Chapter XIV Night Operations
Cooky has a Grumble—A Pirate Junk—“Hup, Hoff, and Hout of it”—Creeping Inshore—Four Pirate Torpedo-boats—A Dangerous Job—A Cunning Trap—The Fourth Torpedo-boat
Told by Pat Jones, Petty Officer, First Class, Captain of the
12-pounder, Destroyer “No. 3”
I ain’t no blooming scholard, an’ writin’ ain’t much in my line.
I writes to my ole missus once in a way, and to the kiddies when their birthdays come along, having got a list of ’em all written down proper inside the lid o’ my “ditty-box”2, ’cause I can’t never remember ’em, but that’s all the writin’ I ever does, excep’ writin’ up the rough log when I’m on watch. And sometimes, when I’m a bit flush of the dollars, I sends ’em a curio, for the ole woman just ‘ankers arter things from furrin’ parts, and shows ’em to all ’er pals in the village—living down Dorchester way, she does. I’ve knowed her just puff ’erself like a hen what ’as the dandiest lot of chicks in the farm-yard, just becos’ I gives ’er a real Chinee dollar when I goes home from this ’ere station three years ago come next Michaelmas, and they all peers over it and ‘andles it, and says “I’m blessed! I’m jiggered! Well, my never! and them there ’eathen savidges made that all along ’emselves,” and I larfs to myself (and ’as to take me pipe out o’ my mouth, I larf so ‘earty), for all along I knowed it was made up to Birmingham in the mint there. But that’s jest like wimmin folk, they’s so blooming simple in some things, though you can’t get round ’em in others.
But that ain’t nothin’ to do with this ’ere story, so I’ll jest start right away.
We’d ’ad a pretty ’ard time of it a-punchin’ up from ‘Ong-Kong and then a-fightin’ most of the forenoon with them pirates, the which was just a bit of a picnic, and makes us all the more ‘earty for our meals and pipe o’ baccy.
Mr. Parker, says ’e, “That was your shot did the trick”, ’e says, when the pirate we’d been worrying all the morning, like my little dawg at ’ome worries the rats over to Farmer Gilroy’s corn-bins, busts up; but I ain’t taking all the credit, because “No. 2” was firing furious-like all the time, and maybe she did it, though, mind you, that 12-pounder of mine don’t make bad shooting when we ain’t jumpin’ into a ’ead sea.
Then we runs back to the flag-ship, an’ I has to go away in the dinghy an’ try to save some o’ them Chinese savidges. We gets upset, an’ that ’ere midshipman, Mr. Glover, ain’t very ‘andy at ‘anging on, an’ I have to look arter ’im pretty close.
He’s a rare plucked un, ‘e is, an’ as cheerful and bright-like as a nigger a-basking on the coral strand, with the sun a-shining in the hazure skies above ’im and bernarnas a-growing all around ’im in plenty.
It does one good to see ’is merry face, and all of us on the lower deck have just made up our minds to look arter ’im, come what may.
When you’ve dropped your last pipe overboard, and there ain’t no more spuds to be ’ad, or ain’t got no terbacco, an’ no matches if you ’ad, and there ain’t a dry spot anywhere, and everything is just dolesome, along ’e comes as cheerful as a blooming cricket, and it do your ’eart good just for to see ’im.
We all says when they send Mr. Foote (“Toddles”, the Orficers call ’im) to “No. 3”: “Now, these two young gen’l’men will be ’appy”, for, you see, they be great pals, and afore ’e came Mr. Glover ’ad no one to fight.
Well, I must ‘urry on with this yarn. We gets to the pirate island about six bells (three o’clock) in the afternoon, ’aving had a stand easy after dinner and a lay off the land, or forty winks, as you calls it ashore.
