He wished to say more,—to bring around the statement that he had known the Penningtons years before, in Richmond; but he could not see his way clear without making an awkward break, and that he wished to avoid. Gilbert passed on, and there the matter rested for the time being.
The run from Nagasaki to Taku is, in round figures, eight hundred miles, the course being past Quelpart Island, up the Yellow Sea, and around the Shantung Peninsula into the Gulf of Pechili. Part of the run was along the south-western coast of Korea; but, in the haze that covered the sea, nothing could be seen of that territory.
The weather continued to be all that was desired until the transport gained the vicinity of the Shantung Peninsula, upon which the British port of Wei-Hai-Wei is situated, when a violent storm came up late in the afternoon. It had been extremely hot, but now the temperature went down as if by magic.
“We are in for it,” remarked Major Morris, as he watched the sky grow black. “Just listen to that wind coming up!”
“I am glad we are not in a sailing vessel,” responded Gilbert. “It looks as if it was going to blow great guns, as the jackies say.”
Gilbert was right; for, soon after the sun was hidden behind the dense clouds, the wind came up with a rush, whistling through the windows and ports of the ship and banging many an unlatched door. Some of the soldiers were not looking for such a gust; and one lost his hat overboard, and another a precious bundle of newspapers obtained in Nagasaki at the cost of three Mexican dollars.
“We are up against it fer kapes!” cried Dan Casey, as he vainly tried to keep his feet. “Sure, an’ I’m goin’ below to kape from fallin’ all over meself!” And he lost no time in literally sliding out of sight, for to keep erect on the companionway was impossible.
Some of the soldiers were at mess when the storm came up; and, as pea soup happened to be on the bill of fare, my readers can imagine how the contents of the tin soup plates were slopped around, much to the ire of the owners of the soup and the anger of those who happened to get the boiling hot liquid over them.
Nuggy Polk and Jerry Nickerson had just finished their repast when the first heavy blow struck the transport, sending the craft almost on her beams’ end. Both had eaten heartily of a great variety of food, for they had had the quartermaster lay in an extra supply for them at Nagasaki.
“Gracious! what’s struck us?” cried Jerry, in alarm.