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CHAPTER VII

The Pursuit of the Patagonian

We Sight Her—A Stern Chase—We Overhaul Her—We Have to Apologize—Spinning the Yarn

Mr. Midshipman Glover's Narrative continued

For the next two hours we were hard at work, and when we signalled that we were ready for sea, and hoisted the "permission to weigh and proceed in pursuance of previous orders", "No. 1" semaphored, "Inform Laird that I cannot meet squadron, as condensers require repair".

"That's the misleading signal," Mr. Parker said, as he and the Sub spelt it out; "I only hope those fellows read and swallow it, for if they do they will imagine we are going up the Red Sea again."

To "create a diversion", as the Sub put it, we steered W. after clearing the harbour till out of sight of land, as if we were going to meet the squadron, then we steered S.E. for a couple of hours, and finally altered our course for Colombo.

It was very hot, very tedious, and very monotonous work steaming across the Indian Ocean. We had to go slow to economize our coal, and all fresh food gave out two days after we left Aden, and I hate tinned stuff altogether. I had to do my share of watch-keeping during the day, and soon learnt to handle "No. 3" as easily as a ship's steam-boat. You can imagine we grew excited as we began to approach Colombo. Whether we caught her or not depended almost entirely on whether they had believed the misleading signal at Aden, for if they thought we were on our way to Colombo, they would have, of course, hurried her away by telegraph.

"If we don't catch her now we never shall, for there are any number of places she can hide in and coal between Colombo and Singapore or Saigon," said Mr. Parker.

"Well, shall we shove her on a little?" suggested Mr. Chapman. "At this rate we shall get in to-morrow evening with eighteen tons of coal on board. I could give you another knot and a half if you like."

There was a long discussion about it—I was too young, of course, and did not have anything to say—but they finally decided it would be safer to have some few tons in hand.

"You see," argued Mr. Parker, as all three leant up against the bridge rails, "if they sight us before they know by telegram that we are on our way, they may think that we have no coal left and may 'clear out', imagining that we can't chase them. That would be certainly their most reasonable plan, wouldn't it? That's what I should do if I were in their shoes. We will just shove on every knot you can give us, Chapman, directly we sight the lighthouse, and that won't give them much time to get away."

I had the morning watch from four till eight, and had gone below to get some breakfast—sardines, jam, and ship's biscuit—when suddenly I heard the engine-room gong clang, and could feel the engines whizzing round. The plates began dancing about the table, and my coffee was nearly all spilt before I could drink it. I stuffed down the last two sardines in one mouthful and rushed up on deck. All the men were crowding forward under the bridge, gesticulating and pointing ahead. Climbing up to the bridge, I could make out the lighthouse and the long breakwater of Colombo.

"Is she coming out, sir?" I asked, for I could not see anything through my telescope—we were shaking so, and the ship was so unsteady. "The signalman says she is," said Mr. Parker, with his eye glued to his telescope. "Yes, there she goes! Look at that dark patch on the breakwater. That's smoke, and she's underneath it. My eye! she's getting up speed pretty quickly."

In another half-minute we could see her with the naked eye. She was showing up dark against the white breakwater, and was tearing through the water, running almost at right angles to us till she cleared the breakwater and the rocks. We were drawing rapidly together when she put her helm over. We saw her heel over, swing round, right herself as she settled down on her proper course, and away she flew, the Patagonian flag stiffening out astern.

"Follow her, Davis," sang out Mr. Parker to the petty officer at the wheel, as he tried to light his pipe behind the chart table. "Go to quarters, Collins (the Sub), and pass up ammunition." The Gunner and Mr. Collins flew down on deck to see everything prepared, leaving only Mr. Parker and myself on the bridge.

He shouted down the engine-room voice tube, "How much coal have you left, Chapman?"

"Nearly fourteen tons."

"How long will that last at full speed?"

"Rather more than an hour and a half," came the muffled reply.

"Then give me every ounce of steam you can raise."

At the time the Patagonian had altered course there was about one mile and a half between us, but she was rapidly gaining, for we had not yet reached our highest speed, and she was evidently doing all she knew. She was almost hidden under a great cloud of smoke, and occasionally entirely hidden by spray, for a slight choppy head sea, which we had not noticed before when going slowly, was now covering us fore and aft with spray.

Down I had to go to see the boats all ready for lowering, and when this was done run several messages to the Sub, who by this time had men at all the guns, and plenty of ammunition on deck. There wasn't much doubt that Mr. Chapman and his men were doing their utmost, for now we could feel the engines humming round like sewing machines, the ship began to throb and vibrate with a funny wriggle which you could almost see when you looked aft along the deck from the bridge. It was just as much as I could do to hang on to the bridge rails with one hand and keep my cap on with the other, whilst the spray wetted us from head to foot. The 12-pounder's gun crew had come up to the bridge and fondly cleared her away and loaded her. Then I felt that funny sensation in my stomach again, the sardines and the wobbling I expect it was, and hung on to the bridge and gasped for breath between the showers of spray.

