"He’s told me all about it. He is running this show, or was."
"What d’you mean, sir?" I could hardly understand him.
"It’s this way, Truscott," and, puffing his cigar, and grunting and
growling, the Skipper told me the most extraordinary yarn I had ever
heard.
Hoffman had for years owned quite a small fleet of merchant steamers,
and had endeavoured to compete with the native junks for the coastal
trade between Ningpo, Shanghai, and the Chusan Archipelago. Local
prejudice and the hatred of the white foreigner had been too much for
him, and he had failed. The idea then occurred to him that if he could
make a clean sweep of the merchant junks throughout the islands, he
would have the monopoly of the carrying trade.
"That explains why we have seen so many small steamers about lately," I
burst out, absolutely dumbfounded.
"Umph! It does," the Skipper nodded, and went on to tell how Hoffman
had built and armed a fleet of large junks, and carried out the raids of
which we knew so well.
"But what’s he doing now?" I exclaimed. "Coming on board here half
starved?"
The Skipper explained. "That rascally skipper of the yacht was his
first lieutenant. It was he who did most of the work, headed most of
the expeditions, and thought himself as big a ’pot’ as his master. He
thought he would strike out a new line for himself, too, and kidnapped
Hobbs and Sally. Thought he’d get enough ransom to make his ’pile’ in
one swoop."
The Skipper went on to tell me that this wasn’t Hoffman’s idea of doing
business, and that it was owing to him that they escaped, that time they
were picked up by the _Huan Min_. It meant finally breaking with the
Englishman, and (Hobbs told us, I remember, that he had heard a scuffle
that night) they actually had come to blows, Hobbs and his daughter
being shoved off alone in the boat during the confusion.
Next morning Hoffman had found himself practically a prisoner. Nearly
the whole of the Chinese sided with the good-looking scoundrel, who had
so often led them on their forays, and the German had to clear out, and
was lucky to find a junk whose crew remained faithful to him. That is
how he first came to Tinghai, and it was there that he saw Hobbs and his
daughter for the first time. The girl reminded him of his wife, or
daughter, at home in Germany. He hadn’t seen either of them for twenty
years, and the daughter would have been about her age. At any rate,
whatever it was that made him take such a fancy to her, he wasn’t going
to let her fall into that chap’s hands again. Directly he had heard of
the raid at the Tu Pu Monastery, he had gone across to endeavour to
regain his influence over his men, found that impossible, but learnt
that they were going to raid Tinghai itself and kidnap Hobbs and the
girl again. He had come back in his junk as fast as he could, but too
late to save her.
That accounted, then, for his sudden appearance at the burning Mission.
He had landed in the same bay as the pirates themselves, an hour or more
behind them, and rushed up to the Mission, but too late to save her.
"Travers says that he saw two boats there, sir. Probably those were the
two close together, and probably Hoffman’s made that third mark we saw
farther along the shore."
"Dare say it was," the Skipper grunted; "and he tells me, too, that he
got away about half an hour after they had left."
"Trevelyan is a regular Sherlock Holmes," I said. "I must tell him;
he’ll be very pleased."
But the Skipper scowled and growled, "No, no; I don’t want anyone to
know yet;" and went on with his yarn, whilst I listened, wideawake
enough, you may be sure, although it was past two in the morning.
"Hoffman thought that the people at his dépôt in the Chung-li Tao Group
would still stand by him, so packed off there," the Skipper went on to
tell me, "and found the old Scotch engineer in charge of the place. It
was this man who had separated him and the Englishman—that night they
fought. He was a friend of his, and gave up the place and the junks;
and everything was going well, till one morning the Englishman appeared
off the town, fired a few rounds from the tramp steamer, the junks’
crews wouldn’t fight, and Hoffman had to surrender. He was eventually
taken to the Hector Group, and kept there till he managed to escape to
us again."
"Travers heard some fighting, but never saw Hoffman," I interrupted.
