"Me only hab piecee cocky-fightee," answered Ching Wang as calmly as possible. "Me chin chin you, cap'en."

Captain Gillespie fairly boiled over with rage.

"This beats cock-fighting!" he cried, stating the case inadvertently in his exclamation. "I thought it was those confounded cats we have aboard the ship that ill-treated the poor fowls and prevented them from laying me any eggs, till Pedro here told me it was you, though I didn't believe it. I wouldn't have believed it now if I hadn't seen you at it. By jingo, it's shameful!"

Ching Wang, however, paid no attention to this violent tirade, only salaaming humbly and looking the very picture of meekness and contrition.

But his eyes, as I could see, being close by, having been attracted by the row as most of us were, had altered their expression, now flashing with a peculiar glare as the Chinaman, with a more abject bow than before to the captain, asked him deferentially:

"And dis one manee you tellee Ching Wang cocky-fightee one piecee—hi?"

"Yes, Pedro told me," replied Captain Gillespie, sniffing and snorting out the words. "And a good job too; for, else, I wouldn't have known of your goings on!"

Ching Wang's yellow face almost turned white with anger.

"Hi, blackee-brownee manee," he yelled, springing upon Pedro like a tiger. "You takee dat number one, chop chop!"



CHAPTER TWELVE.

A STRANGE SAIL.

Although a coward at heart, the Portuguese steward, nerved by his intense hatred of the cook, made a bold resistance to his first onslaught, clutching at Ching Wang's pigtail with one hand and clawing at his face with the other; while the Chinaman gripped his neck with his sinewy fingers, the two rolling on the deck in a close embrace, which was the very reverse of a loving one.

"Carajo!" gurgled out Pedro, half-strangled at the outset, but having such a tight hold of Ching Wang's tail, of which he had taken a double turn round his wrist, that he was able to bend his antagonist's head back, almost dislocating his neck. "Matarei te, podenga de cozenheiro!"

"Aha cutus pijjin, me catchee you, chop chop!" grunted the other through his clenched teeth; and then, not another word escaped either of them as they both sprawled and tumbled about in front of the galley, locked together, the Chinee finally coming up on top triumphantly, with Pedro, all black in the face and with his tongue protruding, below his lithe enemy.

"Take him off the man, some of you," cried Captain Gillespie, who had not made any effort to stop the combat until now that it bad arrived at such an unsatisfactory stage for the steward. "Don't you see that yellow devil's murdering him? He looks more than half dead already!"

Tim Rooney hereupon stepped forwards; but Ching Wang did not need any force to compel him to quit his powerless foe.

Disengaging his pigtail from Pedro's limp fingers, he arose with a sort of native dignity from his prostrate position over the Portuguese, his round face all one bland smile—although it bore sundry scratches on its otherwise smooth surface, whose oiliness had probably saved it from greater hurt.

"Him no sabbey," he exclaimed, pointing down to the still prostrate Pedro, who, now that the Chinaman's grip had been released from his throat, began to show signs of returning life, "what me can do. Him more wanchee, Ching Wang plenty givee chop chop!"

"I tell ye what, me joker," cried "Old Jock" after him as the victorious cook retired into his galley on making this short speech, with all the honours of war—the hands raising a cheer, which the presence of the captain could not drown, at the result of the encounter; for all of them looked on the steward as one opposed to their interests, and who cheated them in their provisions when serving them out, regarding the Chinaman, on the other hand, as their friend and ally, he always taking their part in this respect. "I tell ye what, me joker, I'll stop your wages and make ye pay for my fowls when we get to Shanghai! I don't mind your basting the steward, for a thrashing will do him good, as he has wanted one for some time; but I do mind your knocking those fine birds of mine about with your confounded 'one piecee cock-fightee.' Look at this one, now; he's fit for nothing but the pot, and the sooner you cook him the better."

Ching Wang only smiled more blandly than ever as the captain, who had picked up the two cocks, flung the silver and gold one into the galley, taking the other aft and restoring it to its coop; while Pedro, rising presently to his feet, amidst the grins of the men around, sneaked after "Old Jock," saying never a word but looking by no means amiable. His departure ended the incident of the morning, and we immediately finished sluicing the decks, the cook and steward fight having somewhat delayed this operation, as it was getting on for "eight bells" and nearly breakfast-time.

Towards noon, on the same day, we passed by the island of Tristan da Cunha, the land bearing on our port quarter sou'-west by south when seen; and, on the thirteenth day after turning our backs on the Martin Vas Rocks, we crossed the meridian of Greenwich in latitude 46 degrees 58 minutes south, steering almost due east so as to weather the Cape of Good Hope. The westerly wind was dead aft, which made us roll a bit; but we "carried on," with the ship covered with sail from truck to kelson and stu'n'sails all the way up both on our weather side and to leeward, as well as spinnakers and a lot of other things in the sail line whose names I can't remember.

Proceeding thus gaily along, with our yards squared and every stitch of canvas drawing fore and aft, in another couple of days or so the Cape pigeons and shearwaters began to come about the ship, showing that we were approaching the stormy region Mr Mackay had warned me of; and on the fourth night the sky ahead of us became overcast, while a lot of sheet and zig-a-zaggy "chain lightning," as sailors call it, told us to look out for squalls.

This was a true portent; for the wind freshened during the first watch, causing us to take in all of our stu'n'sails before midnight. Then followed the royals and topgallants in quick succession, the main-sail and inner and outer jibs being next furled and the foresail reefed, the vessel at "four bells" being only under topsails and fore-topgallant staysail and reefed foresail.

As I had noticed previously, when crossing the Bay of Biscay, the sea got up very quickly as the wind increased, only with much more alarming rapidity now than then; for, while at sunset the ocean was comparatively smooth, it became covered with big rolling waves by the time that we began to reduce sail, the billows swelling in size each moment, and tossing and breaking against each other as the wind shifted round dead in our teeth to the north-east, the very quarter where we had seen the lightning.

"We're going to have a dirty night of it, sir," said Mr Mackay to the captain, who after turning in for a short time when the starboard watch was relieved had come on deck again, anxious about the ship. "I thought we'd have a blow soon."

"Humph, Cape weather!" snorted out Captain Gillespie. "We're just in the proper track of it now, being nearly due south of Table Mountain, as I make it. I think you'd better get down our lighter spars, Mackay, for this is only the beginning of it—the glass was sinking just now."

"Aye, aye sir," returned the first mate, who had previously called the watch aft for this very purpose, crying out to the men standing by: "Lay aloft there, and see how soon you can send down those royal yards!"

Matthews, who was trying all he could to deserve his promotion and had remained up after the rest of his watch had gone below, helped Tom Jerrold and me in sending down ours; and, when up aloft, the most active topman I noticed was Joe Fergusson, the bricklayer. As "Old Jock" with his shrewd seaman's eyes had anticipated, he had developed into a smart sailor, considering the short time he was learning, being now quicker than some of those who had been to sea for years and were thought good hands.

On the present occasion he ran us a rare race with the main-royal yard, we getting the mizzen spar below but a second or two in advance of his party.

After this the topgallant yards were sent down likewise on deck and the masts struck, "all hands" being called to get the job done as soon as possible. Indeed this was vitally necessary, for the storm was increasing in force every moment, and our topsails had to be reefed immediately the royal yards were down and the topgallants lowered.

Getting rid of all this top hamper, however, made the ship ride all the easier over the heavy waves that met her bows full butt; and, now, she did not roll half as much as she had done while she had all those spars up, although what she lost in this respect she made up for in pitching— diving down as the big seas rolled under her keel and lifted up her stern as if she were about paying a visit to the depths below, and then raising her bowsprit the next instant so high in the air that it looked as if she were trying to poke a hole in the sky with it!

Shortly before "six bells" the gale blew so fiercely that it was as much as we could do to stand on the poop; and when, presently, Mr Mackay gave the order for us to take in the mizzen-topsail, we had to wait between the gusts to get up aloft, for the pressure of the wind flattened us against the rigging as if we had been "spread-eagled," making it impossible to move for the moment.

But sailors mustn't be daunted by anything to be "worth their salt;" so, watching an opportunity, we climbed up by degrees to the top and then on to the upper rigging until we gained the cross-trees, being all the while pretty well lashed by the gale. Our eyes were blinded, and our faces all made sore and smarting by it, I can tell you, while we were well out of breath by the time we had got so far.

The topsail sheets and halliards, of course, had been let fly before we left the deck; but in order not to expose the sail more than could be helped to the force of the storm, the clewlines and buntlines were not hauled open until we were up on the yard, so that the topsail should not remain longer bagged in folds than necessary before we could furl it out of harm's way.

Still, the precaution was of no avail; for hardly had the men on deck handed the clewlines, when the sail, bulging out under our feet like a huge bag, or rather series of bags, as the wind puckered its folds, burst away from its bolt-ropes with a noise like the report of a gun discharged close to our ears, just as if we had cut it from off the yard, thus saving us any further trouble in furling it.

Casting my eyes round ere beginning the perilous task of climbing down the shrouds again, for it was as much as one could do to hold on, the sharp gusts when they caught one's legs twirling them about like feathers in the air, the outlook was not merely grand but positively awful. The sea was now rolling, without the slightest exaggeration but literally speaking, mountains high as far as the eye could reach, and the scud flying across my face in the mizzen cross-trees; while the waves on either side of the ship, as we descended into the hollow between them every now and then, were on a level with the yard-arms below and even sometimes rose above these.

