Part 1

Ford of H.M.S. Vigilant

A Tale of the Chusan Archipelago

BY

STAFF SURGEON T. T. JEANS, R.N.

Author of "Mr. Midshipman Glover, R.N."

_ILLUSTRATED BY WILLIAM RAINEY, R.I._

BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED LONDON GLASGOW DUBLIN BOMBAY 1910

*Preface*

This story is written more or less on the same lines as my previous story of naval adventures—_Mr. Midshipman Glover, R.M._—and describes events subsequent to those narrated in that book.

The proof sheets have been carefully read by messmates of different branches of the Service, and I am much indebted to them for correcting many technical errors.

Practically all the characters are drawn from life, and the cruisers and gunboats, British, American, and Chinese, taking part in the various operations are actual ships under altered names.

I therefore hope that the story gives an accurate representation of life in the Service under the war conditions described.

T. T. JEANS Staff Surgeon, Royal Navy H.M.S. ALBION

TO

E. R. W., K. G., AND E. M.

AS A SLIGHT RETURN FOR THEIR ASSISTANCE WHILST WRITING THIS BOOK

*Contents*

CHAP.

I. How Dick Ford went to Sea II. Introduces Sally Hobbs III. The Vigilant under Orders IV. The Loss of Lieutenant Travers V. Midshipman Ford’s First Command VI. The "Sally" goes into Action VII. Mr. Rashleigh takes Command VIII. The Vigilant Sails Again IX. Mr. Hoffman’s Secret X. The Vigilant under Fire XI. The Landing Party XII. Midshipman Ford on his Mettle XIII. Mr. Ching to the Rescue XIV. "Old Lest" takes a Hand XV. The Retreat XVI. Ford saves "Old Lest’s" Life XVII. Goodbye to the Huan Min XVIII. A Midnight Adventure XIX. The Captain Receives a Present XX. Home Again

*Illustrations*

The skipper receives the Mandarin . . . _Frontispiece_

A Fierce Tussle

"He hacked and hacked"

Close Fighting

"He was just going to fire"

"The Skipper took her up in his arms"

Plan of Creek (Hector Island)

*CHAPTER I*

*How Dick Ford went to Sea*

Old Gurridge—Appointed to the Vigilant—Dick sends a Telegram—The Vigilant at Last!—"Dear Little Dicky!"—Dicky gives his Messages

_Written by Midshipman Ford_

I don’t expect that you have ever heard of Upton Overy, in North Devon, but it is there where Captain Lester, of the Royal Navy, lives, and, at any rate, you must have heard of him. Everyone in the West Country knows him by name and most of them by sight, and whenever he comes back from sea the villagers won’t do any work, and the bellringers ring peals and "changes" on the old church bells all day long, till you’d think that the top stones must be shaken off. The noise always makes my mother’s head ache terribly. You see, my father is the parson of Upton Overy, and our house is so close to the church, that the noise seems to go through and through it.

If he happened to be at home, on leave or on half-pay, the Captain sometimes asked my father to go out shooting with him, and when I was quite a kiddy I was so fearfully keen to go too, that once I crept away and followed them. My father would have sent me back, had not the Captain growled out—and he had an awfully deep growling voice—"Let the nipper come along o’ us, Padré;" and you may be jolly well certain that I did follow them, keeping close behind the Captain, without saying a word, and with my eyes glued on him, just to see exactly what he did. I got so tired, that if I hadn’t been afraid of making a noise I should have cried.

"Send the young ’un to sea. He’ll do," he had said when my father, very angry at having his day’s sport spoilt, had at last to carry me back.

That is the first I remember of Captain Lester, and is why I remember what he said. Afterwards he would often let me go with him, and when I was big enough would let me hold his great mongrel dog "Blucher". The Captain used to take this dog to sea with him, and always brought him out shooting; but he used to get so excited that he would obey nobody, and if let loose, always ranged ahead of the guns, and put up every bird for miles. The result was that he was kept on the chain nearly all the time.

Although he was so useless, the Captain would never leave him behind. "I’ve spoilt the dog taking him to sea", he would growl; "I ain’t going to spoil his bit of sport", and he always let him have a run "on his own" towards the end of the day.

