Pat Jones, the quarter-master, has told you all the exciting things that
happened the night we reached the island, and how we had bagged three of
the four torpedo-boats which came out, with only the loss of poor
Rogers.
Both Tommy Toddles and myself were jolly down in our luck at not being
allowed to go away in the whaler, and, like the silly idiots we were, we
did not take the opportunity of getting a little sleep. The result was,
that when daylight came we were both so sleepy, we could hardly stand
upright or keep our eyes open.
Mr. Lang had brought "No. 2" close in abreast of the wreck of the
Chinese torpedo-boats, and ordered Mr. Parker to recover his two Berthon
boats.
As you know, our whaler had been smashed by the same shell that had
killed poor Rogers, so she was useless, and suddenly I heard Mr. Parker
singing out to me to clear away the dinghy and get her into the water.
"Take four hands with you; put one in each of the Berthon boats, and
then tow them back," were his orders, "and take care you don't capsize
this time, or back you go to the _Laird_."
We pulled in towards the nearest boat--close inshore she was--and just
beyond her, right under the towering cliffs, were the two battered
torpedo-boats, with some dead Chinamen washing about among the
wreckage--a nasty sight, I can tell you.
We hauled in the moorings of the first boat, one of my four men jumping
into her, and we had just commenced to tow her across to where the
second bobbed up and down in the water, when ping! ping! came something
past my head. A bullet took a splinter out of an oar, and we heard the
noise of a rifle high up on the cliffs above us.
Then came a regular hail-storm of them--whip! crack! whip! crack! they
went singing past, and throwing up little spurts of water all round us.
You may bet that we pulled hard and tried to make ourselves small.
Suddenly I saw Tomlinson, an A.B., who was pulling stroke oar, get white
in the face and drop his oar.
Pat Jones, who had come with me, seized it before it could fall
overboard, and Tomlinson tumbled down into the bottom of the boat with
both his arms shot through, and helpless.
Then there was a loud boom from "No. 2" or "No. 3", and one of our
12-pounder shells burst against the cliff just below where they were
firing at us; another and another followed, the noise rolling from cliff
to cliff and making a hideous roar, whilst stones and rock came rolling
down and splashing into the sea.
The pirates--Chinamen probably they were, for they shot miserably--left
off firing, but before we could weigh the second boat's moorings they
began again, firing from the top of the cliffs, a little farther away.
Pat Jones was steadying the dinghy with the oars, whilst Stevens, a
Plymouth seaman, and I were hauling in the rope, and hauling, too, for
all we were worth, when suddenly Stevens gave a gasp and fell forward,
knocking me over, and would have fallen overboard himself had not Jones
jumped aft and pulled him aboard. He was dead. I could see that by the
way his head hung sideways as he was hauled into the boat, and Jones
laid him down alongside Tomlinson, who was groaning horribly.
The rope, too, had slipped through my hands, and the moorings had to be
hauled up again. Jones and I seized hold of them, and it was then that
I felt something hit me in the leg. It felt just as if somebody had
struck me hard with a ruler or the flat of one of our dirks.
I can't really remember accurately what happened after that till I found
myself pulling the stroke-oar and towing the two Berthon boats away from
those horrid cliffs. I felt terribly sick, and it was all I could do to
keep my foot from hurting Tomlinson and to keep the other away from the
dead man.
I seemed to wake up quite suddenly with my wrists feeling like hot
irons, and with hardly strength to lift the clumsy oar out of the water.
All the time, just as if it was in a dream, Jones behind me kept on
saying, "Steady, sir, steady!"
Little spurts of water were still jumping up close to us, but I was too
utterly tired to worry about them. My leg, the one that had been hit,
began to feel like lead, and I know that I lurched over the loom of my
oar once or twice, and could hardly pull it through the water.
"You'll do more good steering, sir," said Jones, and he got hold of my
oar, shifted the crutch, and pulled both oars himself, working like a
machine. I managed to scramble aft and get hold of the tiller, and just
remember seeing "No. 2's" whaler, with Mr. Lang in her, coming down
towards us.
* * * * *
I opened my eyes to find myself in Mr. Parker's bunk, and the propellers
whizzing round and shaking the whole stern of the destroyer.
Looking over the edge of the bunk I saw Tommy Toddles in a chair fast
asleep, with his head hanging over to one side in a most comical manner.