We was a-punchin’ along easy-like astern of the Laird, “No. 2” being just a’ead, and the Sylvia a-coming up from the southward, fifty miles astern by this time, an’ I was standing outside o’ the galley a-passing the time o’ day with Cooky, who was a-drying my wet things and Mr. Glover’s, the things what we had on when the dinghy capshuted, and grumbling like ole ‘Arry that a shell had bust in his galley and made a ’ole in his best saucepan and smashed a lot of the Orficers’ crockery. “‘Ow can I do mysel’ justice,” he says, “with all ’em things a-busted up. I does my best, s’elp me, for them Orficers, but, there, they always be grumbling—the spuds ain’t cooked, or the entray is cold, or the blooming aigs is ’ard boiled or ain’t boiled enough. And the lower deck be just as bad. Bill Williams of No. 3 mess comes a-rushing along with a meat-pie as big as a ’ouse, covered with twisted bits o’ pastry, and though there ain’t room on top o’ the galley for a aig-cup, I shoves it on top o’ somethin’ else; and Nobby Hewitt of No. 5—them stokers be always the most partickler—comes an’ ‘e wants ‘is mess’s bits o’ meat roasted; and, lor’ love me, what with one toff wantin’ ’em stooed, and another roast, an’ another sings out as cheerful as if the ‘ole ship was a galley, ‘Boiled for us, Cooky’, ‘Old Fatty’, or ‘Carrots’, or some o’ their ’air-raising impertinences, why, strike me pink! there be hardly room to cook a blooming sparrah, and they all egspecs me to go on a-basting with one ‘and, a-turning a joint with another, an’ stirring a stoo with another, and pokin’ the fire, and pitchin’ on coals, and fetching water all in the same breath; an’ ’ere you comes and fills me doll’s-’ouse with yer dripping clothes.
“Is it any wonder,” Cooky continued, wiping ’is ’ands on ’is apron, “that my countenance ain’t always a-smiling like a green bay-tree, or skipping like a young ram; now, is it, I awsks you?”
He was a very religious man was Cooky, secre-tary to the Naval Temperance Society aboard us, and he played the ‘armonium at church on Sunday.
“So long as we don’t go a-fightin’ when the galley is chuck-full o’ the men’s grub a-cooking, I’ll come out on top,”, he says patient-like; “and when I plays the ’armonium they’ll join in the hymns more ’earty, and maybe sign the pledge.
“I’ve a great scheme,” he continued, “for makin’ ’em sign the pledge. I knows exactly ’ow many men in each mess are temperance men, and the more as ’ave signed on in any one mess, the more I looks arter that there mess’s food be cooked proper, an’, so you see, they’ll all sign on afore this commission’s out, just to get their food to their likin’. I tried that plan in the ole Thunderer.”
“But you got yourself into trouble,” I said, larfing.
“Well, I did get my leave stopped for six weeks once, and lost a badge another time, but it was all took cheerful-like. We all ’ave our burdens to bear, Jones.”
An’ ‘e says, “I was a-watchin’ o’ your shootin’ that 12-pounder of yours this morning, Pat Jones, and says I to mysel’, ‘’E ain’t a bad fellow is Jones, an’ if ’e took up savings3 for ’is rum ’e might ’it what ’e aimed at—sometimes’”.
“Never you mind about that 12-pounder o’ mine, Mister Cooky. I don’t come ’ere telling you ’ow to cook,” said I to him, and was going to put it much more plainer, for he riles me, does Cooky, when along comes the Orficers’ domestic a-singing out: “‘Ave you got the ’ot water for the Orficers’ arternoon tea?” and Cooky, grumbling “’E can’t work no blooming miracles, ’e can’t”, goes off to draw some water, what ’e might have done all the time he’d been jawing to me, so I saunters off with them clothes, which are pretty near dry by this time.
Well, we ar’n’t getting much way on this yarn, but we’d got to the island we’d come all this way to see, a middlin’-sized piece o’ land, and going in closer, according to a signal from the flag-ship, we sees a bit of a channel running into the middle of it between high cliffs on each side. A nasty-looking coast it was, as ever I saw, without no beach where you could land in comfort, but ugly great black rocks a-sticking out all round, with the big seas a-pounding themselves to pieces on ’em. “If there’s to be any boat-work in this ’ere place, look out for trouble, Pat Jones,” says I to myself.
We steamed close in, ginger-like, and spied a lumbering junk a-sailing clumsily out towards us, and when she gets nearer we sees her flying the white flag at the peak of her great sail made of matting; and then, strike me pink! if she didn’t ‘oist the “wish to communicate” flags at her mast-head. If a polar bear came up to you in the street o’ Portsmouth and said, “Beg pardon, but can you tell me where I can get a ice”, you wouldn’t ’ave been more struck aback than we were to see that dirty junk a-‘oisting signals all regular-like.