Sometimes his eldest girl, Nan, used to come too, and as she worshipped her father just as much as I did, we became quite chums, and had many a jolly day together, while we hung on to old Blucher’s chain, and he tugged us about.

She worried very much because she was a girl and couldn’t go to sea, but of course that wasn’t her fault—I told her so, often—and it always made me feel what a jolly good thing it was to be a man, and that I was going to sea. I had made up my mind to that, and had never forgotten what the Captain had said. I simply longed for the sea, and used to spend every moment I could down among the fishing boats, helping to spread the nets out along the shore to dry, and sometimes taking a hand in mending them. I made chums, too, of the boys in the smaller smacks, which worked close inshore, and one of them took me out several times in his uncle’s boat.

But just skirting along the coast was not enough for me, so one night I did a very silly thing. Upton Overy owned six deep-sea trawlers, which were generally away on the fishing grounds for a whole week, and one night, I couldn’t stand it any longer, and crept out of the house, round by the back of the church, down a cliff path to the harbour, crawled aboard one of these trawlers, and hid myself under the nets. I knew that they were all going out before daylight, and that I shouldn’t be found till we were right out of sight of land.

When they did pull me out in the morning, old Gurridge—it was his boat I’d crept into—was rather beastly about it, and jawed at me till he was tired. He’d had some row with my father, and thought it a jolly good opportunity of having a "dig" at him, and the way he’d brought me up; but I didn’t mind what he said—not in the least—for all round me was sea, no land whichever way I looked, and I simply felt mad with delight.

It came on to blow, too, and I don’t think that old Gurridge could have taken me back, even if he’d wanted to—and he didn’t want to either, because of that row with my father—and all the time he made me work, scrubbing and cleaning, and jawing at me for being so wicked as to run away.

Of course I got back safely, had a jolly good beating, and was sent to bed; but, honestly, I couldn’t feel wicked, because, right down inside me, I knew that I’d done it because the Captain wanted me to go to sea, and, as I told you before, I simply worshipped him. Most people did—even the "grown-ups"—so it was no wonder that I did.

He heard about it too—my trip in the trawler, I mean—and that was one reason, I fancy, why he gave me a nomination for the _Britannia_, and when I had passed in, promised to look after me if I did well there.

I can’t help remembering the first time I came home in cadet’s uniform, and rushed up to the House to show myself to Mrs. Lester and the girls. Nan was most respectful, and she’d never been so before, and that pleased me more than anything else. I expect that I put on a frightful amount of "side", and must have been a horrid little bounder.

I only saw Captain Lester twice whilst I was in the _Britannia_, and then he commissioned the _Vigilant_ for the China station. Of course, what I really wanted to do was to go to his ship, but I thought that probably he’d forgotten all about me. He hadn’t, though; for when, during my last term, my father had to write out to him about some church repairs, he wrote in his reply, "Tell the young ’un he can come out to my ship, if he passes out of the _Britannia_ well".

This news simply made me boil all over, and you may guess how hard I worked that term, and what I felt like when the lists came out. My name—Dick Ford—was seventh of my term, and next below me was Jim Rawlings, my best chum, and we both had just got enough marks to scrape out as midshipmen straight away.

Wasn’t that splendid? It was grand, too, to see the little white badges sewn on the collars of our monkey jackets, and to know that we’d finished being cadets.

The next thing to do was to get Captain Lester to apply for me; but I funked asking Mrs. Lester, and my mother stood rather in awe of her too. However, it turned out that the Captain and Mrs. Lester between them had arranged it all, and one morning, after I’d gone home on Christmas leave, there was a large blue envelope for me in the postbag. I tore it open, and the first thing I saw was the name _Vigilant_ scrawled in among the print. I yelled with delight, for there it was at last. It was grand, and at the end of the print was: "You are to embark on board the P. & O. Steamship _Marmora_ by noon on the 14th January".

My mother ran up to her room directly I had read it aloud and she had looked to make certain, and my father frowned at me and said angrily, "You see what you’ve done? Broken your mother’s heart," and that made me miserable again, though I couldn’t feel miserable for long, and rushed up to the House to show the appointment to Nan and everyone I met. I shall never forget that day and the next three weeks, and at last driving off to the station, with my sea chest on top of the village cab, really, actually—I could hardly believe it—on my way to China—and Captain Lester.