I guessed what had happened. I had simply fallen asleep in the boat,
and had been put in Mr. Parker's bunk, with Tommy to watch over me, and
he, too, had gone to sleep. I felt frightfully ashamed of myself for
being such a baby, and crawled out, found my trousers, which someone had
taken off in order to bandage my leg, and dressed myself rather
gingerly, because the leg was very stiff, and smarted a good deal when I
moved it. There were two neat little holes in the trouser leg, where a
bullet had gone through, and a patch of blood, which stiffened the cloth
all round them. I did feel proud!
What a joke it would be, I thought, to leave Tommy sleeping there and
guarding the empty bunk; but then it struck me that Mr. Parker would
only be the more angry, so I shook him, and a big job I had to wake him.
He did look silly when at last he opened his eyes and mumbled something
about it not being his watch, and we both scrambled on deck and made our
way for'ard.
It was a lovely warm, bright morning, and right astern was the island
which had been so horribly close to us all night. Oh, we were so
sleepy, and all over the deck men were lying sound asleep curled up in
corners out of the breeze. Just abaft the after funnel was a heap
covered with our best ensign, and we hardly cared to pass it, for we
knew that poor Rogers and Stevens were underneath.
We clambered up the bridge ladder, passing Pat Jones at the wheel, who
smiled grimly, with a warning look at Mr. Parker. He, with his back
turned to us, and dressed in oil-skins and sou'wester, stood, gripping
the bridge rails, as rigid as a statue.
You should have seen him jump when I said, "Please, sir, I'm all right
now, sir," and Tommy, saluting, sleepily added, "Please, sir, Glover's
woke up."
He looked ten years older: his eyes, sunk deep in their sockets, stared
at us in a dull way, his cheeks were sunken, and his whole face was
furrowed with deep lines. He had practically not left the bridge for
forty-eight hours, and it was wonderful how he could stand the strain.
He swore angrily at us--at me for coming on deck without leave, and at
Tommy for letting me get up.
"But please, sir," I began, "Tommy did not----"
I just stopped in time, for I was going to tell him that Tommy had been
asleep.
Tommy, however, looking very ashamed, blurted out, "I went to sleep,
sir, and Glover got up without waking me."
That made Mr. Parker all the more angry, and he sent us both below.
"Both of you will go back to the _Laird_. Have your chest ready in half
an hour!" he said, snapping our heads off.
We saw the _Laird_ steaming to meet us, and went below again, feeling
absolutely wretched, and commenced slowly to stow our things away in the
chest which Tommy shared with me.
The next thing we knew was that we were being roughly shaken by Pat
Jones, and we woke to find that we had both been asleep. Tommy was
sprawled right across the chest, face downwards, with a pair of boots in
his hand.
We could have cried, we were so angry with ourselves.
A cutter from the _Laird_ was alongside, and we two and Tomlinson, the
wounded man, were pulled across to her, Mr. Parker coming too to make
his report.
As we went up the gangway we could hardly face all the midshipmen who
crowded round us--Mellins, and Dumpling, and all the others--we felt so
much in disgrace, and I had not even the heart to tell them that I'd
been wounded.
I had to hobble for'ard to the sick-bay, and the bandage was taken off
my leg.
"Just a skin wound, Glover," Dr. Fox said, and put in some stitches,
which didn't pain me half as much as I expected.
"I needn't go on the sick-list, sir, need I?"
The Fleet Surgeon smiled in his nasty way, and then fastened a long
splint to the leg, and, of course, that made it certain that I could not
go back to "No. 3".
How I did wish that I had not gone to sleep in the boat, and then no one
would have known that my leg had been hit, and I might still have been
aboard her. What a fool I had been! All my chances were gone, and,
feeling utterly wretched, I couldn't manage to keep back a tear, and Dr.
Fox saw it before I could brush it away.
"Pain you, youngster?" he asked, and then he must have understood, for
he laughed and called me a young fire-eater, and wanted to know if I
wasn't content with having been wounded twice, which made me get red and
uncomfortable, and made me hate him.
It was impossible to walk with the beastly splint, so they carried me
aft and put me in the Captain's spare cabin.
Tommy came along, too, and spread his hammock on deck, the sentry
outside shut the door, and we slept soundly for nearly ten hours.