You should have seen our funnels! What paint was left on them came off just like the skin of scarlet fever people when they peel, great roaring flames licked out of them, and clouds of smoke went rushing aft, whilst astern was a huge mass of churned-up foam, looking as if it would fall on board.

We must have been chasing her for nearly half an hour, and did not appear to be gaining. Mr. Parker kept on anxiously looking at his watch as we rushed along—now leaving Colombo behind us and running away from the dark belt of trees which marked the shore.

Presently Mr. Chapman came up on deck, sweating all over. "She's doing as many revolutions as she did on her trials," he shouted; "her engines won't take any more steam, I'm only blowing it off," and he pointed to clouds of steam hissing away from each funnel.

"Make a signal, 'I wish to communicate and send a boat', and keep it flying," roared Mr. Parker to the signalman, who was evidently prepared, for he had already bent the proper flags and pendants to the halyards and quickly hoisted them, the bunting stiffening in the wind like painted steel. I forgot to say that the Chinese ensign, the Yellow Dragon, was flying at our stern. How we did wish it was our own white ensign.

We all watched for a reply, but none came. There was no doubt we were now gaining—we could plainly make out a few men on her bridge looking at us from time to time—and judging from the great masses of smoke which were pouring from her funnels, the stokers must have been working desperately hard to escape from us.

"We're well out of the three-mile limit, I think, Collins?" shouted Mr. Parker.

"Yes, sir—ten miles away."

"Then try a shot at twelve hundred yards, Jones (the 'No. 1' of the 12-pounder). Go as close to her as you can without hitting her."

"Very good, sir." And Jones, a huge muscular man pressed his shoulder against the mounting and bent over the sights. How we did throb and pitch—the muzzle of the gun never seemed still, and it seemed ages before Jones fired. There was a beastly sharp crack, the cordite smoke drove back into our eyes, and we all strained to see the result. The shell burst half a mile ahead of the Patagonian as it struck the water.

"No one can shoot from a platform like this," Collins said angrily; "we're dancing about like a lot of marionettes."

Jones fired another shot, which burst astern, but not the slightest effect had either—still no answer to our signal, and no attempt to lessen speed.

Just then Mr. Chapman reported that he only had two more tons left, and had swept every bunker. Mr. Parker groaned, "She'll get away, and I can't even get back to Colombo. Carry on firing as fast as you can, Collins, with your two for'ard 6-pounders."

Then we heard, below us, the joyful voice of the Gunner singing out, "Target, right ahead, at one thousand—independent firing—commence."

Wasn't there a banging. But I was too excited to mind the noise, and we all cheered as every now and again one of our little shells burst close to the Patagonian. We were closing rapidly, and could see all but two of her men clear rapidly down below. Then one of our shells struck a boat they had stowed inboard near the stern, and great pieces of it flew into the air. Didn't we cheer, for at this they had evidently had enough of it, and clouds of steam came roaring out of their funnels as they stopped their engines. We were going so fast that we were almost on top of them before Collins jumped for the telegraph, and put the engines full speed astern and the helm hard over. With a great trembling and shaking our way was stopped, we swung clear, and lay still not fifty yards away from our prize. There was hardly need to use the engine-room telegraph to stop the engines, for they were gradually slowing down. Our fires were burning low, and there was no coal to replenish them.

"Train every gun that will bear on her," sung out Mr. Parker, "and stand by to fire. Get out the boats."

In two minutes the dinghy was in the water, and Mr. Parker was bobbing across the fifty yards that separated us. I had to follow him with six men in the collapsable Berthon boat, each of them armed with cutlass and rifle.

I felt jolly proud, you can imagine. We were alongside in a "jiffy". "You first, sir," said the coxswain, and shoved me up the smooth side, and I climbed aboard, followed by two of the men.

Mr. Parker was listening to a horrid little officer who was gesticulating and talking very furiously.

"Take six of your men to the fore bridge and don't leave it till I give you orders, and kick everyone else out of it," he ordered, so up we climbed and kicked the two men still left there down the ladder. They didn't want much kicking.

In a few minutes Mr. Parker went below, followed by the little officer, still stamping and swearing. He seemed to stay there for ages, and I was wondering whether I had not better send some of my men down after him, but could not disobey his orders, and of course there was "No. 3" with her guns trained on us not fifty yards away, and that was reassuring.

Presently up he came on deck, followed by Hopkins and a man I knew must be Mr. Staunton. The men in "No. 3" saw them and raised a great cheer; indeed, it was splendid to have rescued them, and so jolly lucky too, for we could not have caught her if she had run away for another five minutes.

