned out, he might have waited for that Chinaman till he was blue in the face—well, hardly that, for he was already blue in the face, but till he'd been sunk—because the Chinaman came off with Trevelyan a couple of hours later.
The Skipper was waiting for his return before making any plans; but long before that, something occurred which thoroughly upset him.
We were all at breakfast, when suddenly we heard the distant report of a heavy gun, and through the open scuttles could hear the "swish, swish" of a shell. Everyone jumped up and rushed on deck, the gunroom people clattering up behind us. "They've fired a gun at us, sir," the midshipman of the watch told me. "It went right between the masts and fell over there, sir," and he pointed to where you could still see the spray of the splash, just drifting to leeward, about four hundred yards away. "Don't think it was a shell, sir; no one heard it burst." He was extremely nervous and excited, twitching all over.
The Skipper came up his ladder, red in the face and indignant, and as he stepped on the quarterdeck there was a shout from for'ard, "They've fired again, sir!"
Several people sang out, "Can see it, sir, coming straight this way, sir!" a spout of water leaped into the air, and, "whizzle, whizzle"—with that funny whistling, whispering noise only a ricochetting projectile makes—it passed overhead, and fell close to where the first had fallen.
It was rather amusing to watch how our people "took it". One officer, whose name wild horses shouldn't drag out of me, threw himself flat down on deck, several tried to get behind each other, and most of them looked as if they were—well—thrown off their "balance". But you should have seen the Skipper. He stood there, with one foot on the quarterdeck. His mouth was wide open, his face was absolutely crimson, his eyes stood out of his head like lobsters' eyes, and his neck was so swollen that it was a purple colour, and even from where I stood I could see the veins standing out. He actually couldn't speak, he was in such a frightful rage.
"Close water-tight doors," I sang out, and "steam on the capstan," not knowing what else to do, and then went up to the Captain.
"Who's captain aboard this ship?" he managed to bring out; "Old Lest or you?"
Then, pausing to take breath, he roared: "What the—the—Jerusalem d'you mean by ordering steam on the capstan? D'you think 'Old Lest' is going to get up anchor, and move off, because a lousy Chinaman fires a gun at him? Umph! What's the range?"
"About eight thousand yards, sir."
"Well, he won't hit us," he growled, and with his field glasses slung round his bull neck, he commenced tramping up and down, scowling to left and right, as everyone hurriedly cleared over to the port side to get out of his way.
Two more shot—they certainly were not shell—came along presently, one after another. They were both a long way short, and ricochetted overhead like express trains. He never turned his head to look at them, but roared for me. "See those darned youngsters leanin' up against the quarterdeck rails! See 'em—loafin' on my quarterdeck! Give 'em half an hour's extra drill in the morning, and send them up to the masthead. I'll teach 'em to loaf."
I wanted to suggest clearing for "action", going to "General Quarters", and sending them a few rounds to quiet that gun, for a lucky shot of theirs might do a lot of damage, and they must get the range before long; but, to tell you the truth, I hadn't the courage to do so.
"I'll teach 'em to loaf," he growled again. "Sound off 'Divisions'."
The buglers rather nervously sounded off, and the men began "falling in". Pretty nervous they were, most of them, especially those with their backs turned to the shore; but they knew that this was "Old Lest's" way of "showing off", and I could see them winking at one another and grinning.
That was a "Divisions" with a vengeance. It usually lasted ten minutes, but this morning the Skipper, glaring and snorting, went round each "division" himself, stalking along and finding fault if a cap ribbon wasn't put on correctly, or any small detail of the men's uniform wasn't exactly to his liking; and there was no blinking or shrinking—the men simply dare not—whenever another boom was heard, and another shot came whistling past.
When he had at last finished, the men were all marched aft on the quarterdeck, and the young Padré, pale and nervous, and with half an eye for the shore, read prayers, making many mistakes, at which the Skipper growled like a bull dog. I'm certain that one of those projectiles passed not ten feet above us all, and it fell into the water not twenty yards the other side; but not a scrap of notice did the Skipper take, and presently they left off firing altogether, much to our relief. Then he growled out, "Umph! I said so," and went below.