"Come, my men," I heard Mr Mackay calling out, as I at last put my foot down to feel for the nearest ratline before commencing to descend the rigging, "look sharp with that fore-tops'le or we'll have it go like the mizzen!"

His words were prophetic.

"R-r-r-r-r-r-ip!" sounded the renting, tearing noise of the sail, almost as soon as he spoke; and then, with a greater "bang!" than that of the mizzen-topsail, the main topsail split first from clew to earing and the next second blew away bodily to leeward, floating like a cloud as it was carried along the crests of the rollers out of our ken in a minute. The fore-topsail imitated its example the next moment, leaving the ship now with only the reefed foresail on her in the shape of canvas, a wonderful metamorphosis to the appearance she presented the previous evening at sunset!

We had been trying to beat to windward, so as not to fall off our course; but now that we had hardly a rag to stand by, the captain put up the helm and let her run for it, the foresail with the gale that was blowing sending her at such a rate through the water as to prevent any of the following seas from pooping her. The fear alone of this had prevented him doing so before, "Old Jock" being as fond of scudding as he was of carrying on when he had a fair wind.

Adams and the hands forward, though, were busy getting ready the storm staysails I had seen the former cutting out some days previously so as to be prepared to hoist them on the first available opportunity, as it would never do to run too far off our course, which many hours going at that rate before the nor'-easter would soon have effected; and so, during a slight lull that occurred about breakfast-time, a mizzen staysail and foretopmast staysail, each about the size of a respectable pocket-handkerchief, were got aloft judiciously and the foresail as carefully handed, when the ship was brought round again head to wind and lay-to on the port tack.

A little later there was one terrific burst, the tops of the waves being cut off as with a knife and borne aboard us in sheets of water, while the Silver Queen heeled over to starboard so greatly that it seemed as if she would "turn the turtle" and go down sideways with all hands; but it was the last blast of the storm, for each succeeding hour lessened its force, although the sea continued high. After that it grew gradually calmer and calmer, until we were able to make sail again and bear away eastwards, rounding the Cape two days afterwards, our fifty- sixth from England, in 37 degrees south latitude—the meridian of the "Flying Dutchman's fortress," as Table Mountain has been termed by those who once believed in the Vanderdecken legend, being a little over 18 degrees east longitude.

"Begorra, that's a good job done wid anyhow," said Tim Rooney on "Old Jock" telling us that all danger of weathering the Cape was past and that we were well within the limits of the Southern Ocean, whose long roll, however, and the cold breath of the Antarctic ice-fields had already betrayed this fact to the old hands on board. "I once knocked about in a vessel as were a-tryin' to git round this blissid place for a month av Sundays, an' couldn't."

"And what did you do, measter?" asked Joe Fergusson, who had a great respect for the boatswain and was eyeing him open-mouthed. "What did you do when you couldn't sail round it?"

"Be jabers we wint the other way, av course, ye nanny goat," cried Tim, raising the laugh against Joe. "Any omahdawn would know that, sure!"

The wind hauled round more to the west-sou'-west again when we had passed the Argulhas Bank, reaching down to the southward until we were in latitude 39 degrees South; so, squaring our yards again, we preserved this parallel until we fetched longitude 78 degrees east, just below Saint Paul's Island, a distance of some three thousand miles. We accomplished this in another fortnight after rounding the Cape; and then, steering up the chart again, we shaped our course nor'-east by north, so as to cross the southern tropic in longitude 102 degrees East.

After two or three days, we reached a warmer temperature, when the wind falling light and becoming variable we crossed our topgallant and royal yards again, spreading all the sail we could so as to make the best of the breezes we got. These were now mingled with occasional showers of rain, as is customary with the south-west monsoon in those latitudes at this time of year, it being now well into the month of May.

For weeks past the Silver Queen had delighted the captain, and, indeed, all of us on board, with her sailing powers, averaging over two hundred knots a day, which considering her great bilge was as fast as the most famous clippers; but now that she only logged a paltry hundred or so, going but five or six per hour instead of ten to twelve, "Old Jock" began to grumble, snapping and finding fault with everybody in turns.

The men forward, too, reciprocated very heartily in the grumbling line, there not being so much for them to do as of late; and, the great marmalade question again cropping up, things became very unpleasant in the ship.

One day I really thought there was going to be a mutiny.

The men came in a body aft, headed by the carpenter, whom the captain had been rather rough on ever since he found him that morning we were off Tristan da Cunha aiding and abetting Ching Wang in his cruel cock- fighting propensities; although, strange to say, "Old Jock" seemed to condone the action of the chief offender, never having a hard word for the Chinee albeit plenty for Gregory, the carpenter.

On this eventful occasion Captain Gillespie was seated on the poop in an American rocking-chair which he had brought up from his cabin, enjoying the warm weather and wrinkling his nose over the almost motionless sails hanging down limply from the yards; and he did not disturb himself in anywise when Gregory and the others advanced from forward, stepping aft along the main-deck one by one to the number of a round dozen or more, the crowd halting and forming themselves into a ring under the poop ladder, above which the captain had fixed his chair, looking as if they "meant business."

"Hullo!" cried "Old Jock" rousing himself up, rather surprised at the demonstration. "What are you fellows doing below there?"

"We wants meat," replied the carpenter, taking off his straw hat and giving a scrape back with his left foot, so as to begin politely at any rate. "We aren't got enough to eat in the fo'c's'le, sir, an' we wants our proper 'lowance o' meat, instead of a lot of rotten kickshaw marmalade!"

"Wh-a-at—what the dickens d'ye mean?" roared out "Old Jock," touched on his tenderest point, the word "marmalade" to him having the same effect as a red rag on a bull. "Didn't I tell ye if ye'd any complaints to make, to come aft singly and I'd attend to 'em, but that if ye ever came to me in a body I'd not listen to ye?"

"Aye, aye," said Gregory, "but—"

"Avast there!" shouted the captain interrupting him. "When I say a thing I mean a thing; and so ye'd better go forrud again as quick as ye can, or I'll come down and make ye!"

An indignant groan burst from the men at this; while "Jock" danced about the poop brandishing a marlinespike he had clutched hold of, in a mighty rage, storming away until the hands had all, very reluctantly, withdrawn grumbling to the forecastle.

In the afternoon, they refused to turn out for duty; when, after a terrible long palaver, in which Mr Mackay managed to smooth down matters, the controversy was settled by all the men having half their meat ration restored to them, and being obliged only to accept a half- pound tin of marmalade in lieu of a larger quantity as previously. Both sides consequently gained a sort of victory, the only person discontented at this termination of the affair being the steward, Pedro, who took a malicious pleasure in serving out the marmalade each day. I often caught sight of him watching with a sort of fiendish glee the disappointed faces of the hands as they looked at the open casks of pork and beef, which he somewhat ostentatiously displayed before them, as if to make them long all the more for such substantial fare.

I knew the Portuguese was upset at the amicable end of the difficulty between the captain and crew, for I saw him stealthily awaiting the result, peeping from underneath the break of the poop; and, when the hands raised a cheer in token of their satisfaction at the settlement, he immediately went and locked himself in his pantry, where he began kicking the despised marmalade tins about as if twenty riveters and boiler-makers and hammermen were below!

It was very nearly a mutiny, though.

A westerly current being against us as well as the winds light, it took us nearly a week to get up to the thirty-third parallel of latitude, during which time this little unpleasantness occurred; but then, picking up the south-east trades off the Australian coast, we went bowling along steadily again northward for the Straits of Sunda, making for the westwards of the passage so as to be to windward of a strong easterly current that runs through the strait.

I was the first on board to see Java Head, a bluff promontory stretching out into the sea that marks the entrance to Sunda. This was how it was: we'd got more to the north of the captain's reckoning, and while up in the mizzen cross-trees, in the afternoon of our eighty-fifth day out from land to land, I clearly distinguished the headland far-away in the distance, over our starboard quarter.

"Land ho!" I sang out; "land ho!"

"Are you sure?" cried Captain Gillespie from the deck below looking up at me, when his long nose, being foreshortened, seemed to run into his mouth, giving him the most peculiar appearance. "Where away?"

"Astern now, sir," I answered. "South-east by south, and nearly off the weather topsail."

"I think I'd better have a look myself," said "Old Jock," clambering up the mizzen-shrouds and soon getting aloft beside me; adding as he caught sight of the object I pointed out—"by Jingo, you're right, boy! It's Java Head, sure enough."

He then scuttled down the ratlines like winking.

"Haul in to leeward!" he shouted. "Brace round the yards! Down with your helm!"

"Port it is," said the boatman.

"Steady then, so!" yelled "Old Jock," conning the ship towards the mouth of the straits. "Keep her east-nor'-east as nearly as you can, giving her a point if she falls off!"

By and by, we entered the Straits of Sunda; and then, keeping the Java shore on board, we steered so as to avoid the Friar's Rock in the middle of the channel, making for Prince's Island.

The wind and current being both in our favour, and the moon rising soon after sunset, we were able to fetch Anjer Point in the middle watch and got well within Java Sea by morning. Next day we passed through Banca Strait by the Lucepara Channel, keeping to the Sumatra coast to avoid the dangerous reefs and rocks on the east side, until we sighted the Parmesang Hills. After that we steered north by east, by the Seven Islands into the China Sea.