But the best part of the "show" was to come, for presently up poured a number of Chinamen, I should think quite fifty, and they were taken across to "No. 3" in small parties till there wasn't one left. I felt jolly sorry for Mellins and the others of the Laird that they weren't there to see that little man stamp and fume and curse, whilst Mr. Parker looked on perfectly unconcernedly, and my six men kept their rifles at the present. I made 'em do this—I thought it would look better. When all the Chinese had gone, Mr. Chapman and his stokers came across, and the last boat-load towed over a grass hawser. With this they hauled aboard one of "No. 3's" cables, and then it dawned upon me that the Patagonian was going to tow us back to Colombo, for, of course, as I said before, we had no coal left, and were perfectly helpless.

It seemed rather rash to trust all those Chinese on board "No. 3" with only the very few hands left in her, but the leading seaman I had with me said, "Why, bless your 'eart, sir, them devils is all doves and sucklings now", and as he had been out on the Chinese station and knew them, that settled it.

Well, we got back to Colombo all right, and tied up to buoys inside the breakwater, and then there was a proper row. The skipper of the Patagonian went ashore and wired to his Government, and they wired to Peking, and Peking wired to us, and the result was that Mr. Parker had to put on his No. 1 frock coat and apologize very humbly for his "unwarrantable and high-handed proceeding". The fact was, you see, that the little man, who had been an officer in the Mexican navy, really had all his papers in order, and no doubt had a commission from the Patagonian Government. He swore he knew nothing about Mr. Staunton and Hopkins except that they had been put aboard at Aden from the other two destroyers, "and they take away all my good men there and give me Chinese pigs". That explained why we had seen no Chinese in Aden on board the other two.

Mr. Staunton told us his adventures, and how he had been captured at Port Said.

When the Isis, bringing Mr. Staunton from Brindisi, had anchored at Port Said, a man-of-war's whaler manned by men dressed as English blue-jackets, and flying the Yellow Dragon, had come alongside for him. Without the least suspicion he had been pulled across to a destroyer also flying the Chinese colours, naturally thinking it was one of our own.

Directly he climbed aboard he was seized and tumbled down below. They had not misused him, but you can imagine what his feelings must have been; and he said the food was awful, although they gave him whatever they could. "How that destroyer did stink on the way across from Aden, with all that crowd of Chinese on board!" he said, grimacing with disgust at the very thought of it.

Mr. Hopkins told his adventures too. "Just hustled ashore to have a squint at those cunning weasels alongside the coal wharf, guessed they'd played us a mighty smart trick way back at Malta, and was mighty inquisitive to see 'the cut of their jibs'. Ain't been looking at 'em time enough to see a cat jump, when round came two hands in front of my face, fingers on 'em, too, like steel claws, and laid hold of my windpipe as loving as a mother-in-law.

"Then someone caught me a whack behind the knees which brought me down, and before I could say 'Johnny Jones' I was lifted up, bundled on board, and plumped on deck like a bag of spuds." Mighty pleased they both were to be rescued, and Mr. Hopkins kept on smacking his thigh and roaring with laughter. "My snakes, how those black-livered, herring-gutted, fried-up tar-brushes of Patagonians did get to wind'ard of you at Malta! Just about won this round though, Parker?"

"I should just think we had," answered Mr. Parker, smiling.

Well, in the middle of all this off came a Cingalee telegraph boy with what turned out to be a telegram from Captain Helston. Mr. Parker came on deck after he had deciphered it, with a very grave face, and said: "Mr. Hopkins, I am ordered by Captain Helston to inform you that you must consider yourself under arrest for going ashore without leave at Port Said. I must request you to go below."

This was a facer for everybody; but Mr. Hopkins, with a look of amazement, obeyed immediately, leaving us on deck wondering why Captain Helston had been so severe. "His worries must have made him confoundedly strict," said Mr. Parker.

For the next days we lay at this buoy, keeping our eyes on the Patagonian, and with steam "up" in case she tried to leave.

We had a jolly good time ashore, and the dinners at the Grand Oriental Hotel in the cool of the evening, with the punkahs swinging to and fro, were simply ripping.

Then along came the rest of the squadron safe and sound, much to our delight, and Mr. Staunton and Mr. Hopkins were sent over to the Laird. The latter was certain to get a terrible wigging from Captain Helston, and we all felt very sorry for him.

Mellins and a lot of other midshipmen came over from the Laird, and Tommy Toddles from "No. 1", bringing a big cake his mater had sent out by the mail. We had a tremendous chin wag, and it was jolly to meet them all again, and spin them the yarn of our chase and capture of the Patagonian. How they did envy me!

Whenever I see a big cake now, I always think of that afternoon, sitting round the after 6-pounder gun platform, with the awning over our heads, and the big scavenger-birds (Bromley kites we call them) swooping round us as we ate our way through Tommy's cake.