Wasn't that a sleep? and weren't we hungry, too, when we did wake up?
Tommy went off to the gun-room, and the mess-man sent us in any amount
of food. What a time we did have! And all the midshipmen crowded in and
talked thirteen to the dozen, and wanted to hear all about our
adventures, and to see the scratch in my leg. You can imagine how
important I felt, especially when Captain Helston, with his arm still
bandaged to his side, came to see me, and said some awfully jolly
things. What I wanted, though, and what we both wanted, was to know
whether we could go back to "No. 3", and I managed awkwardly, and
getting very red in the face, to ask him.
He smiled grimly, and said, "I'll see what I can do when you come off
the sick-list," and left us happy again.
It turned out that Mr. Parker himself had fallen asleep in Captain
Helston's cabin after he had reported to him, and that, as everybody in
both destroyers had been practically forty-eight hours without rest,
people had been sent to them from the _Laird_ just to keep up steam and
keep a look-out during the day.
This news made Tommy and myself quite contented, for, at any rate, we
were not the only ones who couldn't keep awake.
Mellins and Dumpling had, however, both been sent to "No. 3" to take our
place--temporarily we hoped.
"You haven't missed much," added Ogston, the Assistant Engineer, who had
been so plucky in the sinking steamer, "for the _Strong Arm_ has not
joined us, and we've been doing nothing all day."
They had buried both Rogers and Stevens. Poor fellows! they lay in a
hundred fathoms, and brought our list of killed up to fourteen already.
Dr. Fox came in then, cleared everybody out of the cabin, gave orders to
the sentry that no one was to be allowed in, turned out the light, and
left me. Just like him, was it not? But I had a pencil and paper,
turned up the light again, and wrote a tremendous letter home, just to
spite him.
*CHAPTER XVI*
*Captain Helston's Indecision*
A Weary Blockade--Getting Impatient--The Prisoner's Story--A
Willing Prisoner--The Pirates' Cunning--Ping Sang Excited--News
from Home--Helston's Ill Health--Cummins Indispensable--A
Gun-room Scrap--Now to Business
The few days which followed after the events narrated in the last
chapter were days of peace and devoid of excitement. Well, they were
needed, too, to allow the crews of the destroyers to recuperate after
their exertions and want of sleep, and to repair the minor damages
incurred by the fast steaming of the squadron from Hong-Kong.
The two poor fellows who had been killed were buried at sea with all the
solemnity possible under the circumstances, all the ships stopping their
engines and lowering their ensigns to half-mast, the crews standing
bareheaded whilst the service was being read, and remaining "at
attention" till, sewn up each in his hammock, the two bodies plunged
overboard and sank out of sight.
The _Strong Arm_ rejoined from Hong-Kong after having buried her men in
the Happy Valley cemetery, and she, too, added to Captain Helston's
anxieties by developing considerable engine-room defects, and by having
eaten up half her coal.
Hunter, eager to arrive at the scene of action and not to miss any of
the fighting, had pressed her through head seas at the greatest speed he
could get out of her, with the result that for six days she was
practically useless, with every artificer in the squadron tinkering away
at her bearings and condensers.
Fortunately the weather held fair, and by repairing only one main engine
at a time she was able to crawl away from the island each night and
crawl back in the morning, lying most of the day utterly unable to
assist in a fight if the pirates had come out.
Each night the destroyers "No. 2" and "No. 3" crept inshore to cut off
any issuing torpedo-boats, but, after their first fatal attempt, none
attempted a sortie, and, save that on occasions when Mr. Lang or Mr.
Parker ventured within gunshot during daylight and drew a sulky warning
fire from the batteries on each side of the entrance, there were no
signs of life and nothing to remind them that, hidden behind those rocks
and wooded slopes, hundreds of cunning, slit-like eyes were keeping
watch.
With the weather fair and the sea calm the destroyers coaled without
difficulty from the little _Sylvia_, and in four days of arduous work
the _Laird_ and the _Strong Arm_ also filled up their bunkers.
It can easily be imagined how difficult, how dangerous, and how slow was
this operation in an open sea, with the chance of the pirates coming out
at any time to interrupt it, or the wind and sea rising and making it
impossible.
