Chapter VI: Part 6

"Did I kill him?" he asked, without the faintest display of interest. "I knew the beastly revolver would go off some day and hurt someone. Someone took it away after that—lots of them—shoved a beastly cloth over my head, and shoved me into a boat. They seemed to want me to stay still, so I did."

"Did they knock you about much?" "Didn’t you see Sally?" several asked, and Trevelyan very eagerly added, "How many boats did you see? We thought there were three. We saw the keel marks of three in the mud."

He seemed quite amused at their eagerness.

"Well, you chaps, I think they must have knocked me on the head. I didn’t remember much about it—didn’t see anything I could swear to—rather fancy, though, there were two boats, and, now you mention it, that I did hear a girl’s scream just before. Don’t remember anything else till I woke up, with a beastly headache, and a mouth like a limekiln, in a jolly sight better cabin than I’ve got on board here."

"That must have been Hobbs’s yacht! What happened then?"

"Nothing at all—couldn’t shave—had forgotten to bring my razors and" (yawning) "my dressing case with me—there wasn’t a towel there, or water even—and there they kept me till they shoved me ashore, where young Ford found me."

"Ford?" I said, chipping in. "I thought Rashleigh did that." The Skipper had just shown me his report.

"Rashleigh! No, sir. He was shoving out of it as hard as he could go. Young Ford came along and picked me off—he and the rest of his junk’s crew—in the _Ringdove’s_ cutter. The Chinamen wasted a lot of good ammunition over the lot of us, and I’d have made ’em pay for it if I’d been in" (yawning) "charge of ’em.

"Plucky chap that," he went on placidly, ordering the marine servant to bring him more sugar for his coffee. "I told him so. Hope it won’t make him more conceited than he is.

"How about that Chinese cove who came along with me in the _Ringdove_!" he asked, with some little display of interest.

"He’s all right, B.-T.," someone said. "Came aboard with the wounded."

"Um! I thought I’d given him the slip. Promised him a hundred dollars for getting me out of it, and" (yawning several times) "I haven’t got a hundred cents in the world."

"That’s all right. You’ve got your last month’s pay due to you," Old Bax growled impatiently. "But, man alive, shove on with your yarn."

Travers simply opened his eyes a little more widely, looked amusedly at him, and yawned again.

"What did you do all the time?" "Give you decent grub?" "Did you see the boss of the show?" Questions simply poured in, but he languidly helped himself to more sugar, and stirred his coffee.

"Why the dickens can’t our cook make better stuff than this? The grub was beastly, and I grew a beastly beard, and everything was" (yawning) "beastly. There was a chap there—an old Scotch engineer fellow—seemed to belong to the show—came across to yarn once or twice—said he was tired of having no one to talk to—but he bored me, so didn’t come often."

"Weren’t you excited when you heard the firing?" the young Padré asked.

"Interested," Travers drawled; "I’m never excited—just interested," and he put on his most superior look, and the young Padré retired in confusion. "There was a bit of a shindy—guns, and all that—about a week after I’d been there. It was rather interesting—at any rate the coves there thought so."

I remembered now that Rashleigh had reported having heard the sound of guns in the direction of the Chung-li Tao Group about that time, and had had his head snapped off by the Skipper for his pains. He may have been right, after all. "What happened? Who were firing?" I asked.

"I don’t know, sir; think they must have had a bit of a ’pick up’ among themselves. I did mention it to the old Scotchman, but he wasn’t giving anything away just then, and I never thought of asking him again."

"Was he a prisoner too?" I asked. He was very irritating.

"Oh no! Think he bossed the show—when he was sober. Told me one day that they’d sent the Old Yank and Sally somewhere, where we’d never find them. Seemed to know a good deal about it, and seemed sorry for the girl too."

"I’m going to turn in now, you fellows, if you don’t mind. Thank you very much, but I haven’t slept in a bed for six" (yawning) "weeks," and he stretched himself and yawned again and went away.

Trevelyan disappeared with him and came back triumphantly. He had that glove which we had picked up behind the Mission House. "We were right, after all, sir! That was his glove, and he had borrowed Lawrence’s handkerchief. I’ve got that much out of him. He says he’ll never stuff a handkerchief up his sleeve again. He’d given a couple of pounds" (if there had been anyone to borrow from) "not to have dropped it."

"It’s the first thing I’ve ever got back after he once borrowed it," Lawrence sang out, and we all laughed with him.

The Skipper came in presently (Hoffman had been dining with him, but had turned in directly afterwards), and we dragged Old Bax, the Fleet Paymaster, to the piano and made him sing, "Tam Pearce, Tam Pearce, bring me my grey mare"; and the Skipper joined in the chorus and smoked, and Old Bax "cadged" his best cigars from him and smoked them, one after another. The Skipper grunted and growled, and was redder in the face than ever, took off his mess jacket and loosened his braces, and beat everyone else at feats of strength, and was as happy as a sand-boy. He went down into the gunroom to say a few words, as he put it, and I went with him. He squeezed himself in, and, as they all stood up, growled out, "Umph! Sit down, please! ’Old Lest’ will give you all a show—later on. If those two steamers are there when we get in to-morrow afternoon, umph! we’ll go in and sink ’em. If there ain’t enough water for the boats, we’ll swim" (huge yells of delight). "Good night, gentlemen; three of you have done a bit of fighting, the Fleet Surgeon hopes to get Morton off the sick list in a day or two, and I hope you others will do as well. Umph! You can have half an hour’s extra lights."