So far no incident had happened on our nearing land, which all of us were glad enough to see again, as may be imagined, after our now nearly three months confinement on board without an opportunity of stretching our legs ashore, the only terra firma we had sighted since leaving England having been Madeira, the Peak of Teneriffe, and the rocks of Martin Vas; but now, as we glided along past the lovely islets of the Indian Archipelago, radiant in the glowing sunshine, and their atmosphere fragrant with spices and other sweet odours that concealed the deadly malaria of the climate, a new sensation of peril added piquancy to the zest of our voyage.

On passing the westernmost point of Banca, as the channel we had to pursue trended to the north-east, we came up to the wind and then paid off on the port tack; when, just as we cleared the group of islands lying at the mouth of the Straits of Malacca to windward, we saw a large proa bearing down in our direction, coming out from behind a projecting point of land that had previously prevented us from noticing her.

"Hullo!" I exclaimed to Mr Mackay whom I had accompanied from aft when he went forward on the forecastle to direct the conning of the ship, motioning now and again with his arms this way and that how the helmsman was to steer. "What a funny-looking vessel, sir. What is it?"

"That's a Malay proa," replied he. "They're generally ticklish craft to deal with; though, I don't suppose this beggar means any harm to us in such a waterway as this, where we meet other vessels every hour or so."

"Do you think it's a pirate ship?" I asked eagerly, "I should like to see one so much."

"More than I should," said he with a laugh; "but I don't suppose this chap's up to any game like that, though, I think, all the Malays are pirates at heart. He's most likely on a trading voyage like ourselves, only he's going amongst the islands while we're bound north."

However the proa did not bear away, either to port or starboard, nor did it make for any of the clusters of islands on either hand; and, although it was barely noon when we had first noticed her, as night came on, by which time we were well on our way towards Pulo Sapata, running up to the northwards fast before the land breeze that blew off shore after sunset, there was the proa still behind us!

It was very strange, to say the least of it.

Nor was I the only one to think so; for the hands forward, and among them Tim Rooney, the boatswain, had also observed the mysterious vessel, as well as taken count of her apparent desire to accompany us.

"Bedad she ain't our frind, or, sure, she'd have come up an' spoke us dacintly, loike a jintleman," I heard Tim say to the sailmaker, outside the door of his cabin in the deck-house. "She's oop to no good anyhow, bad cess to the ould thafe, as sure as eggs is mate; an' may I niver ate a pratie ag'in if I'm tellin' a lie sure, for I misthrusts them Malay raskils jist as the divil hates howly wather!"



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

THE TAIL-END OF A TYPHOON.

"But I allers heard them Malay chaps are awful cowards," said Adams, continuing the conversation. "You never sees 'em singly, their pirate proas, or junks, allers a sailing with a consort. I ought ter know; 'cause, 'fore I ever jined Cap'en Gillespie, I wer in a Hongkong trader; and many's the time we've been chased by a whole shoal of 'em when going to Singapore or along the coast."

"The divil ye have," interposed Tim. "Ye niver tould me that afore, Sails, how's that?"

"I didn't recomember at the time, bo; but now, as that feller is a follering us astern, in course, I thinks on it. There're a lot of them piratical rascals in these waters; but you should go to the back of Hainan to see 'em in their glory, the little creeks and bays there fairly swarms with 'em!"

"Adams!" called out Mr Mackay at this juncture; "Adams!"

"Aye, aye, sir," quickly responded the sailmaker, stopping his talk with Tim Rooney and walking up nearer to Mr Mackay. "Here, sir."

"I want you to go in the chains with the lead," said the other, turning round and speaking confidentially to old "Sails," as Adams was generally termed by his intimates amongst the crew. "There's no man in the ship I can trust to for sounding like you; and it's necessary for us to know what sort of water we're in till we clear all these islands and get into the open sea."

"Aye, aye, sir," answered the sailmaker, who, besides his more distinctive calling, was an experienced seaman, proud of being selected from the rest for such a duty, disagreeable and monotonous though it was. "I'm quite ready, sir."

Thereupon, going back to the boatswain's cabin, where he was provided by Tim with the lead-line and a broad canvas belt, he proceeded to climb over the bulwarks into the fore-chains, fastening himself to the rigging by placing the belt round his waist and hooking it on to the lower part of the shrouds—this arrangement holding him against the side of the vessel securely and at the same time enabling him to have his arms free to use for any other purpose.

Adam's next operation was to swing the lead-line with the weight attached backwards and forwards, like a pendulum, until it had gained sufficient momentum, when he slung it as far forwards as he could, letting the coil of the line which he had over his arm run out until the way of the ship brought it perpendicularly under him; when, hauling it up quickly, and noticing how many fathoms had run out before the lead touched the bottom, he called out in a deep sort of sepulchral chant, "And a half-five!"

"Ha!" exclaimed Mr Mackay, "I thought we were shoaling. Keep it going, Adams."

"Aye, aye, sir," replied the other, swinging the lead as before when he had coiled up the slack and preparing for another throw; adding presently as he had gauged the depth again, "By the mark seven!"

"That's better," cried Mr Mackay; calling out at the same time to the helmsman as we nearly ran over a small native boat crossing our track, "starboard—hard a starboard!"

Adams, however, went on sounding mechanically, not minding the movements of the ship, his sing-song chant varying almost at every throw; and, "By the deep nine" being succeeded by, "And a quarter ten," until the full length of the lead-line, twenty fathoms, was let out without finding bottom.

"That will do now, you can come in," cried Mr Mackay on learning this—"we're now all right and out of danger. Aft, there, steer east- nor'-east and keep a steady helm, we're now in open water and all's plain sailing!"

It took us three days to pilot up to the Natuna Islands, only some three hundred and fifty miles north of Banca, the south-westerly wind which we had with us generally falling slack in the middle of the day, and the land breeze of a night giving us the greater help; but, still, all the while, the suspicious proa never deserted us, following in our track like a sleuth-hound—keeping off at a good distance though when the sun was shining and only creeping up closer at dark, so as not to lose sight of us, and sheering off in the morning till hull down nearly on the horizon.

We had got almost accustomed to the craft by this time and used to cut jokes about it; for, as we were continually passing other vessels bound through the straits, it was obvious that even had the intentions of the proa been hostile it would not have dared to attack us at sea with such a lot of company about.

However, on our getting abreast of Saddle Island, to the north-west of the Natuna group, behold the proa was joined by a companion, two of them now being in our wake when morning dawned and we were better able to see around us. We noticed, too, that this second craft was built more in junk fashion with large lateen sails, and it seemed to be of about five hundred piculs burthen, Mr Mackay said, the size of those craft that are usually employed in the opium trade.

Matters began to look serious, it really appearing as if the beggars were going to follow us all the way up the China Sea until they had an opportunity of attacking us when there was no chance of any other vessel being near!

"Let us stand towards them, Mackay and see what they're made of—eh?" said Captain Gillespie, after squinting away at the two craft behind us. "I'm hanged if I like being dodged in this way."

"With all my heart, sir," replied the other. "But, I'm afraid, as they're well up in the wind's eye they can easily keep out of our reach if they don't want us to approach too near them."

"We'll try it at any rate," grunted out "Old Jock," sniffing and snorting, as he always did when vexed or put out. "Stand by to 'bout ship!"

The watch at once ran to their respective stations, Tom Jerrold and I with a couple of others attending to the cross-jack yard.

"All ready forrud?"

"Aye, aye, sorr," shouted back Tim Rooney from the forecastle, "all ready forrud."

"Helms a-lee!"

The head sheets were let go as the captain roared out this order, the jib flattening as the vessel went into stays.

"Raise tacks and sheets!" cried Captain Gillespie, when the foretack and main-sheets were cast off just as his next command came—"Main-sail haul!"

Then the weather main-brace was hauled taut and the heavy yard swung round, the Silver Queen coming up to the wind with a sort of shiver, as if she did not like turning back and retracing her course.

However, so "Old Jock" willed it, and she must!

"Brace round your head yards!" he now sung out; and the foretack was boarded while the main-sheet was hauled aft, we on the poop swinging the cross-jack yard at the same time, the captain then calling out to the helmsman sharply, "Luff, you beggar, luff, can't ye!"

And now, hauled up as close as we could be, the ship headed towards the strangers; steering back in the direction of Banca again as near to windward as she could forereach.

It was "like trying to catch a weasel asleep and shave his whiskers," however, to use Tom Jerrold's words; for the moment the proa and her consort observed our manoeuvre and saw that we were making for them, round they went too like tops, and sailing right up in the wind's eye, all idea of pursuit on our part was put entirely out of question within the short space of five minutes or so—the Malay craft showing that they had the power when they chose to exercise it of going two knots to our one.

"Begorra, I'd loike to have a slap at 'em with a long thirty-two, or aven a blissid noine-pounder Armstrong," cried Tim Rooney, as vexed as "Old Jock" was at the result of this testing of the Silver Queen with her lighter heeled rivals to windward. "I'd soon knock 'em into shavin's, by the howly poker, I wud!"