In the middle of all this Trevelyan was sighted coming back round the corner from the other side of the island, and as soon as he came alongside, I saw that he had the Chinaman on board, and looked happy. "I've got him, sir, and from what I can make out, Hobbs and Sally are there all right. A lot of those shot have been pretty close, sir; I've been watching them all the way off. I wondered why you didn't fire back."
"Ask the Captain," I said, and took the Chinaman down to Hoffman's cabin, where the Skipper joined us, and we soon learnt the good news. He had not been able to communicate with them, but they were both safe, and were kept well guarded in an old house, with a high wall round it, just at the back of the town. It was on a little rising ground, and we thought we could actually make it out from the ship through our big telescope.
The man had heard that Evans—that was the name of the rascally Englishman—was laid up with fever. The town, he said, was in an uproar. Hoffman told us that he was always going down with fever, which generally lasted for four or five days, and that probably a Swede, named Jorgensen, was running the show. "It's a six-inch modern gun that they've got there," he said, "but they haven't much ammunition, and no shell at all for it; and it's just the mad, silly thing he would do, to go easing it off at this long range."
Hoffman kept on imploring us to prevent Hobbs and Sally being taken off somewhere again. He felt sure that Evans would try to do so, and told us that plenty of junks were always lying in the creeks at the back of the island, and could get away in half an hour, with the wind as it was now blowing.
"Directly he is well enough he'll be off, and take them with him. He doesn't care a straw about anything else, so long as he can force Sally to marry him, and bleed the old father. He won't wait for you to come and try to capture them, you may be certain of that." Hoffman was so earnest, that he made us realize the danger of the poor little girl being once more spirited away by that unscrupulous villain, and how very urgent was the necessity of losing no time in preventing this, at all costs.
The breeze was still blowing dead on shore, so that we were fairly certain that no junks could hope to beat out from this side and escape. The steam yacht dare not come out during the day, and as he had done last night, so the Skipper intended doing every night—leave a boat lying almost in the creek itself to signal directly she attempted to move. Till the arrival of the gunboats, we had nothing but the ship's boats to send round to the back of the island to patrol; and the Skipper was so impressed with Hoffman's earnestness, that he gave me orders to "man and arm" the sailing pinnace, the sailing launch, and the steam pinnace for this purpose. I had done this, and they were, in fact, just going to shove off, when they reported that the Ringdove was in sight.
The Captain belayed the boats and ordered Rashleigh round there instead. He had signalled, as he drew near, that he had found the pirate dépôt deserted, and not a junk of any sort or description to be seen, and had therefore come along here at his utmost speed. Whatever demerits Rashleigh may have had as a writer of despatches, he certainly could not have turned up at a more opportune moment, and we all felt grateful to him. I had forgotten to order Trevelyan and Ford to send in their own reports concerning the loss of their junks, but the arrival of the Ringdove reminded me of the Captain's order, and I sent for them. They were both very bitter about the way in which Rashleigh had reported on them, and I heard Ford say to Trevelyan as they went away, "I'll write a snorter, sir." As the reports had to go through my hands before the Skipper saw them, I knew that I should be able to "tone" them down if necessary, so said nothing at the time.
The Captain was in great good humour now, and had forgotten all about the firing and his morning's wrath. "Hoffman tells me," he said, "that there are about a thousand men ashore; got plenty of rifles, too, and ammunition, and will probably put up a good fight. So long as Hobbs and Sally are safe, 'Old Lest' ain't going to be hurried for nobody, and he's going to wait till the other gunboats come along. Can't do any more by myself, Truscott."
Hoffman himself was down with fever, and, old Mayhew told me, was pretty bad. I met him coming out of the cabin, and he held up a thermometer for me to look at. I couldn't get the hang of it myself, but he told me it marked 104 degrees.
"Get him on his legs again as soon as you can, old chap," I said; but Mayhew shrugged his shoulders, and he and Barclay went away together to yarn about him. Thank goodness the other wounded people, young Morton included, were doing well.
We took every precaution to prevent anything escaping that night, and sent in both Hoffman's Chinamen, with a couple of Very's lights apiece, with orders to try and find out if any attempt was made to move Hobbs or his daughter, and to fire them, down at the water's edge, if any such attempt was made.
They were evil enough looking fellows, but Hoffman swore that they were to be trusted, so we had to trust them.
