Part 3

"If you want a good day’s rabbiting," he said, "stop the holes, stop ’em up, Truscott."

His main idea was that the pirates must have, somewhere in the archipelago, a base from which they operated, where they repaired and revictualled their ships, and where they warehoused their captured goods before selling them. The authorities on the mainland had assured him that no such dépôt existed on the mainland, so he only had the archipelago to trouble about, and now he determined, first of all, to examine every island. The archipelago is roughly divided into five great groups, and his scheme was to examine each group, one at a time. The three gunboats and the _Huan Min_, which had been placed under his orders by the Viceroy, were to do the exploring work, and he was going to steam slowly, backwards and forwards to leeward, in order to catch anything that tried to escape. You must understand that junks can hardly beat to wind’ard, and would fly "down" wind.

His orders to Rashleigh and to the skippers of the other two gunboats, the _Sparrow_ and _Goldfinch_, which arrived a day or two later, were—"You fellows, go in and turn out the game, umph! and Old Lest’ll bag it when it comes down to him;" and his orders were the same, though not in those words, to the Captain of the _Huan Min_.

Once the last gunboat had arrived, he did not lose any time, but weighed anchor the very next morning, and with the clumsy old black corvette and the three little white gunboats puffing after him, steered for the north.

He chose to examine the northerly group first, because the winds, at that season of the year, always had a good deal of "northerly" in them, and, as I said before, junks beat to wind’ard so slowly that they would never think of trying to escape in that way.

*CHAPTER III*

*The Vigilant under Orders*

"Seven Bell" Tea Time—Sally Hobbs is Entertained—Mr. Rashleigh—The Pirates Raid a Monastery—A Fire on Shore—"A" Company Lands—"A" Company Doubles—A Fierce Tussle—Mr. Travers is Missing—The Return

_Written by Midshipman Ford_

Jim Rawlings and I managed to hold our end "up" all right in the gunroom, and hadn’t been aboard a week before the Sub begun to leave us alone. We had hoped that that wretched telegram had been lost somewhere, but it turned out that it had only been "hung up" at Shanghai, and when the _Ringdove_ came down with the Admiral’s answer to the Captain’s letters, she brought it with her. Dicky was on watch, heard Mr. Rashleigh tell someone that he had a telegram a fortnight old for the Captain, guessed it was ours, and rushed down to the gunroom flat to tell us. He looked as frightened as we felt. Jim suggested asking Willum to try and steal it from the Captain’s table, and we did, but Willum didn’t like midshipmen, and told us that the Captain had his hand on top of it too, so we could do nothing but huddle up on our chests and wait.

Presently someone shouted down that we’d been ordered to recapture the yacht and go for the pirates, and everyone began yelling and shouting and cheering; you could hear the cheers as the news passed along from one mess to the other. It was so exciting, that Jim and I forgot all about that wretched telegram, and we all made a fearful row in the gunroom, and Mr. Hamilton, the big Engineer Lieutenant, hammered out "Rule, _Britannia_" and "We won’t go home till morning" on the piano. It was simply grand.

It was just about "seven bell" tea time when we heard the news, and when we’d let off steam Mr. Langham banged on the table for silence. "Gentlemen," he shouted, "on this great occasion, before you commence to stuff yourselves with bread and jam, we will perform the time-honoured ceremony of ’over the main top’, the last midshipman down to have no ’seven bell’ tea. Stand by!" and we all tried to get a good position near the door. "One! Two! Five! Go!" and we all scrambled out, helter-skelter up on deck, flattening out the sentry on the Captain’s cabin, who did not get out of the way in time, up to the boat deck, into the starboard main rigging, clambered up it, into the fighting top, jumped across in a mob, down the port main rigging, half sliding and getting our hands trodden on, and dashed back to the gunroom, where the Sub-lieutenant and the A.P. were sitting with their watches in their hands, to see whether any records had been beaten.