"Well, Hoffman was hardly likely to give himself away by interviewing
him. At any rate, that was the reason he gave me when I asked him," the
Skipper said. "He was waiting until he felt more sure of his people
before trying to get him away—he couldn’t trust any of them—and the
chance never came."
"By the way, sir," I said, suddenly remembering that he had not come
back, "where is he now?"
"Umph! I left him and one of his Chinese fellows in the boats. They’re
going to try and get ashore to-night at low water, find their way across
the mud, and see if Sally and Old Hobbs are still there. The boats are
to wait for them for half an hour after daybreak. If Hoffman and his
man don’t turn up then, the boats have to come back to the ship, and
I’ve told him I’ll have another waiting at the back of the island for
him. There’s a big rock somewhere there—can’t mistake it, he says—and I
want you to send a boat round there in case he can’t get back this
side."
"He’s not strong enough for much hard work, I fear, sir," I said.
"’Fraid not, Truscott; ’fraid not."
"Whenever did you know all about this, sir?" I asked. I was a little
nettled that I hadn’t been told before.
"Only this morning," the Skipper replied; he was lighting his third
cigar since coming back. "Only this mornin’—couldn’t keep it to himself
any longer—came and told me. Umph!" (I suppose that he saw I looked as
if I might have been told too) "I’d have told you then, Truscott, but I
wasn’t certain of him till to-night, and wasn’t going to let you think
’Old Lest’ had had his leg pulled again, if he turned out a wrong ’un."
"What happened to-night, then, sir?" I asked.
"Directly they saw us coming along, the yacht began to push inland—close
up to the town, up a bit of a creek—and just as it was getting dark, we
saw the tramp steamer trying to do the same. I wanted to shove along
after them, but he wouldn’t let me, said we should have to pass within
twenty yards of a battery, and they had had plenty of time to man the
guns. He said it didn’t matter either, as the tramp couldn’t get up
there, and would be aground before she’d gone fifty yards. He promised
to find her, too, later on, and I took him at his word. They blazed off
a few rounds at us, I kept ’em busy for a few minutes, and then lay off,
out of sight, as if I’d gone back again."
"I didn’t know what had happened, sir, when I could neither hear nor see
anything of you. I was in a bit of a ’stew’ when you didn’t come back.
"I wanted to go and torpedo her, but he wouldn’t let me. Said she’d be
half out of water in another two hours, and he’d do the job then,
without getting into danger."
"He did, too; guided us in—how he did it, beats me—somehow or other got
her in between us and the battery, and we let rip a torpedo right into
her bottom, just amidship. We weren’t fifty yards away, and not a soul
saw us till we’d fired. I tell you, Truscott, that man’s straight. ’Old
Lest’ don’t often make a mistake when he’s sized a man up and seen him
under fire. He’s as straight as a die. It was his own steamer he blew
up."
"Well, he’s the first man’s advice you’ve ever listened to, sir," I
said, smiling.
"Umph!" he growled, "but ’mum’s’ the word;" and he patted old Blucher,
who was squatting between his knees and yawning.
"If he can’t get back to that cutter—and I don’t know how the dickens he
means to do so—he’ll go across to the back of the island."
"What boat shall I send, sir?" I asked, getting up, for it was time to
be off; it was nearly three in the morning.
"Send the other cutter, and Trevelyan; I believe in that chap," he
growled. "Umph! You are going to turn in, eh? Umph! All right! I’ll
write home to the Missus and the Admiral. Don’t know when I can send
’em. Umph!"
"Have you read Rashleigh’s report?" he asked me, as I was going out.
"I’ve read it again. He don’t say much about Trevelyan and Ford."
"No, he doesn’t, sir; and I’ve heard their accounts. They throw rather a
fresh light on the loss of the two junks. Well, perhaps not quite that,
but they seem to have done better than we thought."
"Umph! Good night! Tell ’em to send their reports to me—to write ’em."
I left him lighting a fresh cigar—a marvellous old chap he was—and
warned Trevelyan and his boat’s crew before I turned in myself.
