We waited for nearly half an hour, we all were fearfully nervous, and
Mr. Trevelyan kept on saying, "I shall have to wake the Commander if he
doesn’t come back in another three minutes," and would wait, and say it
again. And at last he actually started to go down to the Commander’s
cabin, but before he had got halfway down, the _Tyne’s_ masthead signal
lamp began winking and blinking.
"She’s calling us up, sir!" the signalman sang out; and oh! it was such
a relief, for she signalled, "Mr. Rawlings is aboard", and I was awfully
thankful. She was right astern of us, quite half a mile, and he must
have been drowned if he had missed her, as there was nothing astern of
her, no buoys, or ships, or anything to hold on to.
Dicky ran down below. He is such a soft-hearted chap.
We signalled across that we would send for him, and three of the ward
room officers, in their pyjamas, fetched him in the skiff, and I almost
blubbed with delight when he came alongside, looking like a drowned rat,
and pulling at an oar to warm himself.
We got him down below and out of his wet things, and presently Mr.
Langham and the others came back in the gig.
They had pulled round all the buoys astern of the _Ringdove_ and tried
to find him, and alongside the _Tamar_, hoping to find him there, and
then, as a last chance, in a terrible state of fright, to the _Tyne_,
and had got the good news that he had just gone back in our skiff.
"I thought it was all U P," Mr. Langham said, and changed into dry
things; and then we all had a sardine supper in the gunroom, and most of
the ward-room officers came down too, and we were awfully happy and
contented, and Jim and Dicky and I "whoofed" two whole tins of sardines
between us. Jim told me that he was pretty nearly "done" when he
managed to grab hold of the _Tyne’s_ gangway, and couldn’t drag himself
out of the water till he had sung out, and someone had come down and
given him a hand.
We had to be awfully quiet, for fear of disturbing the Commander, whose
cabin was just overhead, and that was the only drawback to the supper.
Then we all turned into our hammocks; but Jim and I were much too
excited to sleep, and besides, we had eaten too much.
Wasn’t that a glorious night, and hadn’t we jolly well got level with
Mr. Rashleigh?
"Worth the risk, every time," Jim whispered.
"But won’t there be a glorious row to-morrow?" Dicky squeaked. He was
frightened about it already.
*CHAPTER XIX*
*The Captain Receives a Present*
"Old Lest" Flares Up—Recaptured from the Ringdove—Sally Again
_Written by Captain Marshall, Royal Marine Light Infantry_
Old Truscott has asked me to write this chapter, because he says that he
is so confoundedly busy paying off the old _Vigilant_, that he hasn’t a
moment to himself.
That is his reason for not being bothered with the job; but for all that
he manages to get into plain clothes all right, and fly to the beach and
the bosom of his family, directly after evening "quarters" every day.
He is so beastly happy, that I don’t really mind shoving another chapter
into this immortal book for him.
Although it is three months since we left Hong-Kong, I shall never
forget old Rashleigh, in frockcoat and sword, coming fuming on board
there, and wanting to see the Skipper about that wretched pop-gun which
he swore we had stolen from him during the night.
I most distinctly remember having assisted to hoist something on board,
at a most unusual hour of the night, but of course it was much too dark
for anyone to be able to swear their Bible oath that it was his gun,
though it certainly seemed to be wonderfully like it.
I said "good morning" to him as kindly as I could, and mentioned the
fact that we were having very seasonable weather for this time of the
year; but he was most distinctly rude, and when I saw his little eyes
sticking out of his head, squinting round the quarterdeck and expecting
to see his gun there, I nearly died of laughing.
His coxswain followed him up the ladder with some rope and blocks and
flung them down on the deck.
"There’s your confounded tackle you left aboard me last night. You’re a
confounded lot of burglars, the whole boiling lot of you," Rashleigh
said to the Commander, and I am certain I could detect some slight
traces of irritation in his manner.
Old Truscott himself flared up then—I’d never seen him angry before—and
cursed the coxswain for throwing the tackle on the quarterdeck, and
ordered him to pick it up again. He then took the fat little sausage,
stamping with rage and red as a lobster, down to see the Skipper, whilst
the others hauled me into the battery, banged me on the back, and
implored me in the most gentlemanly way to stow "’hee-hawing’, like a
whole pack of jackasses, you chump-headed son-of-a-sea-cook, or you’ll
be giving the whole show away".
As Trevelyan had been the officer of the watch when the dastardly
outrage was supposed to have taken place, he was sent for to throw some
light on the subject, and after Rashleigh had gone away we heard from
him all that had happened down there.