I was amongst the first few, because I had got a good start, but Jim was nearly last—I’d seen him helping Dicky to haul himself into the fighting top. Dicky and Ponsonby—he was called Pongo for short—a fat little cadet, were actually the last, coming in together and both claiming not to be last. Dicky, like an ass, squeaked out, "He trod on my thumb," and held it up to show the blood, "going up the ratlines," and Pongo gasped, horribly out of breath, "I couldn’t climb into the top, I couldn’t really; I nearly fell," and we all yelled with delight. "You climb into you hammock fast enough, you fat little beast," said Mr. Langham. "The first three are Mr. Webster, Mr. Smith, and Mr. Johnson. Mr. Pongo and Mr. ’Dear Little Dicky’ are last—a dead heat; neither of them will have any seven bell tea. Fall out! Dismiss’"

It had just struck seven bells too, and Ah Man, the Chinese messman, and Hong Cho, his steward, had covered the table with cups and plates, loaves of bread, tins of salt butter, and pots of jam. We all scrambled for places—there wasn’t room for us all to sit down together—and grabbed at Ah Man’s long white coat as the fat old chap came along, with his big teapot, and tried to get an early whack of tea. "No can do, Gen’l’men! Makee too muchee bobberee; no can do, all same one time," the old chap shrieked in his funny voice, as he pushed his way between the table and the bulkhead.

Poor Dicky and Pongo had to wait on the Sub, cut him slices of bread, spread them with butter, pile them up with jam, and then stand to attention, whilst he very slowly ate them, and made funny remarks with his mouth full—we had to laugh at them, whether we thought them funny or not.

"The great thing in life, Mr. Pongo," he said, stuffing a huge piece of bread and jam into his mouth, "is to be moderate in everything," and when he could speak again, "You, Mr. Dear Little Dicky, may suck your bleeding thumb if you’re thirsty, and don’t take it out again until I tell you."

So there Dicky had to stand, with his thumb in his mouth, looking an ass, and awfully miserable.

"There is still a chance of your getting some tea, my pet lambs," he went on. "Jones and Withers will be here in five minutes" (they were the midshipman of the watch and signal midshipman, and came off watch at 4 o’clock), "and they’ll have to go over the ’main top’ before I can make my final decision."

It wasn’t much of a chance, and when they did come down and were ordered over the "main top", they were back again in a very much shorter time than Pongo or Dicky had taken.

"I am so very sorry," said the Sub, chaffing them, "but for my sake, do try and keep alive till dinner-time!"

"Now do, just for our sakes!" shouted nearly everyone—except Jim, who was angry, and I rather fancy I didn’t, because I was angry too, for it really wasn’t fair sport to make fun of such an ass as Dicky.

The buglers sounded off "evening quarters" just then, so Pongo and Dicky escaped any more "rotting", though they dare not have any tea or cake, even when the Sub’s back was turned, because that was against the rules.

Directly after the "dismiss" was sounded, Jim and I were sent for by the Captain. All our excitement simply fell out of us, and we were fearfully frightened—Jim was as pale as a sheet. We went in together and stood to attention in front of him, quaking all over.

"Umph!" he growled. "What’s the meaning of this?" and he held out the hateful telegram; but we hadn’t the pluck to say anything—words wouldn’t come. "Infernal cheek, that’s what it was, and must have cost you a pretty penny," and he glared at us over his cigar smoke. "A pretty penny, eh?"

Jim managed to tell him "One pound fifteen, sir."

"Umph! silly young fools," and then he hunted through drawer after drawer in his knee-hole table, we didn’t know in the least what was going to happen—Jim told me afterwards that he thought he was hunting for a cane—found a couple of sovereigns and gave us each one—I nearly dropped mine, I was so surprised—and growled out, "Off you go; don’t do it again."

We just had the presence of mind to say, "Thank you, sir," and streaked out like lightning, feeling happier than I can tell you, for now we hadn’t a worry in the world—well, hardly, for the Sub didn’t really count, nor Dicky either—and we had nothing to spoil our thinking about the pirates.

