Chapter VI The Voyage East
A Gun-room “Sing-song”—The Dumpling gets Wet—Hopkins Disappears—Off in Chase—Escape of One Patagonian—Off to Colombo
The Narrative of Mr. Harold Swinton Glover, Midshipman, R.N.,
serving on board the Imperial Chinese ship “Laird”
You heard about all the rum things that happened to us before we left England, and how we all went to sea suddenly, no one knew why. We thought we were safe then; but not a bit of it, and just before we got into Gibraltar they found a dynamite cartridge down in the stoke-hold, mixed up with a lot of coal. It was jolly lucky they found it, for Ogston—that’s our Assistant Engineer—says there would have been an “awful catastrophe” if it had got into a furnace. Don’t think we were in a funk, because we weren’t—at any rate not all of us—but it is such a beastly feeling to know that you may be blown up any minute.
The Skipper was terribly worried even before we got to Gibraltar, but you should have seen his face when I took him down some telegrams they brought off to the ship. I was midshipman of the watch. He gasped like a dying fish, and sang out to the old Doctor, who was there: “They’ve killed the Paymaster, and taken all his papers—mine and Hopkins’s; did it at Lyons, in the boat express.”
They both looked so scared that I crept up on deck.
Afterwards I heard that the Paymaster had been left behind to bring some valuable papers across Europe, and to join us at Port Said.
Well, we got into Malta, and more telegrams came aboard; but I wasn’t on watch, and didn’t take them down. They must have been pretty serious, though, for whilst we were all shifting into plain clothes in the gun-room flat to go ashore, the Commander’s messenger came running down the ladder and sang out: “No leave for anybody!” So we had just to shove our things back into our chests and get into our dirtiest uniform, for the coal lighters were already alongside, and we were being smothered with coal dust. Jolly sick of life we were, too, I can tell you, for we had arranged to get ponies at Red Saliba’s, down in the moat, and were off for a picnic to St. Paul’s Bay.
“Some of us would probably have been killed or broken up, so p’raps it’s all for the best,” said Mellins (his real name was Christie, as I told you before, a tremendously fat cadet, who always saw the cheerful side of things), “and, now we’ve got the grub, we’ll have a jolly good ’blow out’ afterwards.”
Then we all had to nip on deck, where we found any amount of row going on aft on the quarter-deck. The Skipper and Commander were there, looking very serious, with two marines close to them, holding a Chinaman covered with coal dust and in a terrible funk. You should have seen him roll his eyes.
I asked the side-boy what the row was, and he told me that a stoker had spotted him as a Chinaman, although his pigtail was coiled all round his head and he had a big cap over it, had searched him, just for luck, and found three dynamite cartridges in his pockets.
That was partly why our leave had been stopped, and one of us midshipmen had to stand at each coaling-port, with a couple of petty officers and a marine with fixed bayonet, examine every basket of coal, and prevent anybody coming on board, whilst others had to go down in the lighters themselves. “No blow out now,” said Mellins sorrowfully, as he climbed down past me into the lighter; “but won’t it come in handy afterwards?”
We examined that coal pretty thoroughly, you bet! Directly it came aboard it had to be upset on the deck, and we had to look through it carefully. But didn’t it take a time, that’s all! and weren’t we jolly sick of it, especially when we couldn’t get away for seven-bell tea?
Directly it got dark we knocked off, and then I had to go away in my cutter and patrol the starboard side, with nothing to eat except a tin of sardines, which Mellins passed out of the gun-room scuttle, and which I shared with the coxswain. He got the best of it, for he drank the oil.
We were relieved by another crew in an hour, and Mellins had saved me a bit of grub, which I tucked into, whilst the others started a good old gun-room sing-song.
Jeffreys, our Sub-lieutenant, who runs the show in the gun-room, suggested it. “Just show the beggars we don’t mind, and cheer the men up. They’ve got dynamite on the brain.”
When they heard our row some of the ward-room officers came down and joined in, and Hopkins, the Skipper’s secretary, a jolly Yankee, gave a rattling good song. My eye! didn’t we make a noise! and soon after the men began a concert of their own, forward on the fo’c’stle. Presently the Master-at-Arms came down to order “lights out”, and Jeffreys asked for another half-hour (Jeffreys is a good chap, though he does lay it into us midshipmen if anything goes wrong), and the Clerk banged away at the piano again.
Then who should come down but the Skipper; and we made way for him to get a seat near the piano, and he joined in the chorus. When it was over, he got up and said: “Thank you, gentlemen, your sing-song was a good idea. Good-night!” And as he went away we gave him three cheers and “For he’s a jolly good fellow”, and went to sleep on our chests and in odd corners, for the ship and we were much too dirty to sling our hammocks.