On deck they had seen nothing of the two boats, still remaining inshore,
and I felt extremely sorry for the drowned rats in them.
*CHAPTER X*
*The Vigilant under Fire*
A Foolhardy Undertaking—"Who’s Captain?"—Mr. Trevelyan
Returns—Taking Precautions—The Skipper’s Plans—A Ticklish
Job—The Commander’s Show—The Skipper’s Few Words
_Written by Commander Truscott_
I sent Trevelyan away an hour before sunrise, and told him where to lie
off and wait for any sign of Hoffman and the Chinaman—they were to wave
a piece of red bunting—and then turned in for another forty winks, and
was called as it grew light. I went up to the fore bridge and found the
Skipper already there. He was smoking, even at this hour, and looked as
fresh as paint, although he probably had had no sleep at all.
Hardly had I reached the bridge before we heard guns firing again,
strained our eyes to see what was happening, and presently saw the steam
boat puffing towards us, with the second cutter in tow.
"Get their breakfasts ready for ’em, Truscott; they’ll want ’em, and
’Old Lest’ wants his too;" and he went down below.
In twenty minutes the boats ran alongside, and pretty well worn out all
the people were. Hoffman was the first to come aboard. I have never
seen such a dirty object in my life. He was covered with mud from head
to foot; even his face and hair were caked with it. He looked terribly
exhausted. I felt a strange feeling of curiosity in speaking to him,
now that I had learnt his history and the part he had played in shaping
the events of the last two months. "Found out whether they are still
there?" I asked him anxiously; but he shook his head, "Couldn’t do it;
too weak, Commander; had to give it up."
The Captain coming up then, took him down below.
"Brought back the steam cutter and the second cutter, sir," Whitmore
reported. "I waited as long as I could, but that Chinaman never came
back, and I daren’t stay any longer, sir, as they began to plank shots
all round us."
"What happened to Hoffman?" I asked. "He looks as if he had had a bad
time."
Then Whitmore told me that Hoffman and his Chinaman had tried to get
across the mud flats at low water, and find their way ashore in the
dark. It was a foolhardy undertaking, because Hoffman was evidently not
strong enough; but they lashed flat pieces of wood to their boots.
Whitmore ran the cutter’s bows into the mud, and they had crawled
overboard and soon disappeared.
Whitmore backed the cutter into deep water and waited for them to
return, and in about half an hour had heard a cry coming out of the
darkness and had answered it, and rammed the boat into the mud again.
Presently Hoffman came stumbling back, falling and scrambling to his
feet, and floundering through the mud. He had lost one of his flat
pieces of wood, and was unable to reach the shore. Sending on his
Chinaman, he had tried to retrace his steps, and had had an awful time
before he heard their hail. He only just had sufficient strength to get
back to the boat, and had to be hauled in.
"That Chinaman didn’t come back at daylight, sir. I don’t know how he
intended to do so, but, at any rate, we saw nothing of him."
I told him that Trevelyan had gone round to the back of the island, in
case he tried to get off there.
"I hope you don’t think I shoved off too soon, sir?" Whitmore asked me
anxiously. "We were very nearly hit several times—as it was."
"My dear chap, of course not. Go down, have a hot bath and some food;
you look as though you wanted both pretty badly. You’ve not had much of
a time, I should fancy."
"I’ve never spent such a night in my life," Whitmore said, and I could
quite believe him.
"That steamer is as safe as ’eggs’, sir. She’s right over on her side,"
he called out as he went below.
That was one thing accomplished satisfactorily.
As it turned out, he might have waited for that Chinaman till he was
blue in the face—well, hardly that, for he was already blue in the face,
but till he’d been sunk—because the Chinaman came off with Trevelyan a
couple of hours later.
The Skipper was waiting for his return before making any plans; but long
before that, something occurred which thoroughly upset him.
