Chapter 7 | Being Primed | Blue Jackets

There was a consultation in the cabin that evening, as we lay there about four miles from the stranded barque. It had fallen calm, and, as there was no urgency, the captain preferred to spare the coals, and we waited for a breeze.

I heard afterwards from Mr Brooke all that took place during the discussion, during which the captain heard the principal officers’ opinions, and then decided what he would do.

There had been doubts before as to whether we were on the right track for the pirates, who might be carrying on their murderous business elsewhere, but the day’s discovery had cleared away the last doubt; it was plain that the information which had sent us up in the neighbourhood of Amoy was perfectly correct, that the wretches were there, and that our presence had kept them quiet till now.

The great difficulty, it was decided, lay in the manner of dealing with people who without doubt had plenty of spies out in native craft, who were passed unnoticed by us, and thus every movement was carefully conveyed to the enemy. As, then, the appearance of the gunboat was sufficient to keep them in hiding, and also as the moment we were out of sight the pirates issued from their lair, only two ways of dealing with the fiends remained to us, and these means, after due consultation, were to be adopted—one or both.

Then it had been arranged that the next morning at daybreak a couple of boats were to be despatched to the Scotch barque, for a more thorough investigation as to whether, in Mr Brooke’s rather hurried visit, he had passed over any cargo worthy of salvage, and to collect material for a full report for the authorities and the owners.

This had just been decided upon, when there was a shout from one of the look-out men. It was quite unnecessary, for nearly every one on deck saw the cause of the cry.

We three companions had been watching the wreck with its spiral of smoke, which in the calm air rose up like the trunk of a tall tree, and then all at once spread out nearly flat to right and left, giving it quite the appearance of a gigantic cedar. Then, as one of the witnesses of the horrors on board, I had had to repeat my story again; and, while matters were being discussed below, we in a low tone had our debate on the question, and saw too how the men gathered in knots, and talked in whispers and watched the barque. And to us all one thing was evident, that could our lads only get a chance at the pigtailed, ruffianly scum of the east coast, it would go pretty hard with them.

“I’ll bet many of ’em wouldn’t go pirating again in a hurry,” Barkins said; and we agreed.

Then we fell to wondering how many poor creatures had been murdered by them in their bloodthirsty career, and why it was that there should be such indifference to death, and so horrible a love of cruelty and torture, in the Chinese character. All at once came the shout, and we were gazing at the cause.

For a bright, clear burst of flame suddenly rose from the direction of the ship—not an explosion, but a fierce blaze—and it was evident that the parts around the little fire had grown more and more heated and dry, and that the smouldering had gone on till some part of the cargo beneath, of an inflammable nature, had caught at last, and was burning furiously.

We expected that orders would be given for boats to be lowered, but we had drifted in the current so far away that there was a risky row amongst shoals, so no orders were given, the men gathering on deck to watch the light glow which lit up the cloud of smoke hovering overhead.

We three watched it in silence for some time, with the other officers near, and at last Smith said—

“I don’t think I’m a cruel sort of fellow, but I feel as if I should like to kill some one now.”

He did not say a Chinese pirate, but he meant it; and I must confess to feeling something of the kind, for I thought how satisfactory it would be to aim one of our big guns at a pirate junk taken in some cruel act, and to send a shot between wind and water that would sink her and rid the seas of some of the fiends.

I quite started the next moment, for Barkins said, in a low, thoughtful voice—

“How do you feel about it, Gnat? Shouldn’t you like to kill some of ’em?”

The question was so direct, and appealed to my feelings so strongly, that for some moments I was silent.

“Not he,” said Smith; “old Gnat wouldn’t stick a pin in a cockroach.”

“Of course I wouldn’t,” I said stoutly, “but I’d crush it under my foot if I found one in the cabin.”

“One for you, Blacksmith,” said Barkins. “Look here, Gnat, you would like to kill some of the piratical beggars, wouldn’t you?”

I remained silent again.

“There,” said Smith, “I told you so. If we caught a lot, Gnat would give them a lecture, and tell them they had been very naughty, and that they mustn’t do so any more or he would be very angry with them indeed.”

“Punch his head, Gnat.”

I made no reply to their flippant remarks, for just then I felt very solemn and thoughtful. I hope I was not priggish. No, I am sure I was not; every word I uttered was too sincere, though they chaffed me afterwards, and I have thought since that they felt more seriously than they spoke.

“You chaps didn’t go on board that barque,” I said quietly; “I did.”

“Yes; old Dishy’s making a regular favourite of you, Gnat,” said Barkins.

But I went on without heeding, my eyes fixed on the burning vessel whose flames shone brightly in the clear air.

“And when I saw the splintered wood and chopped doorway, and the smears and marks of blood, it all seemed to come to me just as it must have been when the poor fellows shut themselves up in the cabin.”

“Did they?” said Smith eagerly.

“Yes, that was plain enough,” I said; “and they must have fought it out there till the pirates got the upper hand.”

“I bet tuppence the beggars pitched stinkpots down through the cabin skylight, and half-smothered them,” said Barkins excitedly.

“I daresay they did,” I replied thoughtfully, “for I did see one of the lockers all scorched and burned just by the deck. Yes, it all seemed to come to me, and I felt as if I could see all the fighting, with the Chinamen hacking and chopping at them with their long swords, the same as those brutes did at us; and all those poor fellows, who were quietly going about their business, homeward bound with their cargo, must have had friends, wives or mothers or children; and it gets horrible when you think of how they must have been in despair, knowing that those wretches would have no mercy on them.”