Mrs. Lester and the girls were at the big gates, and I had to stop and wish them goodbye. Nan looked down her nose and pretended she wouldn’t have given her soul to be coming too, and Mrs. Lester, before I knew what was going to happen, actually bent down and kissed me. My mother was so astonished that she left off crying, but I’m almost sure that Mrs. Lester had tears in her eyes. Of course I knew why—because I was off to join the Captain, and would—-with luck—see him in six or seven weeks.

She had a big box of things for me to take out to him too, and it took a great deal of hoisting up alongside my chest.

You can have no idea how many messages were given me for him. Of course everyone in the village knew I was going, and for the last fortnight, I should think, half the village had sent "best respects to the Captain", and news about their children or gardens or the fishing. I stuck them all down in a notebook so as not to forget them—my mother advised me to do this. At the station old Puddock, the station master, gave me a pot of cranberry jam his wife had made—she’d been cook up at the House before she married Puddock—"with our best respects for the Cap’en, Master Dick, and tell him we’re both fair to middling, and I got first prize at Barnton Show for the pigs". Out came the notebook again, and we were off at last—my mother and I.

But the funniest thing of all happened at the next station—Bodington—for there Ned the Poacher—he was an awful nuisance for miles round, and spent half the year in prison—came sheepishly to the carriage and asked me to tell the Captain that he and his pals wouldn’t be too hard on the pheasants this year, as they knew he was coming home for next year’s shooting. "Tell the Cap’en they birds be mighty strong and healthy, and there’ll be plenty of ’em next year when he comes home," and he shuffled away. I suppose he hadn’t the face to come to me at Upton Overy itself.

I wasn’t going to put that down in the notebook, but my mother said I had better do so.

When we went down to the docks next day and went aboard the _Marmora_, the very first person I saw was Jim Rawlings—on his way out to join another cruiser—and in the excitement of seeing him I hardly wished my mother "goodbye" properly, and it was only when the _Marmora_ shoved off and left her standing alone in the rain, on the dock wall, that I felt what an awful brute I was, and wanted to jump across the bit of water just to say "goodbye" once again.

There were four cadets on board, as well; going out to join different ships. A lieutenant was in charge of all of us, and jolly nasty he made himself too; and we were all jolly glad when we found his ship lying at Singapore, and he cleared out. I’m not going to tell you all about the voyage. It would take too long, and there are too many exciting things for you to hear. For me they began there, and it was Jim who made the discovery. He’d got hold of a Singapore newspaper, and suddenly came flying along the deck, whooping like a madman, and shoved it into my hands. You can imagine how excited I was, for among the telegrams was this:

"Shanghai, February 22nd. Captain Lester, H.M.S. _Vigilant_, senior officer in the Chusan Archipelago, reports that the Chinese cruiser _Huan Min_ has picked up Mr. Martin P. Hobbs and his daughter, adrift in a boat, and that their steam yacht has been captured by a gang of pirates in possession of a large steamer, and led by a European."

At the end of the telegram followed—"We understand that Captain Lester has been ordered to take the necessary steps to recapture Mr. Hobbs’s yacht."

My Aunt! Wasn’t that news? You can just fancy how I almost felt sick all over with excitement, and how frightfully important I felt at being the only one going to that ship, with a chance of chasing pirates. How I wished it was possible for Jim to come too. We thought and thought of any number of schemes, and then, "Let’s telegraph to Captain Lester," he burst out; and we hunted out every penny we had in our chests, rushed ashore, jumped into a double rickshaw, and went off like mad to the Eastern Telegraph Office. The _Marmora_ was lying at Tanjong Pagar wharf, and we needn’t have gone fifty yards, if we’d known, but we drove right into the town.

When we got there our courage began to ooze away, because I knew it was a frightfully cheeky thing to do; but Jim bucked me up, and the telegraph people helped us, and put the best address they could think of. What we sent was: "Midshipman Rawlings chum mine wants come _Vigilant_—Ford Midshipman", and that took nearly all our money. Neither of us cared a "rap" about that, though, so long as Captain Lester would ask for Jim.