They made a perfect deafening noise, gave three cheers and a "tiger", and then he came back to the ward room, and stayed there till after midnight—the youngest of the lot of us—he and Old Bax chaffing each other in broad West Country dialect. Old Bax had "wiped his eye", the last time they had gone shooting, by bagging a woodcock which the Skipper had missed with both barrels, and never lost an opportunity of reminding him of it.

Whitmore and I slipped away long before the ward room singsong was finished, and the ship quiet again, because we had to make all arrangements for manning and arming boats if necessary. You see, we had so many seaman ratings away, that it was rather difficult to fill their places.

Hoffman had his breakfast in his cabin, and spent two hours alone with the Skipper during the morning, and I did not see him again till we were nearing the Hector Group late in the afternoon. He then came up and helped Lawrence pick his way among the islands towards the one where he said that Hobbs and Sally were imprisoned.

We all hoped to discover the tramp steamer and the yacht anchored there, but very much feared that the prisoners might have been spirited away again in one or other of them. The anxiety grew greater as we drew nearer, and was shared by every soul on board, for everyone knew by this time all that I myself knew.

It struck me as peculiar how intimate and accurate was Hoffman’s knowledge of the local pilotage. There seemed to be some strange "bond" between him and the Skipper, and I felt sure, from the Skipper’s manner to him, and from his silence to me, that there was something which I did not know, and which would explain a good many things when I did know it.

One thing indeed the Captain had told me, blurting it out when I reported "defaulters" to him, and found him and Hoffman together. "Hoffman tells me that that rascally Englishman, who sold that yacht of his to Hobbs, is bossing this show. He’s hanging on to Hobbs and Sally, and trying to force the poor little lass to marry him—umph! or make her father pay a pretty penny. He’ll skin him out pretty thoroughly, I’ll be bound."

"If you don’t get hold of her quickly, Captain, I believe she’ll consent," Hoffman said.

"Just to save old man Hobbs’s dollars, eh? Poor little lass, eh?" the Skipper grunted.

"Partly that and partly because he is such a handsome, dare-devil scoundrel, that I don’t think she’d be unwilling;" and Hoffman moaned and buried his face in his hands. He was still as weak as a rat, and couldn’t control his feelings.

"Poor little soul!" the Skipper said softly. "God help us to get her out of his clutches!"

At about five bells (2.30 p.m.) in the afternoon we eventually sighted the island, a low irregular line on the horizon right ahead, a gloomy enough prison under its dark sullen banks of rain clouds. The wind had gone down during the morning watch, and the sea was fairly smooth, but the rain still came down mercilessly, and everything was dripping with moisture and extremely uncomfortable. "Masthead lookout!" roared the Skipper from the fore bridge, "keep your eye lifting for two steamers lying under the land," and to assist him sent up the sharpest eyed signalman.

In spite of the drenching downpour, the fo’c’stle and under the fore bridge was crowded with men, all their eyes glued on the land as we very slowly forged towards it through the muddy yellow water. I don’t suppose that there was a single field glass or telescope in the ship not in use.

Then there came a yell from the masthead which made us all look up. "Yes, sir, I can see them—two steamers under the land, right ahead, sir;" and we all stared ahead, and in a few minutes could see them ourselves, and, quite without orders, everyone cheered and waved his cap, looking up at the Skipper from the fo’c’stle to see whether he was looking happy. The cheers were as much for sighting the steamers as for knowing that now "Old Lest" would have a chance of paying off old scores, and the Skipper, looking bigger than ever in his dripping tarpaulins, roared out to ask me if I’d ever been aboard a man-of-war before, and knew what discipline was; so I sent my midshipman down to stop the noise.

"Umph! Truscott, we’ve got ’em at last;" and he slowly dug his fingers into the palms of his hands, as if he was crushing something, glared at me, and shook them in my face.

We slowly steamed along, till we took soundings under six fathoms, and then anchored. "Can’t go in any farther," I heard Hoffman tell Lawrence, and again wondered how he had picked up all this knowledge.

The cable had scarcely finished rattling out before the Skipper, turning to me, said, "Man and arm boats, Commander; I’ll go in directly. Old Lest ain’t going to let grass grow under his feet."

"We’ve only got about two hours more daylight, sir," I told him, thinking that there was scarcely time for the boats to get ashore.

"Umph!" he growled, and went down below.

In forty minutes I’d got them all away, the steam pinnace, with the Skipper and Hoffman aboard, towing the launch and sailing pinnace, and the steam cutter towing the barge and the two cutters. We were so short of men that Marshall and his marines had to man the sailing pinnace, and very few men were left aboard to give them a cheer as they shoved off, only about half a dozen seamen, a few marines, and the stokers.

I had thought of keeping Trevelyan on board, but the Skipper growled out, "Send him in with me. ’Old Lest’s’ brain’s not as sharp as it was. He’ll smell out something."