We were all at breakfast, when suddenly we heard the distant report of a
heavy gun, and through the open scuttles could hear the "swish, swish"
of a shell. Everyone jumped up and rushed on deck, the gunroom people
clattering up behind us. "They’ve fired a gun at us, sir," the
midshipman of the watch told me. "It went right between the masts and
fell over there, sir," and he pointed to where you could still see the
spray of the splash, just drifting to leeward, about four hundred yards
away. "Don’t think it was a shell, sir; no one heard it burst." He was
extremely nervous and excited, twitching all over.
The Skipper came up his ladder, red in the face and indignant, and as he
stepped on the quarterdeck there was a shout from for’ard, "They’ve
fired again, sir!"
Several people sang out, "Can see it, sir, coming straight this way,
sir!" a spout of water leaped into the air, and, "whizzle, whizzle"—with
that funny whistling, whispering noise only a ricochetting projectile
makes—it passed overhead, and fell close to where the first had fallen.
It was rather amusing to watch how our people "took it". One officer,
whose name wild horses shouldn’t drag out of me, threw himself flat down
on deck, several tried to get behind each other, and most of them looked
as if they were—well—thrown off their "balance". But you should have
seen the Skipper. He stood there, with one foot on the quarterdeck.
His mouth was wide open, his face was absolutely crimson, his eyes stood
out of his head like lobsters’ eyes, and his neck was so swollen that it
was a purple colour, and even from where I stood I could see the veins
standing out. He actually couldn’t speak, he was in such a frightful
rage.
"Close water-tight doors," I sang out, and "steam on the capstan," not
knowing what else to do, and then went up to the Captain.
"Who’s captain aboard this ship?" he managed to bring out; "Old Lest or
you?"
Then, pausing to take breath, he roared: "What the—the—Jerusalem d’you
mean by ordering steam on the capstan? D’you think ’Old Lest’ is going
to get up anchor, and move off, because a lousy Chinaman fires a gun at
him? Umph! What’s the range?"
"About eight thousand yards, sir."
"Well, he won’t hit us," he growled, and with his field glasses slung
round his bull neck, he commenced tramping up and down, scowling to left
and right, as everyone hurriedly cleared over to the port side to get
out of his way.
Two more shot—they certainly were not shell—came along presently, one
after another. They were both a long way short, and ricochetted
overhead like express trains. He never turned his head to look at them,
but roared for me. "See those darned youngsters leanin’ up against the
quarterdeck rails! See ’em—loafin’ on my quarterdeck! Give ’em half an
hour’s extra drill in the morning, and send them up to the masthead.
I’ll teach ’em to loaf."
I wanted to suggest clearing for "action", going to "General Quarters",
and sending them a few rounds to quiet that gun, for a lucky shot of
theirs might do a lot of damage, and they must get the range before
long; but, to tell you the truth, I hadn’t the courage to do so.
"I’ll teach ’em to loaf," he growled again. "Sound off ’Divisions’."
The buglers rather nervously sounded off, and the men began "falling
in". Pretty nervous they were, most of them, especially those with
their backs turned to the shore; but they knew that this was "Old
Lest’s" way of "showing off", and I could see them winking at one
another and grinning.
That was a "Divisions" with a vengeance. It usually lasted ten minutes,
but this morning the Skipper, glaring and snorting, went round each
"division" himself, stalking along and finding fault if a cap ribbon
wasn’t put on correctly, or any small detail of the men’s uniform wasn’t
exactly to his liking; and there was no blinking or shrinking—the men
simply dare not—whenever another boom was heard, and another shot came
whistling past.
When he had at last finished, the men were all marched aft on the
quarterdeck, and the young Padré, pale and nervous, and with half an eye
for the shore, read prayers, making many mistakes, at which the Skipper
growled like a bull dog. I’m certain that one of those projectiles
passed not ten feet above us all, and it fell into the water not twenty
yards the other side; but not a scrap of notice did the Skipper take,
and presently they left off firing altogether, much to our relief. Then
he growled out, "Umph! I said so," and went below.