That very afternoon Mr. Hobbs and Miss Hobbs came on board to tea with the Commander, and he presently sent down to tell the Sub to have the place "tidied up", as she wanted to come down and see the gunroom. She came, too, in a few minutes, and those of us who could not escape were introduced to her, and then she sat down at our old "jingly" piano and sang nigger songs to us, and we got over being shy, and the others gradually came in, and we crowded round her, standing on the benches and table, and joined in the choruses.

She was so absolutely "ripping", that when she went away we all sang "For she’s a jolly good fellow", and did the hip! hip! hooray! part jolly well—because we meant it. She got quite white, I don’t know why, some tears actually ran all down her face, she put her hand on Mr. Langham’s arm—he looked jolly uncomfortable, but couldn’t move away because he kicked up against the gunroom stove—and said, "Guess you’re all too sweet for words," and slipped away back to the Commander’s cabin, where her father was. That made us quiet again—the tear part, I mean—and she looked such a regular "brick", that we all would have done anything for her, and it made it still more exciting to know that it was her yacht which we were going to try and get back. Jim swore that he’d "scupper" the brute who’d cut off her hair, if he could find him, and I’m certain that we all wanted to have a jolly good try too.

Well, at last we did get away, one exciting morning, the _Ringdove_, _Goldfinch_, and _Sparrow_ coming along with us, and the _Huan Min_ simply making the whole sky behind us as black as your hat. The smoke she made was so thick, that it looked as if it didn’t like coming out of her funnel.

For a week we wandered backwards and forwards to leeward of one of the groups of islands, all of us in double watches at night, so as to keep a better look-out, but nothing happened, and after that we chose another group and waited outside while the gunboats searched it. Still nothing happened, and I don’t mind telling you that this wasn’t our idea of excitement and pirate chasing. A third week had nearly gone by when our first news of the pirates came.

Very early one morning the _Ringdove_ was sighted coming towards us very fast, and presently her Captain, Mr. Rashleigh, bounced on board. He was quite purple in the face with excitement, and looked fatter than ever. "The Skipper hasn’t turned out yet," the Commander told him, as he took him down below. "You’d better be careful. He’s a bit ’livery’ in the morning." He hadn’t been below three minutes before he bounced up on deck again, looking "down in the mouth", went back to his gunboat without saying a word to anybody, and the _Ringdove_ steamed away.

The Commander had to go to the Captain immediately, and through the open skylight I heard the Captain bellow, "that fat little blockhead has let ’em slip through his fingers. He drives the crew of a junk ashore, and never stops to see what becomes of ’em. I’ve sent him back, and we’d better follow him." Then I heard him give a terrific "Umph!"

Dicky found out all that had happened from the coxswain of the whaler which had brought Mr. Rashleigh across. He had slipped down the ladder directly, which was rather a smart thing to do. The coxswain had told him that yesterday evening, just as it was getting dark, they had sighted a junk becalmed under an island. Her crew could be seen getting out their sweeps and working at them frantically to try and escape, but Mr. Rashleigh had turned on the _Ringdove’s_ searchlight, and, so the coxswain said, thrown a drum of oil on the fires. At any rate, he jolly soon began to overhaul her rapidly, and as she came up, the junk’s crew jumped overboard and swam for the shore. Mr. Rashleigh immediately sent a cutter’s crew away to board her. Fortunately there had been some little delay in shoving off, and before they could pull halfway the junk blew up, which proves that she must have been a pirate. The cutter was so close that pieces of burning wood actually fell into the boat, and it was jolly lucky that they weren’t actually alongside.

Mr. Rashleigh had only waited to pick up the cutter, and had then steamed back to us.