“Bless my rags,” I ’eard Mr. Parker say, “but that about takes the currant biscuit for cheek;” and after a bit of rummaging in the signal-book we hoisted “Send a boat”, and they answered it from the junk and sent a boat across to us, a man-of-war’s whaler which they had tied up at the stern, with a crew of Chinese dressed as bluejackets—stolid-looking ruffians they were, too, as they squinted up at us from their wicked little eyes. They brought a letter for Mister Ping Sang, the fat old gent who, they tell me, forks out the dollars to keep this show going, and has come along o’ Captain Helston to see the fun.
Back we goes to the Laird, and Mr. Parker takes it across in the dinghy and comes back, ’alf larfing an’ ’alf swearing, with a couple of big portmanties and ten bags of dollars sealed up, and all ’eavy as you could make ’em.
We shoves off back to that junk and ’ands ’em all over to her; but it was all a mystery to me till Mr. Glover tells me afterwards that the fat Chinese gent ’ad been a-playing cards with the pirate chief when he was kept a prisoner and lost all that mint of money, an’ ’ad been juggins enough to promise to pay it up and bring the luggage what that Englishman who nabbed him had left be’ind ’im at ‘Ong-Kong.
Blister my heels! if it didn’t fairly give me the knock-out! And that junk just ‘oisted ’er boat aboard and sailed ’ome again with all those dollars, the crew maybe a-cocking snooks at us over the stern.
An’, just as her big sail disappears under them cliffs, blest if the pirates didn’t fire a big gun at us from the top of ’em, though we were five miles off if we were a yard. It didn’t fetch up by a couple o’ hundred yards, but splashed into the sea and racochied over’ead, playing ducks-and-drakes a mile the other side.
When they see’d that one go short they fires another, an’ the signalman sings out that it is comin’ straight for us, and lays down on ’is belly; he never done this since—we chaffed ’im so immerciful—and a good many of the youngsters would ’ave done the same if they’d had the moral courage, what they hadn’t.
It did come mighty close and struck the water not fifty yards away, buzzing off again like a hive of bees out for a airing.
Well, you bet we didn’t wait for any more o’ them “kind enquiries and ’ow are you”, but were hup, hoff, an’ hout of it, hout of range.
“No. 2” came along more gently after us, for nothing short of a mad dawg would make Mr. Lang move ‘urriedly unless ’e wanted to partickler, an’, bless my ’eart! ’e wouldn’t ‘urry out of range for no pirates, though the Laird ‘oisted “close on the flag-ship” and fired a small gun to make ’im pay attention.
And all the time we watched them getting his range and dropping shell, first on one side and then on the other, first a’ead and then astern, a-holding our breath, sometimes they was going so close, though they never hit ’im.
When he did get out o’ range an’ they ceased firing, we rather got the hump that we’d run away so fast.
“I’m taking no chances,” I ‘eard Mr. Parker say to the Sub-lootenant, as ‘e keeps his eye on “No. 2” with great spouts of water splashin’ hup all round her, and p’raps ’e was right.
It was pretty well dark afore we got back to the Laird, and both Mr. Parker and Mr. Lang had to go aboard for more orders, whilst we went to supper.
Cooky was in a great state o’ mind. “That second shot,” says ‘e, putting ‘is ’ead out, “was comin’ straight for my galley. If the pirate what fired it ’ad lowered ’is sights a ’ands turn, and been a temp’rance man, it would ’ave been all U.P. with your blooming tea water, an’ there wouldn’t ’ave been no more cooking aboard this ’ere ship, an’ no more Cooky to cook vittles an’ play the ’armonium.”
The Skipper comes back from the Laird, and she an’ the Sylvia steam slowly away into the darkness, showin’ not a single light, though we could trace them for about a mile, when they just seemed to disappear, leaving us alone for the night a-feelin’ lonesome-like.
Mr. Glover came round to see every scuttle along the sides closed and the dead-lights screwed down, so that not a light should be seen, an’ even Cooky’s galley fire had to be raked out, for it made a tidy glow amidships.