In the middle of all this Trevelyan was sighted coming back round the
corner from the other side of the island, and as soon as he came
alongside, I saw that he had the Chinaman on board, and looked happy.
"I’ve got him, sir, and from what I can make out, Hobbs and Sally are
there all right. A lot of those shot have been pretty close, sir; I’ve
been watching them all the way off. I wondered why you didn’t fire
back."
"Ask the Captain," I said, and took the Chinaman down to Hoffman’s
cabin, where the Skipper joined us, and we soon learnt the good news.
He had not been able to communicate with them, but they were both safe,
and were kept well guarded in an old house, with a high wall round it,
just at the back of the town. It was on a little rising ground, and we
thought we could actually make it out from the ship through our big
telescope.
The man had heard that Evans—that was the name of the rascally
Englishman—was laid up with fever. The town, he said, was in an uproar.
Hoffman told us that he was always going down with fever, which
generally lasted for four or five days, and that probably a Swede, named
Jorgensen, was running the show. "It’s a six-inch modern gun that
they’ve got there," he said, "but they haven’t much ammunition, and no
shell at all for it; and it’s just the mad, silly thing he would do, to
go easing it off at this long range."
Hoffman kept on imploring us to prevent Hobbs and Sally being taken off
somewhere again. He felt sure that Evans would try to do so, and told
us that plenty of junks were always lying in the creeks at the back of
the island, and could get away in half an hour, with the wind as it was
now blowing.
"Directly he is well enough he’ll be off, and take them with him. He
doesn’t care a straw about anything else, so long as he can force Sally
to marry him, and bleed the old father. He won’t wait for you to come
and try to capture them, you may be certain of that." Hoffman was so
earnest, that he made us realize the danger of the poor little girl
being once more spirited away by that unscrupulous villain, and how very
urgent was the necessity of losing no time in preventing this, at all
costs.
The breeze was still blowing dead on shore, so that we were fairly
certain that no junks could hope to beat out from this side and escape.
The steam yacht dare not come out during the day, and as he had done
last night, so the Skipper intended doing every night—leave a boat lying
almost in the creek itself to signal directly she attempted to move.
Till the arrival of the gunboats, we had nothing but the ship’s boats to
send round to the back of the island to patrol; and the Skipper was so
impressed with Hoffman’s earnestness, that he gave me orders to "man and
arm" the sailing pinnace, the sailing launch, and the steam pinnace for
this purpose. I had done this, and they were, in fact, just going to
shove off, when they reported that the _Ringdove_ was in sight.
The Captain belayed the boats and ordered Rashleigh round there instead.
He had signalled, as he drew near, that he had found the pirate dépôt
deserted, and not a junk of any sort or description to be seen, and had
therefore come along here at his utmost speed. Whatever demerits
Rashleigh may have had as a writer of despatches, he certainly could not
have turned up at a more opportune moment, and we all felt grateful to
him. I had forgotten to order Trevelyan and Ford to send in their own
reports concerning the loss of their junks, but the arrival of the
_Ringdove_ reminded me of the Captain’s order, and I sent for them.
They were both very bitter about the way in which Rashleigh had reported
on them, and I heard Ford say to Trevelyan as they went away, "I’ll
write a snorter, sir." As the reports had to go through my hands before
the Skipper saw them, I knew that I should be able to "tone" them down
if necessary, so said nothing at the time.
The Captain was in great good humour now, and had forgotten all about
the firing and his morning’s wrath. "Hoffman tells me," he said, "that
there are about a thousand men ashore; got plenty of rifles, too, and
ammunition, and will probably put up a good fight. So long as Hobbs and
Sally are safe, ’Old Lest’ ain’t going to be hurried for nobody, and
he’s going to wait till the other gunboats come along. Can’t do any
more by myself, Truscott."
Hoffman himself was down with fever, and, old Mayhew told me, was pretty
bad. I met him coming out of the cabin, and he held up a thermometer
for me to look at. I couldn’t get the hang of it myself, but he told me
it marked 104 degrees.