It was still raining hard, but the sea remained smooth. Personally, I thought it rather unwise not to wait for the morning; but the Skipper was so anxious not to give the pirates a moment’s rest, and to start by sinking those steamers or driving them ashore—to do anything, in fact, to prevent them escaping—that the risk was probably worth taking. The steam pinnace had her fourteen-inch torpedo dropping gear fitted, and the Skipper’s main idea was to blow holes in the steamer and the yacht, and so effectually to prevent them moving. Once more, it was not so much our chief object to destroy the pirates or recapture the yacht, as to rescue the little American girl and her father. We hoped that we had now found where they were concealed, and our first object was to prevent them being smuggled away again.

We kept the boats in view till they disappeared in the gathering dusk and the heavy rain, and then could only wait for them to return. It was so cold on deck, that I went down to warm myself in front of the ward room fire. Mayhew, the Fleet Surgeon, was sitting cosily in front of it, and made room for me. "Heard or seen anything?" he asked. "I shall have them all on the sick list if they ever do come back. I’ve never seen a night I should less like to spend in an open boat."

I hadn’t been there five minutes, when the quartermaster came clattering down from the quarterdeck in his dripping oilskins and sea boots. "We can see some flashes ashore, sir. I think our boats are firing as well, sir."

Both of us ran on deck. Several dull "booms" gave us the direction in which to look, and every now and again we could see the twinkle of a gun flash a very long way off, generally a single one, then perhaps two or three quickly, one after the other. It was just as if someone a hundred yards away was striking matches, which the wind blew out as they were struck. The reports came along a few seconds later, and among them we could hear quite distinct sharp cracks. These were from our boats’ guns, I expect. In spite of it being so wet, every soul on board was on deck, staring through the darkness and the incessant rain, to try and make out the boats returning. We ran a searchlight, throwing the beams vertically upwards to guide them, and could do no more. This beam lighted up the raindrops, and made everything even more depressing than it was before.

I only wish that all men were obliged to supply themselves with oilskins or thick pea-jackets, for, as it was, hardly one in twenty away in those open boats had them, and I could imagine pretty plainly the state they were in now.

By ten o’clock there was no sign of them whatever, and I was very anxious. Midnight came (I don’t know what foolhardy ideas hadn’t occurred to me in the meantime), and shortly afterwards we heard the sound of more guns, and a muffled, long-drawn-out "boom", which made me almost jump out of my skin, my nerves were so very much on the stretch. "That’s a torpedo, sir," the signalman said. I didn’t much care what it was; I really was so thankful to know that they were still in existence.

The noises ceased almost immediately, and I again trusted that they were on their return journey. A long, dreary wait followed, and then one of the people on the bridge spotted flames from the steam pinnace’s funnel. We watched them flicker out every now and again, drawing steadily nearer, and I sent down to Mayhew to have everything ready in case there were any wounded. Presently she came close enough to hail, and to see that she was towing the launch, sailing pinnace, the barge, and the cutter. She had a good deal of "list" to port, and I thought at first that she must have been damaged, but then saw, as she rounded up to come alongside, that she had dropped her starboard torpedo, which accounted for it. The boats ran alongside, and the Skipper came up the gangway.

"What luck, sir?" I asked him. "Where’s the steam cutter and the second cutter? Anyone hurt, sir?"

His face was purple blue with the cold, but he was in the highest spirits. "Blown a hole in that tramp steamer; made the little yacht run up inside the creek. That’s a good beginning for ’Old Lest’, eh? Haven’t had a man touched, and left the second cutter and the steam cutter inshore to come off at daybreak. Got the galley fires alight?" he asked, before he went below. "The men are pretty well dead with the cold and the wet."

"I’d thought of that, sir," I told him; "they shall have some hot cocoa and pea soup directly they have fallen out."

I had never seen such a washed-out crowd of people as clambered on board that night. Even though those in the boats had pulled their oars on the way off to the ship, they were simply blue and shivering and stiff. You may guess that I got all the gear replaced, and the men dismissed to their messes as quickly as possible.

When I went in to report to the Captain, he was standing in front of his blazing fire in a thick dressing gown. He had a great bowl of pea soup in his hands, and Blucher was leaning up against his legs. "Umph! that’s good," he said, smacking his lips and rubbing himself. "Warms one’s inside, eh?" and he roared to "Willum" to bring his eighteenpenny Havanas, and made me smoke one: I should have very much preferred a pipe.

"Willum" had been sent round to collect all those officers who had been away, and they came trooping in in all kinds of rigs, all looking jolly pleased with themselves, and Willum served them out hot drinks, and the Skipper said, "Here’s luck to the little lass and the old _Vig_," and when they were thoroughly warm sent them all away to turn in.

"They’re not going to turn in yet, sir," I told him; "they are going to have a sardine supper in the ward room."

"Umph! Good idea that! ’Willum’," he roared, "make me some sardine sandwiches, and put plenty of onions in ’em."

"How about sending the steam pinnace inshore with some hot soup for the people in the boats you left behind?" I asked him, after he’d devoured a plateful of sandwiches and had sent Willum for more.

"No good; couldn’t find ’em in the dark. I’ve stuck ’em right in under the guns, in the middle of the creek which runs up there. They’ve got to fire a Very’s[#] light, if the yacht tries to get away, so tell ’em to keep a good lookout on the bridge."