The night passed quietly, and early next morning the Goldfinch and the Omaha arrived. The latter was at once sent round to assist the Ringdove at the back of the island, as her searchlight was much more powerful than the Ringdove's, and she would therefore be more useful there than on this side of the island.
In the afternoon the Sparrow also came along. They all reported that the Huan Min had rounded them up, and we felt very kindly disposed towards the melancholic Chinese Captain, and Lawrence's chum, Ching, and hoped they would bring the Huan Min along to share our adventures. The Sparrow and Goldfinch had left their junks behind, and brought the crews and guns and stores along with them, so that, I am glad to say, we had all our people aboard once more.
We felt now that it would be impossible for anything to escape from the island, and our feelings were much relieved. In fact, I think everyone felt sure now that it would only be a matter of a few days before the pretty little girl and her old father would be safe and sound on board; and all day long there was a constant stream of people going up to the fore bridge and looking through the big telescope to "spot" the house where they were imprisoned.
Directly the Skipper believed that the rascally Englishman and his pirate crews were at last cornered and unable to escape, he sent a letter ashore demanding the immediate release of Hobbs and his daughter, and the immediate surrender of the island. Whoever was in charge of the battery at the mouth of the creek respected the white flag, and the letter was jammed in one of a row of fishing stakes till some Chinese ventured out and took it ashore.
It was a mere matter of form. I do not suppose that anyone imagined that the man Evans would comply with either demand; and so it turned out, for he sent back—the morning after, when the same boat went in again—a most impudent letter, in which he stated that he was going to marry Miss Hobbs, and "hoping that it would not be necessary to hasten his marriage on account of any attempts being made to prevent it", a threat which infuriated the Skipper, and made us all feel extremely distressed.
The Skipper told me what his general plans were.
Two brigades were to be formed, one under his own command from the Vigilant, and the other under the command of Captain Parkinson of the Omaha from the gunboats.
They were to disembark at the back of the island, behind the town, at places about two miles apart, and were to march inland as quickly as possible, get between the town and that walled house, and join hands there.
He had not yet decided whether he would land at night or during the day, but rather favoured daylight. "Like to see where I'm goin', Truscott. 'Old Lest' ain't a badger."
This was the general idea, but to make certain that no chance should be left of Sally and her father being spirited away, the Ringdove and Omaha were ordered to destroy every junk and boat they could find in the three little creeks on their side of the island.
At the same time the Sparrow and Goldfinch were ordered to anchor as close in to the town as they could, to make escape impossible from there. They weighed anchor, and proceeded to take up their station inshore, directly after the receipt of the Englishman's letter, but had not steamed within five thousand yards of the town, when the six-inch opened fire on them. We watched anxiously, and saw that the first shots were very wild. They steadily kept on their way, and, unfortunately, almost directly afterwards, the Goldfinch was struck in the bows, and we could see was badly damaged. It was very awkward to know what to do, because the little hill, and the house in which Sally and Hobbs were imprisoned, were directly behind the six-inch gun, and might be damaged if they tried to return the fire. Their little four-inch guns were not of much use at that range, being very old and very inaccurate, and their erratic shells might have fallen anywhere.
The Skipper swore angrily, and ordered them to return, which they did, followed by six-inch projectiles, until they were well past us. It was a very anxious and exciting few minutes, because a single lucky shot would have sunk either of them, and many were falling extremely close.
We could see the hole in the Goldfinch's foc's'tle as she steamed up, and she signalled for medical aid, and that she had two men killed and four wounded. The Skipper cursed roundly, and sent Mayhew and Barclay across to her.
"You'll land and destroy that gun to-night, Truscott," he turned to me and growled out. "I daren't fire at it for fear of hurting the little lass, and I'm not going to have it interfering with my plans. Take what men you like, and make what plans you like, and blow it up. Umph!" and he went across to see what damage had been done aboard the Goldfinch.
This rather staggered me—I'd not been expecting anything of the kind—but I had sense enough to stammer out, "Thank you very much, sir," before he went away, and went off to find Whitmore, and to get Hoffman to assist us as well.
PLAN OF CREEK. (HECTOR ISLAND)
Whitmore was wildly excited; but he is a good deal younger than I am, and hasn't a wife to worry about, and I have, and a couple of youngsters too, which makes a good deal of difference.