A big P. & O. liner, too, homeward bound—she had waited an hour to take our mails—passed close to us, and the passengers all came to the side and cheered us, so we midshipmen gave a loud whoop all together, which brought Mr. Parker up on deck to order us to "chuck it".

They went back to their ship soon, and we had to patrol the mouth of the harbour after sunset, in case those other two Patagonians came in.

CHAPTER VIII

Mr. Ping Sang is Outwitted

Helston's Letter—A Tsi has Information—Ping Sang Acts Quickly—Ping Sang Watches—Ping Sang in Trouble—A Tsi Escapes—A Tsi Sights the Squadron—A Tsi Gives Warning

Mr. Ping Sang lived usually at Shanghai, but on hearing of the departure of Helston's squadron from Colombo, he had hurried down to Hong-Kong to confer with a friend of his, a wealthy merchant named Ho Ming, and to arrange for the rapid provisioning and refitting of the ships.

It was very necessary for the squadron to complete its task without delay, because the expenses of its maintenance were an enormous drain on the resources of the Trading Association, and also the depredations of the pirates had become so frequent, and their raids so successful, that coastal trade by Chinese-owned ships was at a stand-still. One thing was very clear, only ships belonging to Chinese subjects were attacked, and the most tempting bait, if belonging to Europeans, was left severely alone. Not a month ago a fine new steamer of 5000 tons had disappeared without leaving a trace whilst running from Amoy to Swatow—in fine weather, too—and it appeared that the pirates had begun to extend their operations to the northern part of the coast, for several ships had lately vanished near the mouth of the Yangtze in the most unaccountable manner.

An English gun-boat cruising among the Chusan Islands had reported meeting three ships flying the Chinese colours, ships which they were almost positive did not belong to the Chinese Government; but when a further search was made for them, they had disappeared.

Ping Sang was also anxious that the stay of the squadron at Hong-Kong should be as short as possible, for he was convinced that if the pirates intended making any more attempts to destroy the ships, they would choose that harbour in which to do it. One reason was that, ready to hand among the crews of the myriad of junks always assembled there, were hundreds of cut-throats from the lower reaches of the West river only too willing to commit any crime for money; and he was especially anxious to confer with Ho Ming, for this merchant owned a large fleet of junks trading up the river beyond Canton, and their captains and crews would probably be better able to obtain information as to the presence or suspicious movements of these desperadoes than even the police authorities themselves.

These two—Ping Sang and Ho Ming—were sitting in the latter's smoking-room on the evening of December 21 smoking their after-dinner cigars, whilst A Tsi, Ho Ming's confidential clerk and comprador, was detailing the results of his enquiries among the native floating population.

They were interrupted by an obsequious, white-gowned butler, who advanced through the mat-screened doorway and handed a letter to Ping Sang—a letter which Captain Helston had written from Singapore.

"The Imperial Chinese Ship Laird,

Singapore, 14th December.

DEAR MR. PING SANG,

My last letter reporting the proceedings of my squadron was written from Colombo on my arrival. I left that harbour on the morning of December 2, and proceeded to sea at easy speed, leaving destroyer 'No. 1' to await the arrival of the two Patagonian destroyers left behind at Aden, and destroyer 'No. 2' to keep touch with the third destroyer if she attempted to leave harbour within twenty-four hours of my departure.

They both rejoined me on 5th December at full speed, and reported the arrival of the two destroyers six hours after I had left, and that they made no immediate preparations for sea. After recoaling 'No. 1' and 'No. 2' from the Sylvia store-ship, a process which occupied seven or eight hours on account of a strong breeze and a slight sea, I proceeded at thirteen knots, and reached Singapore without further incident, anchoring in the outer harbour.

Here I was met by a collier, chartered in Cardiff under sealed orders, and am at present completing the coaling of my squadron.

I have determined, after the incidents of the dynamite cartridges on the way out to Gibraltar and again at Malta, to take no more coal from shore, and have arranged for a collier to meet me at Hong-Kong. Our men will alone handle the coal, so there shall be no further chance of foul play.

The man Hopkins is still under close arrest, and I consider that this course will be more conducive to the safety of the expedition than handing him over to the civil authorities, with my proofs of his complicity not yet substantiated. The fact also that he is an American citizen would open up many legal difficulties, and after the lengthy diplomatic representations as a result of Parker's opening fire on the Patagonian, it is advisable to steer clear of these shoals in future.

This morning I received a wire from Colombo informing me that the Patagonians had not yet left, and that one was still undergoing repairs.

I shall leave to-morrow, and, as the monsoon is fairly strong, I have dismounted the guns and the search-lights of all three destroyers to lighten them as far as possible.