We were at it again soon after sunrise, looking at every lump that came aboard, and some time after breakfast, whilst we were having a stand-easy, three destroyers came slowly in, flying a funny flag, which none of us had seen before, but which the signalman told me was the Patagonian.
We could not help laughing, for the first one was towing both the others, and one of these had a great list to port. It was a very comical sight. Hopkins borrowed my glass. “I reckon that ain’t much of an advertise for the man who built those craft,” he said in his funny Yankee drawl; nor was it, for they had evidently broken down.
Well, we got all our coal in by noon, had an hour for dinner, and then were hard at it cleaning down. It’s really not bad fun, when you are horribly coal-dusty and it’s jolly hot, to paddle about in bare feet, with your trousers tucked up above your knees, and the fire-hoses splish-splashing on the deck and washing the coal dust away—you get very wet, and it’s jolly refreshing. I was bossing the quarter-deck, and the old quarter-master and I were watching the newly arrived destroyers, now busily coaling.
“What’s them colours, sir?” said the wiry old man. “I never see’d ’em afore, and I’ve been nigh twenty-four years at sea, man and boy.”
“Patagonian,” I answered, and he borrowed a telescope and looked at them.
“Sure, there’s some dirty Chinamen on board that craft, sir. Look at their heads poking out of the engine-room ’atchway.”
Sure enough, there were five or six unmistakable Chinese faces, and I could see one coiling his pigtail round his head.
Of course we had Chinese on the brain rather badly, and Dunning (we called him Suet Dumpling, because his name was Cyril—a sneaking, under-handed, little midshipman, who couldn’t pull himself up once on the horizontal bar), who was standing by us, ran and told the lieutenant on watch what we had seen, just as if he’d made the discovery himself, and he was sent down to tell the Skipper.
Up came the Skipper, for he couldn’t see the destroyers out of his stern-ports, and stood looking at them, with that ass, Suet Dumpling, grinning with importance just behind him. “Tell the Commander I want to see him in my cabin,” said the Skipper, and went down below again with a very grim-looking face.
The Dumpling ran forward to find the Commander. Now the man who was using the hose was washing down the battery-screen, close to the battery door, and, just as the Dumpling was disappearing through it, I called out to the man, and he turned round with the hose in his hand, just as I wanted, Dumpling getting it all in his back—he had just shifted into a clean white tunic, too. He was pretty wild, for he knew I had done it on purpose, but didn’t say anything, though I thought I had better not sleep in my hammock that night, lest he should cut me down.
We slipped from our buoys at four o’clock and went to sea, passing quite close to the Patagonians, but there were no Chinese to be seen, and men were very busy on the two disabled ones, and the pumps on the one with the list to port were going for alt they were worth.
Of course we were all excited, the men especially, for we’d become so suspicious of Chinamen, that when everyone knew that there were some aboard these destroyers, we felt sure there must be something wrong about them.
“Why, Patagonia doesn’t possess a single ship!” said Hammond, another of our Assistant Engineers, a jolly little fellow, who is a walking Brassey’s Naval Annual, and knows every man-of-war in the world by name, and what guns she has, and all that. “Rather odd these three being there, and having Chinamen on board.”
Then a rumour spread that the skipper had been heard to say to the Doctor; “If they are, they won’t give us much trouble, for two of them seem badly broken down”.
It was the detestable Dumpling who brought the news. “What did the Doctor say then?” we asked.
“‘Whatever they are, they’ve stopped me going ashore, hang them! Everyone seems to have Chinese, pirates, dynamite, and Patagonia on the brain,’” said Dumpling, imitating the Doctor’s irritable way of talking.
We all laughed. “Just like the old Doc,” said Mellins. “I had to go for’ard to the sick bay this morning with stomach-ache, and he made me take some beastly castor-oil on the spot. I hate the stuff,” and he grinned and said: “That’s for kicking up that wretched row last night down in the gun-room. Kept me awake till midnight.”
“The selfish old brute,” we all agreed; “he doesn’t care what happens, so long as he makes himself comfortable.”
We were so excited about these destroyers, that I fancy most of us imagined we should see them suddenly tearing after us.
Whatever the Skipper thought, he was at any rate not going to be caught napping, and directly it was dark we altered course till we were twenty miles north of the usual track, and not a single light was allowed to be shown. I had to go round all the starboard cabins and see that the dead-lights were down, and in the middle watch, which I kept aft on the quarter-deck, I was responsible that they were kept closed. Funnily enough, Mr. Hopkins wouldn’t seem to understand that he mustn’t show a light, and twice I saw his scuttle lighted up during the night. I was afraid the Skipper might come on deck and see it and drop on him, so went down into his cabin. He seemed very bad-tempered, couldn’t go to sleep on account of the heat, and must have his scuttle open to get fresh air, and his light burning to try to read himself to sleep. At last I told him straight that I should report him to the lieutenant on watch, and he then seemed to understand it really was necessary.