"Get him on his legs again as soon as you can, old chap," I said; but
Mayhew shrugged his shoulders, and he and Barclay went away together to
yarn about him. Thank goodness the other wounded people, young Morton
included, were doing well.
We took every precaution to prevent anything escaping that night, and
sent in both Hoffman’s Chinamen, with a couple of Very’s lights apiece,
with orders to try and find out if any attempt was made to move Hobbs or
his daughter, and to fire them, down at the water’s edge, if any such
attempt was made.
They were evil enough looking fellows, but Hoffman swore that they were
to be trusted, so we had to trust them.
The night passed quietly, and early next morning the _Goldfinch_ and the
_Omaha_ arrived. The latter was at once sent round to assist the
_Ringdove_ at the back of the island, as her searchlight was much more
powerful than the _Ringdove’s_, and she would therefore be more useful
there than on this side of the island.
In the afternoon the _Sparrow_ also came along. They all reported that
the _Huan Min_ had rounded them up, and we felt very kindly disposed
towards the melancholic Chinese Captain, and Lawrence’s chum, Ching, and
hoped they would bring the _Huan Min_ along to share our adventures.
The _Sparrow_ and _Goldfinch_ had left their junks behind, and brought
the crews and guns and stores along with them, so that, I am glad to
say, we had all our people aboard once more.
We felt now that it would be impossible for anything to escape from the
island, and our feelings were much relieved. In fact, I think everyone
felt sure now that it would only be a matter of a few days before the
pretty little girl and her old father would be safe and sound on board;
and all day long there was a constant stream of people going up to the
fore bridge and looking through the big telescope to "spot" the house
where they were imprisoned.
Directly the Skipper believed that the rascally Englishman and his
pirate crews were at last cornered and unable to escape, he sent a
letter ashore demanding the immediate release of Hobbs and his daughter,
and the immediate surrender of the island. Whoever was in charge of the
battery at the mouth of the creek respected the white flag, and the
letter was jammed in one of a row of fishing stakes till some Chinese
ventured out and took it ashore.
It was a mere matter of form. I do not suppose that anyone imagined
that the man Evans would comply with either demand; and so it turned
out, for he sent back—the morning after, when the same boat went in
again—a most impudent letter, in which he stated that he was going to
marry Miss Hobbs, and "hoping that it would not be necessary to hasten
his marriage on account of any attempts being made to prevent it", a
threat which infuriated the Skipper, and made us all feel extremely
distressed.
The Skipper told me what his general plans were.
Two brigades were to be formed, one under his own command from the
_Vigilant_, and the other under the command of Captain Parkinson of the
_Omaha_ from the gunboats.
They were to disembark at the back of the island, behind the town, at
places about two miles apart, and were to march inland as quickly as
possible, get between the town and that walled house, and join hands
there.
He had not yet decided whether he would land at night or during the day,
but rather favoured daylight. "Like to see where I’m goin’, Truscott.
’Old Lest’ ain’t a badger."
This was the general idea, but to make certain that no chance should be
left of Sally and her father being spirited away, the _Ringdove_ and
_Omaha_ were ordered to destroy every junk and boat they could find in
the three little creeks on their side of the island.
At the same time the _Sparrow_ and _Goldfinch_ were ordered to anchor as
close in to the town as they could, to make escape impossible from
there. They weighed anchor, and proceeded to take up their station
inshore, directly after the receipt of the Englishman’s letter, but had
not steamed within five thousand yards of the town, when the six-inch
opened fire on them. We watched anxiously, and saw that the first shots
were very wild. They steadily kept on their way, and, unfortunately,
almost directly afterwards, the _Goldfinch_ was struck in the bows, and
we could see was badly damaged. It was very awkward to know what to do,
because the little hill, and the house in which Sally and Hobbs were
imprisoned, were directly behind the six-inch gun, and might be damaged
if they tried to return the fire. Their little four-inch guns were not
of much use at that range, being very old and very inaccurate, and their
erratic shells might have fallen anywhere.