Neither the Skipper nor Truscott actually did know anything about it at
all, and when Rashleigh, like the blundering ass that he was, suggested
that they both did, the Skipper naturally flew into a rage, and after
Trevelyan and the quartermaster who had been on duty at the time had
sworn blindly that they’d seen nothing come on board during their watch
(they had taken jolly care to be out of the way whilst we hoisted it
in), he roared out, "What have you to say to that?" and little Rashleigh
didn’t know what to say, but was so madly angry, and so certain that no
other ship could have taken it, that he stammered out that he would like
the ship searched.
"Search ’Old Lest’s’ ship for your lousy gun! You! You!——"
Fortunately the Skipper could never do justice to his vocabulary when he
really was angry, so could not think of any particularly appropriate
epithets suitable for this occasion.
But Rashleigh wasn’t finished with yet, and stuttered out, "I’ll report
the whole thing to the Commander-in-chief!"
"Report till you’re blue in the face!" the Skipper roared. "You’ve got
no blessed right to the gun—no more right than the other gunboats; you
got it under false pretences, in the first place;" and he shook his
fists at him.
"If a gun and its carriage—umph!—can be taken off your quarterdeck
without anyone knowing about it, you must run your ship in a pretty
smart way. Umph! If you can’t be trusted to keep it safely, I’ll take
jolly good care you don’t get the chance again. You got it by a
lie—yes, a downright lie—and if it does turn up aboard here, you can
shout yourself hoarse for it. ’Old Lest’s’ blowed if he’ll give it you
again."
The Skipper practically turned him out of his cabin, and ordered him to
take the tackle back with him. Rashleigh was so furious when he went
back, that he was quite white in the face; and I mentioned the fact to
old Barclay as a phenomenon of medical interest, but he was so busy
trying to prevent himself exploding with laughter, that the interesting
information was wasted on him.
It was lucky that we left Hong-Kong two days afterwards, for feeling ran
so high between the two ships, that otherwise there would have been
serious trouble ashore between our liberty men and hers.
We steamed slowly away for "England, Home, and Beauty", with our
paying-off pendant streaming from our masthead, and the gilt bladder at
its end jumping about in the water astern of us, our wretched band
blaring away "For Auld Lang Syne"—a most inappropriate tune for the
"Ringdoves"—and "Rolling Home for Merry England", till we were halfway
through Lyemoon Pass.
The Commodore had made a "general signal"—"Cheer Ship"—and the unhappy
"Ringdoves" had to climb on her nettings and give us three cheers as we
passed, though little Rashleigh didn’t appear on deck, as you may
imagine. "Hardly what you’d call ’arty cheers," I mentioned to old
Whitmore, who had been brought up on deck to see the last of Hong-Kong.
We returned them with three absolutely "top hole" shouts, for there were
only two people aboard who didn’t know for certain that the gun was
somewhere on board us—the Skipper and Truscott—and they all knew that
the "Ringdoves" had no more right to it than the man in the moon, so
cheered "according".
We stayed a couple of months at Singapore, waiting for the _Fisgard_ to
come out and relieve us.
At last she arrived; we transferred some of the mids and cadets to her,
cheered ship, and away we went for Colombo and home.
I assure you, on my solemn "Alfred Davy", that till next morning neither
the Skipper nor Truscott did know anything about that gun, however much
they may have suspected. When I went on deck, the first morning after
leaving Singapore, there it was, mounted on its carriage, just below the
muzzle of our after eight-inch gun. A brass plate had been screwed on
to the carriage and engraved with—"This gun was captured during the
operations against Chinese pirates in the Hector Islands, and presented
by the Officers and Ship’s Company of H.M.S. _Vigilant_ to Captain Chas.
E. Lester, R.N., and Mrs. Lester".
They had had the plate engraved ashore at Singapore.
Of course the Skipper saw it directly he came up to "divisions" and
"morning prayers", and it was as good as a play to watch his face.
Truscott had been let into the secret an hour before, and he and the
chief boatswain’s mate asked the Skipper if he would mind accepting it.
"Mind accepting it?" he roared, when he’d read the inscription on the
brass plate, and "Blucher" had sniffed round the wheels, "Mind accepting
it? I’m proud to accept it, and the missus will be prouder still.
Umph! You’re a darned set of rascals! But that plate, wants something
added to it. How about ’Recaptured from the _Ringdove_’?"
The men all laughed and guffawed. They were as pleased as "Punch".
"There is something I’d like to have on that gun," he growled, more
gently—"the names of those of us who were killed; and if the Commander
and the chief bo’s’n’s mate will see to that, ’Old Lest’’ll take it home
with him. Umph! When we get home I’m going to try to get you a week’s
extra leave—for your active service—if none of you give the Commander
any trouble at Portsmouth."
