Sullivan brought her a tin cup of tepid water into which he poured a little whiskey, and she drank it with a wry face. She glanced around at the circle of roughly dressed men, at the litter of miscellaneous articles that encumbered the deck of the rough native boat, and shuddered. A moist, unhealthy smell came off shore, there was a sound of loud and violent altercation in Dutch from the deck of a neighbouring barque, and a couple of pistol-shots cracked from somewhere along the wharves.
Elliott moved closer to her and laid his hand upon her arm.
“I didn’t know it would be like this,” she murmured.
“Don’t be frightened,” said Elliott. “There’s no one here to be afraid of. But don’t you think you had better go ashore, after all? The American consul will make you comfortable till we get back, you know.”
“No—anything rather than that city! I’m not afraid, only tired out. I’ve come all the way from China,” she said to Henninger, “almost without stopping, and here I thought I’d be among friends.”
“So you are,” the Englishman assured her. “Only just look at this boat. We’ve got no accommodation for ladies. You’ll just have to rough it like the rest of us. And there’s some danger; there may be a fight before we’re through. And our own crew would cut our throats if we didn’t keep them cowed. I still think you’d better go ashore and stay there. But if you are willing to take your chances, you’re welcome.”
“I’ll take the risks, of course, and I don’t want any favours because I’m a girl. I’ll just be one of your party. When can we get started?”
“The tide’s on the ebb now, and everything is shipped,” Hawke remarked.
“Yes, no use waiting,” said Henninger. “I’ll speak to the reis. Halloo, Abdullah! Come aft a moment.”
“Who’s the reis?” Bennett inquired.