“Yes, but how it must have made ’em fight,” cried Smith. “I think I could have done something at a time like that.”

“Yes, it would make any fellow fight; even you, Gnat.”

“I suppose so,” I said, “for it made me feel as if there wasn’t any room in the world for such people.”

“There ain’t,” said Barkins. “Oh, if our chaps could only get a good go at ’em!”

“And then I felt,” I went on, “as if it couldn’t all be real, and that it was impossible that there could be such wretches on the face of the earth, ready to kill people for the sake of a bit of plunder.”

“But it’s just precious possible enough,” said Smith slowly. “Why, out here in China they do anything.”

“Right,” said Barkins; “and I hope the skipper will pay them in their own coin. My! how she burns.”

“Yes,” assented Smith, as the barque, after smouldering so long, now blazed, as if eager to clear away all traces of the horrible tragedy.

“You’ll recollect all about that cabin, Gnat, if we do get at the beggars—won’t you?”

“Recollect?” I said, with a shiver; “I shall never be able to forget it.”

Then we relapsed into silence, and stood resting our arms over the bulwarks, gazing at the distant fire, in which I could picture plainly all the horrors and suggestions of the wrecked cabin. I even seemed to see the yellow-faced wretches, all smeared with blood, dragging their victims to the stern windows. And my imagination then ran riot for a time, as I fancied I saw them seizing men not half-dead, but making a feeble struggle for their lives, and begging in agonising tones for mercy, but only to be struck again, and pitched out into the sea.

I fancy that I must have been growing half hysterical as the scene grew and grew before me, till I had pictured one poor wretch clinging in his despair to the edge of the stern window, and shrieking for help. There was a curious sensation as if a ball was rising in my throat to choke me, and I was forgetting where I stood, when I was brought back to myself by the voice of my messmate Smith, who said in a husky whisper—

“Think we shall come across any of the poor fellows floating about?”

“Not likely,” replied Barkins. “Too many sharks in these seas.”

My throat felt dry at this horrible suggestion, but I knew how true it was. And then once more there was silence, and, like the rest—officers and men—we stood there watching the burning wreck hour after hour, not a soul on board feeling the slightest disposition to go below.

It must have been quite a couple of hours later, when I started in the darkness, for something touched my arm, and, looking sharply to my right, I could just make out the figure of Ching close to me, while on looking in the other direction I found that I was alone, for Barkins and Smith had gone forward to a group close to the bows.

“You, Ching?” I said, “looking at the mischief your friends have done?”

“Fliends burnee ship? No fliends. Velly bad men. Ching feel allee shame. Velly bad men evelywhere. Killee, get dollar. No velly bad men, London?”

“I’m afraid there are,” I said sadly.

“Yes; velly bad men, London. Killee get dollar. You choppee off bad men head?”

“No,” I said; “but they kill them if they commit murder.”

“Commit murder? You mean killee get dollar?”

“Yes.”

“Allee light. Plenty bad men evelywhere. Captain going kill pilate?”

“If we can catch them,” I said.

“Yes, velly hard catchee catchee. Captain never catchee in ship. Pilate allee lun away. ’Flaid of big gun. Get two big junk, put plenty sailor boy where pilate can’t see. Then pilate come along kill and burnee. Junk steal all along. Jolly sailor jump up and cut allee pilate head off.”

“Send that boy forward!” cried a stern voice, which made me jump again. “Who’s that?”

“Herrick, sir,” I said, touching my cap, for the captain came forward out of the darkness.

“Then you ought to know better, sir. The scoundrel has no business in this part of the ship. What does he want?”

“I beg pardon, sir; he came up to propose a way of trapping the pirates.”

“Eh, what?” said the captain eagerly. “Bah! absurd. Send him below; I hate to see the very face of a Chinaman. No; stop! He ought to know something of their tricks. What does he say?”

I told him, and he stood there as if thinking.

“Well, I don’t know, Mr Herrick. We might perhaps lure them out of their hiding-places in that way, with a couple of Chinese crews to work the junks. But no; the wretches would be equally strong, and would fight like rats. Too many of my poor lads would be cut down. They would have us at a terrible disadvantage. We must keep to the ship. I can only fight these wretches with guns.”

He was turning away, when a thought struck me, and, forgetting my awe of the captain, and the fact that a proposal from a midshipman to such a magnate might be resented as an unheard-of piece of impertinence, I exclaimed excitedly—

“I beg pardon, sir.”

“Yes?”

“I think I know how it could be done.”

“Eh? You, Mr Herrick! Pooh! Stop,” he said sharply, as, feeling completely abashed, I was shrinking away, when he laid his hand kindly on my shoulder. “Let’s hear what you mean, my boy. The mouse did help the lion in the fable, didn’t he?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Not that I consider myself a lion, Mr Herrick,” he said good-humouredly, “and I will not insult you by calling you a mouse; but these Chinese fiends are too much for me, and I really am caught in the net. Here, send that man forward, and come into my cabin.”

“Ching, go right up to the forecastle,” I said.

“No wantee go s’eep,” he said angrily. “Makee Ching bad see ship burned.”

“Never mind now; go and wait,” I whispered; and he nodded and went off, while I walked hurriedly back to the captain, who led the way to his cabin.

Before I had gone many steps I had to pass Smith, who came quickly up to me.

“Hallo! old chap,” he whispered, “what have you been up to now? Wigging from the skipper? I’ll go and tell the Tanner, and we’ll get clean handkerchiefs for a good cry.”