It turns out that Captain Helston expected them pirate torpedo-boats to come out during the night, and we and “No. 2” were to go close in, at each side of the entrance, an’ try an’ cut some of ’em hoff.
We’d lost sight of “No. 2” by this time, as she sheered off in the dark to take up her station, and, as light after light was put out aboard us, even the engine-room ‘atchways being covered hup, it seemed to make the night darker and darker, till it was just like pitch, and we put our ’ands out in front to feel where we were going, and spoke in whispers.
It was getting cold, too, and Mr. Parker goes past me on ’is way to the bridge with ’is greatcoat buttoned up round ’is neck. “More work to-night, Jones. See that your night sights are in good order, and get up plenty of ammunition,” ‘e says, an’ I answers, “Very good, sir,” and goes hoff to overhaul the gun gear, and ‘ears the engine-room gong soundin’ down below and them engines, with a ‘ollow grating sound like a giant a-snoring, goes a’ead slow, and, though we can’t see five feet in front of us, I knows by the lapping of the water against our bows that we are moving slowly in under those big guns ashore.
“If they’ve got search-lights ashore, they’ll spot us and give it us ’ot,” said one of the youngsters of my gun’s crew, whispering like a fool.
“When you’re awsked for your opinion you just give it,” says I, speaking in my natural voice, which is rayther loud, and kicking ’im none too gentle, for all this whispering rayther gives you the fair jumps.
We was a pretty chilly crowd up on the bridge, a-standing nervous-like round the 12-pounder and staring a’ead into the darkness. Joe Smith (the signalman) and Mr. Parker had their night-glasses jammed to their eyes, and all of us egspected to feel the rocks a-crunching and grating under our bows every minute. An’ not a sound ’cept the grating row down in the engine-room, which seemed to swallow everything else, and we ‘ardly thought them Dagos of pirates could help ‘earing of it if they had their ears shipped on proper-like.
Then someone whispers, “’Ear that, Bill”, and shortly we could ’ear the booming of the swell breaking itself on the rocks; and Mr. Parker, ’e turns to the engine-room telegraph and we stops our engines, and the grating noise stopped all of a sudden and left us all more lonesome than ever, till the moaning and roaring on the rocks a’ead of us got louder, and seemed a jolly sight too close to be comfortable. The wind had dropped by this ’ere time, and the long swell just slid under us and rolled away into the night, as we listened for it to break itself with a crash and a roar. It seemed not two ’undred yards hoff of us.
There was nothing to do, that was the worst of it. Mr. Parker orders us all below, ’cept ’imself and the Sub-lootenant and the quarter-master, whose watch it was, so I just made them all eat a bit of something we ’ad left over from our suppers, and we got some pickles and sardines out o’ the canteen, and felt better; but, bless you! we couldn’t sleep, what with the encitement and the noise of them breakers, which we could ’ear even more loudly down below, for it seemed to come right up through her bottom. We’d got a good deal of sea-water down below, too—took it in when we were punching into those ’ead seas outside ‘Ong-kong—and that fo’c’stle mess-deck war’n’t the most comfortable place that night; and, as no one could catch a blessed wink of sleep, I just told the men to light their pipes, which was mighty comforting, though, by the way, ’twas strictly agin’ orders, an’ I got a wiggin’ from Mr. Parker arfterwards for doing it.
Then I ’eard that there Cooky a-jawing to some of the youngsters about “’oping they was all prepared to die sudden-like, if so it was necessary and they got the call”.
So I told ’im to let ’em go to sleep, and do ’is own dooty first and get ’em some ’ot ship’s cocoa.
“’Ow can I make bricks without straw,” said he, sad-like, and he had the pull of me on that, for, in course, the galley fire had been drawn.
I had the middle watch that night, from midnight to four in the morning, as you’d call it on shore, and nothing ‘appened for the first two hours, ’cept that Mr. Parker and myself took it in turns to peer through the night-glass towards where we knew the island was, and stamped up and down to keep ourselves warm, for the night was most partickler cold, an’ once or twice we had to move the engines to keep her from getting too close to them rocks.
