Chapter V: Part 5

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."

I did so.

"Do they mean young Morton’s killed or wounded?"

"Ask them."

Click, click went the shutter of the signalman’s lamp.

You could not hear a sound whilst the _Ringdove_ light twinkled the reply, and we all gave a gasp of relief when we read—W-O-U-N-D—O-F—S-C-A-L-P—O-U-T—O-F—D-A-N-G-E-R.

"Get ’em all aboard," the Skipper told me; "best send both cutters," and he sent a midshipman running aft. "Tell the Doctor—ten wounded coming from _Ringdove_."

We signalled across for her to "close", and that we were sending for the wounded and for the rest of the crews of the two junks.

This was a jolly ticklish job, because a rather heavy sea was running; but we ran our searchlights, and I sent Lawrence and Whitmore away in charge of the boats, and we managed to transfer them all without anything happening worse than breaking one or two oars.

We gave Travers a cheer when he came across, and all crowded round and congratulated him; and we cheered Trevelyan, young Rawlings and their men, and Ford and his. They had come over in the first boat, and Rashleigh had come as well—to report personally.

Whilst he was down below I got a list of the names of those killed and wounded from Trevelyan, and had it stuck on the lower deck notice board. Scroggs was a serious loss to me—the captain of the fore top, and a fine reliable man—and the others were all good men; they wouldn’t have been sent there, of course, if they hadn’t been.

Ford and his six men had lost everything except what they stood up in, but every one of them was in the best of spirits. The second cutter came along-side with the wounded, and young Morton was the first to be carried up the ladder, managed a smile from under his bandages, and we gave him a cheer.

The mids who’d been left behind sang out, "Good old Dicky". I knew perfectly well that he had been called "Dear Little Dicky", and that the inoffensive, harmless little chap hated it, and was glad to hear them drop it for once. I knew a good many more of the "ins and outs" of what went on in the gunroom than the Mids used to give me credit for.

The rest of the wounded were carried up, or hobbled up the ladder, and they all went for’ard to the sick bay.

Then Rashleigh went back, simply bubbling over with importance and excitement, the Skipper actually coming up to see him over the side. He didn’t often pay anyone under the rank of post captain that compliment.

"I thought that chap a blooming blockhead—told you so often—but he’s done a jolly sight better than I gave him credit for; that he has, Truscott, that he has. And he’s found a place where they’re as thick as thieves—big guns mounted, and all that. I’ve sent him back to keep his eye on it. Jolly smart chap! Things are just coming along now, eh? They’ll find ’Old Lest’ ain’t such a fool as they think, eh?"

"We’ve made a good start, sir, although we’ve lost rather heavily."

"Put up a subscription list, Truscott; some of those men have left families. Stick me down for twenty-five ’thick ’uns’. It’s more than ’Old Lest’ can afford, but stick ’em down. If the Admiralty don’t pay for those junks, and the others get knocked about or lost as well, ’Old Lest’ ’ll find himself in the Bankruptcy Court, umph!"

"Make a signal: Captain Lester to Captain, officers, and men of the _Ringdove_.

"The Captain, officers, and men of the _Vigilant_ congratulate you on the plucky rescue of Lieutenant Travers and the two junks’ crews."

He sent for’ard to tell the Fleet Surgeon to let him know directly he could come down to see the wounded, and then stalked along the upper deck to the bridge, swinging his great shoulders and striding down an admiring lane of men, who made a gangway and stood to attention as he passed. You could see, even by the little light there was, how they worshipped him.

We hoisted in our boats and steamed off towards our island, the little _Ringdove_ turning back to hers and signalling, "Captain, officers, and men," to ditto. "Thank you very much. We are very proud to have the honour of serving under your orders."

That pleased the Skipper—the last part, I mean—for he was simply a huge simple-minded baby, and he grunted, and puffed at his cigar.

"He’s tickled to death with that," Lawrence whispered to me. "Old Rashleigh knows how to get the soft side of him, doesn’t he?"

Rashleigh had brought over a written report of his proceedings, a copy of which I give you, so that you may draw your own conclusions. He had not had time to finish it properly, and I hardly think that he could have read it over either, after having written it.

H.M.S. _Ringdove_,
Off the Chung-li Tao Group, Chusan Archipelago,
_May_ 7th.

SIR,—In pursuance of your orders, I have the honour to report that I towed the two tenders, the _Ferret_, Lieutenant Trevelyan, and the _Sally_, Midshipman Ford, to a position five miles to wind’ard (the wind being SSW.) of the Chung-li Tao Islands, arriving there at 8 a.m. on the 2nd May.

At 10 a.m. I despatched the _Sally_ to search to the east’ard, and the _Ferret_ to the west’ard, and repaired to a rendezvous to leeward of them, giving them instructions which should meet any probable eventualities which might arise.

I waited at the rendezvous till the morning of the 4th May, and then sighted the _Sally_, and ordered her to come alongside. She reported that she had three men killed, Mid Morton and two A.B.’s severely wounded, and that she was much damaged by shot above the water line. She had chased a pirate junk and sunk her, but had then most unwisely attacked four others, and only escaped with the above losses. Her Maxim gun had been destroyed, and she had expended practically all her six-pounder ammunition.