"It's no good, as you said," sniffed out the captain, with a sigh to Mr Mackay, evidently cordially echoing the boatswain's wish, which he must have heard as well as I did, for he stood just to leeward of him. "Ready about again, stand by, men!"

And then, our previous movement was repeated and the ship brought round once more on the port tack, heading for Pulo Sapata to the northwards— the name of this place, I may say, is derived from two Malay words, the one pulo meaning "island" and the other sapatu "shoe," and the entire compound word, consequently, "Shoe Island," or the island of the shape of one.

We did not see anything more of the suspicious craft that day; so we all believed that our feint of overhauling them had effectually scared them away, Tom Jerrold and I especially being impressed with this idea, attaching a good deal of importance to the talk we had overheard between Rooney and Adams, Tom being in his bunk close by the boatswain's cabin at the time when I was outside listening to the two old tars as they confabbed together.

Weeks, though, was of a contrary opinion, and Master Sammy could be very dogged if he pleased on any point.

"I'll tell you what, my boys," said he, with some trace of excitement in his mottled face, which generally was as expressionless as a vegetable- marrow, "we haven't seen the last of them yet."

"Much you know of it, little un," sneered Tom Jerrold in all the pride of his longer experience of the sea. "Why this is only the second voyage you've ever taken out here, or indeed been in a ship at all; and on our last trip we never tumbled across anything of this sort."

"That may be," argued Weeks; "but if I am a green hand, as you make out, like Graham here, my father was in a China clipper for years, and he has told me more than you'll ever learn in all your life, Mister Jerrold, I tell you. Why, he was once chased all the way from Hainan to Swatow by pirates."

"Was he?" I cried, excited too at this. "Do tell us, Weeks, all about it."

"There ain't anything to tell," said he nonchalantly, but pleased, I could see, at putting Tom Jerrold into the shade for the moment; "only, that they beat 'em off as they were trying to board father's ship off Swatow, when a vessel of war, that was just then coming down from Formosa, caught the beggars in the very act of piracy, before they could run ashore and escape up the hills—as they always do, my dad said, whenever our blue-jackets are after them."

"And then—" I asked, on his pausing at this interesting point, after rousing Jerrold's and my interest in that way, a thing which was quite in keeping with Sam Weeks' character, his disposition being naturally an exasperating one, to other people, that is,—"what happened then?"

"Oh, nothing," he replied coolly; adding after another tantalising pause, "I recollect, though, now, dad said as how the beggars were all taken to Canton and given over to the mandarins for trial."

"Yes," said I, "and—"

"Well, some of 'em were tortured in bamboo cages, he told me, and he said, too, that they made awful faces in their agony," Weeks continued, his face looking as if he enjoyed the reminiscence; "while the others, twenty in number, were all put up in a row kneeling on the ground, with their pigtails tied up over their heads so as to leave their necks bare, and the executioner who had a double-bladed sword like a butcher's cleaver, sliced off their heads as if they were so many carrots. It must have been jolly to see 'em rolling on the ground."

"You cold-blooded brute!" exclaimed Tom Jerrold; but I only shuddered and said nothing. "You seem to revel in it!"

"If you'd heard all my dad told me of what those beggars do to the people they capture, sometimes making them walk the plank and shutting them up in the hold of their own ship and burning them in a lump, you'd be glad of their being punished when caught! I only hope they won't seize our vessel; but, I tell you what, I'm certain we haven't seen the last of those two craft yet. They'll come back after us at nightfall, just you see!"

"By Jove, I hope not!" said Tom, impressed by Weeks' communication all the more from the fact of his not being generally talkative, always "keeping himself to himself" as the saying goes. "I hope you won't prove a true prophet, Sammy, most devoutly."

I could see, also, from Mr Mackay's anxious manner and that of the captain, though neither said anything further about the matter, that their fears were not allayed. There was no doubt that they shared the same impression as that of Sam Weeks; for as we bore away now nor'-nor'- west, with the south-west wind on our quarter, more sail was made on the ship, and a strong current running in the same direction helping us on, we were found to be going over eight knots when the log was hove at six bells, just before dinner-time.

"Old Jock" beamed again at this, walking up and down the poop and rubbing his hands and sniffing with his long nose in the air to catch the breeze, as was his wont when the Silver Queen was travelling through the water.

"By Jingo, we'll weather 'em yet!" he said to Mr Mackay, who also seemed more relieved in his mind; "we'll weather 'em yet."

"Yes, I think so, too," said the latter, scanning the horizon with the big telescope away to windward. "There isn't a trace of them anywhere out there now, and there are no islands for them to hide behind where we last sighted them; so, if we can only carry-on like this, perhaps we'll be able to give them the slip—eh?"

"Humph!" grumbled the other, "so I told you, Mackay; and, you know, when I say a thing I always mean a thing!"

The afternoon passed without any further appearance of the proa or junk, and then the evening came on, the wind veering round to our beam at sunset, making us brace up more sharply. We looked about us pretty keenly now, as might be imagined, but still nothing was to be seen of our whilom pursuers; and so all on board turned in that night much more comfortably than on the preceding one, when the danger appeared more immediate.

The morning, however, told a different tale.

At the early dawn, when I was with Mr Mackay on the poop, the port watch coming on deck just then in their turn of duty, we could see nothing of the suspicious strangers; however as the sun rose higher up, his rays lit a more extended range of sea, and then, far-away off on the horizon to windward, could be seen two tiny white sails in the distance dead astern of us.

"Sail ho!" shouted I from the mizzen cross-trees, where I had gone to look out, Tom Jerrold being sent up aloft forward for the same purpose. "Sail ho!"

"Where away?" cried Mr Mackay, clutching the glass and climbing up into the rigging as he spoke, being as spry as a cat. "What do you make out?"

"Two of them, sir," said I; "and I believe it's these pirates, sir, again. They're on our weather quarter, hull down to windward."

"Right you are, my boy!" cried he presently after a careful inspection of the objects I had pointed out from the top, though he did not come up aloft any higher, his telescope under his arm being rather awkward to carry. "They are the same craft, sure enough. It is most vexatious!"

He went down below to tell the captain, and, of course, the news soon spread through the ship, all hands turning out and coming on deck to have a look at these bloodhounds of the deep, that seemed bent on pursuing us to the death.

They did not close on us, though, keeping the same distance off, some ten miles or so, till sundown, when they approached a little nearer and could be seen astern of us, through the middle watch, by the aid of the night-glass; but they sheered off again at the breaking of this third day, by which time we could see Pulo Sapata right ahead, a most uninviting spot apparently, consisting of nothing but one big bare rock.

Here, hauling round on the starboard tack, we shaped our course east- nor'-east, to pass over the Macclesfield Bank, in a straight line almost for Formosa Strait, our most direct route to Shanghai, the proa and the junk still keeping after us at a safe distance off.

"By Jingo, I'll tire 'em out yet!" cried "Old Jock" savagely, when, on our getting abreast of the Paracels, although far off to leeward, he saw the beastly things still in our wake as he came on deck in the morning. "I'll tire 'em out before I've done with 'em."

But, now, all at once, we had something more important to think of than even the supposed pirates.

The wind had freshened during the morning, blowing as usual from the south-west and west, and towards noon it slackened again; but no importance was attached to this circumstance, at first, by the captain and Mr Mackay, although, when presently the water became thick and a deep irregular swell set in, they both grew rather uneasy.

"It looks uncommon like a typhoon, sir," said the first mate to "Old Jock," after looking out both to windward and leeward. "There is some change coming."

"I think so, too," said the other. "Go down, Mackay, and have a look at the barometer. It was all right when I came up, but it may have fallen since then; if it has, that will make our doubt a certainty."

"Aye, aye, sir," replied the first mate hurrying down the companion. He wasn't long absent, returning the next moment with the information: "It has gone down from 29.80 to 29.60."

"That means a typhoon, then," said Captain Gillespie; "so the sooner we're prepared for it the better. All hands take in sail!"

The men tumbled up with a will, the sheets all flying as the halliards we're let go and all hands on the yard like bees; and, as soon as the topgallants had been clewed up, these sails were furled and lashed, as well as having the sea-gaskets put on, so as to make them all the more secure.

The topsails followed suit, and then the courses; the ship's head being brought round to the nor'-west, from which quarter the storm was expected, as typhoons always blow eight points to the right of the regular wind, which with us, at the time these precautions were taken, was from the south-east.

The Silver Queen now lay-to, motionless in the water, with only her main trysail and a storm staysail forward set.

"What is a typhoon?" I asked Mr Mackay, when I got down on deck again after helping to hand the mizzen-topsail, the last job we had to do on our mast. "What does it mean?"

"It's the Chinese word for a 'big wind,' my boy," said he kindly; but looking very grave. "You'll soon be able to see what it's like for yourself."

The opportunity he spoke of was not long delayed.

By the time the sails had been taken in and all our preparations made for the reception of our expected but unwelcome visitor, everything being lashed down that was likely to get blown away, and life-lines rove along the deck fore and aft, the same as when we were making ready to weather the Cape of Good Hope, it was late in the afternoon.

At four o'clock, the commencement of the first dog-watch, the barometer had fallen further down the scale to 29.46; while, an hour later, it was down to 28.96, the wind increasing in force almost every minute and the sea growing in proportion, until the very height of the cyclone was attained.