[#] A Very’s light is somewhat the same idea as a Roman candle firework. It throws out one very brilliant ball of coloured light.

"It was grand work in those boats," he continued; "they couldn’t see us, and went on firing and wasting ammunition. I kept on running away in the steamboat, easing off a few shells at them, and then going back again, and they’d fire off twenty or thirty rounds where she had been."

"I expect you had some pretty narrow shaves, for all that, sir?"

He growled out "Umph!" and winked at me very slowly.

Now that he and I were alone, I saw that he had something which he wanted to tell me, and when presently he had sent Willum to bed, he lighted a fresh cigar and began. "You know that man Hoffman? What d’you think of him, eh?"

"I can’t quite say, sir. Can’t quite ’place’ him."

"What would you say if I told you he _is_ the pirates—bosses the show, or did. What d’ye say to that?"

I supposed I looked surprised. I certainly felt so.

"He’s told me all about it. He is running this show, or was."

"What d’you mean, sir?" I could hardly understand him.

"It’s this way, Truscott," and, puffing his cigar, and grunting and growling, the Skipper told me the most extraordinary yarn I had ever heard.

Hoffman had for years owned quite a small fleet of merchant steamers, and had endeavoured to compete with the native junks for the coastal trade between Ningpo, Shanghai, and the Chusan Archipelago. Local prejudice and the hatred of the white foreigner had been too much for him, and he had failed. The idea then occurred to him that if he could make a clean sweep of the merchant junks throughout the islands, he would have the monopoly of the carrying trade.

"That explains why we have seen so many small steamers about lately," I burst out, absolutely dumbfounded.

"Umph! It does," the Skipper nodded, and went on to tell how Hoffman had built and armed a fleet of large junks, and carried out the raids of which we knew so well.

"But what’s he doing now?" I exclaimed. "Coming on board here half starved?"

The Skipper explained. "That rascally skipper of the yacht was his first lieutenant. It was he who did most of the work, headed most of the expeditions, and thought himself as big a ’pot’ as his master. He thought he would strike out a new line for himself, too, and kidnapped Hobbs and Sally. Thought he’d get enough ransom to make his ’pile’ in one swoop."

The Skipper went on to tell me that this wasn’t Hoffman’s idea of doing business, and that it was owing to him that they escaped, that time they were picked up by the _Huan Min_. It meant finally breaking with the Englishman, and (Hobbs told us, I remember, that he had heard a scuffle that night) they actually had come to blows, Hobbs and his daughter being shoved off alone in the boat during the confusion.

Next morning Hoffman had found himself practically a prisoner. Nearly the whole of the Chinese sided with the good-looking scoundrel, who had so often led them on their forays, and the German had to clear out, and was lucky to find a junk whose crew remained faithful to him. That is how he first came to Tinghai, and it was there that he saw Hobbs and his daughter for the first time. The girl reminded him of his wife, or daughter, at home in Germany. He hadn’t seen either of them for twenty years, and the daughter would have been about her age. At any rate, whatever it was that made him take such a fancy to her, he wasn’t going to let her fall into that chap’s hands again. Directly he had heard of the raid at the Tu Pu Monastery, he had gone across to endeavour to regain his influence over his men, found that impossible, but learnt that they were going to raid Tinghai itself and kidnap Hobbs and the girl again. He had come back in his junk as fast as he could, but too late to save her.

That accounted, then, for his sudden appearance at the burning Mission. He had landed in the same bay as the pirates themselves, an hour or more behind them, and rushed up to the Mission, but too late to save her.

"Travers says that he saw two boats there, sir. Probably those were the two close together, and probably Hoffman’s made that third mark we saw farther along the shore."

"Dare say it was," the Skipper grunted; "and he tells me, too, that he got away about half an hour after they had left."

"Trevelyan is a regular Sherlock Holmes," I said. "I must tell him; he’ll be very pleased."

But the Skipper scowled and growled, "No, no; I don’t want anyone to know yet;" and went on with his yarn, whilst I listened, wideawake enough, you may be sure, although it was past two in the morning.

"Hoffman thought that the people at his dépôt in the Chung-li Tao Group would still stand by him, so packed off there," the Skipper went on to tell me, "and found the old Scotch engineer in charge of the place. It was this man who had separated him and the Englishman—that night they fought. He was a friend of his, and gave up the place and the junks; and everything was going well, till one morning the Englishman appeared off the town, fired a few rounds from the tramp steamer, the junks’ crews wouldn’t fight, and Hoffman had to surrender. He was eventually taken to the Hector Group, and kept there till he managed to escape to us again."

"Travers heard some fighting, but never saw Hoffman," I interrupted.

"Well, Hoffman was hardly likely to give himself away by interviewing him. At any rate, that was the reason he gave me when I asked him," the Skipper said. "He was waiting until he felt more sure of his people before trying to get him away—he couldn’t trust any of them—and the chance never came."

"By the way, sir," I said, suddenly remembering that he had not come back, "where is he now?"

"Umph! I left him and one of his Chinese fellows in the boats. They’re going to try and get ashore to-night at low water, find their way across the mud, and see if Sally and Old Hobbs are still there. The boats are to wait for them for half an hour after daybreak. If Hoffman and his man don’t turn up then, the boats have to come back to the ship, and I’ve told him I’ll have another waiting at the back of the island for him. There’s a big rock somewhere there—can’t mistake it, he says—and I want you to send a boat round there in case he can’t get back this side."