The Skipper swore angrily, and ordered them to return, which they did,
followed by six-inch projectiles, until they were well past us. It was
a very anxious and exciting few minutes, because a single lucky shot
would have sunk either of them, and many were falling extremely close.
We could see the hole in the _Goldfinch’s_ foc’s’tle as she steamed up,
and she signalled for medical aid, and that she had two men killed and
four wounded. The Skipper cursed roundly, and sent Mayhew and Barclay
across to her.
"You’ll land and destroy that gun to-night, Truscott," he turned to me
and growled out. "I daren’t fire at it for fear of hurting the little
lass, and I’m not going to have it interfering with my plans. Take what
men you like, and make what plans you like, and blow it up. Umph!" and
he went across to see what damage had been done aboard the _Goldfinch_.
This rather staggered me—I’d not been expecting anything of the kind—but
I had sense enough to stammer out, "Thank you very much, sir," before he
went away, and went off to find Whitmore, and to get Hoffman to assist
us as well.
[Illustration: PLAN OF CREEK. (HECTOR ISLAND)]
Whitmore was wildly excited; but he is a good deal younger than I am,
and hasn’t a wife to worry about, and I have, and a couple of youngsters
too, which makes a good deal of difference.
Hoffman shook his head when he heard of the job, but gave us all the
information he could. The six-inch gun, he told us, was mounted behind
an open earthwork, on some rising ground, about five hundred yards from
the little battery at the water’s edge, the one that had fired at our
boats on the first night.
He drew the rough plan which I show you opposite, and which I have
lettered, so that you can understand more easily where we had to go and
what we had to do.
Our first idea was to land clear of the battery and advance straight
towards the six-inch gun; but Hoffman said that there were many native
fishermen’s huts all along the beach, and that we should wake their dogs
before we’d gone five yards. Even if we did get past them, the ground
between was a swamp, and after the continuous downpour of the last few
days we should never get through it at night.
He sent for his Chinamen to help him, and apparently they were of the
same opinion.
"How about landing on the other side of the island and approaching it
from the rear?" I asked. He shook his head. "There are huts all over
the island, and where there are huts there are dogs, and you’d wake
every dog for miles. There’s not the faintest chance of your rushing it
and surprising the people there."
I scratched my head. I didn’t like the job a little bit; but the
Skipper had said it was to be done, so that was the end of it—it had to
be done.
Whitmore suggested landing abreast the battery and rushing that.
Hoffman thought that could be done easily enough, though it was hardly
worth it, in his opinion, as the guns were useless old smooth-bores. He
was evidently afraid of irritating the people.
"If once they get out of hand," he said earnestly, with a haggard
expression on his thin face, "they’ll rush that house and murder Hobbs
and little Sally."
Whitmore hadn’t intended merely rushing the battery, but had thought out
an entire scheme. One party was to rush the farther end of it—the
right-hand end of it—the one opposite the fishing stakes, and they were
not to try to do it silently, but to draw any fellows there towards
them, whilst another party slipped round the left end and made their way
up to the six-inch gun with a gun-cotton charge.
"The ground is all right if you could find your way in the dark,"
Hoffman told us.
"Why not send one of your fellows?" we suggested; but he said he
couldn’t trust them, couldn’t be sure what they would do under fire, and
besides, they were not natives of the place, and wouldn’t know the way.
There are any number of small huts and fences and pitfalls there, and
you could never get past them in the dark.
I had enough experience of Chinese villages to recognize that it would
be a jolly ticklish job.
We left him then—he looked too ill to be worried any more—and went back
to my cabin, taking his rough drawing with us.
The landing seemed easy enough—it was the getting back again which
worried me. The party who held the right end of that battery would have
to hold it for at least forty or fifty minutes; the destruction party
couldn’t possibly find their way up to the gun, disable it, and return
in less time than that.
"It has to be done," I said finally, "and your way seems the best.
We’ll do it."
I don’t mind confessing that I had never run a "real" show previously.
