"There’s a shot, sir!" cried the coxswain, and I saw a splash near the steamboat, and Jim began banging away with his Nordenfelt, but stopped after he’d fired three times, and we had never another shot fired at us. I was rather pleased. To make up for it, we suddenly came in sight of the whole fleet of pirate junks, and a whole crowd of ordinary junks lying behind them. They weren’t more than five hundred yards away, and, when they saw us, began beating drums, and clashing brass things, and yelling, and letting off crackers to frighten us. One of the nearest had her side turned towards us, and began letting off her guns as well, and the din was simply hideous.
It was just like going up to a peaceful wasp’s nest and stirring it up with a stick.
We were both close to the whaler, and the little round shot began to come rather too near. I heard Jim shout, "Couldn’t we go for them, sir?" and my boat’s crew bent forward to be ready for a spurt; but the Sub, who was standing up in the whaler, shook his head, and ordered Jim to take us in tow again. He looked as if he’d jolly well like to have tried, but he had to obey orders.
"There’s enough bally water for an ironclad," he shouted, "all the way up, but we must go back, or it’ll be too late for the _Ringdove_ to do anything."
So back we went again, the men pulling their oars to make it easier for the steamboat, and the round shot bobbing about in the water astern of us, till we’d got out of sight.
But Mr. Rashleigh wouldn’t move for anything the Sub or Mr. Trevelyan said to him. It would be dark in half an hour, and he wasn’t going to risk anything in the dark, and would wait for daylight. I was ordered to take my cutter alongside the _Ferret_, and transfer her guns and stores to the _Ringdove_. This took nearly two hours in the dark, and Mr. Trevelyan came in charge. He was simply bubbling over with anger. "She’s got a searchlight, and the old _Vigilant_ could go up there without winking. I bet ’Old Lest’ would have cleared out the whole blooming crowd by now. My aunt! fancy wasting the whole jumping day! Call himself Rashleigh! My blessed grandmother!" and he spat in the water to show his contempt.
The last thing I took away was my white ensign, and although it was nighttime, I hoisted it on board the Sally again. It had several bullet holes through it, and was torn and looked jolly warworn. I thought even then that I’d keep it—if the signalman didn’t collar it himself—for my mother, or perhaps give it to Nan when I got home.