"He’s not strong enough for much hard work, I fear, sir," I said.

"’Fraid not, Truscott; ’fraid not."

"Whenever did you know all about this, sir?" I asked. I was a little nettled that I hadn’t been told before.

"Only this morning," the Skipper replied; he was lighting his third cigar since coming back. "Only this mornin’—couldn’t keep it to himself any longer—came and told me. Umph!" (I suppose that he saw I looked as if I might have been told too) "I’d have told you then, Truscott, but I wasn’t certain of him till to-night, and wasn’t going to let you think ’Old Lest’ had had his leg pulled again, if he turned out a wrong ’un."

"What happened to-night, then, sir?" I asked.

"Directly they saw us coming along, the yacht began to push inland—close up to the town, up a bit of a creek—and just as it was getting dark, we saw the tramp steamer trying to do the same. I wanted to shove along after them, but he wouldn’t let me, said we should have to pass within twenty yards of a battery, and they had had plenty of time to man the guns. He said it didn’t matter either, as the tramp couldn’t get up there, and would be aground before she’d gone fifty yards. He promised to find her, too, later on, and I took him at his word. They blazed off a few rounds at us, I kept ’em busy for a few minutes, and then lay off, out of sight, as if I’d gone back again."

"I didn’t know what had happened, sir, when I could neither hear nor see anything of you. I was in a bit of a ’stew’ when you didn’t come back.

"I wanted to go and torpedo her, but he wouldn’t let me. Said she’d be half out of water in another two hours, and he’d do the job then, without getting into danger."

"He did, too; guided us in—how he did it, beats me—somehow or other got her in between us and the battery, and we let rip a torpedo right into her bottom, just amidship. We weren’t fifty yards away, and not a soul saw us till we’d fired. I tell you, Truscott, that man’s straight. ’Old Lest’ don’t often make a mistake when he’s sized a man up and seen him under fire. He’s as straight as a die. It was his own steamer he blew up."

"Well, he’s the first man’s advice you’ve ever listened to, sir," I said, smiling.

"Umph!" he growled, "but ’mum’s’ the word;" and he patted old Blucher, who was squatting between his knees and yawning.

"If he can’t get back to that cutter—and I don’t know how the dickens he means to do so—he’ll go across to the back of the island."

"What boat shall I send, sir?" I asked, getting up, for it was time to be off; it was nearly three in the morning.

"Send the other cutter, and Trevelyan; I believe in that chap," he growled. "Umph! You are going to turn in, eh? Umph! All right! I’ll write home to the Missus and the Admiral. Don’t know when I can send ’em. Umph!"

"Have you read Rashleigh’s report?" he asked me, as I was going out. "I’ve read it again. He don’t say much about Trevelyan and Ford."

"No, he doesn’t, sir; and I’ve heard their accounts. They throw rather a fresh light on the loss of the two junks. Well, perhaps not quite that, but they seem to have done better than we thought."

"Umph! Good night! Tell ’em to send their reports to me—to write ’em."

I left him lighting a fresh cigar—a marvellous old chap he was—and warned Trevelyan and his boat’s crew before I turned in myself.

On deck they had seen nothing of the two boats, still remaining inshore, and I felt extremely sorry for the drowned rats in them.

*CHAPTER X*

*The Vigilant under Fire*

A Foolhardy Undertaking—"Who’s Captain?"—Mr. Trevelyan
Returns—Taking Precautions—The Skipper’s Plans—A Ticklish
Job—The Commander’s Show—The Skipper’s Few Words

_Written by Commander Truscott_

I sent Trevelyan away an hour before sunrise, and told him where to lie off and wait for any sign of Hoffman and the Chinaman—they were to wave a piece of red bunting—and then turned in for another forty winks, and was called as it grew light. I went up to the fore bridge and found the Skipper already there. He was smoking, even at this hour, and looked as fresh as paint, although he probably had had no sleep at all.

Hardly had I reached the bridge before we heard guns firing again, strained our eyes to see what was happening, and presently saw the steam boat puffing towards us, with the second cutter in tow.

"Get their breakfasts ready for ’em, Truscott; they’ll want ’em, and ’Old Lest’ wants his too;" and he went down below.

In twenty minutes the boats ran alongside, and pretty well worn out all the people were. Hoffman was the first to come aboard. I have never seen such a dirty object in my life. He was covered with mud from head to foot; even his face and hair were caked with it. He looked terribly exhausted. I felt a strange feeling of curiosity in speaking to him, now that I had learnt his history and the part he had played in shaping the events of the last two months. "Found out whether they are still there?" I asked him anxiously; but he shook his head, "Couldn’t do it; too weak, Commander; had to give it up."

The Captain coming up then, took him down below.

"Brought back the steam cutter and the second cutter, sir," Whitmore reported. "I waited as long as I could, but that Chinaman never came back, and I daren’t stay any longer, sir, as they began to plank shots all round us."

"What happened to Hoffman?" I asked. "He looks as if he had had a bad time."