Then the fun began. It was still as black as ink, you must remember, and we was supposed to be lying just off the narrow channel which zigzagged between the rocks into the big anchorage inside the island, we being on one side and “No. 2” on the other, though we could not see her, and could only guess she was there.
“If their torpedo-boats or destroyers do come out,” said Mr. Parker, “they could no more find the Laird on a night like this than a needle in a ’aystack, so we can do just what we like—follow ’em and try and sink ’em in the dark, or wait till they come back in the morning and cut ’em off then.”
Well, we was watching and blinking like owls through the glasses, when suddenly, down by the water edge, out blinked two little white lights, some distance apart they were, and steady as anything.
“They’re lighting the channel,” Mr. Parker said ‘urriedly; “something will be coming out directly. Get the men on deck.”
They scrambled up in no time, and by the time I’d got back to the bridge the engines were working us round with our bows pointing out to sea.
Mr. Parker was just chuckling to ’imself, “I’ve got a scheme, Jones, a ripping scheme. If they do come out they sha’n’t get back to-night,” ’e said.
Then ’e stopped talking, for, as we watched, something dark glided in front of the farther light, and shut it out for ’alf a minute. Then it shone again, and another dark thing shut it out, and so on till it disappeared four times, and then it burnt brightly again.
“Four of them,” muttered Mr. Parker, and ’is voice sounded like a blooming earthquake, we was all so still and silent and excited.
It’s no use telling me you can judge distances at night, for you can’t, and though we thought we’d been no more than a couple o’ ’undred yards from the beach, it must ’ave been nearer ’alf a mile, for we saw nothing more for, may be, three or four minutes, when someone down on deck hissed “Ah”, and looking shorewards we saw some sparks come flying up. You can’t imagine what the excitement was like; all the worse becos’ we dursn’t make a sound, and we could ’ear our ‘earts a-thumping inside of us.
Another minute an’ we could ’ear the noise of their engines just gently, slowly “’Ere we are, ’ere we are” they was a-saying, but getting more flurried, and, all of a sudden, with a white splashing under her bows, a long, black torpedo-boat just walked past us, and another and another and a fourth, and were swallowed up to seaward, leaving nothing but some oily smoke, which swept back into our faces.
They hadn’t seen us, that seemed pretty certain, but “No. 2” had spotted them, for on the other side of the channel we saw a torrent of sparks flying up into the darkness, and knew she was going after them.
“Mr. Lang is after them, sir; shall we chase?” asked the Sub-lootenant.
But not a bit of it.
“Hard a-starboard, slow ahead starboard, half-speed astern port,” were Mr. Parker’s orders, and we turned in again towards the little light at the entrance.
I ’eard Mr. Parker say to the Sub-lootenant, “If you’d seen those lights when I did, both of them shining up simultaneously, you’d feel pretty sure that they must be electric and on the same circuit, too. They probably have a cable running out to those outer rocks, and I want you to take the whaler ashore with a ’destruction’ party and try and cut the cable or smash the lamps.”
Then I understood what we were going to do, and if so be that we doused their glim for them, those torpedo-boats could never get back till daybreak, and we could make mincemeat of ’em.
Nothing seemed moving on shore, not another light could be seen, just those two little lights down by the edge of the water.
The swell was going down fast, too, so we lowered the whaler, an’ the Sub chose the five strongest men on board to pull her, and that didn’t leave me on board, you may bet your bottom dollar, and we took a torpedo instructor and grapnels and axes and shoved off in the dark, the swell lifting us along towards them lights.
We lost sight of “No. 3” in a brace of shakes, the last thing I saw being Mr. Glover a-looking sad and mournful for once, because Mr. Parker wouldn’t let ’im go with us.
Lonely, were we? Why, I never felt so blooming lonely in all my life; not a sound but the oars creaking and the booming of the sea a’ead of us.
“Oars! Hold water, men,” whispered the Sub, an’ we ’ad time to look round, and there we were, right in between the two little twinkling lights. They were electric, too, as Mr. Parker had guessed, an’ they was just light enough to make the rocks they was fixed to look darker than the night itself, and with just a glimmer in the sea which boiled up agin’ them below.
