"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.