The _Hercules_ went off to Bermuda the morning after Bob and I had come
back from Santa Cruz, and we waited on deck till the long lines of
towering black mountains were lost to sight. I couldn't bear to leave
Gerald up among them, although he was in Zorilla's house, and
practically out of danger, as far as the wound was concerned, but I'd
learnt enough about politics, and the way they were 'run' in the
Republic, to feel sure that his greatest danger lay in the jealousy of
the New President, and that he would never be safe in the country--not
even if he did resign the Command of the forces.
We ran through the 'Narrows' five days later and anchored in Grassy Bay,
off the naval dockyard of Ireland Island, Bermuda. It was rather a
shock to see the poor old _Hector's_ two funnels and damaged foremast
sticking up behind the dockyard wall, and I noticed that Bob and one or
two of the others looked very white when they saw them.
As soon as the repairs to her ward-room had been completed the officers
moved out of the gun-room, and I and my mids. were sent aboard her
again. It didn't make much difference to me, but a good many of the
mids. did not like going back a little bit. The still half-dismantled
ship had too many sad memories for them, and I am sorry to say that
Cousin Bob began to mope again--everything reminded him too much of his
poor little chum.
Every morning, before breakfast, I made them all run round the dockyard
to Moresby Plain, for a hockey practice, below the little Naval Club,
and whilst we remained here we had two very pleasant games against the
_Hercules'_ gun-room, but as we had none to fill, properly, the
'Angel's' place at 'centre-half,' or Barton's at 'outside-right,' were
beaten both times.
'What a difference, Ginger, old chap,' I said, as we watched them
scrambling into the tea-house together, after the match, just as chummy
as they could be.
'Difference!' Perkins, who was standing near us, said, smiling, 'I
should think it was a difference. They won't leave a thimbleful of tea
or a bun in the place, and I shall have to go without any, I suppose.'
'It's taken a good deal to make 'em friends, hasn't it?' Ginger said
sadly.
A fortnight later Gerald sent me a telegram, as he had promised, to say
that he was allowed out of bed, and I knew that he had sent the same
message home to the mater, and felt awfully glad.
Nothing more happened at Bermuda worth telling about; we had to work
very hard indeed; in six weeks' time the ship was seaworthy enough to
steam home, and one beautiful Sunday morning in May, the _Hercules_ and
ourselves anchored behind Plymouth breakwater.
As you can imagine, the poor old _Hector_ was a great object of
curiosity, and paddle-boats were bringing people off from shore, and
steaming round her, all day long.
Next morning two dockyard tugs made fast alongside us, we slipped our
moorings, and as their paddles began churning the water and we commenced
to move up harbour, Captain Roger Hill unbent, for the first time in his
life, and 'cheered ship.'
'Three cheers for the _Hector_,' we heard his Commander shout, and the
whole crew swarmed on the upperworks and sent us three great cheers.
'Tut, tut, lad!' our Skipper stuttered, dropping his eyeglass, '"Old
Spats" has forgotten himself. Look at him! He's actually waving his
cap.'
He nodded to the Commander, whose great roaring voice bellowed out,
'Three cheers for Captain Roger Hill and the _Hercules_,' and we all
shouted.
We were taken up harbour and put into dry dock immediately, and we heard
that we should probably stay there for several months.
As soon as it could be arranged, we got up a subscription for a tablet
to the memory of all our people who'd been killed in that fight with _La
Buena Presidente_, and got permission to place it in Portsmouth Dockyard
Chapel, where you can see it now.
There were, unfortunately, a great number of names to go on
it--Montague, Clegg, Bigge, Pearson, the 'Forlorn Hope' and his chum the
'Shadow' (whose name was put there because he died as a result of the
fight), Barton, the 'Angel,' Marchant (the Inkslinger), the cheery,
good-tempered, little Captain's Clerk, and below these the names of
fifty-four men--several had died of their wounds at Princes' Town
Colonial Hospital.
Cousin Bob still moped and slept badly, often waking the whole of the
gun-room flat by shrieking in his sleep, so that I worried very much
about him. I told the Captain.
'Well, boy! What d'you want me to do? The Fleet Surgeon has been
speaking about him too.'
'I think it would be best to send him home for as long as you can, sir,'
I said.
'Right oh, lad! Tell him to leave his address and I'll wire for him
when I want him. Have a bit of lunch?'