Mr. Ford also reported having met the tender _Ferret_ the night before, and that Mr. Trevelyan, contrary to my orders, had at once altered course to the island where the _Sally_ had been attacked. The wind had veered to NW. by N. during the night, and was now blowing a strong breeze. As it was therefore impossible for him to beat back to me under three days, I took the wounded on board my ship, buried two of his men at sea, and steamed towards the island and channel in which Mr. Ford had engaged the four junks. The _Sally_ followed me at all speed.

I arrived off the entrance to the channel at noon of next day, and on entering it was fired at by a two-gun battery at close range. One shot came aboard me and wounded two men—one, Edward Larking, ord. sea. No. 867037, has since died. I silenced these guns, and proceeding up the channel, discovered that Mr. Trevelyan had wrecked his junk at the entrance to a small creek, and was in a desperate position, being attacked by rifle fire from both sides of the creek.

I made a hasty exploration of the creek, and found that a quarter of a mile inland it opened out, and that anchored there were a number of war junks, and a very large number of merchant junks.

I determined to attack, but first deemed it necessary to survey the channel, which operation was successfully performed, under a heavy fire, by Sub-lieutenant Harrow, who worked with great coolness, and lost one man wounded.

By the time the channel was reported as being sufficiently deep to allow the passage of the _Ringdove_, it was dusk, and I determined to take her in at daybreak of the following day. Meanwhile I transferred the guns and most of the stores of the _Ferret_ to my ship.

At daybreak I weighed, and was at once fired upon by a gun, mounted on the cliffs three hundred feet above my head, to which it was impossible to reply.

I immediately recognized that it would, under the circumstances, be impossible to force the entrance, and stood off, ordering the _Sally_ to follow me.

She was, however, struck by a large shot or shell, and commenced to sink, and I had only sufficient time to bring off her crew, and could not save any of her stores.

The cutter which brought off her crew sighted a man on the rocks, who semaphored that he was Lieutenant Travers, and most pluckily brought him off under a heavy fire.

I then altered course for Tinghai with the crews of my tenders on board.

My officers and crew behaved with gallantry and coolness under trying circumstances.

I am, Sir,
Your obedient Servant,
J. S. T. RASHLEIGH,
Lieut. and Commander.

To Captain CHARLES E. LESTER, R.N.,
H.M.S. _Vigilant_,
Senior Officer, Chusan Archipelago.

It was no doubt written hurriedly and finished off abruptly after sighting the _Vigilant_; but from what I learned afterwards, hardly gave a correct, or rather fair account of the doings of his tenders.

I was rather amused by young Ford coming to my cabin next morning. He had a boat’s ensign under his arm, looked very sheepish, and wanted to know if he might keep it. "The signalman of the _Sally_ borrowed it, sir, and hoisted it, without my knowing, whilst we were fighting those junks—he didn’t know that it was against orders—and I do want to take it home ’so badly’."

I told him to run and hide it, and he could not have been more pleased.

*CHAPTER IX*

*Mr. Hoffman’s Secret*

Bored Travers—Bored Travers Continues—"Old Lest" in Form—"We’ve
Got ’em at Last"—A Dirty Night—"Old Lest" Unfolds a Tale—Mr.
Hoffman’s Tale—"Old Lest" and Hoffman—A Marvellous Old Chap

_Written by Commander Truscott_

At the time of parting company with the _Ringdove_ the weather was extremely unpleasant—heavy rain squalls and a bitterly cold northerly wind—but it was snug enough down below, and, to celebrate the return of Travers, we gave him a great dinner in the ward room.

It is hardly necessary to tell you that we were all in the very brightest spirits, and spent a most jovial and riotous evening—all except, funnily enough, Travers himself. He was always a bit bored at these shows, and "turned in" early, only too glad to find himself once more in his own bunk. He was known throughout the fleet as Bored-Travers, or "B.-T.", his full surname being Gore-Travers, and was rather a weird chap, with a superior, supercilious, "Bond-Street-on-a-swagger-morning air" about him, which, somehow or other, gave everyone the idea that he looked "down" upon everybody else. You couldn’t help liking him, however, for all that. I had never seen him enthusiastic about anything except a pretty girl or a game of cricket, and now after dinner he looked bored to distraction, leant wearily against a stanchion, and told Lawrence and the others his yarn. It was like drawing teeth out of a horse, to get him to tell anything at all.

"Oh! that night, um! Oh yes! I remember. One of those Mission native chaps got hold of me when I’d got inside the gates—couldn’t shake him off—too much bore altogether, you fellows. He was so jolly earnest, I just went along with him. He said something about Old Hobbs and his daughter being carried away, or something. I had to go, you know—had never seen the girl—all you fellows said she was pretty—forgot ’A’ company wasn’t coming along too."

He stopped in the most irritating way to fill his pipe. "Same beastly old tobacco in the mess—can’t get it to draw—never could."

"Didn’t you find them, and have a scrap down there on the beach?" Trevelyan asked. "There was a Chinaman down there—dead, with a Webley revolver bullet in him."