Plenty of times I had worked out schemes, and carried them through
successfully, at manoeuvres and things like that; but it was very
different now, and I devoutly wished that the Captain hadn’t put all the
responsibility on my shoulders, and, without really meaning to do so, I
more or less shifted it on to Whitmore’s.
Whitmore wanted to land at nine o’clock, an hour before high water, so
that we should have firmer ground under us, be able to get closer in to
the battery, and have less trouble with the boats. I, however, thought
the early morning the best time, somewhere about three o’clock, for my
experience in manoeuvres and sham attacks had taught me that the
attacked side was generally at its worst, and that men, all the world
over, were more likely to be surprised and "shaken", at that hour. It
had the disadvantage of being at low water, but we should have those
fishing stakes to guide us. Hoffman had told us the mud was fairly firm
there, and, perhaps what appealed to me most, daylight would not be far
off.
Whitmore eventually gave way, and we decided that we would leave the
ship at about 1.30 a.m., be towed as far as possible, and pull in with
muffled oars.
Then it was a question of what men I should take, and I decided to take
Marshall[#] and his forty marines. Speaking generally, they were an
older lot of men than a seaman company, and the older the men were, the
less liable they would be to lose their heads.
[#] Captain S. A. Marshall, R.M.L.I., was in command of the detachment
of Royal Marines.
It was decided that I should rush the battery, and that Whitmore should
take twenty picked men and three torpedo hands with the gun-cotton
charges and try and make for the gun.
"How about midshipmen?" he asked.
I personally didn’t want to take any; the job was too risky a one.
However, we finally decided to take one each, and thought we had better
choose Rawlings and Ford, as they had had some experience lately.
"Heads, Ford; tails, Rawlings," Whitmore said, tossing a dollar; and
Ford fell to me. There was nothing to choose between the two boys.
I am not going to weary you with all the details which had to be thought
out and prepared, but I will just say this. There is no possible
similarity between preparing for a landing party or a sham fight during
manoeuvres and preparing for the real thing. When you are getting ready
for the first, someone comes along: "The Gunnery Lieutenant’s
compliments, sir, and he doesn’t want the small-arm magazines opened
this morning". "All right; very well," you say; so no ammunition is
passed round, you take it for granted that water-bottles are filled, and
a hundred-and-one other things which are essential in active warfare.
Besides—and this is more serious than everything else put together—for
one you prepare as for a football match, for the other you cannot help
realizing that the lives of the men actually standing there in front of
you, cheerfully getting ready, are to be dependent upon your judgment.
If other people who have the same responsibility are as keenly conscious
of their own lack of skill and experience as I was that day, I am very
sorry for them.
By six o’clock in the evening everything that Whitmore and I could think
of had been prepared. The men had all seen Hoffman’s rough sketch, and
all thoroughly understood what was to be done. They were thoroughly
happy too, and the Skipper sending up to tell me that he wanted to say a
few words to them, I fell them "in" on the quarterdeck. There was very
little light, though enough to see his great wrinkled red face.
"Landing party present, sir," I reported, calling them to attention.
"Umph!" he said, speaking in his gruffest tones. "You went in last
night, most of you, and blew a hole as big as a house in that tramp.
You know why you did that, and got wet skins doing it—to stop ’em taking
away the little lass, now I’ve cornered ’em. To-night the Commander is
going to take you in to blow up that gun which had the confounded cheek
to fire on the _Vigilant_ the other day, and killed two men aboard the
_Goldfinch_ this forenoon.
"Umph!" he growled. "Last time the Royal Marine detachment went ashore
there was a good deal of leave breakin’. I hope you’ll all come back
this time." (The men guffawed and chuckled.)
"Captain Marshall," he roared, and pointed to one of the front-rank men,
"have that man’s hair cut before he leaves the ship. He’s a disgrace to
the detachment;" and he went round and inspected them all.
"Well! Umph! Good luck to you!" and he looked them up and down again,
growled, and went below, the marines all grinning with amusement.