The mail is just leaving, and by the time you receive this letter I shall be slowly punching my way against the monsoon. I hope to be in Hong-Kong not later than the 22nd.

Both Dr. Fox and I shall be very glad to renew our acquaintance with you there, and to talk of old times and adventures when we all three were much younger.

C.H. HELSTON."

Ping Sang was small of stature and plump to a degree. He lay indolently back in his luxurious, crimson-upholstered chair, resting his podgy feet on a richly embroidered footstool.

His jolly, oily face was wreathed in smiles, and he blew great clouds of smoke from between his fat lips as he slowly read this letter, his little eyes twinkling with humour and with appreciation of his own well-being and prosperity.

His fat little hands had short stumpy fingers, beautifully manicured and covered with rings, which glistened and twinkled as he raised a dainty Venetian glass to his lips. He was dressed in dark claret-coloured silk robes, with pantaloons of light green, held together with gold knob buttons and gold braid loops, and was undoubtedly a prosperous gentleman and a dandy to boot.

On the opposite side of the fire, sitting bolt upright in an attitude of keen nervous alertness, was Ho Ming himself, a tall, gaunt Manchu, whose long thin fingers, with their prominent tendons, clenched rather than grasped the carved arms of his chair. His light-blue silk over-garment hardly concealed his attenuated figure, and his face was as gaunt as his body, with thin, tightly drawn lips, deeply recessed eyes, and prominent hooked nose.

Between them and behind a carved black wood table, supported by black wood dragons, sat A Tsi, Ho Ming's comprador, almost hidden by the clouds of tobacco smoke circling round him in the dull light of an ancient bronze lantern which swung from the ceiling, and contained a cunningly concealed electric light. He was dressed solemnly in black silk, relieved only by gilt buttons. It was this man who for the last ten days had been searching for any traces of the Pirate Syndicate's intentions, and with several Cantonese sailors selected from his master's vessels had mixed, both on board their ships and in the opium dens and lodging-houses ashore, with all the floating population of Hong-Kong.

"Helston and his ships should be here in a couple of days," said Ping Sang, speaking in Chinese and handing the letter to the anxious Ho Ming; "everything is all right so far."

"Now, Tsi, tell us again what you have been able to discover."

"Nothing, sir, beyond what I have already reported. There are two large junks from Amoy at the Aberdeen Dock, whose crews are strangers to Hong-Kong. Two days before their arrival an Englishman arrived by a coasting steamer which had picked him up at Amoy, and he is now staying at the Victoria Hotel, and one of my men has seen him go on board these junks. From what I can find out, they have a much larger crew than is customary."

"It is very unusual for junks to come down here from Amoy," interposed Ho Ming, glancing keenly from one to the other, and hardly able to restrain his impatience at Sang's apparent indifference or his comprador's stolidity. "Those junks are probably full of explosives, and it would be an easy thing to float them up against any of Helston's ships in the harbour and blow them up. We must do something—we must! Why, the ships may be here any time!"

"My dear Ming," smiled Ping Sang, waving a fat deprecating finger and settling himself more comfortably in his chair, "we must not excite ourselves—that's the only thing we can do at present. We've not the faintest reason for suspecting either the Englishman or his junks; still, we may be able to do some little thing."

"I think it might be wise, just for the sake of curiosity, to burn those junks."

"But think of the law—English law; we are not in China now. ('Thank goodness', or the equivalent in Chinese, piously muttered the comprador). We can't bribe the magistrates here; and think of the risk and the punishment."

"Well, well," continued Ping Sang soothingly, "we won't do it to-night. To-morrow I'll try and get a look at this Englishman—I may know him and he may know me. Have you seen him yourself, Tsi?" he asked. "Is there anything peculiar about him?"

"No, sir; but the man who saw him go aboard at Aberdeen says he limped badly," answered A Tsi.

"A limp had he? Well, I rather fancy I shall know him, and I rather fancy he would know me," drawled Ping Sang, "though I'll take good care he doesn't recognize me!"

* * * * *

On each side of the entrance to the Victoria Hotel is generally a motley row of coolies squatting at the edge of the pavement with their mat trays containing sweetmeats, matches, or sugar-canes for sale among the rickshaw men who come and go. Among these, next morning, was a fat old man in a dirty pair of blue trousers, with a dirty blue tunic tied round his naked shoulders, clamouring for purchasers as he fanned a swarm of flies off his sugar-canes with his broad mat hat. This was Ping Sang, and all the while he kept his eyes glued on the hotel entrance. He had bribed a coolie to give him his place for the day, and there he squatted in this extremely uncomfortable position. Sportsman as he was, with all his love of luxury, he never did anything by halves, and there he stayed on the chance of seeing the lame Englishman, whilst the sweat ran down his back, and even the morning sun blistered it.