Then Whitmore told me that Hoffman and his Chinaman had tried to get across the mud flats at low water, and find their way ashore in the dark. It was a foolhardy undertaking, because Hoffman was evidently not strong enough; but they lashed flat pieces of wood to their boots. Whitmore ran the cutter’s bows into the mud, and they had crawled overboard and soon disappeared.

Whitmore backed the cutter into deep water and waited for them to return, and in about half an hour had heard a cry coming out of the darkness and had answered it, and rammed the boat into the mud again. Presently Hoffman came stumbling back, falling and scrambling to his feet, and floundering through the mud. He had lost one of his flat pieces of wood, and was unable to reach the shore. Sending on his Chinaman, he had tried to retrace his steps, and had had an awful time before he heard their hail. He only just had sufficient strength to get back to the boat, and had to be hauled in.

"That Chinaman didn’t come back at daylight, sir. I don’t know how he intended to do so, but, at any rate, we saw nothing of him."

I told him that Trevelyan had gone round to the back of the island, in case he tried to get off there.

"I hope you don’t think I shoved off too soon, sir?" Whitmore asked me anxiously. "We were very nearly hit several times—as it was."

"My dear chap, of course not. Go down, have a hot bath and some food; you look as though you wanted both pretty badly. You’ve not had much of a time, I should fancy."

"I’ve never spent such a night in my life," Whitmore said, and I could quite believe him.

"That steamer is as safe as ’eggs’, sir. She’s right over on her side," he called out as he went below.

That was one thing accomplished satisfactorily.

As it turned out, he might have waited for that Chinaman till he was blue in the face—well, hardly that, for he was already blue in the face, but till he’d been sunk—because the Chinaman came off with Trevelyan a couple of hours later.

The Skipper was waiting for his return before making any plans; but long before that, something occurred which thoroughly upset him.

We were all at breakfast, when suddenly we heard the distant report of a heavy gun, and through the open scuttles could hear the "swish, swish" of a shell. Everyone jumped up and rushed on deck, the gunroom people clattering up behind us. "They’ve fired a gun at us, sir," the midshipman of the watch told me. "It went right between the masts and fell over there, sir," and he pointed to where you could still see the spray of the splash, just drifting to leeward, about four hundred yards away. "Don’t think it was a shell, sir; no one heard it burst." He was extremely nervous and excited, twitching all over.

The Skipper came up his ladder, red in the face and indignant, and as he stepped on the quarterdeck there was a shout from for’ard, "They’ve fired again, sir!"

Several people sang out, "Can see it, sir, coming straight this way, sir!" a spout of water leaped into the air, and, "whizzle, whizzle"—with that funny whistling, whispering noise only a ricochetting projectile makes—it passed overhead, and fell close to where the first had fallen.

It was rather amusing to watch how our people "took it". One officer, whose name wild horses shouldn’t drag out of me, threw himself flat down on deck, several tried to get behind each other, and most of them looked as if they were—well—thrown off their "balance". But you should have seen the Skipper. He stood there, with one foot on the quarterdeck. His mouth was wide open, his face was absolutely crimson, his eyes stood out of his head like lobsters’ eyes, and his neck was so swollen that it was a purple colour, and even from where I stood I could see the veins standing out. He actually couldn’t speak, he was in such a frightful rage.

"Close water-tight doors," I sang out, and "steam on the capstan," not knowing what else to do, and then went up to the Captain.

"Who’s captain aboard this ship?" he managed to bring out; "Old Lest or you?"

Then, pausing to take breath, he roared: "What the—the—Jerusalem d’you mean by ordering steam on the capstan? D’you think ’Old Lest’ is going to get up anchor, and move off, because a lousy Chinaman fires a gun at him? Umph! What’s the range?"

"About eight thousand yards, sir."

"Well, he won’t hit us," he growled, and with his field glasses slung round his bull neck, he commenced tramping up and down, scowling to left and right, as everyone hurriedly cleared over to the port side to get out of his way.

Two more shot—they certainly were not shell—came along presently, one after another. They were both a long way short, and ricochetted overhead like express trains. He never turned his head to look at them, but roared for me. "See those darned youngsters leanin’ up against the quarterdeck rails! See ’em—loafin’ on my quarterdeck! Give ’em half an hour’s extra drill in the morning, and send them up to the masthead. I’ll teach ’em to loaf."

I wanted to suggest clearing for "action", going to "General Quarters", and sending them a few rounds to quiet that gun, for a lucky shot of theirs might do a lot of damage, and they must get the range before long; but, to tell you the truth, I hadn’t the courage to do so.

"I’ll teach ’em to loaf," he growled again. "Sound off ’Divisions’."

The buglers rather nervously sounded off, and the men began "falling in". Pretty nervous they were, most of them, especially those with their backs turned to the shore; but they knew that this was "Old Lest’s" way of "showing off", and I could see them winking at one another and grinning.

That was a "Divisions" with a vengeance. It usually lasted ten minutes, but this morning the Skipper, glaring and snorting, went round each "division" himself, stalking along and finding fault if a cap ribbon wasn’t put on correctly, or any small detail of the men’s uniform wasn’t exactly to his liking; and there was no blinking or shrinking—the men simply dare not—whenever another boom was heard, and another shot came whistling past.