We were half-dead with funk at what we’d done when we got outside the office, but Jim cheered me up by saying, "we couldn’t get hanged", and that they wouldn’t send us home again, because of the expense, so we drove back fairly happy, though I couldn’t sleep much that night for wondering whether the Captain would think me frightfully impertinent. He was terrible when he was angry.

We were a week punching up to Hong-Kong. It seemed a month, and when we did get there, both Jim and I were waiting at the gangway for the officer of the guard to board her, hoping to hear from Captain Lester. Of course there was nothing at all for us from him, and I was ordered to go across to H.M.S. _Tyne_, store-ship, for passage to the _Vigilant_, whilst Jim and the three cadets had to go aboard the _Tamar_, the receiving ship, always stationed there. Jim didn’t say anything, but went down the gangway with his lips firmly pressed together, and I, very miserable, went across to the _Tyne_ and wandered about her great ward room like a lost sheep all the afternoon, getting in everyone’s way, till I got into a corner, and wrote a long letter home.

I couldn’t keep miserable very long, though, because we unmoored directly after dark, and at last I was really off to join the _Vigilant_, and in the excitement forgot about Jim. Boats had kept coming and going, and I hadn’t taken any notice of them, and they must have come over in the last boat, because just as we cast off someone banged me on the back, and there was Jim Rawlings, grinning all over his jolly ugly red face, and behind him was that ass Dicky Morton, the junior of the three cadets, with his silly little eyes almost sticking out of his head with excitement.

"We’re both sent to the _Vigilant_," he squeaked out.

Well, Jim coming too made me just completely happy, although it was a bit toned down by having Dicky Morton with us too. "He’s not a bad little chap when you get used to him," Jim told me, but that was Jim "all over". He was the most unselfish fellow you ever met in the world, would have given you his last shirt if you asked him, and was always standing by to give a leg up to silly idiots like Dicky.

He hadn’t the least idea why he’d been sent; he’d just been given an order, signed by the Commodore, and he hadn’t heard whether Captain Lester had telegraphed or not. We tried to think that our telegram had just done the trick, but then that did not explain why Dicky was here. We didn’t worry about anything, though, for long, and simply counted the minutes, and kept our eye on the cherub log all the time. You can imagine what we felt like when we ran into a fog, three days out, and had to crawl along at about five knots, rolling about in a swell on our starboard bow. Our navigator was much too wily a bird to try and make the Chusan group of islands from the south in that kind of weather, and that meant another twelve hours steaming; but at last the fog blew away, the sun came out long enough for him to take a sight, and away we went again.

The fifth day out from Hong-Kong we made the islands—you can bet your boots we were on deck—dodged in between several of them, and then the harbour of Tinghai suddenly opened out, and far away, under a hill, we could just see a white spot. "That’s your ship, the _Vigilant_," a signalman told us as he hoisted the _Tyne’s_ number. We got nearer and nearer; she got bigger and bigger. Presently the signalman hauled down the pendants, and we knew that the _Vigilant_ had seen us, and I wondered whether Captain Lester would be frightfully angry or not. I was really in a funk at meeting him, chiefly because of that telegram.

We anchored quite close to her, over to us bobbed a steamboat with a big "V" on her bows—our steamboat—my steamboat some day perhaps—and we were presently bundled in and taken across, the midshipman of the boat winking at us patronizingly.

"Have you caught the pirates?" we all asked him.

"Not yet. You bet! but we’re in for some fun. You’re lucky beggars, I can tell you. They’re only expecting one mid. Where the dickens d’you other two come from?"

The first bit made us fearfully excited, but the last part made me miserable again; for it made it quite certain that Captain Lester had not asked for Jim Rawlings, and I knew he would be angry with us both if he had received that telegram already, or if he ever did get it. We were alongside in a jiffy, I climbed up the ladder, and, in my excitement at being at last on board the _Vigilant_, I forgot to salute the quarterdeck, and so did Dicky, and the officer of the watch "jumped" on us both and sent us both down below with a flea in our ears. I got red all over with shame, and it hurt me more because Dicky and I were in the same box; it wouldn’t have been so bad if it had been Jim. The Captain was ashore—I was jolly glad of that—and the Commander was asleep, and didn’t want to be disturbed, so we were left to ourselves, and saw our chests lowered into the gunroom flat, jammed together into a dark corner, and then we sat down on them for company, swung our legs, and felt miserable.

