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.

[Illustration: 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.

[Illustration: "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."