The dinghy, which was lashed inboard behind the wheel-house, was blown bodily away to leeward, the ropes holding it parting as if they had been pack-thread, heavy squalls, accompanied with heavy rain all the time beating on us like hail, and bursting over the ship in rapid succession; but the old barquey bravely stood it, bending to the blast when it came, and then buoyantly rising the next moment and breasting it like the good sea-boat she was.

At "six bells" the barometer fell to its lowest point, 28.60, when the violence of the wind was something fearful, although after this there was a slight rise in the glass. During the next half-hour, however, the mizzen-topsail, which Tom Jerrold and I, with Gregory to help us, had fastened as we thought so firmly to the yard, was blown to ribbons, the spanker getting adrift shortly afterwards and being torn away from its lacing to the luff rope, scrap by scrap.

The main trysail, also, although only very little of it was shown when set, now blew away too, making a great report no doubt; but the shrieking of the wind was such that we couldn't hear anything else but its howling through the rigging, the captain's voice close alongside of me, as I sheltered under the hood of the companion, sounding actually only like a faint whisper.

The typhoon now shifted from the north-west to the westwards, and the barometer, rising shortly afterwards to 29.20, jumped up thence another twenty points in the next hour.

"It's passing off now," said Captain Gillespie, when he could make himself heard between the squalls, which now came with a longer interval between them. "Those typhoons always work against the sun, and we've now experienced the worst of it. There goes our last sail, though, and we'll have to run for it now."

As he said the words the storm staysail forward was carried away with a distinct bang, hearing which showed that the wind was not so powerful quite as just now—when one, really, couldn't have heard a thirty-five ton gun fired forwards.

On losing this her only scrap of canvas left, the ship half broached to.

Joe Fergusson, however, came to the rescue, no doubt from hearing something the boatswain had said, for the gale was blowing so furiously that the captain would not have thought of ordering a man aloft; for, whether through catching Tim Rooney's remark or from some sailor-like intuition, the ex-bricklayer in the very nick of time voluntarily clambered up the rigging forwards and loosened the weather clew of the foresail.

Mr Mackay who was aft, seeing his purpose, at once told the men at the wheel to put the helm up; when, the Silver Queen's head paying off, she lifted out of the trough of the heavy rolling sea and scudded away nor'- eastwards right before the wind, which had now got back to the normal point of the "trade" we had been sailing with previous to the storm— when, as this new south-westerly gale was blowing with more than twenty times the force of our original monsoon from the same quarter, the ship, although with only this tiny scrap of her foresail set, was soon driving through the water at over twelve knots the hour, in the very direction, too, we wanted her to go, to fetch our port.

"This is what I call turning the tables," yelled the captain, putting both his hands to his mouth for a sort of speaking trumpet as he roared out the words to Mr Mackay at the wheel. "By Jingo, it's turning the tail of a typhoon into a fair wind!"



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

ATTACKED BY THE PIRATES.

It was "the tail of a typhoon" with a vengeance; for as we raced onwards through the boiling sea, now lit up by a very watery moon, lots of broken spars and timbers could be seen, as well as several junks floating bottom upwards, thus showing what the fury of the storm had been and the damage done by its ravages.

Mr Mackay noticed these bits of wrecks and wreckage as the captain spoke; and, mingled with a feeling of pity for those who had perished in the tornado, came a satisfactory thought to his mind.

"Yes, sir," said he in reply to Captain Gillespie's observation, "we're making a fair wind out of a foul one; but, besides that, sir, we've got something else to thank the typhoon for, under Providence. It has probably settled the hash of those piratical rascals that were chasing us!"

"Humph! I forgot all about 'em," snorted out "Old Jock," equally pleased at this idea. "No doubt they've gone to the bottom, and good luck to 'em too. One can't feel sorry for such vermin as those that are prowling after honest craft, and who'd cut one's throat for a dollar."

"We mustn't be too sure, though, sir," continued the first mate, as if he had been turning the matter over in his mind. "We've managed to weather the gale so far, and so might they. Those fellows are accustomed to these seas and can smell a typhoon coming; so, if they ran to windward in time, instead of lying-to and waiting for it, as we did, they might have got out of it altogether by keeping ahead of it."

"Pooh!" ejaculated "Old Jock" contemptuously—"I've no fear of being troubled by them again. They're all down in Davy Jones' locker by this; and may joy go with them, as I said before!"

"Well, sir," said Mr Mackay, not pursuing his theory any further, and desirous of turning the conversation, if conversation it can be called when both were holding on still to the life-lines and shouting at each other more than speaking, "what are we to do now?"

"Carry-on, of course," replied "Old Jock," with a squint up at the watery moon and the flying clouds that ever and anon obscured its pale gleams, making everything look black around the moment it was hidden, "There's nothing else to be done but to let her scud before it until the gale has spent its force. I wish we could get up some more sail, though."

"Would it be safe, sir?"

"Safe!" snorted "Old Jock," sniffing with his nose up directly. "Why, what the dickens have you got to be afraid of, man? We're now in the open sea, with nothing in the shape of land near us for a hundred miles or more anywhere you chose to cast the lead."

"But, you forget, sir," suggested the other good-humouredly, so as not to anger the "old man," who was especially touchy about his navigation; "you forget the rate the ship's going—over twelve knots?"

"No, I don't forget, Mister Mackay; and, if we were going twenty it wouldn't make the slightest difference," retorted the captain, who was thoroughly roused now, as the first mate could tell by his addressing him as "Mister," which he never did unless pretty well worked up and in a general state of temper. "I'd have you to know I'm captain of my own ship; and when I say a thing I mean a thing! Call up the hands to try and get some more sail on her; for I'm going to make the best of this typhoon now, as it has made the best it could of me—one good turn deserves another."

Of course there was no arguing with him after this; so all Mr Mackay could do was to pass the word forward for Tim Rooney, and tell him what Captain Gillespie's orders were—there was no good attempting to hail the boatswain, for not a word shouted could be heard beyond the poop.

"Begorra, it's a risky game, puttin' sail on her, sorr," said Tim meeting Mr Mackay half-way on the main-deck; "but we moight thry lettin' out a schrap more av the fores'le, if the houl lot don't fetch away."

"We must try it," returned Mr Mackay. "He will have it so."

"All right, sorr, I'm agreeayble, as the man aid whin he wor agoin' to be hung," said Tim Rooney grinning, never taking anything serious for very long; "faix I'll go up mesilf if I can't get none av the hands to volunteer. I couldn't order 'em yet, sorr, for it's more'n a man's loife is worth to get on a yard with this wind."

"Very good, Rooney, do your best," replied Mr Mackay. "Only don't run into any danger. We can't afford to loose you, bo'sun."

"Troth I'll take care av that same, sorr," returned Tim with a laugh. "I wants another jollification ashore afore I'd be after losin' the noomber av me mess."

I had come down from off the poop with Mr Mackay, and now, standing by his side, watched with anxiety Tim's movements.

He had no lack of volunteers, however, for the ticklish work of laying out on the yard, Joe Fergusson's previous example having inspired whatever pluck was previously wanting; and, almost as soon as he got forward we saw several of the hands mounting the fore rigging on the starboard side—this being the least dangerous, as there was no chance of their being blown into the sea against the wind.

But Tim Rooney would not suffer them to go aloft alone, his stalwart figure being the first to be seen leading the way up the shrouds, with Joe Fergusson close behind, not satisfied apparently with his previous attempt; and both, I noticed in the moonlight, which just then streamed out full for a few minutes, had their jack-knives between their teeth, ready for any emergency, as well as to cut away the double lashings of the foresail, "sea-gaskets" having been laced over the regular ones so as to bind the sail tighter to the yard.

As they went up, the crew were flattened like pancakes against the ratlines; and Mr Mackay and I held our breath when they got on the foot-rope from the shrouds, holding on to the yard and jack-stay, with the wind swaying them to and fro in the most perilous manner. Tim Rooney especially seemed in the most dangerous position, as he made for the lee earing, whence he might be swept off in an instant into the foaming waves that spurted up from the chains as if clutching at him, while Joe Fergusson worked his way out to the end of the weather yard- arm, fighting the fierce gusts at every sliding step he took.

Then, when all were at their posts, Tim gave some sort of signal to the four others whom he allowed to go up with him, and at the same instant the gaskets were severed, parties of men below slacking off the clewlines and pulling on the sheets by degrees. By this means the foresail, having been double-reefed fortunately before being furled, was set satisfactorily, without a split as all of us below expected, the hands getting down from the yards while we were yet hauling the tack aboard.

The effect of this additional sail power on the ship was magical, lifting her bows out of the water and making her plunge madly through the billowy ocean, now all covered with foam and spume, like a maddened horse taking the bit between his teeth and bolting.

"She wants some after sail to steady her," roared the captain bending over the poop rail, although he held on tightly enough to it the while, and calling out to Mr Mackay, who remained with me just below him on the main-deck. "We must try and get some sort of rag up."

Mr Mackay made a motion up at the fragments of the main trysail, which, it may be remembered, had been carried away by the first blast of the typhoon.

"Aye," roared back "Old Jock," understanding him, and knowing that if the first mate had spoken he couldn't have heard a word he said, from the fact of the wind blowing forward. "I know it's gone, but try a staysail."