Hoffman shook his head when he heard of the job, but gave us all the information he could. The six-inch gun, he told us, was mounted behind an open earthwork, on some rising ground, about five hundred yards from the little battery at the water's edge, the one that had fired at our boats on the first night.
He drew the rough plan which I show you opposite, and which I have lettered, so that you can understand more easily where we had to go and what we had to do.
Our first idea was to land clear of the battery and advance straight towards the six-inch gun; but Hoffman said that there were many native fishermen's huts all along the beach, and that we should wake their dogs before we'd gone five yards. Even if we did get past them, the ground between was a swamp, and after the continuous downpour of the last few days we should never get through it at night.
He sent for his Chinamen to help him, and apparently they were of the same opinion.
"How about landing on the other side of the island and approaching it from the rear?" I asked. He shook his head. "There are huts all over the island, and where there are huts there are dogs, and you'd wake every dog for miles. There's not the faintest chance of your rushing it and surprising the people there."
I scratched my head. I didn't like the job a little bit; but the Skipper had said it was to be done, so that was the end of it—it had to be done.
Whitmore suggested landing abreast the battery and rushing that.
Hoffman thought that could be done easily enough, though it was hardly worth it, in his opinion, as the guns were useless old smooth-bores. He was evidently afraid of irritating the people.
"If once they get out of hand," he said earnestly, with a haggard expression on his thin face, "they'll rush that house and murder Hobbs and little Sally."
Whitmore hadn't intended merely rushing the battery, but had thought out an entire scheme. One party was to rush the farther end of it—the right-hand end of it—the one opposite the fishing stakes, and they were not to try to do it silently, but to draw any fellows there towards them, whilst another party slipped round the left end and made their way up to the six-inch gun with a gun-cotton charge.
"The ground is all right if you could find your way in the dark," Hoffman told us.
"Why not send one of your fellows?" we suggested; but he said he couldn't trust them, couldn't be sure what they would do under fire, and besides, they were not natives of the place, and wouldn't know the way.
There are any number of small huts and fences and pitfalls there, and you could never get past them in the dark.
I had enough experience of Chinese villages to recognize that it would be a jolly ticklish job.
We left him then—he looked too ill to be worried any more—and went back to my cabin, taking his rough drawing with us.
The landing seemed easy enough—it was the getting back again which worried me. The party who held the right end of that battery would have to hold it for at least forty or fifty minutes; the destruction party couldn't possibly find their way up to the gun, disable it, and return in less time than that.
"It has to be done," I said finally, "and your way seems the best. We'll do it."
I don't mind confessing that I had never run a "real" show previously. Plenty of times I had worked out schemes, and carried them through successfully, at manoeuvres and things like that; but it was very different now, and I devoutly wished that the Captain hadn't put all the responsibility on my shoulders, and, without really meaning to do so, I more or less shifted it on to Whitmore's.
Whitmore wanted to land at nine o'clock, an hour before high water, so that we should have firmer ground under us, be able to get closer in to the battery, and have less trouble with the boats. I, however, thought the early morning the best time, somewhere about three o'clock, for my experience in manoeuvres and sham attacks had taught me that the attacked side was generally at its worst, and that men, all the world over, were more likely to be surprised and "shaken", at that hour. It had the disadvantage of being at low water, but we should have those fishing stakes to guide us. Hoffman had told us the mud was fairly firm there, and, perhaps what appealed to me most, daylight would not be far off.
Whitmore eventually gave way, and we decided that we would leave the ship at about 1.30 a.m., be towed as far as possible, and pull in with muffled oars.
Then it was a question of what men I should take, and I decided to take Marshall[#] and his forty marines. Speaking generally, they were an older lot of men than a seaman company, and the older the men were, the less liable they would be to lose their heads.
[#] Captain S. A. Marshall, R.M.L.I., was in command of the detachment of Royal Marines.
It was decided that I should rush the battery, and that Whitmore should take twenty picked men and three torpedo hands with the gun-cotton charges and try and make for the gun.
"How about midshipmen?" he asked.
I personally didn't want to take any; the job was too risky a one. However, we finally decided to take one each, and thought we had better choose Rawlings and Ford, as they had had some experience lately.