There was no going near ’em to wind’ard, that was plain as a pikestaff, and after we had a look at both, shoving our nose as close as we dared, the Sub tried what we could do round the back of ’em, to leeward, where the swell wouldn’t trouble us so.
It might have been all right in daylight, but this was just the horridest job as ever I took on.
We did get close in once, and the bowman, as plucky a little fellow as was ever invented, got a hold on it with ’is boat-‘ook, but swish swirl came the swell, lifting us up and breaking an oar, and as we dropped again and tried to keep the boat off he lost ’is ’old, for it was only seaweed ’e’d ‘ooked ’is boat-‘ook in.
“Back hard, men, back hard!” came from the Sub, and we all backed as if the devil was after us, and scraped our keel along another ugly piece of rock, just being lifted over it and not stove in by the next swell that came.
My! but that was a close squeak, I can tell you, and we didn’t breathe freely till we had backed out between the two lights once more.
We hadn’t been there a minute before we ‘eard firing, a long way out to sea. “That’s ‘No. 2,’” the Sub said, “and we’ll have to just be quick about this job before she drives those torpedo-boats home again.”
Then we tried edging in as close as we could and throwing a grapnel over the rock, but that wouldn’t ’old, nor could we get near the light with it, and once or twice we were nearly stove in and pretty nearly swamped by the end of it.
“It’s no good, men,” said the Sub-lootenant, when we’d backed out for the last time; “I’m not going to run any more risk. We must try and get hold of the cable running between these two rocks.”
That meant that we ’ad to creep for it by dragging the grapnel along the bottom between the two rocks, a mighty slow job at the best, and ‘orrid at night. There wasn’t no ’elp for it, so we dropped the grapnel to the bottom, with a good stout rope secured to it, and slowly backed the whaler in between the two lights.
Every now and again it would catch something, and we’d get in a state of ‘oly joy and ‘aul at it, but, offener than not, it was only a piece of seaweed, or it had just caught a rock—you could tell that by the sudden way it gave. We went at it, ‘auling the grapnel across where the cable might be, then putting to sea and backing again, for mayhaps ’alf an hour.
Rogers, the torpedo instructor, was ‘andling the grapnel line, for the Sub, he says to ’im, “You’ve had more experience ’unting for lost torpedoes, so you take it, Rogers,” which made us laugh, on the quiet, as it ’it the little man rather ’ard, ’e being mighty sore about anything going wrong with ’is torpedoes.
There was not a sound from shore, and not another light could we see. Pretty eerie it was, with every now and again the noise of guns a-firing out to sea, and we went backwards and forwards till we were well-nigh sick of it, and every moment thought one or all of them torpedo-boats would come dashing through, and probably cut us down.
Just as we were about to chuck up the business, Rogers sings out softly that he’d got ’old of something, and sure enough, as another man clapped on the grapnel rope, it came in with a steady pull, and Rogers, leaning over, with his arm in up to the shoulder, as it comes to the surface, says in a muffled voice, “I’ve got it, sir; right it is, sir.”
We passed the grapnel aft. The Sub lashed a rope round the cable and ‘auled it over the stern, Rogers coming gingerly stepping between us to cut it in ’alf, and we could just see ’im raise ’is axe, down it came, and out went both the lights.
We could do nothing but chuckle inwardly; we dursn’t make a sound, and it ’urt somewhat.
The Sub-lootenant ’ad got one end in his hand, and he hung on to it like grim death, and hauled away till he’d got a couple of fathoms on board, and Rogers cut this hoff, and we dropped the rest of it in the water.
“Back to ‘No. 3’,” sings out the Sub, and we pulls away as cheerily as mud-larks, and then came the ’unt for her.
We’d got a signal lantern in the boat, and was just a-going to light it, when the Sub-lootenant caught sight of her and ‘ailed her softly.
We were aboard in a jiffy and ‘oisted the whaler in again, everyone a-patting us on the back.
They’d got some ’ot cocoa made down in the stokehold, too, and served us out some all round, which we needed pretty bad.