However, Captain Helston's luck held, and in six days' time he had all
his bunkers full, and the _Strong Arm_ repaired sufficiently well to
rely upon getting sixteen or seventeen knots out of her.
But he had no definite plans to act upon.
After seven months' hard work, during which he had overcome a thousand
difficulties, he had brought his little squadron to the scene of action,
but, once having reached his goal, he seemed to lose his power of
initiative, and instead of making the first move himself, he waited for
the enemy to do so.
Day succeeded day and nothing was done.
Each night, with lights out, the _Laird_, _Strong Arm_, and _Sylvia_
vanished into the darkness, rejoined each other at a given rendezvous
next morning at earliest daybreak, and moved in towards the island.
The destroyers sleepily would join them after their night's watching,
and there the squadron would lie till sunset came, and the same routine
commenced again.
To the Commander of the squadron and to all his officers, to say nothing
of the men, it became very apparent that events had reached an impasse.
If the enemy chose but to lie quiet in their island stronghold and wait,
a time would surely come when the blockading squadron would have to
depart. No ships, however stoutly built, can stand constant work for
any length of time in those stormy seas without a refuge in which
occasionally to shelter, coal, revictual, and give their crews a "run
ashore". Men and officers, too, become "stale", dispirited, and
discontented with the monotony of blockade-work and the monotony of an
unvarying and not too palatable diet.
Once this "staleness" develops, the sick-list grows apace, and general
slackness makes itself felt.
There was no doubt whatever that the clever schemers in that little
island had laid their plans accordingly, and were quite content to allow
Captain Helston and his ships to wear themselves out in a wearisome
blockade, probably conjecturing that, with the dislike of prolonged
inaction, the Englishmen would throw their cards on the table and make a
combined attack on the island, which they considered--and justly, as
events turned out--was impregnable to sea attack.
Nor were they wrong in their supposition, for at the end of ten days'
monotony, ten days during which not a sail nor the smoke of a steamer
had broken the empty circle of the horizon, everyone became impatient,
and no one more so than the nervous, highly-strung Helston.
He knew well enough that every day which elapsed meant a further
encroachment on the funds of the China Defence Association, and if he
had perchance forgotten this fact, Ping Sang was there at his elbow to
jog his memory and counsel a more active policy.
"My dear Captain," he would say, patting Helston's still empty sleeve,
"we can't remain here for the remainder of our lives. I've already
spent nearly a million and a half, and we seem as far off as ever from
securing these pirates. With all your guns and with all your fine
English sailor men, you surely ought to be able to knock the pirate
syndicate and their Chinese bandits on the head."
Nothing that Helston or anyone else could tell him would make him
understand the rashness of opposing ships to forts, especially ships
with but scanty reserves of ammunition (in the hold of the stout little
_Sylvia_), and with no place of refuge in case of damage.
Hunter, the lion-hearted, was also for trying the weight of his metal
against the shore guns.
"As a preliminary to what?" Helston would ask.
"Well, you see, sir, we'd batter their forts to pieces, and then we'd
land and secure them, and possibly might be able to turn any guns left
in them on the blackguards down below."
Helston's own ideas, if he could have put them in definite form, were
probably to try and starve the pirates into making a desperate sortie,
and, if this should happen, he was perfectly confident of the result.
This may have been the soundest scheme, but success depended on so many
factors. First, it meant time--possibly a considerable time--and time
meant money, and Ping Sang was already inclined to draw tight the
purse-strings. Secondly, it meant a sufficient force to blockade, and
that, Helston ruefully confessed, he did not possess; and thirdly, and
most important of all, was the question whether the island could be
starved out in, say, two months, or possibly three at the most.
On this last point the two Chinese captured from the sunken torpedo-boat
were able to give information which effectually dispelled this hope.
For the first day or two after their capture they had preserved a sullen
silence, and expected instant death. As day after day went by, and they
received food and blankets to sleep in, it dawned upon them that they
were not being reserved even for torture, and they gradually became more
communicative.
A Tsi, the silent, inscrutable, right-hand man of Ho Ming, interviewed
them every day, at first with no success, but eventually he was able to
bring them into a more amiable frame of mind, and they promised to give
what information they possessed.
When their leg-irons were removed, and they were marched up on deck and
taken aft between a file of marines, their thoughts again flew to death,
and their terror was great, in spite of A Tsi's assurances that did they
but speak the truth they need fear nothing.