"Heads, Ford; tails, Rawlings," Whitmore said, tossing a dollar; and Ford fell to me. There was nothing to choose between the two boys.
I am not going to weary you with all the details which had to be thought out and prepared, but I will just say this. There is no possible similarity between preparing for a landing party or a sham fight during manoeuvres and preparing for the real thing. When you are getting ready for the first, someone comes along: "The Gunnery Lieutenant's compliments, sir, and he doesn't want the small-arm magazines opened this morning". "All right; very well," you say; so no ammunition is passed round, you take it for granted that water-bottles are filled, and a hundred-and-one other things which are essential in active warfare. Besides—and this is more serious than everything else put together—for one you prepare as for a football match, for the other you cannot help realizing that the lives of the men actually standing there in front of you, cheerfully getting ready, are to be dependent upon your judgment. If other people who have the same responsibility are as keenly conscious of their own lack of skill and experience as I was that day, I am very sorry for them.
By six o'clock in the evening everything that Whitmore and I could think of had been prepared. The men had all seen Hoffman's rough sketch, and all thoroughly understood what was to be done. They were thoroughly happy too, and the Skipper sending up to tell me that he wanted to say a few words to them, I fell them "in" on the quarterdeck. There was very little light, though enough to see his great wrinkled red face.
"Landing party present, sir," I reported, calling them to attention.
"Umph!" he said, speaking in his gruffest tones. "You went in last night, most of you, and blew a hole as big as a house in that tramp. You know why you did that, and got wet skins doing it—to stop 'em taking away the little lass, now I've cornered 'em. To-night the Commander is going to take you in to blow up that gun which had the confounded cheek to fire on the Vigilant the other day, and killed two men aboard the Goldfinch this forenoon.
"Umph!" he growled. "Last time the Royal Marine detachment went ashore there was a good deal of leave breakin'. I hope you'll all come back this time." (The men guffawed and chuckled.)
"Captain Marshall," he roared, and pointed to one of the front-rank men, "have that man's hair cut before he leaves the ship. He's a disgrace to the detachment;" and he went round and inspected them all.
"Well! Umph! Good luck to you!" and he looked them up and down again, growled, and went below, the marines all grinning with amusement.
I dismissed them.
"What a grand chap the old man is!" Marshall said. "No wonder the men would do anything for him. Hasn't he a grand 'few words'?"
The rain had ceased, and the night showed signs of being clear though cold, and the breeze was not strong enough to make boat work difficult.
I tried to make Ford and Rawlings turn in directly after dinner, but they—like the two young fools they were—were much too excited to do any such thing. I turned in myself, but that drawing which Hoffman had made seemed to haunt me. Directly I turned my light out and shut my eyes, I saw it, and even now, when I am much worried, it comes before me as clearly as it did that night.
I couldn't sleep a blessed wink, and at one o'clock my servant called me, bringing some cocoa and biscuits.
I had no appetite for anything, and it was so cold that I shivered as I dressed.
CHAPTER XI
The Landing Party
Left Behind—"You'll Do—Some Day"—"Dicky"—Preparation to Land—"Good Luck, Men!"—In the Boats—Scrambling Ashore—Rushing the Battery—Setting Fire to the Huts—A Hot Corner
Written by Midshipman Ford
I have so very much to tell you, that I hardly know where to start; but I think that I had better begin where we met the old Vigilant steaming away from Tinghai. It was simply grand to take Mr. Travers back to her, and to go alongside her in the dark with everybody looking over the side and cheering. There was a very nasty sea running, and they were a long time getting the wounded across; but no one was hurt, and it was splendid to know that Dicky would now be a jolly lot more comfortable than he could be in the Ringdove.
They gave Jim and me a splendid "blow out" in the gunroom, and we simply had a grand time. There was only one thing which made us miserable—the Captain didn't seem at all pleased. I had been so longing for him to be pleased—everything I had done I had done for him—and had been looking forward to what he would say when I saw him, and when he knew that I had rescued Mr. Travers.
It wasn't till after Mr. Rashleigh had gone away that he spotted me. I had been hanging about and getting in his way on purpose, and when he growled out in a surly manner, "Umph! Lost my junk, have you, and four good men—Umph!—and haven't got anything to show for 'em either?" and turned away, I almost felt inclined to blub, and Jim was just as miserable.