When he had at last finished, the men were all marched aft on the quarterdeck, and the young Padré, pale and nervous, and with half an eye for the shore, read prayers, making many mistakes, at which the Skipper growled like a bull dog. I’m certain that one of those projectiles passed not ten feet above us all, and it fell into the water not twenty yards the other side; but not a scrap of notice did the Skipper take, and presently they left off firing altogether, much to our relief. Then he growled out, "Umph! I said so," and went below.

In the middle of all this Trevelyan was sighted coming back round the corner from the other side of the island, and as soon as he came alongside, I saw that he had the Chinaman on board, and looked happy. "I’ve got him, sir, and from what I can make out, Hobbs and Sally are there all right. A lot of those shot have been pretty close, sir; I’ve been watching them all the way off. I wondered why you didn’t fire back."

"Ask the Captain," I said, and took the Chinaman down to Hoffman’s cabin, where the Skipper joined us, and we soon learnt the good news. He had not been able to communicate with them, but they were both safe, and were kept well guarded in an old house, with a high wall round it, just at the back of the town. It was on a little rising ground, and we thought we could actually make it out from the ship through our big telescope.

The man had heard that Evans—that was the name of the rascally Englishman—was laid up with fever. The town, he said, was in an uproar. Hoffman told us that he was always going down with fever, which generally lasted for four or five days, and that probably a Swede, named Jorgensen, was running the show. "It’s a six-inch modern gun that they’ve got there," he said, "but they haven’t much ammunition, and no shell at all for it; and it’s just the mad, silly thing he would do, to go easing it off at this long range."

Hoffman kept on imploring us to prevent Hobbs and Sally being taken off somewhere again. He felt sure that Evans would try to do so, and told us that plenty of junks were always lying in the creeks at the back of the island, and could get away in half an hour, with the wind as it was now blowing.

"Directly he is well enough he’ll be off, and take them with him. He doesn’t care a straw about anything else, so long as he can force Sally to marry him, and bleed the old father. He won’t wait for you to come and try to capture them, you may be certain of that." Hoffman was so earnest, that he made us realize the danger of the poor little girl being once more spirited away by that unscrupulous villain, and how very urgent was the necessity of losing no time in preventing this, at all costs.

The breeze was still blowing dead on shore, so that we were fairly certain that no junks could hope to beat out from this side and escape. The steam yacht dare not come out during the day, and as he had done last night, so the Skipper intended doing every night—leave a boat lying almost in the creek itself to signal directly she attempted to move. Till the arrival of the gunboats, we had nothing but the ship’s boats to send round to the back of the island to patrol; and the Skipper was so impressed with Hoffman’s earnestness, that he gave me orders to "man and arm" the sailing pinnace, the sailing launch, and the steam pinnace for this purpose. I had done this, and they were, in fact, just going to shove off, when they reported that the _Ringdove_ was in sight.

The Captain belayed the boats and ordered Rashleigh round there instead. He had signalled, as he drew near, that he had found the pirate dépôt deserted, and not a junk of any sort or description to be seen, and had therefore come along here at his utmost speed. Whatever demerits Rashleigh may have had as a writer of despatches, he certainly could not have turned up at a more opportune moment, and we all felt grateful to him. I had forgotten to order Trevelyan and Ford to send in their own reports concerning the loss of their junks, but the arrival of the _Ringdove_ reminded me of the Captain’s order, and I sent for them. They were both very bitter about the way in which Rashleigh had reported on them, and I heard Ford say to Trevelyan as they went away, "I’ll write a snorter, sir." As the reports had to go through my hands before the Skipper saw them, I knew that I should be able to "tone" them down if necessary, so said nothing at the time.

The Captain was in great good humour now, and had forgotten all about the firing and his morning’s wrath. "Hoffman tells me," he said, "that there are about a thousand men ashore; got plenty of rifles, too, and ammunition, and will probably put up a good fight. So long as Hobbs and Sally are safe, ’Old Lest’ ain’t going to be hurried for nobody, and he’s going to wait till the other gunboats come along. Can’t do any more by myself, Truscott."

Hoffman himself was down with fever, and, old Mayhew told me, was pretty bad. I met him coming out of the cabin, and he held up a thermometer for me to look at. I couldn’t get the hang of it myself, but he told me it marked 104 degrees.

"Get him on his legs again as soon as you can, old chap," I said; but Mayhew shrugged his shoulders, and he and Barclay went away together to yarn about him. Thank goodness the other wounded people, young Morton included, were doing well.

We took every precaution to prevent anything escaping that night, and sent in both Hoffman’s Chinamen, with a couple of Very’s lights apiece, with orders to try and find out if any attempt was made to move Hobbs or his daughter, and to fire them, down at the water’s edge, if any such attempt was made.

They were evil enough looking fellows, but Hoffman swore that they were to be trusted, so we had to trust them.

The night passed quietly, and early next morning the _Goldfinch_ and the _Omaha_ arrived. The latter was at once sent round to assist the _Ringdove_ at the back of the island, as her searchlight was much more powerful than the _Ringdove’s_, and she would therefore be more useful there than on this side of the island.

In the afternoon the _Sparrow_ also came along. They all reported that the _Huan Min_ had rounded them up, and we felt very kindly disposed towards the melancholic Chinese Captain, and Lawrence’s chum, Ching, and hoped they would bring the _Huan Min_ along to share our adventures. The _Sparrow_ and _Goldfinch_ had left their junks behind, and brought the crews and guns and stores along with them, so that, I am glad to say, we had all our people aboard once more.