There was more firing just about this time, and when we’d got on deck again, after our ’ot cocoa, we were romping along in that direction. But we weren’t off to ’elp “No. 2”, not by a long chalk, for Mr. Parker or the Sub-lootenant, or both of them, gets another idea (real artistic, too, I called it), and he stops, and we gets out the two collapsable boats and the whaler, and we soon sees what ’is little game is, for he lashes a lantern in each of the small boats and sends the Sub inshore again. We were still, you see, quite close to the rocks, but ’alf a mile farther along.
“Take some fire-bars to moor them with, and leave them as close in as you can,” he told the Sub. “Light the lanterns, and come back as fast as you can.”
My! wasn’t that a pretty little game? and weren’t those torpedo-boats a-going to get a sur-prise?
It took pretty near a ’alf-‘our to do this, and every now and agin we could ’ear shots—sometimes closer and sometimes seemingly farther off; but at last the lamps shone out, and though they did look a trifle unsteady in the swell, still they was good enough to deceive them Chinese.
When the Sub had got back we went off to where we’d heard the firing.
It was getting less dark now, and a few stars were coming out, and in a few minutes a long dark thing, with flames sputtering from the funnels, went flying past us—one of the Chinamen a-going ’ome—and another followed her, and we just laid low and let them go, chuckling to ourselves and thinking of the trap we’d laid for ’em.
“No. 2” had got hold of something now with a vengeance, for she was firing pretty fast, and, as we hurried over to her, we could see the flames of her guns and sometimes the flash of a busting shell; coming towards us too, she was.
We got our search-light cleared away, and when we were quite close we found “No. 2” a-hanging on to a poor unfortunate torpedo-boat and banging away at it; so we just slewed round her stern and turned our light on the wretched thing—an old torpedo-boat just struggling along at about twelve knots—to make it a respectable target.
That just did the trick, for she got hit by one of “No. 2’s” 12-pounders, in the boiler most likely, and seemed just to double up, open out amidships, and go slithering under.
Poor wretches! an’ we ‘adn’t the ’eart to cheer; ’twas so one-sided a show.
We stopped and tried to pick up some of her men, and did save a couple of Chinamen, more dead than alive with fright. They turned out jolly useful, as you shall ’ear afterwards.
“No. 2” hadn’t seen the fourth boat, so we pushed on back to the entrance to look for her in case she tried to get in. The two lights we had left were still burning, but we couldn’t see what had become of the two torpedo-boats which had passed us.
The people on shore must a ’eard that torpedo-boat blow up, for now a couple of search-lights shot out from somewhere high up on the cliff near the entrance, and began hunting round to see what all the fuss was about.
It just happened that where we’d moored the boats was a bit round the corner and out of sight of them searchlights, so we stayed abreast of them and watched the two beams a-travelling from side to side, and presently saw the missing torpedo-boat coming sneaking in. She must have gone right around the island.
Mr. Lang rushed out from behind our safe corner, and tried to wing her afore she could get into safety, and we followed ’im and tried a few long shots from the 12-pounder; but even I couldn’t ’it anything under them conditions, especially as they glared their search-lights in our faces and commenced firing pretty briskly at us with small guns from the shore.
So we goes back round our corner, more quickly than we came out, and whilst we were turning they ’it us once or twice, smashing our whaler, and a splinter of shell or wood knocked over poor Rogers, who was standing by. We thought ’e was only stunned, but ’e was dead as a door-nail, and it ’urt us to think we’d chaffed ’im so unmerciful, and we covered ’im up and put ’im down below.
We waited about till it was light enough to see what ’ad ‘appened with our little trap, and then went close inshore again.
Well, there was a ‘orrid sight, or joyful sight, whichever way you takes it, for them two torpedo-boats were piled up against the rocks all battered to pieces, one in ’alf and the other bottom up, a-smashing up agin the bottom of the cliff. There wasn’t a soul to be seen; and it was well-nigh hopeless, for the cliffs rose straight up from the sea, and no monkey could ’ave climbed them, let alone a Chinaman, so we knew they must have all been drowned. Poor old Rogers would have a lot of them heathen to keep him company.
The two lanterns we’d left in the boats were still burning as innercent as you like, looking yellow in the hazy light of morning.
Notes
2 “Ditty-box”, small wooden box in which men keep their letters and small personal effects.
3 Men who do not want their rum are allowed a little more than the actual value of it. This is called “taking up savings”.