But at last came the time when the _Puffin_ was ordered to sea, and at
8.30 on that fateful morning the gunboat, with her gallant commander
standing on the poop in the attitude of Sir Francis Drake starting on
his circumnavigation of the world, paddled gently down the crowded
harbour and out through the Lye-mun pass. It was in this narrow
passage that they had their altercation with a lumbering Chinese junk
tacking slowly to and fro against the tide.
"Hard a-port!" ordered Falland, who was conning the ship.
"Hard a-starboard!" contradicted the Commander excitedly. "What are
you thinking about, Mr. Falland?"
The Navigator's order would have taken the ship well clear, but the
helmsman, perplexed by having two diametrically opposite commands
hurled at his head simultaneously, and not knowing which to obey, did
nothing.
There came a howl from the gunboat's forecastle and a frantic,
blasphemous yelling from a party of Chinamen clustered on the junk's
high poop.
"Full speed astern!" roared Potvin.
But it was too late, for a moment afterwards the _Puffin's_ flying
jib-boom slid neatly through the very centre of the matting sail on the
junk's mizzen mast. More shrill cursing and strident execration from
the junk, followed by a series of bumps and crashes as the two vessels
collided, bow to stern. A large pig, suspended, according to the
pleasant habit of the Chinese, in a wicker-work basket over the junk's
quarter, also two similar baskets filled with fowls, became detached
from their moorings and fell overboard. Then the junk's mizzen-mast
began to bend ominously, and before long, amidst more shrieks and
yells, it snapped off short and collapsed on the poop, knocking one
elderly Chinaman and two children into the water as it fell. It was
followed almost immediately afterwards by the _Puffin's_ flying
jib-boom.
The gunboat's engines were stopped and the two vessels drifted together
side by side, while a party with axes set to work to clear away the
wreckage.
"Why on earth don't you look where you're going?" the Commander bawled
at the junkmaster.
"Yah me ping wi taow!" howled the Chinaman, which, being interpreted,
means, "You tailless son of a devil," the greatest possible insult.
It was followed by more mutual abuse and recrimination, but the
gentleman in the junk, since Commander Potvin could not understand a
word he said, was popularly supposed to have got the best of the wordy
encounter.
But the skipper was quite determined to have somebody's blood, and
seeing he could make no impression on the junk, vented his spleen on
the Navigator.
"Mr. Falland!" he exclaimed, his eyes flashing and his heart full of
rage. "The collision was entirely your fault. I shall report the
matter to the Admiral, and meanwhile you will remain in your cabin
under arrest!"
"But, sir. I really----"
"I require no explanations, sir. You are guilty of gross neglect and
carelessness!"
Falland left the poop.
The damage was not sufficiently serious to delay the ship, and, having
chopped herself free, she proceeded on her journey, her Commander
taking upon himself the duties of the deposed Navigator.
It was unfortunate that, in calculating the course to be steered, he
applied 3° deviation the wrong way. It was equally unfortunate that he
miscalculated the set of the current, since it was these two things
which, at 11.53 a.m. precisely, caused the gunboat to come into violent
contact with a ledge of rocks with barely six feet of water over them
at high water.
"Good heavens! What's that?" shouted the skipper, as there came a
series of muffled, grinding crashes under water and the ship stopped
dead.
"We've hit something, sir," said Pardoe, who was on the poop. They
had, and for some hours remained stuck fast. In fact, the _Puffin's_
bones would have been there to this day if she had not been steaming at
her leisurely, economical speed of 7 1/2 knots, and it was only by
sheer good luck, and with the assistance of salvage tugs and appliances
from Hong-Kong, that she was ever got off at all. As it was she was
merely badly damaged, and came back into harbour in tow of one tug,
while a couple of others, with their pumps working at full speed and
gushing forth streams of water, were lashed alongside her.
Falland was not court-martialled, but a week later Commander Potvin,
after an interview with the Admiral and certain medical officers, found
that the climate of Hong-Kong was too rigorous for his constitution,
and embarked on board a P. and O. steamer for passage home to England
_en route_ for Yarmouth.
The gunboat's officers watched her until she was out of sight, and then
repaired to the wardroom and indulged in cocktails.
"I'm sorry for him," said No. One, lifting his glass with a grin.
"Here's luck to him, and to us."
"Salve," nodded the doctor, swallowing his potion at a gulp.
The Royal Naval Hospital for mental cases is situated at Yarmouth.
[1] The commanding officer of a man-of-war, whatever his rank, is
always "the captain." More familiarly he may be referred to "the
owner," "skipper," or "old man."