The _Vigilant_ didn’t wait long after the _Ringdove_ had gone back again, and followed her to the island, but by the time we’d got there, there wasn’t a trace of the junk. Then came more excitement, for "A" small-arm company—that was my company, the left half of it at any rate—was "piped" to fall in. I had to get my gaiters on, and a revolver and a cutlass, and then superintend the serving out of ammunition. Mr. Travers, a tall, very aristocratic Lieutenant, was in charge, and the Commander came too—more excited than anyone—and we were all sent ashore. The Commander sprang into the soft mud with a whoop, and more or less waded ashore, and we all followed him. I got covered with mud up to my knees, and that pair of trousers was never of any use afterwards except for dirty work. It was only a bit of an island, with a small village on the opposite side, so we spread out in skirmishing order and crept down on it, expecting to have shots fired at us every second. There seemed to be a lot of smoke about, and there was a burning smell in the air, and when we’d got within three hundred yards the Commander gave another whoop and sang out, "Rush ’em, boys!" and we all raced down as hard as we could, but the only living things, there, were some pigs and dogs, which ran away squealing and yapping. There was only one hut which hadn’t been burnt to the ground—some were still smouldering—-and down on the beach were two dead corpses—ugh! They were the first I had ever seen, and though I didn’t really want to do so, I couldn’t help going down to look at them closely. Some of my men turned them over with their feet, to see how they’d been killed, and then I had to go away.

Presently some of the villagers began to creep back, and then we learnt from them what had happened, through a Chinaman whom we had brought with us as an interpreter. In the middle of last night a band of men had swooped through the village and set fire to the huts. Whilst the frightened people were trying to escape or put out the fires, they’d cut the mooring ropes of a junk lying close inshore, and had sailed away. It was their only junk, too, and the poor brutes were absolutely ruined. Before we left the village they’d all come back, and were moaning and wringing their hands, but doing nothing to help themselves. I shall never forget one poor old woman, just a wrinkled bag of bones she was, sitting on a stone in front of one of the half-burnt huts. They had brought one of the corpses to her, and she was swaying from side to side, making a funny noise, and looking past everything, as though she was mad. One of the bluejackets gave her some tobacco as we went by. "Here, mother!" he said, "here’s a bit of navy prick,"[#] and she snatched it from him, stuffed some of it into her mouth, and went on swaying and moaning.

[#] Navy Prick—Navy tobacco is served out in the raw leaf, and after being rolled and squeezed together by the men, is known as Navy Prick.

When we got aboard again—I’d never been so dirty in my life—the Captain was simply furious. I heard him say, "If that little fool had only stayed where he was, he’d have caught ’em," and we steamed back to our cruising ground.

That didn’t end the day’s excitement—not by a long chalk—for presently we sighted a solitary junk, thought it might be the one in which the pirates had escaped, and chased her. However, it turned out to be one of the Tinghai war junks looking for us, and bringing letters from the Taotai and Mr. Hobbs.

The news must have been very serious, for the Commander and the Navigator and the Engineer Commander were all sent for, and we could hear the Captain’s bellowing voice talking very fast.

We soon knew why; Willum and the sentry told us. The pirates had raided the monastery of Tu Pu, cleared out all the monks’ hoards, and left them hardly anything except what they stood up in. The Taotai had written imploring us to go back to Tinghai.

We didn’t understand how important this was till the A.P. (Moore, the Assistant Paymaster) heard of it, and then he whistled, "My aunt! you chaps, it’s the richest monastery in North China, and you can see it from the top of Joss House Hill—it’s not twenty miles away."

Well, that made it exciting enough for anyone, and showed how daring these pirates were becoming; and we all expected to go back at once, but someone heard the Captain growl, "I’ve made my plans, and I’m not going to fly this way and that way, every other second, for all the blooming Taotais and pirates in the world." So we didn’t go back till the Saturday afternoon—as we had arranged. No sooner had we anchored under Joss House Hill, than the Taotai and Mr. Hobbs came on board, the old Chinaman in a great state of funk. They brought two other Chinamen with them, and they turned out to be two of the servants at the monastery. Six days ago the monks had given shelter to some seamen, who had knocked at the great gates and told a yarn of having been shipwrecked. At night these chaps had knocked the doorkeepers on the head, opened the gates, and let in a whole crowd of Chinamen, and while some of them kept the monks in their quarters, the others had looted the treasury and carted away everything of value. One of these two men had been too frightened to notice anything, but the other said that he had managed to escape, had hidden in a swamp down by the sea, and had seen two steamers, one large and the other small, close inshore, and that the robbers all went away in them.