Nothing happened in the night, nothing indeed till we reached Port Said, where, right in front of us, were the three Patagonians coaling again!
The Skipper got more telegrams here, and it soon leaked out that the destroyers had all left Malta only two hours after us, all three steaming very fast in our direction. The harbour-master told us they had been in Port Said for two days, going out at dusk and not returning till morning; so we then felt sure that the break-down at Malta was all rot, and that they had simply been waiting for us off Port Said. Luckily the Skipper had refused to go near Port Said in the dark, but had waited about all night a long way to the north and east—the most unlikely place for us to be.
As soon as we made fast to a buoy, I was sent away in the second cutter and ordered to board the P. & O. Isis, which was lying off the Suez Canal offices (she had come in early that morning from Brindisi with the mails), and bring back a lieutenant who was to join us—a Mr. Staunton, who had been left behind in London with the Paymaster, who was killed at Lyons.
When I forced my way through the crowd of boats alongside, I slipped up the ladder and asked for him. The quarter-master, however, said he had gone in a man-of-war’s boat several hours before, so I pulled back and reported. Then I was sent over to H.M.S. Hebe, one of our own gun-boats, doing guardship there, but they knew nothing of him—they had sent a boat for mails to the Isis, but she certainly had brought back no passengers. This was very strange, so I made my boat’s crew lay back to their oars, and reported to the Commander as soon as possible.
He took me down to the Skipper, who looked very vexed when he heard the news. After that I and two other midshipmen had to go ashore and make enquiries at the consuls and all the hotels—a terribly hot day, too, it was, with an awful glare which fagged us all—but we could hear nothing of him. When we got back to the ship the three Patagonians had gone, and not only that, but Hopkins had disappeared, and, I can tell you, there was tremendous excitement on board.
Everyone, of course, felt sure that Mr. Staunton was on board one of the Patagonian destroyers and now miles down the canal, and many thought that probably Mr. Hopkins too had been somehow decoyed away. You see he was just the man they would want, for he was the Skipper’s secretary and would know everything. Whilst we three were trying to get something to eat, the Commander’s messenger sang out for me and Toddles (Toddles was the next senior midshipman), so up we had to go again.
“Get a few warm things together, and be ready to leave the ship in five minutes,” he said. “You, Mr. Foote, are lent to ‘No. 1’, and you, Mr. Glover, to ‘No. 3’.” As we left the cabin to hurry down below he called out: “Don’t forget flannel shirts and sea boots”.
“All right, sir, thank you,” we answered joyfully.
I borrowed one of Dumpling’s bags, which I found lying about (I didn’t ask him), and we were ready before the boat came alongside, Mellins giving us a basketful of grub as we shoved off. Toddles was put aboard “No. 1”, and then they put me aboard “No. 3”, where I reported to Mr. Parker, the lieutenant in command.
Luckily for me, Toddles in his hurry had forgotten his share of the grub.
I was sent aft to look after the stern ropes and see that everything was “clear” astern, for we were on the point of shoving off.
“What’s up? Where are we off to?” I asked two men standing aft.
“Going after them pirates, sir, I expect. I heard Mr. Parker tell the Sub-lootenant that we ’ad to follow them as ’ard as we could.”
I hadn’t any time to ask more, for Mr. Parker sang out from the bridge “Let go aft!” and we hauled in the slip on the buoy astern. When the rope was clear of her screws and rudder I shouted out “All clear astern, sir”, and away we went, following close behind “No. 2”.
As we went past the other three ships the men crowded to the side and cheered us, for they had got wind of what we were going to do. It does make you feel ripping to hear and see people cheering you.
From the Laird Mellins made a semaphore signal with his arms, “Is grub safe?” so I waved back “Yes”, and on we went into the canal. It soon became dark, and our French pilot made us run our search-light, though it wasn’t much good, as the bridge got in the way. However, it lighted up both sides of the steep sandy banks, and we followed “No. 2” somehow or other. Of course we wanted to go as fast as we could, and the pilot nearly had apoplexy, shrieking and gesticulating with fright or anger, whenever “No. 2” forged too far ahead and we had to put on a few more revolutions to close up. “The wash, it will damage the banks!” he yelled. “They will make you pay. I give up my authority—I wipe my hands.” Then we would slow down again and he would be quiet.