Each one was separately examined in Captain Helston's cabin before the
Captain, Dr. Fox, and Ping Sang.
The first, a tall Tartar of fine physique, was only held upright by the
vigorous support of A Tsi, who bundled him into the cabin, his knees
bending and knocking together under his huge body. Looking from one to
another like a hunted animal at bay, he salaamed, with both hands to his
forehead, to each one in turn, and a second time to Captain Helston.
His story, drawn out of him with difficulty, was this. He had been a
sailor aboard a merchant ship captured by the pirates, and, on the
promise of his life, had taken service with them, being sent aboard one
of the old torpedo-boats on account of his knowledge of seamanship.
He had no complaint of his masters' conduct towards him, and they paid
him two or three dollars a month, with which to buy tobacco and
sweetmeats.
"He looks half starved. Ask him if they get enough to eat," asked
Helston.
"He says they get plenty," answered A Tsi, smiling, "but North Chinaman
he never gets fat."
"What does he know about the store of provisions on the island?"
He seemed to know a good deal about these. He had formed one of a
working-party a fortnight ago to unload a captured ship laden with
tinned meat and flour, and they had to leave a large part of it in the
open, covered with tarpaulins, because the go-downs were already full.
"At the end of the time each man was allowed to take away what he
wanted," finished A Tsi, whilst the Chinaman spread his hands apart and
tried to express a vast quantity.
At each question there would be a rapid flow of queries and answers in
Chinese between A Tsi and the prisoner, the latter gesticulating
excitedly to explain his answers, and, whilst the former was
interpreting, he would try to follow him with pantomimic gesture and
alterations of expression, looking from one to another in an imploring
manner.
He was asked the number of men on the island. He could not tell.
"Many?"
"Yes, a great many."
"A thousand?"
"Yes, more than a thousand."
"Two thousand?"
He screwed up his face and evidently did his best to calculate.
No, he could not tell; a thousand, yes; but two thousand he could not
say, and solemnly shook his head long after A Tsi had finished.
Being a sailor, he could give more definite information about the ships.
There were four cruisers and eight or nine torpedo-boats, not counting
the one to which he had belonged nor the two that were wrecked.
"Has he seen the two destroyers, and are they damaged?"
Yes, he had seen them come into the harbour, and many men had been sent
aboard them, but he did not know whether they were damaged.
The names of three of the cruisers were _Yao Yuen_, _Mao Yuen_, and _Tu
Ping_. These were the three of which Ping Sang had originally informed
Helston. Another he mentioned, the _Hong Lu_, was evidently the cruiser
which had beaten off "No. 2" and "No. 3".
"Ask him if they are very fast."
"_Yao Yuen, Mao Yuen_?" and he shook his head. "_Tu Ping_?" he shook
his head still more vigorously. "_Hong Lu_?" and he opened his hands
quickly and nodded, nodding so fast that Cummins, who had just entered
the cabin, with the inevitable toothpick in his mouth, chuckled "He! he!
he! you'll lose your pigtail, old chap, if you aren't more careful."
"What speed can she go?"
No; he did not know.
"As fast as a torpedo-boat?"
He drew in his breath with a whistling noise, and tried to show by
gestures her extreme speed.
"What size is she?"
He did not know, nor what guns she carried. He was taken on deck to
look at the _Strong Arm_, lying quietly half a mile away, and then
brought down again.
No; she was not so large, but how large he could not say.
As to the forts, all that could be got out of him was that there was one
on each side of the entrance, and, as far as he knew, none anywhere
else.
He did not even know how many guns they had.
"Have they done much practice firing from them?"
Yes; he had heard them many times lately, but his knowledge on all these
points was vague in the extreme.
He could rattle off the names of all the merchant ships there, and
seemed to have a sneaking regard for his old ship, for he plucked A Tsi
nervously by the sleeve and talked excitedly to him, pointing to the
Captain.
"What does he want?" asked Helston.
"He says, sir, that if you recapture the _Tsli Yamen_, the ship he
belonged to formerly, he wants you to say a good word for him to the
owners."
"Tell him that if he answers all our questions truthfully we will not
forget him."
When this was explained to him he salaamed very vigorously, bending his
long body three times to Helston.
"How many white men are there on the island?" asked Cummins.