Presently a coolie—and Ping Sang recognized A Tsi—came out of the hotel and passed without apparently noticing him, but he had the forefinger of his left hand extended, whilst the other fingers were doubled up. That meant that the Englishman was not in the hotel. A Tsi sauntered back again. Two fingers of the other hand were extended this time. That was sufficient for the old gentleman. The Englishman had gone to Aberdeen, where the two Amoy junks were anchored. Gladly rising to his feet, Ping Sang stretched his cramped legs, slung his two baskets across his shoulders with a bamboo pole, and trotted down the main street, trying to imitate the usual ambling gait of a street hawker. It was several miles to Aberdeen, and he slowed down very quickly, dropping a sugar-cane every now and then to lighten his load, and eventually came to the outskirts of the town and to the broad road which runs along the edge of the sea. Finally he squatted down at a sharp bend of this road in the shade of a big tree, and waited with his baskets in front of him.

He had arranged for A Tsi to follow him, and presently that invaluable comprador came rapidly along in a tumble-down double rickshaw, still in his coolie dress and with a big bundle under his arm.

After much haggling with the rickshaw man, who did not appreciate the extra weight of Ping Sang's fat little person, the old sportsman got up beside A Tsi, and the coolie drew them along, sweating and grunting.

Half a mile before they arrived at Aberdeen the busy little bay, crowded with native shipping, came in sight, and A Tsi pointed out to his companion two very large junks lashed together in the middle of the harbour.

"These are the two from Amoy. They came in two days ago, and have not yet discharged any cargo. In fact they don't seem to have any," said A Tsi. "If you will wait by the landing-place I will go off to the junks under pretence of selling this bundle of ready-made clothes, and try and find out more about them."

They stopped the rickshaw some hundred yards from the centre of the village, paid their grumbling coolie, and then Ping Sang trudged down to the landing-place with his baskets of sugar-canes, and squatted by the road-side, in spite of the hostile looks of the vendors already there.

A Tsi followed at some distance, got into a sampan, and was sculled out to the junks.

Ping Sang watched him clambering over the ship's sides; but almost immediately afterwards he noticed that a scuffle was going on and saw A Tsi thrown overboard, and, missing his boat underneath, fall with a splash into the sea, bundle and all. He swam ashore easily and scrambled up the beach with a very rueful countenance, amidst the shrieks of laughter of the coolies along the sea-shore, who had gathered to see the fun.

As he passed Ping Sang he made a previously agreed-upon sign, which meant that the Englishman was aboard, then he entered an eating-house across the road.

Hardly had A Tsi disappeared when a rickshaw came rushing up, a Chinaman jumped out, threw a piece of silver on the ground and ran down to the water's edge, got into a sampan, and urged the boatman to hurry off to the same two junks. Ping Sang just caught a glimpse of his face and it seemed familiar, but where he had seen it before he could not think. He watched him board the junks, and wondered whether he too would meet the same rough treatment; but he did not reappear—he evidently belonged to them.

The old gentleman racked his brains, but could not, try as he would, remember that face.

An hour went by, the bell at the little dockyard rang out, and the workmen poured out to their dinner, and Ping Sang, after his unaccustomed exercise, felt very hungry, and longed for his usual luxurious lunch and Manilla cigar. He even felt annoyed that he, one of the smartest business men in the Chinese empire, should be such a failure as a hawker, for no one would buy from him. In desperation, hunger overcame his disgust, and he munched one of his own sugar-canes, smiling grimly to himself at the unappetizing meal. Presently the crowd was scattered by a double coolie rickshaw. The men, in gaudy uniform, stopped close to him, and shortly afterwards, for he kept his eyes on the junks all the time, he saw a European in a white helmet climb down into a boat alongside and come towards the shore.

The sampan rasped against the shore, and the white man stepped out and slowly limped up the sloping landing-place, scanning the faces of the men on either side.

Ping Sang's surmise was correct. He was one of the three men—the Englishman of the "Mysterious Three"—whom he had mentioned in his first letter to Helston—the most reckless adventurer of the lot.

Ping Sang thought there was little chance of his being recognized, but took the precaution of pulling his broad hat over his eyes and bending down over his baskets. It struck him too that his shoulders and back were not grimed and blackened with the sun, and he was hastily pulling his dirty tunic over them, when he was prodded heavily in the stomach, his hat was knocked off, and standing above him was the Englishman, bursting with laughter.

"Ask this man for his license!" shouted the Englishman, and a big Sikh policeman did so. Ping Sang had not one—the one thing he had forgotten in his "make-up"—and he fumbled in his belt to give himself time to think. Out rolled two of his favourite cigars, wrapped in silver paper (he had kept them to smoke on the way back after dark), and they were worth more than a hawker could earn in a month.