We reached the Great Bitter Lake about eleven o’clock and there changed pilots. The Patagonians were only two hours ahead, and we simply tore through this part of the canal. I felt jolly nervous, I can tell you, for everything looked all the darker on account of the searchlight, and we were simply sticking on to the stern of “No. 2”. If she or “No. 1” had stopped suddenly we should have been all in a heap. I expect “No. 1” had an English pilot on board, or a Norwegian, perhaps. Our Frenchman was paralysed with funk.
We quieted down when we got into the narrow canal again.
We had to tie up once to let a big British India mail steamer pass us, and did not get out of the canal till ten next morning.
The Patagonians, we were told, had left three hours before; so after them we bustled, only stopping to let our pilots be taken off.
“Steam for full speed” was signalled from “No. 1”, and down below dived Mr. Chapman, our engineer, to superintend things in the stokehold.
“They have three hours’ start,” said Mr. Parker to the Sub, “and it will be a very long stern chase.”
“What have we to do if we catch them?” he asked.
“Search them,” replied Mr. Parker.
“But what if they won’t let us?”
“Search them,” replied Mr. Parker, with a queer twinkle in his eye, and then I knew that there might be a fight. It gave me a funny feeling in my stomach, but I knew I was jolly lucky to get the chance and so ought to feel glad, and I really think I did.
We were all going it now with a vengeance. The smoke from “No. 1” and “No. 2” nearly blinded us, and we were shaking and throbbing as the hum of the engines gradually rose, our bows coming out of the water, and our stern squatting down in a mass of foam as we rushed into the wake of the others ahead of us.
I had never been so fast in my life, and was holding on to the bridge rails to avoid being blown away.
We went on like this for hours, and I felt too excited to go down below and get anything to eat. That shows what a ripping thing it is to be rushing along in a destroyer with an enemy ahead.
Presently we formed line abreast, “No. 2” on the starboard and we on the port side of “No. 1”, about three miles away from each other, so as to cover more ground.
As it was getting dark we saw “No. 1” slow down to speak a small merchant steamer going north, and directly afterwards we were ordered back to Suez to inform Captain Helston that all three Patagonians had been sighted steaming south very fast.
Round went our helm, we heeled well over, our stern swung round, and we were off on our way back before you could say “knife”; but you should have heard what Mr. Parker and the Sub said, and the quarter-master too, for that matter, only he didn’t do it so loudly.
We made our number to the Laird at Suez early next morning, having kept up nearly twenty-seven knots for the last twenty hours—a jolly good performance. We hadn’t to wait long, for we ran alongside the Sylvia, filled up with coal, took ten tons in bags on deck, and away we went for Aden at twenty knots—quite an easy, comfortable speed.
I had to see the coal aboard, and made myself beastly dirty, and much missed the gun-room bath on board the Laird.
We got into Aden on the third afternoon without meeting any adventures. “No. 2” and “No. 1” were there, and so were two of the three Patagonians.
Mr. Pattison and Mr. Lang, the Skippers of “No. 1” and “No. 2”, came aboard of us directly. They told us that they had reached Aden only four hours after the Patagonians.
They immediately made arrangements to coal, and meanwhile had gone on board the two Patagonians in frock coats and swords, and been received in a very friendly manner, and shown all over both, and not a trace of Staunton, Hopkins, or Chinese, for the matter of that, could they see. “We felt rather sold, you can imagine,” said Mr. Pattison, “at having our long chase for nothing—a very tame ending.”
The third destroyer, we were told by people on shore, had left an hour before we came, and was sighted from the top of the rock making east, till she disappeared below the horizon steaming at great speed.
“I could not follow her,” continued Mr. Pattison, “for of course we had no coal, and some of our condenser-tubes were leaking badly, and both of us required a few days in harbour to put things right down in the engine-room. And not only that, but I dare not let these two Patagonians out of my sight, for Captain Helston thinks they will probably lie in wait for him in the Straits to the westward.”
“We can go on directly we’ve coaled,” interposed Mr. Parker eagerly, “for there is nothing the matter with us. Is there, Chapman?”
“No, rather not,” answered our Engineer, adding, “we’re Laird’s built, you know.”
“Very good,” said Mr. Pattison, who was the senior of the three Lieutenants and therefore took command, “off you go to Colombo as soon as you have coaled, watered, and provisioned. The third Patagonian has most probably shipped Staunton, Hopkins, and all the Chinese to allay our suspicions of these other two, and whatever course she steers, if she is going out to the East, she must fetch up at Colombo. If she won’t allow you to search her there, follow her out to sea and compel her to heave-to.”
“Very good, sir,” replied Mr. Parker, saluting.
“Well, good-bye, old chap; wish you good luck. Lang and I will be off, for here come your coal-lighters. When you are ready to shove off I’ll make you a misleading signal, which you must act upon till out of sight of land, for those fellows can probably read our semaphore, and will be standing by to get any information possible.”