"Bedad, he bates Bannagher!" said Tim Rooney, who had returned aft and joined Mr Mackay and I under the break of the poop, where we were sheltered more from the force of the gale. "I niver did say sich a chap for carryin' on, fair weather an' foul, loike 'Ould Jock Sayins an' Mayins.' Sure, he wants to be there afore himsilf!"

"We must rig up a storm staysail, I suppose," replied Mr Mackay, smiling at the other's remark. "Try one on the mizzen staysail—the smallest you've got. Ask Adams, he'll soon find one; and, mind you, send it up 'wift' fashion, so as to lessen the risk of its getting blown away, bosun."

"Aye, aye, sorr," said Tim, opening his eyes at this expedient of hoisting a sail like a pilot's signal, and starting to work his way forward again along the weather side of the deck. "Begorra, you're the boy, sure, Misther Mackay, for sayin' through a stone hidge as well as most folk!"

But the dodge succeeded all the same, and likewise had the advantage of steadying the vessel, which did not roll nearly so much when the after sail was hoisted, with the sheet hauled in to leeward; although, the Silver Queen bent over when she felt it, as if running on a bowline, notwithstanding that the wind was almost dead aft and she spurring on before it.

As the night came on it darkened more, the moon disappearing altogether and the sky becoming completely covered with black angry clouds; while heavy showers of cold rain pelted down on us at intervals from midnight till "four bells" in the middle watch.

Then the rain ceased and the heavens cleared a bit, a few stars peeping out; and the phosphorescent light from the sea enabled us to have a good view of the boiling waves around us, still heaving and tossing as far as the eye could reach, although the wind was perceptibly lessening.

An hour later its force had fallen to that of a strong breeze, and the captain had the topsails and mizzen-topgallant set, carrying on still full pitch to the north-east, notwithstanding that just before dawn it became pitch dark again and we couldn't see a cable's length ahead.

The starboard watch had been relieved shortly before this, but Mr Saunders remained up, as indeed had most of us since the previous afternoon; while Captain Gillespie, indeed, never left the deck once since the first suspicion of the typhoon.

He now yawned, however, the long strain and fatigue beginning to tell on him.

"I think I'll go below," he said; and, turning to Mr Mackay, all amiable again, especially at having carried his point of "carrying on" successfully in spite of the first mate's caution, he remarked with a sniff, "You see, Mackay, we've gone on all right and met no dangers, and it'll puzzle those blessed pirates, if they're yet in the land of the living, to find us at daybreak!"

Just as he uttered these words, however, there was a tremendous shock forwards that threw us all off our feet, succeeded by a peculiar grating feeling under the ship's keel, after which, her heaving and rolling ceased as if she had suddenly sailed from amidst the waves into the calm water of some sheltered harbour. A second shock followed soon, but not so violent as the first; and then, all motion ceased.

"By Jingo, she's aground!" snorted out "Old Jock," scrambling to his feet by the assistance of Mr Saunders' outstretched hand. "Where on earth can we've got to? there's no land here."

Mr Mackay said nothing, although he had his suspicions, which indeed had led in the original instance to his remonstrance against the captain's allowing the ship to rush on madly in the dark; but, presently, as the light of morning illumined the eastern sky and we were able to see the ship's position, a sudden cry of alarm and recognition burst from both—

"The Pratas shoal!"

This was their joint exclamation; and, on the sun rising a little later on, when the whole scene and all our surroundings could be better observed, the wonder was that the Silver Queen was not in pieces and every soul on board her drowned!

To explain our miraculous escape, I may mention that this shoal, which Captain Gillespie and Mr Mackay so quickly named beyond question, was a circular coral reef almost in the centre of the China Sea, and about a hundred and thirty miles distant from Hongkong, absolutely in the very highway of vessels trading east and west.

Breakers encircled it, showing their white crests on every side, the sharp points of the coral composing the reef almost coming to the surface of the water, while at some spots it was raised above it. In these latter places it was covered with rank grass, exhibiting incipient signs of vegetation; and, within the reef, inclosed by a lagoon some three miles wide that went completely round it, lay a small island, on which were several shrubs and a prominent tree on a slight elevation, which will in process of time become a hill, whereon stood also the remains of a pagoda, or Chinese temple, while pieces of wreck and bleached bones were scattered over the shores. Of course we did not notice all these things at first, but such was the result of our subsequent observations and investigations.

As wild, desolate, and dreary a spot it was as ever anchorite imagined or poet pictured; such, at all events, we all thought on looking at it and realising the providential way in which our safety had been effected.

It happened in this wise.

There were one or two breaks in the reef surrounding this desert isle, as we could see from a link missing here and there in the chain of breakers. This was especially noticeable towards the south-western portion of the rampart the indefatigable coral insect had thrown up, where an opening about double the width of the Silver Queen's beam was plainly discernible. Through this fissure in the reef, piloted by that power which had watched over us throughout all the perils of our voyage, the ship had been driven; and she had beached herself gradually on the shore of the little island, as her way was eased by the placid lagoon into which she entered from the troubled sea without the natural breakwater. Here she was now fixed hard and fast forward, with her forefoot high and dry, although there was deep water under her stern aft.

"Thank God for his mercy!" exclaimed Mr Mackay fervently; and I'm sure I echoed this recognition of the loving care that had so wonderfully preserved us. "We couldn't have got in here without striking on the reef, if we had seen the entrance before our eyes and tried our very best; not, at all events, with that gale shoving us on and in such a sea as is running—only look at it now!"

"Oh, aye," agreed Captain Gillespie, gazing out as we all did at the creamy line of foaming breakers all round, that sent showers of surfy spray over the coral ledge into the placid lagoon, which was calm and still in comparison, like a mountain tarn, albeit filled with brackish sea-water all the same. "Oh, aye, it's wonderful enough our getting here; but how are we going to get out—eh?"

"No doubt we'll find a way," said the other, who had bared his head when giving thanksgiving where it was due; and whose noble, intelligent face, I thought, as I looked at him admiringly, seemed capable of anything, he spoke so cheerfully, his courage not daunted but increased, it seemed, all the more by what had happened—"No doubt we'll find a way, sir."

But "Old Jock" wouldn't be comforted.

Obstinately insisting before, against Mr Mackays advice, that we were going on all right, he was even more dogmatically certain now that we were all wrong; saying that, as far as he could see, the ship and her cargo and every one of the thirty-one souls she had on board were doomed!

"I can't see how it's going to be managed, Mackay," he replied despondingly to the other's cheery words, even his nose drooping with dismay at the prospect, superstition coming to aid his despairing conviction. "I knew there was something uncanny when those pigs jumped overboard that evening, and I told you so, if you recollect, Saunders; and you know, when I say a thing, I mean a thing."

"Aye, aye," said the second mate, thus appealed to; and who being a shallow-pated man with little feeling for anything save the indulgence of his appetite, thought there was some connection, now the captain put it so, between the loss of the porkers and the ship's being castaway, he not having been let into the secret of the reason for the strange behaviour of the pigs on the occasion referred to. "Aye, aye, cap'en, I remember your saying so quite well."

Mr Mackay couldn't stand this, and he walked down the poop ladder to conceal his amusement; and I followed him when I found him bent on consulting Tim Rooney as to what was to be done, the captain being hopeless at present.

"Be jabers, we're in a pritty kittle av fish an' no mistake!" said Tim when asked his opinion about the situation. "We might be able to kedge her off, sorr, an' thin ag'in we moightn't; but the foorst thing to say, sorr, is whither she's all roight below."

"A good suggestion," answered Mr Mackay. "Tell the carpenter to sound the well at once."

"That'd be no good at all, sorr," interposed the other, "for the poor craythur's got her bows hoigh an' dhry, while she's down by the starn. The bist thing as I'd advise, sorr, excusin' the liberty, is to get down alongside an' say if she's started anythin'. That big scrape she got as she came over the rafe, I'm afeard, took off a bit av her kale, sorr."

"Right you are, Rooney, sensible as ever," said Mr Mackay. "We'll have a boat over the side at once and see to it."

This, however, was a work of time, for the jolly-boat, which was the only one of moderate size we had left, since the dinghy had been carried away in the typhoon, was stowed inside the long-boat; and so purchases had to be rigged to the fore and main yards before it could be raised from its berth and hoisted over the ship's bulwarks.

But, all hands helping, the job was done at last; when Mr Mackay descended the side-ladder into the boat along with the boatswain and a couple of men to pull round the ship, so as to ascertain what, if any, damage she might have received. I could not help noticing, though, that the captain did not exhibit the slightest interest when the first mate submitted what he was about to do and asked his permission—only telling him that he might go if he liked, but he thought it of little use!

I should have liked to have gone with them too, and I mentioned this to Tom Jerrold, as he and I leant over the bows and watched the jolly-boat and those in her below us; for although Tim Rooney had spoken of the ship being "high and dry" she was still in shallow water forward, the shelly bottom being to be seen at the depth of two or three feet or so, the beach shelving abruptly.

While the two of us were looking at the boat, though, and the island in front spread out before us, with its solitary tree, ruined Chinese pagoda and all, which Ching Wang was also inspecting with much interest from the forecastle, we were suddenly startled by a shout aft from Captain Gillespie, who still remained on the poop.

"Hi, Mackay," he cried, "come back. Here is that blessed proa and junk, and a whole fleet of pirates after us!"