We felt now that it would be impossible for anything to escape from the island, and our feelings were much relieved. In fact, I think everyone felt sure now that it would only be a matter of a few days before the pretty little girl and her old father would be safe and sound on board; and all day long there was a constant stream of people going up to the fore bridge and looking through the big telescope to "spot" the house where they were imprisoned.

Directly the Skipper believed that the rascally Englishman and his pirate crews were at last cornered and unable to escape, he sent a letter ashore demanding the immediate release of Hobbs and his daughter, and the immediate surrender of the island. Whoever was in charge of the battery at the mouth of the creek respected the white flag, and the letter was jammed in one of a row of fishing stakes till some Chinese ventured out and took it ashore.

It was a mere matter of form. I do not suppose that anyone imagined that the man Evans would comply with either demand; and so it turned out, for he sent back—the morning after, when the same boat went in again—a most impudent letter, in which he stated that he was going to marry Miss Hobbs, and "hoping that it would not be necessary to hasten his marriage on account of any attempts being made to prevent it", a threat which infuriated the Skipper, and made us all feel extremely distressed.

The Skipper told me what his general plans were.

Two brigades were to be formed, one under his own command from the _Vigilant_, and the other under the command of Captain Parkinson of the _Omaha_ from the gunboats.

They were to disembark at the back of the island, behind the town, at places about two miles apart, and were to march inland as quickly as possible, get between the town and that walled house, and join hands there.

He had not yet decided whether he would land at night or during the day, but rather favoured daylight. "Like to see where I’m goin’, Truscott. ’Old Lest’ ain’t a badger."

This was the general idea, but to make certain that no chance should be left of Sally and her father being spirited away, the _Ringdove_ and _Omaha_ were ordered to destroy every junk and boat they could find in the three little creeks on their side of the island.

At the same time the _Sparrow_ and _Goldfinch_ were ordered to anchor as close in to the town as they could, to make escape impossible from there. They weighed anchor, and proceeded to take up their station inshore, directly after the receipt of the Englishman’s letter, but had not steamed within five thousand yards of the town, when the six-inch opened fire on them. We watched anxiously, and saw that the first shots were very wild. They steadily kept on their way, and, unfortunately, almost directly afterwards, the _Goldfinch_ was struck in the bows, and we could see was badly damaged. It was very awkward to know what to do, because the little hill, and the house in which Sally and Hobbs were imprisoned, were directly behind the six-inch gun, and might be damaged if they tried to return the fire. Their little four-inch guns were not of much use at that range, being very old and very inaccurate, and their erratic shells might have fallen anywhere.

The Skipper swore angrily, and ordered them to return, which they did, followed by six-inch projectiles, until they were well past us. It was a very anxious and exciting few minutes, because a single lucky shot would have sunk either of them, and many were falling extremely close.

We could see the hole in the _Goldfinch’s_ foc’s’tle as she steamed up, and she signalled for medical aid, and that she had two men killed and four wounded. The Skipper cursed roundly, and sent Mayhew and Barclay across to her.

"You’ll land and destroy that gun to-night, Truscott," he turned to me and growled out. "I daren’t fire at it for fear of hurting the little lass, and I’m not going to have it interfering with my plans. Take what men you like, and make what plans you like, and blow it up. Umph!" and he went across to see what damage had been done aboard the _Goldfinch_.

This rather staggered me—I’d not been expecting anything of the kind—but I had sense enough to stammer out, "Thank you very much, sir," before he went away, and went off to find Whitmore, and to get Hoffman to assist us as well.

Whitmore was wildly excited; but he is a good deal younger than I am, and hasn’t a wife to worry about, and I have, and a couple of youngsters too, which makes a good deal of difference.

Hoffman shook his head when he heard of the job, but gave us all the information he could. The six-inch gun, he told us, was mounted behind an open earthwork, on some rising ground, about five hundred yards from the little battery at the water’s edge, the one that had fired at our boats on the first night.

He drew the rough plan which I show you opposite, and which I have lettered, so that you can understand more easily where we had to go and what we had to do.

Our first idea was to land clear of the battery and advance straight towards the six-inch gun; but Hoffman said that there were many native fishermen’s huts all along the beach, and that we should wake their dogs before we’d gone five yards. Even if we did get past them, the ground between was a swamp, and after the continuous downpour of the last few days we should never get through it at night.

He sent for his Chinamen to help him, and apparently they were of the same opinion.

"How about landing on the other side of the island and approaching it from the rear?" I asked. He shook his head. "There are huts all over the island, and where there are huts there are dogs, and you’d wake every dog for miles. There’s not the faintest chance of your rushing it and surprising the people there."

I scratched my head. I didn’t like the job a little bit; but the Skipper had said it was to be done, so that was the end of it—it had to be done.

Whitmore suggested landing abreast the battery and rushing that.

Hoffman thought that could be done easily enough, though it was hardly worth it, in his opinion, as the guns were useless old smooth-bores. He was evidently afraid of irritating the people.

"If once they get out of hand," he said earnestly, with a haggard expression on his thin face, "they’ll rush that house and murder Hobbs and little Sally."