He grabbed them hurriedly, but the policeman was too sharp for him, and hauled him to his feet with an unmerciful twist of his pigtail.

"Robber! thief!" grunted the highly amused crowd, which had now flocked round them.

Poor old Ping Sang was dumfounded, and though ready for most emergencies when dressed in his usual clothes, had now not a word to say. In fact, thoughts and words do not come quickly when your scalp is being nearly torn off at every move.

The crowd made way as the huge Sikh shoved his way through, and Ping Sang had perforce to follow, vainly trying to ease the strain on his pigtail.

The Englishman came with them to the police station and charged him with stealing the cigars, and before Ping Sang knew what had happened a pair of handcuffs were snapped on his wrists and he was shut up in a room. As the door closed behind him he heard the Englishman say to the sergeant in charge:

"That's a double-dyed villain, sergeant; was a servant of mine once; had to get rid of him for prigging my things. There's another of them somewhere about, and if you'll lend me a couple of your men I'll have him here in no time."

Poor old Ping Sang's heart went to his feet, for if A Tsi too were caught, no one would know what had become of them. They might be in jail for a week or more before being identified, and meanwhile Helston's ships would arrive, and no word of warning could reach them except from Ho Ming, who, he well knew, was useless in any emergency.

A Tsi, however, had seen the whole incident from an upper window of the eating-house, where he had had his clothes dried.

The affair was evidently premeditated. Somebody must have given information as to Ping Sang's presence there, and no doubt remained that this European with a limp was the Englishman whom Ping Sang, the previous night, had said he probably knew.

Now the old man was under arrest, and till he could be identified and released any plan of action would be delayed, and so much time would be gained by the pirate syndicate.

It was useless his going to the police station and stating that the dirty old hawker was no other than the wealthiest merchant in China and the president of the Trading Association, for he himself was a dirty, disreputable-looking object, and would be probably clapped in jail as an accomplice.

No; he must get back to Ho Ming as quickly as possible.

He crept down the rickety stairs and was just going out into the street, when he saw the European with a couple of Sikh policemen coming straight towards the house, led by some gesticulating men who had seen him go in there.

It flashed across his mind that whoever had seen Ping Sang had seen them together, that he was now going to be caught on some trumpery charge, and he knew well enough that, unless he could escape, their predicament might not be known for weeks.

He made his way to the back of the house, but the inn-keeper, already suspicious of him, barred the way, and he fled up the unguarded stairs again, looking eagerly for some place in which to hide, but the rooms were as bare as a barn. He then ran to the rear windows to see if he could jump to the ground; but even if he did so, there was no escape from the yard behind, for two walls, too high to climb, ran back to the face of the hill, which here was cut in a perpendicular cliff.

Already he heard the tramp of heavy boots up the stairs, and, in desperation, was about to jump and chance scaling the walls, when he suddenly noticed that next to this house was a small temple or joss-house, and that a grotesque carving at the corner of one of the projecting eaves stuck out within jumping distance. Once he was on the roof of the temple he might climb across to some lower buildings behind, and might possibly find some place to hide himself.

It was his only chance; so without a second thought he kicked off his shoes, clambered like a monkey to the roof above him, crawled to the edge, balanced himself unsteadily, and sprang for the gilded dragon seven or eight feet away from him.

As he sprang he came in view of the street and heard a yell from the crowd; but it only made him grip more firmly as he fell on the grinning dragon, the rotten wood creaking and cracking as he drew himself on to the top of the joss-house.

Moving cautiously along, he jumped to the lower buildings behind, and saw, to his great joy, that they were built right up against the cliffs, which were here much less abrupt and might possibly give some foothold. If he could but climb to the top he would be able to reach Ho Ming across the mountain; so, clinging to bushes and clumps of grass, pulling himself up from rock to rock, he painfully made his way upwards. Looking over his shoulder, he saw one of the Sikh police following him. The man jumped from the roof of the eating-house to the joss-house; but the dragon, already cracked, broke under his weight, and he fell into the court-yard beneath.

This gave A Tsi a momentary start, for they now could only get on to the roof by climbing the pillars in front of the joss-house, and this was a difficult thing to do.

The crowd in the street began throwing stones at him and several struck him, but in desperation he clambered up and up, forcing his bruised toes into every crevice that would give foothold, now slipping and sending down a shower of stones, now gaining a yard or two. His hands were bleeding and numb with pain as he fought his way, till with a gasp of relief he wriggled and wormed his way to the top, and with a last effort swung himself over the edge and rolled breathless into some bushes.

Cautiously peering over the edge, he saw several coolies clambering after him, whilst the Englishman and the Sikhs encouraged their efforts from below.

Once they reached the top he knew that he would be captured in no time, for with his naked feet and want of training he could not hope to distance these sturdy coolies in a chase over the mountain-side.