This made both Tom and I turn pale, although Ching Wang betrayed no expression of alarm when we explained the captain's hail to him, only his little beady eyes twinkling.

"You fightee number one chop, tyfong makee scarcee chop chop, Sabby? No goodee when sailor-mannee fightee!"

When we got aft, where we were soon joined by Mr Mackay, who had instantly obeyed the captain's order of recall, and said, by the way, that they could not discover much injury to the ship forward save that a portion of her false keel had been torn off, "Old Jock" pointed out some specks on the horizon to windward. These, on being scrutinised through the glass by the first mate, were declared to be the now familiar proa and her consort, a fact which I corroborated with my naked eye from the mizzen cross-trees whither I at once ascended.

The sea, I noticed too, had calmed down considerably outside the reef, which the pirate junks gained later on in the afternoon, coming through the opening we had observed to the south and west one by one, in single file, and then advancing towards the Silver Queen in line.

Presently, when about half a mile off, they stopped on a flag being hoisted by the leading proa, which appeared to command the expedition; and then, amidst the hideous din of a lot of tin-kettly drums and gongs, the pirates, for such they now showed themselves to be without doubt, opened fire on the ship with cannon and jingals—the balls from the former soon singing in the air as they passed over our masts, their aim, however, being rather high and eccentric, although the first that whistled past made me duck my head in fright, thinking it was coming towards me.

"Oh!" I cried; but I may say without any exaggeration or desire to brag, that I did not flinch again, nor did I utter another "Oh!"



CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

CHING WANG AND I ESCAPE IN THE SAMPAN.

It must not be thought, though, that we were inactive all the time the pirates were coming nearer after the first warning of their unexpected approach.

No, on the contrary, we made every preparation, with the means at our disposal, to receive them with proper respect.

"Begorra, if they'd ownly tould us afore we lift the ould country we'd a had some big guns, too," said Tim Rooney as he blazed away at a chap with a red sash on in the prow of the proa, taking aim at him with one of the Martini-Henry rifles that had been brought up by the captain from his cabin. "So, me hearties, ye'll have to take the will for the dade, an' this little lidden messenger, avic, to show as how we aren't onmindful av ye, sure, an' that there's no ill falin' atwane us!"

Yes, we had made every preparation.

The moment Captain Gillespie was assured that the the pirates—towards whom he had conceived a deadly hatred, although believing them lost in the storm that had caught us—were coming again in chase of our unfortunate ship, he woke up once more into his old animated self, his nose twisting this way and that as he sniffed and snorted, full of warlike energy.

"I'll soon teach 'em a lesson," he cried cheerily to Mr Mackay. "When they tackle Jock Gillespie, they'll find their match; and, ye know, when I say a thing I mean a thing!"

Thereupon he bounced down the companion, telling Jerrold and me to follow him; which, as may be supposed, we did with the greatest alacrity, "Old Jock" not often inviting us to his sanctum.

"Here, lads," he said, emptying out an old arm-chest which was stowed under his bunk on to the floor, "lend a hand, will ye?"

Of course we did "lend the hand" he requested thus politely in a tone of command, only too glad to overhaul the stock of weapons tumbled out all together from the chest.

There were a couple of Martini-Henry rifles, sighted for long ranges; three old Enfields of the pattern the volunteers used to be supplied with some years ago; a large bore shot-gun; and a few revolvers of various sorts—one of the latter making my eyes glisten at the sight of it, for it was just suited to me, I thought.

The captain seemed to anticipate my wish, even before I could give it utterance.

"Do ye know how to fire a pistol?" he asked Jerrold and me, looking from one to the other of us, with a profound sniff of interrogation. "Have either of ye handled ere a one before?"

"Oh, yes, sir," said I; while Tom Jerrold laughed.

"Don't you remember, cap'en," he cried, "giving me that fat one there, the Colt revolver, last voyage when you thought there was going to be a mutiny; and how you instructed me how to use it?"

"Oh, aye, I remember. I clean forgot, lad; this bother about the ship has turned my head, I think," snorted he, not a bit angrily though. "Well, take the same weapon again now, lad, as you're familiar with it; and you, youngster, have you got any choice?"

"I'd like this one, sir," I replied, fixing on my original selection, as he turned to me and asked this question, "if you'll let me have it. I won't hurt it."

"No, I don't fancy ye will," he said, sniffing and chuckling and twitching his nose. "I hope ye'll hurt some of those rascally pirates with it, though."

The captain then opened another chest, a smaller iron one, which he also dragged out from under his bunk, unlocking it with a heavy key he took off a bunch which was hanging up on a nail over his writing-desk and throwing back the lid.

This second receptacle, we soon discovered, contained a lot of cartridges for the rifles, there being a hundred or more of various sorts, some for the breech-loaders and some for the Enfields of the old- fashioned regulation size. There were also a variety of smaller cartridges for the revolvers, and "Old Jock" gave Tom and I each a package of these latter for our weapons.

In the chest, likewise, were two or three large flasks of powder and a lot of bullets loose, which the captain crammed into a leathern bag and told us to take on the poop with the rifles, Tom and I carrying up a couple each with the bag of bullets and powder-flasks and then returning for the rest.

In our absence "Old Jock" had ferreted out from some other hiding-place of his a couple of swords and a number of cutlasses, which he likewise directed us to take up the companion, he assisting us; until, presently, we had the whole armoury arranged on the top of the cabin skylight.

"Now, Mackay," said Captain Gillespie, blowing like a grampus after his exertions, "take y'r choice, but I think that the two best shots in the ship ought to have the Martini rifles; and if I were picking out the picked marksmen—he! he! that's a joke, 'picking' and 'picked,' didn't intend it though—I'd have chosen y'rself and the bosun!"

Of course we all laughed at his joke, as he had taken such pains to point it out; and he was so pleased with it himself that it was some time before he could speak again, he sniffed and snorted so much.

"Not bad that, Mackay," he said; "not bad—eh? But which of these things would ye like best—eh?"

"I think I'll take the breech-loader, sir," replied the other, suiting the action to the word and proceeding to examine the lock of one of the Martini-Henrys, which seemed to be an old acquaintance of his, for he loaded the chamber much quicker than I could manage my new acquisition; "and I don't believe you could do better than hand the other to Rooney, as you suggested. He's the best shot in the ship, I'm certain."

"Y'rself excepted," interposed the captain wonderfully politely for him; singing out loudly at the same time, "Bosun!"

"Here, sorr," cried Tim, who had been waiting below close to the poop ladder, expecting the summons, and who was all agog at the prospect of a fight. "Here I am, sorr."

"Well, bosun," said Captain Gillespie, "it looks as if we'll have to fight those rascals coming up astern and making for us. The cowards! They didn't dare attack the old barquey when she was all ataunto in the open sea; and only now rely on their numbers and the fact of our being in limbo here. However, if they do attack us, we shall have a fight for it."

"Bully for ye, sorr!" cried Tim enraptured. "It's mesilf as loikes a fight, sure. I'm niver at pace barrin' whin I'm in a row, sure, sorr!"

"Then you'll be soon in your element," retorted Jock grimly. "Call the hands aft."

"Aye, aye, sorr," answered Tim; and going up to the rail he shouted out in his ringing voice, "All ha-a-nds aft!"

"Now, my men," said "Old Jock," leaning over the poop and addressing them as they stood below on the main-deck—"we've got a batch of rascally pirates coming up after us astern; and, as you know, we can't run away from 'em. What will ye do—cave in to 'em or fight 'em?"

The crew broke into a rousing cheer.

"Ye'll fight 'em, then?"

"Aye, aye, fight 'em till we make 'em sick!" shouted one of the hands speaking for the rest, who endorsed his answer on their behalf with a "Hip, hip, hooray!"

"And one for the skipper," shouted Joe Fergusson, who was a sailor of sailors by this time and had learnt all their ways and talk, dropping out of his old provincialisms. "Hip, hip, hooray!"

"And another for Mr Mackay," cried a voice that sounded like that of Adams, causing the hooraying to start again with fresh force, this cheer being much heartier than the first.

"Now, men," said Captain Gillespie, "as ye've let off all your gas, let me see what ye can do in action. Bosun, serve out the cutlasses and distribute the rest of the guns."

This being done and all of the men armed in one way or another, the deficiencies of the captain's armoury being made good by the aid of handspikes which Mr Mackay had thoughtfully ordered to be brought aft while we were taking up the rifles and other things from the cabin. Even Billy, the ship's boy, got hold of an old bayonet, which he brandished about near Pedro Carvalho the steward, who had come out of his pantry to see what all the noise was about, which gesture on his part almost frightening the Portuguese, who, as I've related before, was an innate coward, into a fit. At all events, it made him turn of a yellowish pallor that did not improve his complexion.

"Carramba!" he exclaimed, as he retreated back within his pantry. "Fora, maldito!"

When offered a weapon, Ching Wang only smiled that innocent bland smile of his, producing his own long knife, that had a blade like an American bowie, being over a foot long and with a double edge.

"Me one piecee in tyfong tummee tummee, chop chop, pijjin!" he said, brandishing the awful blade in a way that I'm sure the "kyfongs," the Chinese term for pirates, would not relish, especially in such friendly relation with their "tummee tummees."