The men were dismissed, and crowded for’ard, as happy as kings, and I
heard the Skipper growl to, old Truscott, "Umph! you rascal, waited till
we got off the China station, did you? Umph!"
"I knew nothing about it till this morning, I assure you, sir," he
answered.
"Umph!" he grunted to me, "you’re looking mighty pleased with yourself.
What did you have to do with it, eh?"
"I did happen to lend a hand at hoisting in something very like it,
sir."
"You’re a disgrace to the marines," he growled, and went below grandly
pleased.
* * * * *
By the end of August we were made fast to the north railway jetty at
Portsmouth, and, as I knew they would—my troubles began. They were
mostly connected with unpaid bills, so I won’t bother you with them; but
it was Grainger, my trusty servant, who was more angry at them bothering
me than I was myself.
"’Ere’s a ’ome-comin’, sir," he said mournfully, as he was packing my
gear and snorting at the condition of my worn-out plain clothes; "’ere’s
a ’ome-comin’, and arter all we’ve done for "The Corps", to say nothink
of the wound in your for’ud, and that ’ere jab in the leg, and those
trouses and serges, abso—lutely ruinationed. We can’t ’ardly turn you
out fit to march the de—tachment into barracks, sir, that we can’t."
One thing gave him a little pleasure, and that was producing an eyeglass
which he’d carefully preserved in a corner of a drawer. I thought that
I had broken my last one before leaving Aden, but he had been keeping
this one to make certain that, when the time came for marching into
barracks, I should have one jammed in my port optic. "They’ll think
there’s summat gone wrong with us, sir, if you don’t ’ave it—up in the
hofficers’ mess."
Some of us had expected to be made a fuss of when we arrived at
Portsmouth; but it was four months since the papers had been full of our
exploits, and everyone had forgotten all about them—and us.
Old "B.-T.’s" leg was all right again, and he and I got Old Bax to
advance us some pay, and had a couple of days in London together. We
ran up against—whom do you think? Old man Hobbs and Sally—my little
princess looking absolutely sweet. They had come along across Canada.
We helped them choose a dressing-bag for Ching, of the _Huan Min_. It
was fitted with more things than I dreamt could be crowded into a
bag—everything gold-mounted, and costing a small fortune.
What the Christopher Columbus old Ching would do with it, "B.-T." and I
couldn’t think; and we knew, jolly well, that the only thing he would
want to find in it was my little princess herself.
We dined with them at their hotel, and next night "stood" them a
theatre, and supper afterwards.
Old "B.-T." wasn’t in very good form, because I’d cut him out with the
little princess—my little princess—and he’d been saddled with old man
Hobbs, and didn’t like it a little bit.
They’d asked us to spend some of our leave with them up in Scotland; but
"B.-T." had the "hump", and refused, though you may bet your life I was
going, if I could only raise enough money to pay my fares.
* * * * *
"What d’you think of me getting married?" I asked Grainger, when he
brought my breakfast the morning after my return to the ship.
"Who’s it this time, sir?"
"What d’you say to a princess?"
"If she be a real princess, sir," he snorted, "she won’t darn your
socks, so won’t be no ’elp to me. You don’t want none of them sort,
sir. You want one of ’em steadyin’ kind of ones, if you don’t mind me
a-sayin’ so, sir."
"Just you wait and see," I told him.
I had asked them to come down to Portsmouth, to see the old _Vigilant_
again, and they did. They stayed there till we paid off, and I had a
great deal of difficulty to boom the others away from my little
princess, but managed it fairly successfully.
At last the great day of paying off did arrive, the white ensign and the
pendant were hauled down, and we all began scattering to the winds.
Everyone said goodbye to everyone else, and I shook hands with dear "Old
Lest".
"Umph! Where are you going?" he asked.
"Going to march the detachment into barracks, sir."
"Umph! I know that. What are you doing with your leave?"
"Going up to Scotland, sir."
"Umph!" he growled. "That’s it, is it? When you get tired of Scotland,
come down and get a bit of shooting with ’Blucher’ and me. The missus
will be glad to see you."
"Thank you very much, sir, but I hope not to get tired of Scotland as
soon as that," and marched down the gangway to the shore for the last
time. The old sergeant-major reported the detachment present; I sung
out, "Royal Marines! At’shun! Shoulder arms! Left turn! Quick
march!" and we left the old _Vigilant_, which had been our home for
three years, and embarked in a tug for Clarence Victualling Yard, at
Gosport, where headquarters’ band was waiting to play us into barracks.