The Skipper was waiting for his return before making any plans; but long before that, something occurred which thoroughly upset him.
We were all at breakfast, when suddenly we heard the distant report of a heavy gun, and through the open scuttles could hear the "swish, swish" of a shell. Everyone jumped up and rushed on deck, the gunroom people clattering up behind us. "They’ve fired a gun at us, sir," the midshipman of the watch told me. "It went right between the masts and fell over there, sir," and he pointed to where you could still see the spray of the splash, just drifting to leeward, about four hundred yards away. "Don’t think it was a shell, sir; no one heard it burst." He was extremely nervous and excited, twitching all over.
The Skipper came up his ladder, red in the face and indignant, and as he stepped on the quarterdeck there was a shout from for’ard, "They’ve fired again, sir!"
Several people sang out, "Can see it, sir, coming straight this way, sir!" a spout of water leaped into the air, and, "whizzle, whizzle"—with that funny whistling, whispering noise only a ricochetting projectile makes—it passed overhead, and fell close to where the first had fallen.
It was rather amusing to watch how our people "took it". One officer, whose name wild horses shouldn’t drag out of me, threw himself flat down on deck, several tried to get behind each other, and most of them looked as if they were—well—thrown off their "balance". But you should have seen the Skipper. He stood there, with one foot on the quarterdeck. His mouth was wide open, his face was absolutely crimson, his eyes stood out of his head like lobsters’ eyes, and his neck was so swollen that it was a purple colour, and even from where I stood I could see the veins standing out. He actually couldn’t speak, he was in such a frightful rage.
"Close water-tight doors," I sang out, and "steam on the capstan," not knowing what else to do, and then went up to the Captain.
"Who’s captain aboard this ship?" he managed to bring out; "Old Lest or you?"
Then, pausing to take breath, he roared: "What the—the—Jerusalem d’you mean by ordering steam on the capstan? D’you think ’Old Lest’ is going to get up anchor, and move off, because a lousy Chinaman fires a gun at him? Umph! What’s the range?"