All the crew being now armed, the captain and Mr Mackay disposed them in parties about the deck and forecastle to windward, so as best to oppose the pirates' attack; while the men provided with the Enfield rifles were placed in the tops, with the bullets and powder for ammunition when their cartridges ran short. Tim Rooney took his station with Mr Mackay on the poop, from which the advancing pirates could best be picked off, and where also were gathered the captain, as a matter of course; Mr Saunders, who carried an old single-barrel pistol with a heavy lock, which the second mate intended to make more use of as a club than to shoot with; and Tom Jerrold and Sam Weeks, as well as myself— Sam being sadly jealous of Tom and I from the fact of our having revolvers, while he, coming too late after they'd all been distributed, had to be contented with a marlin-spike—poor Sammy!

It was thus that we all awaited the attack, every man Jack of us being at his specially appointed post and on the alert; when the pirates— after pounding away at us a long time at a distance, with the result of neither wounding a soul on board nor damaging the ship very materially, none of the shot penetrating her hull between wind and water, the only thing we had to fear—at length mustered up courage enough to give up their rather unremunerative game of "long bowls" and come to close quarters.

I had got quite accustomed now to the rushing sound of round shot in the air and the waspish phit phitting of rifle bullets past my head; and I was filled with a wild excitement that made my heart pant, as I stood on the poop between Mr Mackay and Tim Rooney.

These two were peppering away at the leading proa and the junks, as they paddled in hastily towards the ship with their long double-banked sweeps, anxious to get in close alongside and so to be sheltered by our hull from the murderous and rapid fire which the wielders of the Martini-Henrys rained on them.

But every bullet found a billet in some pirate breast sooner or later, one of the villainous desperadoes falling over his oar here and another dropping down on the bamboo deck of a junk there; while, occasionally, some wretch would tumble overboard with a wild yell, in answer to the ping of the rifle, shot through the heart as dead as a herring, and going down to his grave amongst the fishes in Neptune's coral caverns below!

"There's that scoundrel of a fellow in the red sash again," cried Mr Mackay, when the Malay proa, which still led the van, was only about half a cable's length off. "There he is, Rooney,—do you see him?"

"Aye, bad cess to the black divil, I say him well enough, sorr," returned Tim, carefully putting a fresh cartridge into the chamber of his weapon. "Begorra, I thought I'd kilt the beggar a dozen toimes alriddy; but he's got the luck of ould Nick, an' sames to save his skin somehow or ither. Here goes for him ag'in—take that now, ye ould thaife!"

"Ping!"

But the pirate captain, as the tall dark man in the stern of the proa seemed to be, only let fall the long crease which he had held in his right hand brandishing at us, the bullet from Tim's rifle having broken his arm, that also dropped powerless by his side.

"You nearly had him there," cried Mr Mackay, now taking a shot. "I hope I'll have better luck though."

"I hope ye will, sorr," heartily echoed Tim. "I mint to riddle his carkiss an ownly winged him. The ugly black divil sames to kape a charmed loife, an' I dare say his ould frind below helps him, the nayghur!"

Mr Mackay, however, was equally unsuccessful; for, as luck would have it, another of the pirates jumping up in front of the chief received the bullet intended for him.

The scoundrel who got killed was, certainly, one off the list; still, the small fry did not count like their leader, the loss of whom all of us thought might have paralysed the enemy's advance.

It really seemed, however, as if the gigantic villain, who towered over his men, bore a charmed life; for, although our fellows in the tops with the Ennelds, as well the first mate and boatswain, aimed at him, while, now that the proa was within revolver range, the captain and Tom Jerrold, and even I, with my little weapon, pelted bullet after bullet in his direction, all of us missed hitting the swarthy scoundrel. We noticed, too, on seeing him closer, that he appeared to be more of Pedro Carvalho's nationality than belonging to the Malay race, his features and shape of head being altogether different; albeit, he was fully as ugly as his rascally comrades in the proa and following junks—a hybrid lot of Javanese and Chinese and all the vile scourings of the Straits Settlements; long-haired heavy-eyed and sullen-looking most of them, with narrow retreating foreheads, and evidently of the lowest type of humanity.

As they got closer and closer to the ship, too, we noticed that several had red sashes round their blue frocks, into which were stuck fearful curved knives and the butt-ends of pistols; and so, with "so many Richmonds in the field," it was not to be wondered that Tim Rooney and Mr Mackay had previously missed their mark—albeit now that the proa was near, it was strange that they could not pick off the pirate leader, who, as the proa sheered up alongside the Silver Queen, looked up at us astern and grinned a horrible sardonic grin, drawing the while his solitary left hand across his bare tawny throat with a most unmistakable gesture.

"Ping!—ping!" came from Mr Mackay's and the boatswain's rifles again in quick succession.

And yet again, marvellous as it may seem, they both missed. There was no longer time, though, for any more pot shots; for, with a wild savage howl and the beating of drums and gongs again, mingled with a shower of jingal balls over the ship, the proa struck against the fore-chains on our starboard bow, one of the junks steering to our port side at the same time, while another remained across our stern and raked us fore and aft with round shot, there being a couple of hundred at least of the bloodthirsty demons in the three craft assailing us. There were probably as many more, too, in the junks astern, which were coming up more leisurely, leaving their comrades in the van to bear the brunt of the fray.

"Now, men!" shouted "Old Jock," who I must say came out like a brave man and a hero on the occasion, losing all his peculiarities and littlenesses of manner and behaviour—at least we did not notice them. "Now, men, we've got to fight for our lives! We must first try and prevent the pirates getting aboard; and, when we can't do that any longer and they gain the decks, we'll retreat into the cabin and barricade ourselves, and fight 'em again there."

"Hooray!" cried the men. "Hooray!"

"And when we can't hold the cabin any longer," continued Old Jock, who seemed to be in a punning vein this afternoon, "we'll go below to the hold, and hold that as long as we can!"

"Hooray!" shouted the hands again, full of the fire of battle now and spurred on by his words. "We'll fight, old man, never fear!"

"And when we can't fight 'em any longer, my lads," cried Captain Gillespie, looking round at us all with an expression of determination that I had never seen in his face before, "we'll blow up the ship sooner than surrender to this villainous gang!"

The cheer that followed this ending of his speech was so loud and genuine, so full of British pluck, so hearty, that the pirates absolutely quailed at the sound of it, holding back a second or two before they sheered up alongside with the intention of boarding us.

They only made a short delay, though, during which we were not idle with our guns and revolvers; for, the next moment, with another yell of defiance, the pirate craft flung their grapnels in our rigging and climbed up on both sides of the ship simultaneously.

"Come down out of the tops!" shouted Mr Mackay to the hands aloft. "Come down at once, we want all of your aid with cold steel now!"

These soon joined us, and then followed a series of shouts and cries and shots and groans which it makes me dizzy even now to think of; until, after losing three of our number, amongst them being poor Mr Saunders, whom we dragged in mortally wounded with us, we all retreated to the cabin, barricading ourselves there with all sorts of bales and boxes, and bracing up the saloon table, which we had previously unloosed from its lashings, to act as a shield under the skylight.

The pirates made a rush after us, but we were too quick for them; so then, leaving us alone for awhile, they proceeded to rummage the ship forward, where, from the noise they made hacking and hewing at the deck, they were evidently trying to break open the hold so as to get at the cargo. But the hatchways being constructed of iron beneath the wood their battering away at them did not bother us much for the moment, as we knew they would find their work cut out for them and the job a long one.

Meanwhile, poor Mr Saunders lay dying on the cabin floor, bleeding from a wound in his breast. The captain said there was no hope for him, for he had been shot through the lungs; and as I bent over him with a glass of water I had got from the pantry, he murmured something that sounded like Ching Wang.

"By Jove!" exclaimed Mr Mackay. "Where is the Chinaman?"

Nobody knew; and although Mr Saunders had been the first to miss him, he could not say anything else about him, or tell us what had become of the poor fellow. We were all, therefore, giving him up for lost, when, suddenly Pedro Carvalho, who, it may be remembered, bore no friendly feeling towards the cook, called out from the pantry window whence, through the jalousies, or open shutters, he could survey a portion of the main-deck.

"Diante de Deos!" he exclaimed, "dere is dat raskil Ching Wang yondare, chummy chumming and chin chinning does peerats. Yase, yase, dere he is! I see him! I see him! Carajo! Cozenheiro maldito!"

This news came upon us like a thunderbolt, but none of us would believe it until we had been absolutely convinced of the truth of what the steward had stated by seeing for ourselves. Yet, there was no mistake; for sure enough we could presently see with our own eyes, Ching Wang on the friendliest terms, apparently, with a lot of the yellow pirate rascals, who were of his own celestial nationality, away forward, the cook showing them all that was to be seen and grinning and gesticulating away finely!

Still, even then we could hardly believe in his treachery.

Somehow or other, too, whether through Ching Wang's offices or not, of course, we could not say, the pirates did not bother us much during the day, only coming up to the skylight occasionally and firing down on us as well as they could with their clumsy muskets and pistols—a fire which we just as promptly returned, aiming wherever we saw a flash. They once pitched in one of their terrible fire balls or "stink-pots" of fulminating stuff to asphyxiate us with its beastly smell; but Tim Rooney, taking hold of it and plunging the obnoxious thing in a bucket of water, rid us at once of the poisonous fumes.