As he clutched the edge, wondering what best to do, he accidentally dislodged a stone. It rolled down and made the climbers hesitate. Instantly seeing his opportunity, he wildly tore at everything he could loosen and hurled it down on his pursuers. The foremost was hit on the hand, and slid some feet before he could steady himself. Another had his eyes filled with earth and sand, and then with great relief A Tsi saw them all retreat, slipping and sliding to the roof of the joss-house, in spite of the threats and cajoling of the police.

Then he saw the crowd streaming along the road, and knew his pursuers would climb up some other way. Getting on his feet, he began painfully pushing his way up the thickly wooded side of the mountain slopes. He was now free from immediate danger, but must reach Ho Ming without a moment's delay. He dare not descend to the main road, because the police would be certain to be on the watch for him, besides which he dare not go into the town till after dark, for he was bleeding from many cuts, and his clothes were in tatters.

It was a terribly long way and terribly hard work to climb the mountain to the Peak, but he must do it and wait till dark before striking one of the roads running down to his master's house.

Hour after hour he climbed painfully and slowly, getting his directions from the sun, and occasionally catching glimpses of the harbour beneath him.

Presently he came to a large clearing, breasted the slope in front, and saw the whole panorama of the harbour below him glistening in the sun, and the dark mountain ranges of the mainland looming behind it. The tiny boats moving backwards and forwards were the ferry-boats to Kowloon, and like toy ships lay several English cruisers.

As he stood panting with his exertions, the boom of a gun came up from below, then another and another at regular intervals. A man-of-war saluting! He searched the harbour below him, but saw no sign of powder smoke. Quickly he glanced towards the narrow waters of the Lyemoon Pass, knowing that through this entrance men-of-war usually arrived, and then from a little black, moving object on the water he saw a tiny ball of white smoke shoot out, and presently the report came gently up to him. Nineteen he counted, then twenty and twenty-one, and understood enough to know that it was a foreign man-of-war saluting the British flag.

Throwing himself down on the coarse grass, he watched the black speck moving nearer and nearer, and as it emerged from the dark shadows of the Lyemoon Pass, he saw that it was followed by five others, the last three mere dots on the sea.

Gradually the little squadron become more distinct, and he was able to distinguish two cruisers with masts and military tops leading, a merchant ship with short, stumpy funnel, and then three destroyers. At last Helston's squadron had arrived, a day before it was expected, and, unless he could give warning, the ships would run the greatest danger before night was over.

Not a moment was to be lost, so painfully he pushed on, crawling round rocks and shoving his way through the undergrowth till he came to the outskirts of the villas on top of the Peak. Creeping behind garden walls and thick hedges, he made his way, without being seen, to the belt of trees and bushes which ran by the side of the road, among which he hoped to conceal himself till dusk made it possible for him to descend to his master's house.

Fortune, however, favoured him, for who should he see wobbling down as fast as his fat little legs could carry him but that merry little tailor Hong Sing, with a great bundle of clothes under his arm. He knew him well, and called him by name as he came near. The little man gave a frightened look round, and would have made off had not A Tsi seized him by the arm and pulled him into the bushes.

When Hong Sing had calmed down he hurriedly explained matters.

Luckily the little man was returning from trying on some clothes for a customer, and had in his bundle enough clothes to rig A Tsi as a respectable-looking butler. He had no shoes, but Hong Sing knew where he could borrow a pair from a house close by, and within half an hour A Tsi was walking boldly down the road with his escort.

As they neared Ho Ming's residence A Tsi stayed behind, whilst Hong Sing went on to reconnoitre; but all was safe, and at last the faithful comprador had finished the first part of his task.

Ho Ming had already returned from his office, but it was very difficult to make him act energetically. Like most Chinamen, he had the utmost fear of the law and those who administered it. He was more polite and obsequious to a police sergeant than to the wealthiest merchant in the colony, and it was a long time before A Tsi could persuade him to take immediate steps for the release of Ping Sang. He had not even heard of the arrival of the squadron, and walked rapidly up and down the room bemoaning the absence of Ping Sang and his own helplessness. "What can I do? What can I do?" was all he could say.

"You go at once to the Chief of Police and bail out Mr. Ping Sang; they will do it for you. Get them to telegraph to Aberdeen to send him up to head-quarters with an escort. Write a letter to Captain Helston before you go, and I'll take it aboard and warn him of his danger."

"Yes, yes; we ought to do that," faltered Ho Ming, already trembling at the prospect of interviewing the Chief of Police, and sat down to write a letter, whilst A Tsi went away to change his butler's clothes for some of his master's.

With the letter in his pocket, A Tsi hired a chair with four sturdy coolies, and was soon carried down to Murray Pier, off which the little squadron was now at anchor, and, taking a sampan, pulled alongside the Laird.