We weren’t left alone for long, though, and soon we were hauled into the gunroom, where the Sub-lieutenant—a huge, great fellow—made us stand in a row in front of him, and asked us silly questions, to make all the others laugh. Jim and I got through this all right, but Dicky made a perfect little ass of himself—we were frightfully ashamed of him—squeaking out all sorts of things about his family and his sisters, and everyone roared with laughter.

"What do they call you at home?" the Sub asked him.

"Dicky, sir," the idiot bleated.

"Don’t they ever call you ’dear little Dicky’?" the Sub said coaxingly. He was enjoying himself immensely, and I could almost feel Jim grind his teeth with anger when Dicky smiled feebly, and answered, "Sometimes, sir."

There were shouts of "dear little Dicky" all round the room, and the ass never saw what an idiot he had made of himself. He was always called "dear little Dicky" afterwards, by the Sub’s orders, though there was no need for orders to make them all do that.

It was a horribly bad beginning.

They hadn’t any news of the pirates either to cheer us up. They had had one look for them, but had found nothing, and were now waiting for fresh orders.

Just before it got dark someone sung out that the Captain was coming back with the Fleet Paymaster. I hadn’t the courage to go up on deck to let him see me, but just peeped out of a gunroom scuttle as he came alongside.

He was so broad and big, that he seemed to fill the galley’s stern sheets. He was wearing the same stained old shooting-suit he always wore at Upton Overy—I never could remember seeing him in any other—Blucher, thinner than ever, was squatting between his knees, and the Fleet Paymaster, with white beard and a still older shooting-suit, was sitting next to him. He threw away the stump of a cigar, helped Blucher scramble on to the ladder, gave a gruff order to the coxswain, and followed Blucher. He looked so stern, and I felt so afraid of him, that I popped my head in again lest he should see me, and waited, hot and cold, expecting him to send for me. I wasn’t so silly as to think that he would want to see _me_, but I knew that he would want to hear all about Mrs. Lester and the girls.

Jim knew how frightened I was, and promised that directly I was sent for, he and Dicky would bring along the packing-case which Mrs. Lester had sent, and put it outside his cabin door, so that I could get at it very quickly.

And then I remembered that pot of cranberry jam, and hunted for it in my chest. I couldn’t find it anywhere. Jim asked what I was looking for, and he helped too. Suddenly he stopped, his face quite white.

"Was it a white jar with the top covered with brown paper?"

"Yes, it was," I told him, and knew that something awful was going to happen.

"I emptied it," he groaned; "ate the whole lot, half-way from Aden."

I went cold all over, and just then the sentry sang out that the Captain wanted me, and I shuffled aft, knocked at the door, heard the Captain’s growl "Come in!" could hardly turn the handle for fright, went in, and stood before him absolutely speechless.

He was reading a letter—we’d brought a mail with us in the _Tyne_—and didn’t look up for a moment or two, and just in that time, jolly old Blucher stretched himself, came over, smelt me, got up on his hind legs and licked my face before I could prevent him. I could have hugged him, because that did the trick, and made me forget all about the jam and the telegram—for the moment.

"Hello, Dick! Got here at last?" and the Captain looked up, and held out his great red hand. "How’s the Missus and the girls? Where’s that box of things she tells me she gave you?"

"Outside, sir," I squeaked—like Dicky—and simply rushed out. Jim and Dicky had just brought it along, and I dragged it in.

"Umph! Don’t spoil my carpet. Where’s Willum? Willum!" the Captain shouted, "come and open this box." "Willum"—I never knew his surname—was his valet, and between us we soon had the box open, the Captain all the time asking me questions.

"I had a number of messages for you, sir, from people in Upton Overy. I’ve got them all—nearly all of them—down in my notebook."

"Where is it?" he growled. "Read ’em out."

But I’d left it down in my chest purposely, so that I could get a "breather", and when I ran down to get it, Jim was waiting for me.