"That’s Hobbs’s yacht and the tramp steamer, I’ll bet you anything," the Sub said.

The Captain came up to see the Taotai and Mr. Hobbs over the side, and we heard him ask Mr. Hobbs: "What’s become of that great German chap Hoffman, eh?"

"He streaked across to squint at that collection of old monks right away. Says he’ll get information from them at first hand, and means to find that yacht of his before he’s much older, I guess."

"Where’s Darter Sally?" asked the Captain.

"Staying up at the Mission House. Guess she’s gotten a shy fit and wouldn’t come on board," and the little man smiled, whilst the Captain snorted, as if that was the last thing in the world he could believe.

We had been away from Tinghai for nearly three weeks, and of course we had run out of fresh grub down in the gunroom, so you can bet your boots the very first thing that Mr. Langham did was to send Ah Man ashore to buy some; and he came back with a sampan loaded down with things, mutton and fowls and ducks and eggs, and any amount of green stuff. We had a grand "blow out" at dinner that night, and afterwards the band played on the quarterdeck, and the ward room officers sent down to ask us to join forces in two double sets of "lancers".

Several officers from the gunboats, and that ripping Chinese friend of Mr. Lawrence, had come on board too, and we had a great time. Jim Rawlings was on watch, so he turned Dicky over to me as my partner, with a handkerchief tied round his leg, below the knee, to show that he was a lady; and though he spoilt the dance, because he didn’t much care for the free fight part of it, that did not matter much, as we never finished it. Just when we were in the middle of the "grand chain", down came a signalman to report that there was a fire on shore, and everyone stopped to look at it. Then another started some distance from the first, and then a third, till soon flames were shooting up from several parts of Tinghai, close down by the water’s edge, and we could hear a great row going on. Somebody suddenly sang out, "There’s a rifle shot", and we all listened, and in a moment or two could distinctly hear rifles going off; and then tom-toms banged furiously all over the town, and one of the junks fired three guns and burnt a red light.

We all stopped dancing and watched the flames. We could see them eating their way along the water front, bending and curling as the breeze swept them in front of it, and spreading up the sides of Joss Hill. Seen through our telescopes, it was a very grand sight, for the native houses burnt fiercely, and soon the whole of the harbour between us and the town was glowing with the fire. We could see the trading junks hurriedly trying to cast off from the shore before the flames reached them, drifting across the reddened water, and disappearing like black ghosts. We could also presently hear the actual crackle and splutter of the fire, and even the shouts of the Chinese. The Commander had been all this time fidgeting round the Captain, evidently wanting to suggest something, but not quite liking to do so, and I heard him whisper to the Gunnery Lieutenant to get everything ready to land the fire engines. Mr. Whitmore went away with a grin on his face to do this, very quietly, and we all watched the Captain to see if he was going to give the order, and almost shivered with excitement at the prospect of being sent ashore—at any rate, I know that I myself shivered. The Commander still fidgeted round the Captain, when suddenly there was such a furious burst of flames, that he plucked up courage, and we—we were all listening and longing for him to speak—heard him say: "It’s getting pretty bad, sir. It seems to be working its way uphill towards the Mission House, and there seems to be a good deal of rioting going on, sir."

"Umph!" the Captain growled, sticking his cigar into the corner of his mouth, so that he could use his night-glasses better. The Commander knew that it was very inadvisable to actually suggest landing the fire engines, because the Captain hated anything being suggested to him; but we saw that he was getting more and more nervous, and at last he broke out again: "It’s not more than half a mile from the Mission House now, sir, and a native crowd is very apt to get out of hand. I hope the mission people and those Americans can clear out in time."

"I suppose you want to land and put it out, do you?" grunted the Captain. "All right, do what you like, umph! Teaching your grandmother to—— Umph!"

You may be pretty certain that we all heard every word, and were off that quarterdeck in a twinkling, rushing down below to change into our oldest uniform, even before the bo’sn’s mate, who was standing by to pipe it, yelled out: "Away fire engines for landing," and then "’A’ and ’B’ small-arm companies fall in," whilst the bugler sounded off the marines’ call.